Le Monde de Fromage de Kate

Happy Valenslime and All That Jazz

It’s late, yes, but EXTRA festive to make up for its tardiness. Besides, if I’d posted an entry ON Valentine’s Day that would have not been in keeping with my whole boycotting posture. Bah HumCupid.

The item contained herein needs a back story (yeah, yeah – everything I DO needs a back story, I know…). Over the holidays, My Baby Brother and his Lovely Wife WITH VERY FORCEFUL KINDNESS helped sort through my impressive quantity of crap precious belongings so we could make room to empty my storage unit and put my furniture in the basement (a process which also involved the grinding off of lock with a titanium hasp – I will no doubt locate the combination in its “safe” place any day now). This process wrought many an interesting (or sweet or utterly horrific) discovery. Ask Grettir; he received a couple of the most special “finds.” (This, however, must be a story for another time.) We found fascinating things that belonged to my siblings, my Parents, my Grandparents (DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT TELL GRANDMA LEE THAT ANYTHING BELONGING TO HER OR HER PARENTS WAS TOUCHED as she has plenty to freak out about at this moment) and my great-grandparents.

One “treasure chest” belonging to my Father yielded some interesting “art” by young Shirleen and Kate. The “chest,” in and of itself, was pretty cool; it was an army surplus foot locker that had been painted (a slightly different green than “army” green, I believe). Evidently this was the only piece of furniture my Father brought to my Parents’ marriage. Well – he did construct some very fashionable brick and board bookcases…

Some of the creative masterpieces were not, unfortunately, signed. I put them on the refrigerator anyway. We also found this:

However, “Guess Who Sent This Valentine!” indeed! It is well within the Kate and Shirleen era (you can tell by the rampant penchant for using that stupid, ubiquitous gift-wrap yarn to make bows for EVERYTHING – we wore it, we wrapped with it, we probably used lengths of the stuff as jump ropes).

Then there’s the kitten. All throughout my childhood I desperately wanted a kitten. My Father, unfortunately, professed a “deathly” allergy to the creatures. Talk about hyperbole. We’re ALL allergic to felines, actually, but NO ONE in the family cannot deal with the situation. In fact, I believe that my allergies to my Kitten Children have lessened significantly over time.

Anyhoo, the über-pink-super-kitty thematic elements make me lean towards the possibility that I gave this Valentine to my Father. Let’s turn it over and see if there are any other clues:

Ah. “TV” gave this touching greeting to my Dad. The priorities of the young (even decades ago).

This leads me to believe that Shirleen was the author of this affectionate message. First of all, I’m guessing she might have been able to spell better than I at this point (or at least write letters when prompted). Moreover, the lovely lady pictured in the television seems to have the correct (or nearly accurate) number of digits on the displayed hand.

I believe I was still at the stage where each of the “hands” in my drawings consisted of a ball. This ball was appended with – oh – two dozen or so (I get the impression the number of appendages was according to whim) additional “balls” that represented fingers (interestingly, not necessarily the same number per “hand”).

In addition, the rendering of the television and the character inside is quite impressive. And examine the casters and the KNOBS – sheer genius. Shirleen still is a far superior artist to me (always has been).

Lastly, if I’d prepared this card, it would have said something to the effect of:

Most doting and warm greetings to my Most Beloved Father on this, the occasion of Cupid’s yearly spree. From your most adoring daughter, Kathryn. XOXOXOXOXOXO

Consequently, I believe Shirleen is to blame responsible for this one. You’ll have to tell me what you think, my most esteemed elder Sister.

Tomorrow is very festive SUPER n’ FAT TUESDAY!!!

If you’re voting in the Primary Election tomorrow, please consider a essential and largely forgotten issue in this race for a new President: THE WAR ON CANCER, THE NUMBER ONE CAUSE OF DEATH FOR AMERICANS UNDER AGE EIGHTY-FIVE that has received an obscene lack of coverage.

