The fog

Yesterday morning, Cincinnati was covered with a thick blanket of gorgeous fog. I immediately thought of this Carl Sandburg poem:

THE fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Back in May, we traveled to Asheville, NC to celebrate our fourth wedding anniversary. While there, I insisted we visit Carl Sandburg's house, Connemara. We were both glad we made the stop.

Inside, things were delightfully left just the way Sandburg had abandoned them when he passed away in one of the high-ceilinged bedrooms in 1967.

I have not read nearly as much Sandburg as I should (I hold a B.A. in English) but I do know he is one of the great American voices. This view of him is evidenced by the fact that to peer into the nooks and crannies of Connemara is to see they've left his bookmarks (thousands of them), his trinkets and yes, even his messes. His life was so dynamic and influential that to look upon the vignettes in each room is to touch the surface of his genius.

Light the Night

Back in September 2009 (wow, it's almost been a year!!!) my husband, Neil (26) had a cold and thought he would go to the doctor for an antibiotic, but kept putting it off.  He ended up at the urgent care clinic after I insisted he go, and while he was at it, we discussed--why not have them check out the lump he had on his neck?


It was almost a quick in-and-out visit. The doctor had her hand on the doorknob when Neil gathered the courage to ask her about the lump he'd been a little nervous about that we had dismissed as nothing.

She felt it and advised him to have it biopsied. I heard the fear in his voice when he called, and it caught me off guard. We had both dismissed it as a swollen gland. It hit me in the pit of my stomach.
Suddenly, life was in fast-forward. In the following weeks, Neil would given a variety of scans and tests and they had scheduled a biopsy. We were told it wasn't looking good, but still held out hope it would be something benign. A text message I sent from my phone from October 6, the day of the lymph node removal and biopsy, reveals how much our lives were about to change:

8:55 a.m.
Just took him back. We should get preliminary results in about an hour.

9:59 a.m.
It is Hodgkin's. We see an oncologist next.

A few more tests and scans and then an appointment with an oncologist followed. Neil started chemo on October 23rd, our niece's second birthday and the day before my 27th.

Since then, it's been a roller coaster...one we would not have been able to ride without the help of our families and friends. Neil has been strong and worked throughout the ordeal and our insurance has covered a lot of our bills. Today, we count our blessings--Neil is in remission. But we realized that some people weren't as lucky.

That's why we are walking in this year's Light the Night Walk. Will you support us?

Please donate here.