Writings of Constance Ore ( 1937 – 2010 )

Epiphany season began on Sunday, without twelve drummers drumming, but with wonderful music and light imagery that is so fine for us as we begin the time of lengthening days. Minute by minute, our world grows brighter, and ever so slowly, the earth begins to reawaken to another season when the circle of life in our wetlands and woods will begin all over again.

Snow is slowly receding across Sanctuary and occasionally, cardinals have begun to sing out their territorial intentions in the early morning hours. Mostly, there are no bird songs, just warning calls from the bluejays when the hawk is near, the pre-dawn hooting of the great horned owl that lives in the cedars to the west of the house, and the unique whistle of the red tail hawk as it flies over the house toward the pasture and woods.

“How’s the blood?” is the first question that Charles asks after I return from having the CBC (Complete blood count) taken, and with delight I can report that the counts held steady. In this illness, there are three markers. They are the white blood cells, the hemoglobin, and the platelets. All are referred to in numbers which are compared to normal counts, and the lower the numbers the more difficulties one might have with the disease. If the white blood cells diminish past a certain level, there are no immunities to protect or ward off illnesses from without and within. If the hemoglobin drops too far, there is no energy to live, and if the platelets don’t function, bleeding begins through the tissues inside of the body. This great red river called blood joins all of us who live on the planet at this moment, and most of the time, it is quietly carrying on its task of life-support and we don’t think of it at all. I view the vials that contain a bit of mine as they are drawn from the vein and always hope that the numbers that will be returned to me will show that life is a “go”. I know that my hemoglobin is good because I have energy. I assume that the platelets are fine because they have never been “not fine”. The white blood cells are the most vulnerable, and while the count hovers at less than half of what is considered the bottom number of “normal”, it still remains enough to keep me going.

When I began the day on Monday, I had the remnants of a beautiful dream still moving in back of my eyes. I was dancing and dancing, spinning upward and trailing light as I moved through a space filled with song. I consciously added prayers of thanksgiving for all that I have, listing my dear ones by name, and continuing onward and outward with so many people and things and joys that I came fully awake absolutely delighted to be alive in this time and in this place.

2008 begins! Snow on snow, and cold, cold weather that keeps the ice firmly frozen on the pond and in the streams. We started out yesterday with the entire family around the table at Heidi and Jon’s house. This year, we decided to hearken back to our forebears with a feast which would celebrate the finest foods from years past. This meant that Heidi would prepare a goose; her first attempt at such a project, and she was in fine form until about a half hour before serving time. The oven failed, with sparks flying from the inner workings, and the goose lying there in the cooker looking pale and underdone. What to do? There was a creative thinking session in the kitchen, and Jon and Heidi determined to start a wood fire in their grill and brown the goose there. Jon used cedar shingles to begin a blazing fire, and Heidi delivered the fowl for the final touch, whatever that might be. In less than five minutes, they brought in a beautifully browned, crisp-skinned creation, and we concluded that this procedure could be added as the final step to the instructions in the finest cookbooks. We all enjoyed the feasting and the festival. We drank champagne and sang Christmas songs while the children danced to the music. There is much to be said about a gathering that includes the little people just beginning into their lives with entire stories yet to unfold and the elders, namely Charles and myself, who have rich tales to share about what has gone before. Our children, in that generation between, watch their children and listen to our stories even as they work hard to actively shape their own destinies.

Our Christmas holiday season included mornings when ice crystals covered every branch and twig and made Sanctuary a magical place of incredible beauty. We would walk through the forest and enjoy the sights, but we also were aware that the birds and creatures would be having a hard time finding food. We started carrying more seeds out to the feeders to help out.

Alphie got high marks for splendid behavior with the grandchildren but then lost his good behavior medals with a determined attack on one of my favorite clogs while we were gone on New Year’s Day. Normally, we put our shoes behind closet doors while we are out, but this time, I was in a hurry and left the pair in the middle of the bedroom floor. Sadly, Alphie regarded this as a special toy offering, or perhaps he was dealing out punishment for our leaving him behind. He worked through the leather and heavy sole leaving it not only open-toed, but shorter by a mouthful. After trying to imagine how to save the shoe, or have it mended, I had to reluctantly throw them out.

