Annie Annie Annie Reevah Reevah

This summer has been short on long, lazy days spent in beautiful places, but we had one this week.

Morganne's old friend Sam is heading back to Reed College this week, and he wanted to get together with her before he left.

We went for a walk in Henry Cowell Redwoods state park and ended up down by the San Lorenzo River for the afternoon.

Morganne and Sam have been friends since they were 6 years old. They grew up together, tag-teaming each other on height until Sam finally pulled ahead for good.

They had a good visit, talking about everything and nothing, and strategizing about crossing the river and building rock bridges.

Sam's mom Tane' and Malcolm and Merlin joined us. Matisse had a date with her writing tutor, and Sam's brother Arthur opted to sleep  in instead.

Watching Sam and Morganne together, I had freeze-frame moments of all the good times they've had together: playing, discussing books, building with lego, acting in and directing plays.

The boys meanwhile added their Homeschooling: the Half-Generation touches. They looked for giant flying waffle-footed tigers, dragons, and gryphons. They performed Spot and Listen checks, and hunted for treasure in the river. Malcolm failed a lot of Move Silently checks in the river.

Indian summer is here. I think we'll visit the river in a different spot today.

Unvarnished Truths

In June, I was packing to help my mom out while my dad was in the hospital. The situation was grave, and we were warned that we might not see him lucid again if we didn't move really, really fast.

How do you pack for a parent's death bed? Can you fold the tears in with your underwear, tuck some hope in your favorite socks? Can one small suitcase fit all the love and sorrow you need to bring along? What sort of toiletries can make you look normal at a time like this?

In the spring, the children and I watched the BBC's Blue Planet. In one segment, orcas were hunting baby seals. When the orcas had caught one, they'd take it out in deeper water and toss it back and forth. The still-living baby seal would be tossed high in the air, and then batted back to the first orca by another whale. The orcas would continue their play for half an hour or so, until the baby seal was good and dead.

Cancer reminds me a lot of those orcas. It plays with its prey, tossing them up and down, letting them think they might escape, battering them more and more until the end.

My dad is still alive.

One thing I've learned from cancer is that you have to keep living every second you've got. We've had wonderful family moments long after we expected my dad to be gone. Times where he's seemed to have lost his lucidity for good are followed by days of clear sunny weather.

So we go on. One step in front of another. One moment of being tossed in the air, one moment of being deep underwater. Laughter made more precious because of the contrast with the suffering.