This year, the Lance Armstrong Foundation sponsored the LIVESTRONG™ Presidential Cancer Forum on August 27 and 28, 2007, inviting all Democratic and Republican Candidates to share their views on cancer and related healthcare issues. Six candidates responded (and not to show any personal bias, but four Democrats accepted the invitation and only two Republicans did. Hmm). If you’d like to see video or read transcripts of what the candidates said (even though only a few of these candidates are left in the race) as well as commentary on the forum, visit the LAF’s Presidential Cancer Forum Page. At the very least, I do think it gives a sense of prevalent attitudes for each of the major parties concerning this topic.

So celebrate SUPER FAT TUESDAY! Sin, beads, politics – it’s all good.

I’d thought I’d celebrate this day with the following prose:

Remember when everyone was buying domesticated groundhogs and then they got Monkey Pox? That was a fun time.
HAPPY GROUNDHOG DAY!

Then I thought about it. Groundhogs as pets. Big, unwieldy groundhogs as pets. Ah, wait – PRAIRIE DOGS! It was prairie dogs with the Monkey Pox. Hmmm.
Happy Groundhog Day…

You know – tibbles – a summary of bits and pieces – catching up with the highlights from a time period in which I’ve been either too lazy, busy, crazed or tied up by kidnappers to update my blog for my faithful reader(s). They are like stringettes. Individual stringettes… Simpson’s Individual Stringettes – for attaching notes to pigeon’s legs, DESTROYING HOUSEHOLD PESTS…. NO, no, no – I shan’t go down that road, I shall not. Tying up very small parcels…

Mock all you want; this phrase will be sweeping the nation before you can say…uhm..before you can say – “SIMPSON’S INDIVIDUAL STRINGETTES!” Ah, but where to start.

Well, on December 22, 2007, my darling niephew (that all-encompassing phrase “niephew” will sweep the Nation, too – I have no doubt) Anders turned three AND truly beautiful baby Moses Giles Samuelson-Lynn was born (who doesn’t look ANYTHING like Winston Churchill or Chairman Mao, as babies often do at first).

In January, hearty congratulations to lovely Niephew Sarah who officially graduated (with excellent test scores, indeed). There was even a ceremony with two dozen or so other “non-traditional” students. My faux Niephew, Tyler, was even one of the speakers (it was awesome – he gave a completely extemporaneous graduation speech – I think the sweeping hand gestures made it). They gave them diplomas and tassels, but had I known their would NOT be caps and gowns (even LEIF got a cap and gown to graduate from St. Marguerite’s kindergarten) I’d have loaned her mine (from my University graduation – yes, I had to BUY it – I could rant about how stupid that is – but she could have been the first high school graduate with a Phi Kappa Phi ribbon on their ensemble).

This past Tuesday I took Grandma Lee (SHHHHHHHH – DON’T TELL HER – REMEMBER: EVERYTHING I SAY ABOUT GRANDMA IS A SECRET FROM HER) to get her chemo pump attached and for her first radiation treatment. She had an Implantable Venous Access Port (a “Super” or “Power Port) put in last week and tattoos and other preparations for her radiation. I think it’s a great delivery system for her. They’ve been able to give her iron infusions through it and blood samples. And when she’s not hooked to her chemo pump she can even shower because the port is under the skin.

The chemo pump is amazing. Over the course of a week it dispenses a gradual dose of chemotherapy (in her case FU5) in a small machine that you carry around in a fanny pack (alright you Brits – STOP LAUGHING – “Bum Bag”). This lessens possible side effects and makes her simultaneous treatments (chemo and radiation) so much easier. They just refill it every week and flush out her port.

I wish she felt better, but the size of the tumor is substantial (it’s a “bulky” mass that’s probably been growing and bleeding for a long time) and it compromises the walls of the colon. Since her lymph nodes are involved as well, one of the specialists said it was important to shrink the tumor before they did any surgery. He was also so concerned about a possible bowel blockage that he inserted a stent to keep her colon open. I’d no idea that you could do that. I’d make a joke in poor taste that she was jealous of my Dad’s two stents and had to get a bigger one and put it in an – uhm – unexpected location, but it’s not really funny; she’s incredibly uncomfortable. We believe she’s probably in pain as well, but she won’t cop to anything but “discomfort.” Hopefully when the tumor shrinks she’ll get some relief. Three radiation treatments down, twenty-two to go: You hang in there,
Grandma! (shhhhhh)

Which brings up an important reminder: NEVER, EVER FORGET THAT ANYTHING I WRITE OR SAY ABOUT GRANDMA LEE MUST NEVER GET BACK TO HER EVER. EVER EVER.