I have been researching the Internet for information about treatments for MDS that I may not have seen before. Everything seems to come home to the stem cells, those basic generators of our lives, and there is great hope that the errant cells can be addressed at the source. The drugs, Decitabine and Azacitidine (Vidaza), still remain the latest and best discoveries, but there is tweaking going on and perhaps in 2008, something new will arrive. We enter this year with thanksgiving for the good and happy times that took place within 2007 and with hope for a good number of days into the future. It is really the only way to go.

On Christmas Day in the morning, the dawn sky was more beautiful than any I have seen. The first gathering of clouds toward the east were in lavenders and pinks, and then, with a turquoise sky between, the clouds nearer to the horizon turned gold. The snow around me had a pink and gold tinge, and I have not experienced such an effect before. If one were asking for portents for the present and future, this morning would have cried out that miracles abound. Alphie, earthbound, sniffed his way along the path as usual, taking an inventory about which creatures had passed by through the night, and which ones might be resting in the clumps of grass that stand next to the path, pushing through the snow cover.

We had several children’s services on Christmas Eve day, and the big and glorious Lessons and Carols at nine in the evening; on the 25th, there were no formal worship services at First Church, so after breakfast, Charles, John-paul and I read the Christmas story out of the King James’ Bible, because the words in that translation were those that Charles and I had memorized as children, and their cadences have become shaped and rich through many repetitions in a lifetime of birthday celebrations. We sang favorite carols and exchanged gifts, and later feasted with dear friends at their home. It was a day that will remain forever framed in memory as a singularly lovely time.

Today I had my blood readings taken. . . this is done every two weeks in order to keep track of what is happening within even though there are no therapies available at this time to change the course of the disease. The very good news is that the blood counts are holding – so we are beginning to live out the miracle of that. This morning Charles and I talked about the future and decided to make plans that carry us well into 2008, because we agreed that if we think ourselves always on the edge of life’s change and end, the task of living becomes too difficult. Today, the sun is setting on another light-filled winter’s day, and it is good to contemplate the prosaic matters of a walk for Alphie and what to make for supper.

Christmas now, in just five days! The past weeks have centered on cookies, cards and gifts, and those have taken up all energy and time. In the “olden” days, there were also parties, Christmas music preparations and endless Children’s program rehearsals, and my present self views that in awe. Charles says very matter-of-factly, “That was then, this is now”. We have had snow and glittering trees for days, actually living in the Christmas card settings that often arrive in the form of Christmas card illustrations. Fortunately, we do not have to harness horses and travel by sleigh as frequently depicted, though my mother’s stories of going to Hanover church in a horse drawn cutter, wrapped in fur robes and through the snow covered land on a moonlit night still fills the heart with nostalgia. She would tell of the bells on the horses sounding from every direction as families came to the church.

My childhood memories of the Christmas eve event are centered on the same landscape and in the same church in the country. Perhaps the brightest picture is one in which I solo for the second verse of “O Little Town of Bethlehem”. . . “For Christ is born of Mary, and gathered all above. . . etc.” I was in the second grade, and stood in the middle of the front of the church, and I was wearing a dress with a red velveteen top and a satin plaid skirt. As I sang, I still see the faces looking at me with ever growing smiles upon them. I was very pleased because I assumed it was delight in my singing; unfortunately, it apparently was that I was twisting my skirt in my hand, which was getting shorter and shorter, and the smiles were about whether my modesty would be compromised before the end of the verse. Never sure of the outcome, this may well have been the end of a budding operatic career.

In earlier times, my persona would be described as “delicate” or perhaps even “frail”, though my physical appearance is neither. My immunities are edgy, aches seem to compound, and my energy feels as though it is receding somewhat. This is not yet worth complaining about since all is better than what might have been. Charles’ father would always reply to concerns about his health as “Not bad, and it’s better than the alternative” so that phrase has been added to the commentary in the family. My blood readings indicated that they held their own, with just a small drop in the red counts. The next reading takes place the day after Christmas. So I delight and savor these days – as I lie awake in the early morning hours, there are Christmas celebrations from past years playing through my mind and carols and songs sing on and on in my head. Upon occasion this means that my first words of the morning to Charles might be, “How does the third verse of ‘Joy to the World’ begin?” There will be grand music in the next days, and the wonderful and familiar story of Jesus’ birth will be told in word and song. We will view the sky over Sanctuary and think of angels singing and hope once more for peace on earth and good will everywhere.