Today – mmm – yesterday, technically, as we are the medical havoc and ruination family, Shirleen had eye surgery. Well, tear duct surgery, to be more specific (up through her nose). She has an unusual condition (WHAT – Shirleen has an unusual condition?) that causes her left tear duct to run constantly and squirt arbitrarily. They were not able to find a non-surgical solution (flushing it out and whatnot), so after they scanned to make sure there was nothing in her eye orbit that might even be connected to her brain (or something like that) she helped schedule her own surgery (since she works in the hospital in that department). She even threatened to get off the table in a surgical gown and go to work if they made her wait or something.

Anyhoo, the surgery was quick and successful (even though the doctor had to repair a deformed nasal turbinator – ?). Unfortunately, in recovery her nose started to hemorrhage. And why? Because if some sort of freakish thing can happen to Shirleen during a medical and/or dental procedure it likely will. They successfully stopped the bleeding; this process evidently involved something called a “nose torpedo.” She’s still wearing it, from what I understand. OH, ALAS, FOR YOUR SCHNOZ TO BE BETTER VERY SOON, SHIRLEEN! Oh – and anyone who wants is welcome to pass that along – go crazy.

And my dear Monkey Cats, your Crazy Heathen Aunt Cake Kate hasn’t forgotten you. How could she? YOU HAUNT HER DREAMS! Ha ha. In a GOOD way? It was Solo and Ensemble Competition time again on Wednesday. No prevaricating blossoms of any kind this year; we had placid Ernest Charles trio, Clouds, this time. They did a very lovely job, and I don’t think I made the “bell-like” chords sprinkled throughout the piece entirely TOO cacophonous (in performance). My principal goal for me was to NOT repeat the rubber-chicken-moment debacle of last year’s competition.

I also played for M.C. Nessa’s solo. She sang a lovely Fauré piece that I massacred when I played it for M.C. Amy’s audition for Chamber Choir last year (they took her in spite of my über-dissonant additions). I was very proud of her because she introduced herself DECLARATIVELY and CONFIDENTLY (AMEN), sang lovely French and, most importantly, kept going and was poised when she forgot some lyrics. A lesson for ALL PERFORMERS. Oh – and with MY Monkey Cats there’s never an “Adam and Eve” pose in sight.

I even got to do an almost completely unrehearsed performance of Bist Du Bei Mir with a euphonium player. “Little King,” a wee freshman, was abandoned by his accompanist a couple of hours before the competition, so I agreed that I’d probably be better than nothing (M.C. Amy would have certainly played it better, but she was already accompanying seven thousand people and singing with another five hundred or something very, very close to that). It was a very creative performance that sounded nothing like Lady of Spain. And I’ve no doubt that he will learn some semblance of tempo with a little more experience. The tone was nice… Oh – and Adam Keith owes me $15. I’ll take that in small cash bills. (?)

We found my entirely too grown-up Niephew Will ACTUALLY FILLING OUT PERFORMANCE REVIEWS. He became an honorary Monkey Cat for the evening, did the “Money Dance” at arbitrary moments throughout the afternoon/evening (he’s on the Junior Varsity Ballroom Dance Team – that’s really all the explanation I can dream up). We deviated from tradition with a Jamba Juice break, but we did end up with the requisite Taco Bell feast. We waxed nostalgic about past Taco Bell feasts, talked about their plans after high school (They are graduating! My baby Monkey Cats are Graduating. Monkey Kittens?) and they confirmed that I am, indeed, very, very old. You’ve just gotta love them. Hugs and Kisses, Monkey Cats!

Last week my Grandma Lee was diagnosed with colon cancer.

As is often the case, the symptoms that became the most acute and were the blatantly obvious did not point right away to the ultimate diagnosis. Initially, it looked like congestive heart failure, especially since she has respiratory problems that are, for the most part, untreated (they can either cause congestive heart failure over time or be a result thereof). When some of the blood tests came back from her initial visit, it was determined that her hematocrit was obscenely low (about half of what is normal – worse than Sarah’s before they diagnosed her Hodgkin’s – and you don’t want to tell your Grandma that she looks positively corpse-like). She was given an infusion, but that didn’t bring her hematocrit up enough. It was then thought that perhaps she had bleeding ulcers. She was given upper and lower g.i. tests including a long-overdue colonoscopy (she’d had polyps the last time she’d had one – fifteen years ago).

Her stomach was fine. Unfortunately, the doctor could immediately tell that she had a cancerous mass in her colon. He did think that the area (about four inches of her colon, I think) could be excised and her intestines reconnected. However, now the tumor (I’m crossing my fingers for just one) needs to be tested and staged, and she is having a number of other diagnostics to pinpoint and hopefully rule out spread of the disease. Today she also started on a series of iron infusions that the oncologist hopes will bring up her hematocrit.

Now you may ask why I said, “Secretly.” Well, the truth of the matter is that she would be completely horrified if she knew I was doing this. And it’s not just because of her personality and propensity for anxiety (in MY FAMILY – how could that BE?). She is “of a generation” where you don’t say “cancer” except, perhaps, in a whisper. Her sister, for instance, whose husband, my Uncle Ron, died this summer, did not want to talk about the “cancer” aspect of his illness. To someone like me (and my cousins) this doesn’t make sense. His illness WAS cancer. And I believe in speaking about it.

I believe this so strongly, in fact, that I volunteered a number of months ago to be the “leader” of the LIVESTRONG™ Local Army in Utah. I haven’t done anything to advertise, “get going” with a word-of-mouth campaign or organized any events – these are my responsibilities. Well, there’s nothing like a wake-up call like this.

And now I will present two wholly antithetical requests for today:

• DO NOT TELL GRANDMA LEE THAT I POSTED ANYTHING ON THE INTERNET ABOUT HER CONDITION. BBo, Tracy, Family, PLEASE don’t say anything. I don’t want her to be so angry at me that she will not accept my help. You may wonder why I’m wantonly disregarding her obsessive need for privacy. Call me a big fat hypocrite (I TRIPLE-dog-dare you), but I believe that what she does not know (in THIS case) will not hurt her. That’s the antithetical part.
• And why? BECAUSE WHAT YOU DON’T KNOW CAN HURT YOU. A colonoscopy of one of the best cancer defenses we have currently. Part of my responsibility of a LIVESTRONG™ Day Delegate last year was to help convey important messages to our Legislators. One of the requests we made was for parity in diagnostic testing (like legislation that is already in place to help with mammograms and PAP testing – I’ll discuss some serious complications with these laws another time), such as colonoscopies and PSA testing.

  My Father, for instance, could have colon cancer in addition to his (prostate) bone cancer. They excised two (or was it three?) pre-cancerous polyps during his colonoscopy a few years back. I even saw the pictures.

  So indeed, that’s the important message here (and I do not care if it’s redundant – and I assure you that you’ll hear it AGAIN even if I have to resort to graffiti): Do the preventive testing that is prescribed at the appropriate age. Well – start with getting check-ups IN GENERAL. And do consider your family history. Some cancers have a larger genetically inheritable component than others. For instance, my brothers should have PSA tests YOUNG, and my Dad’s brothers should NOT ever miss them, because my Father has his initial Stage II prostate cancer in his mid-forties. Moreover, my Father’s Father had prostate cancer (though it was not the cause of his death).

  Now, since my Grandmother has colon cancer and my Father had pre-cancerous polyps, some schools of thought would say that my siblings and I should start having colonscopies at age forty instead of fifty. As it is, since my Grandmother had a polyp at her last colonoscopy, they told my Mother that she needs her next colonoscopy in five years instead of ten (the same goes for my Father, because of his polyps).

So that’s it for now. I shall be enlisting your help (almost literally “enlisting,” come of think of it). And you shan’t turn me down, because I AM YOUR LEADER! Okay, I’m your leader if you’re in Utah, but if you think I won’t sic the leaders from States on you (and most of them have regional leaders in their States, so it will be easier to get you), you are sadly mistaken.

I love you, Grandma! And we are all there for you (even though we might not mention why or how).

I’ve always been a dedicated fan of and sometimes contributor to the Tiny Pineapple Nurse Book Collection: Career Romances for Young Moderns. But tonight – what to my wondering eyes should appear, but THIS:

It’s Christmas Morning all over again.

That is a message I would like to impress upon my Father. He’s in the hospital again. He’ll have good care; hopefully he doesn’t need another angiogram.

But through my worry I find myself so angry and frustrated. One of the VERY few nights I don’t play vampire (trying to be a “normal” person and sleep more often AT NIGHT) and my Dad’s up all night having dizziness, trying to faint, having stomach symptoms. His solution was to sit and take his own blood pressure to see how low it was – again and again and again. Finally, I guess he woke up my Mother at about 5:00 a.m. and they went to the hospital when he finally decided that seven thousand REALLY LOW blood pressure readings were not good.

I had no idea. I went out to the garage to get cat food at about 7:00 a.m. and wondered where my Mom had gone so early. I called her hours later, because I was getting VERY curious and a little concerned about the early departure, etc. and she told me where they were. I thought perhaps my insisting on the paramedics at the airport last month might have made an impression. I imagine that he thought that since they let me drive him home (his oxygen saturation was okay, his EKG was okay, his blood pressure and pulse were low, but not dangerously). He just didn’t really listen very closely to the part about FOLLOWING UP WITH HIS DOCTOR because they couldn’t do blood cultures and other tests. And I’m not sure he listened to the part about how stents can get clots and can collapse and all such fun. He was leaving town again in a few days so he followed up the by calling the nurse. AHHHHHHHHH!

He has seen the heart specialist since then, which was good. HOWEVER, after spending time feeling like he’d narrowly eluded his own death, he went back to his same, over-working, over-stressed ways (I grant you, it’s hard to change a stressful nature, but the WORK…).

And let’s put the heart problems aside, and the stroke risk – even the foreboding hernia – and talk about what should be considered his most drastic health issue – the cancer. What is going to happen if he has to go on chemo when the androgen therapy finally fails and they don’t have a post-androgen solution yet? The man WILL NOT wash his hands effectively, cover his mouth when he hacks all over – you name it. I can’t imagine a worse person to be immunodeficient. We’ll have to hose him down regularly with hand sanitizer, I guess.

I’m truly sorry, this is not the sort of festive holiday message I would have liked to post right now. But this just impresses so strongly in my mind that my number one holiday wish for EVERYONE I know and love (okay – and for the World) is that they take good care of themselves. And please, please let the medical professionals take over when you are at a loss.

My best and warmest holiday wishes to everyone; GOOD HEALTH and happiness to all.

Dearest Shirleen,
Elder Sister of Mine,
Eldest of ALL the Siblings,
Eldest Grandchild of the Matriarchal side of the Family,
Eldest Grandchild of the Patriarchal side of the Family,

I want you to have the Most SPECIAL Fortieth Birthday of ALL. What a rite of passage! I cannot wait until I take this momentous step myself. Oh – wait – yes I can.

Instead of the standard Birthday Blather, as you are a scholar of history and science and anything else that strikes your fancy, here are some most interesting facts about your natal day:
128,767 People

Cool, huh? But there’s more! Here’s a plethora of fun birthday facts from “The Death Report – Morbid Facts About Your Birthday:”

People who died on December 17, 1967 (the exact day you were born)

• Harold Holt, Australian Prime Minister
• Jack Perrin, American actor

Unusual Deaths in 1967

• …a flash fire began in the pure oxygen environment during a training exercise inside the unlaunched Apollo 1 Spacecraft, killing command pilot Gus Grissom, senior pilot Ed White, and pilot Roger B. Chaffee. The door to the capsule was unable to be opened during the fire because of its particular design. Had the soviet union revealed the earlier death of Valentin Bondarenko, this incident could likely have been avoided.
• Vladimir Komarov became the first person to die during a space mission after the parachute of his capsule failed to deploy following re-entry.

Natural disasters in 1967

• Belvidere – Oak Lawn Tornado Outbreak
• Caracas earthquake
• St. Louis tornado outbreak

People who died on December 17 (various years)

• 2006 – Larry Sherry, American baseball player
• 2005 – Marc Favreau, French Canadian humourist (Sol)
• 2005 – Jack Anderson, American journalist
• 2003 – Otto Graham, American football player
• 2003 – Ed Devereaux, Australian actor
• 2002 – James Hazeldine, British actor
• 1999 – Rex Allen, American actor, singer and songwriter
• 1999 – Grover Washington, Jr., American saxophonist
• 1998 – Claudia Benton, Peruvian, Pediatric Neurologist and researcher
• 1992 – Dana Andrews, American actor
• 1987 – Linda Wong, pornographic actress
• 1987 – Marguerite Yourcenar, Belgian novelist
• 1982 – Homer S. Ferguson, American politician
• 1978 – Don Ellis, American jazz band leader
• 1964 – Victor Franz Hess, Austrian-born physicist, Nobel laureate
• 1962 – Thomas Mitchell, American actor
• 1957 – Dorothy L. Sayers, British writer
• 1940 – Alicia Boole Stott, Irish mathematician
• 1933 – Thubten Gyatso, 13th Dalai Lama
• 1917 – Frank Gotch, wrestler
• 1917 – Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, British physician
• 1909 – Léopold II of Belgium
• 1907 – William Thomson, 1st Baron Kelvin, Irish-born physicist
• 1897 – Alphonse Daudet, French writer
• 1833 – Kaspar Hauser, German foundling
• 1830 – Simón Bolívar, Venezuelan-born libertator, six nations
• 1721 – Richard Lumley, 1st Earl of Scarbrough, English statesman
• 1663 – Nzinga of Ndongo and Matamba
• 1273 – Rumi (b.1207)
• 1195 – Baldwin V, Count of Hainaut
• 1187 – Pope Gregory VIII
• 942 – William Longsword

What auspicious company! Men and women of science, the screen, the pen – a Nobel laureat, a Dalai Lama, a Pope, royalty, revolutionaries, PORN STARS – what more can I say? Oh – I can tell you that we are directly related to William Longsword (843 – December 17, 942), also known as Guillaume Longue-Épée and Viljâlmr Langaspjôt, who was one of the six famous Dukes of Normandy (all ancestors of ours); he was, more specifically, our somethingth great-grandfather.

But seriously (she says after a long report of death facts – HAH), you are an inspiration to me, my bionic, Bluetooth® enabled big sis. And though I haven’t figured it out yet (let’s see, dinner is at about 6:00 – I still have a few hours), I really want to do something special for you – I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. If I fail miserably, know that the thought counts. Right?

Every year without fail, from somewhere – I don’t know exactly, I get a birthday reminder for Syd – a week before, another a few days before. I know I subscribed to some service eons ago that sends me this message, but I don’t get the reminders for anyone else. No one. And I won’t cancel it.

Her’s is one of the handful of phone numbers in my mobile directory that I cannot erase. I just can’t. Her obituary and some of the newspaper articles written at the time are still on the kitchen bulletin board. They’ll stay; I don’t know how long.

Happy Birthday, Syd.
You will be missed forever and always.

I stole this picture from Hobie. I hope she doesn’t mind. My thoughts are with you, my dear, and your family!

I don’t know what play is pictured, I don’t when it was painted, but it feels like it’s every show, every time.

Yes, it is December, but if I close my eyes REALLY tight and chant, “Punkin, punkin, punkin, PUNKIN, PUNKIN, PUNKIN*!!!!” I am magically transported back to October. I had some things to get done then, so I don’t need any new items on my to-do list (which exists only in my ginormous noggin, and that is unfortunate, indeed, given the unreliable nature of the contents thereof).

*While I wantonly sprinkle “u” into words (honour, colour – you’ve all seen it if you’ve read ANY ENTRY WHATSOEVER in this blog) in a delusional British wannabe manner, I rarely if ever use the word “pumpkin.” I’m entirely too fond of punkins. So sue me, gourd people.