WE’RE LUCKY to have two little girls around here to brighten our lives every day. The older one, not quite 5, is fascinated by the space under the stairs by our side door.
Little D1D1 (Daughter #1 of Daughter #1) can’t walk by this space without leaping into it, holding her arms wide and claiming it as her own. She calls it her treehouse, though technically it’s more like a near-a-tree house.
Anyway, we hit on the idea of building two walls to enclose the little alcove and make it her secret hideway.
She drew up a plan for us to go by.
We bought 2×3’s and made a frame for each wall over the weekend. Next we’ll stretch canvas over the frames, then D1D1 and her art-school-alumna mom (D1) can paint the canvas together.
Her wall frames, glued up and ready for canvas. I hauled them home from the woodshop today in the back of the ’49 truck.
We wanted frames that stay square, so we made sturdy mortise & tenon joints in the corners.
I won’t have the little girl anywhere near a compound miter saw, obviously, so she stayed home while I cut the lumber to length and cut the shoulders for the tenons. That was Saturday. On Sunday, the little builder girl did the rest at John Ross’s shop in North Kingstown.
The bandsaw and mortising machine are kid-safe, given that I can stand between the operator and the cutting edges.
Here are a few of the mortises she made, and one of the matching tenons.
I’ll post photos when this little addition to the humble manse comes together.
Now about my foray into long-form scribbling, my Great Godawful American Novel.
With 140,000 words down on paper, I’m not sure I want to keep any of them.
I’m having such trouble learning the long-form side of the craft I’m beginning to think the problem is more foundational than narrative voice: it might be the narrative itself. And here I thought I had this story down years ago.
In the winter of 2008 I wrote a 20,000-word outline while the iron piggy and I hoboed up and down the Atlantic coast between New England and Key West. Ride all day, squat in the weeds at night & scribble scribble scribble.
I wrote it in screenplay form. Got a few nibbles on the script. Two directors were interested enough to suggest changes. All well and good if you get a production deal out of it, which didn’t happen. Now I want to undo everything I did to suit others, and reexamine every line with new eyes.
I’ll surely have time over the winter, since I won’t be tenting out in a snowbank on the Stillwater River, in Maine. And won’t be spotting eagles on that island I can walk to over the ice.
Most of the time I don’t spend on the river I’ll devote to not riding a dry-pavement, cold-weather route to Kansas and Missouri. And when I don’t get there, I’ll be sure to not pop in on old friends.
I bypassed them while riding a Trans-Canada beeline home from the Arctic this summer, nursing that sore collarbone I didn’t know was cancer. Pisser, as we say here in New England. (Pissah!)
On the plus side, it’s not as if nobody I know isn’t out there traveling. I’ll be pleased to follow their reports from afield, with much interest.
Vincent Ogutu, our friend in Nairobi. A man of wisdom, kindness, and many talents. He made it to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro in recent weeks.
The last time the bride & I saw Vincent he was living in Manhattan, finishing work on his doctorate in economics at Rutgers.
Iron man Pierre Jaumouille, the French bicyclist I met on the road to Tuktoyaktuk, Northwest Territories. Headed for South America, he was last seen pumping pedals in Las Vegas, Nevada. He took a break from the road when his parents flew in from Paris for a family reunion.
D2 and her husband are headed home from Utah today.
They’ve explored miles of slot canyons sculpted by ancient torrents.
The above-ground terrain…
On a precipice, my bungee-jumping daredevil gymnast mountain-goat girl.
And high over another…
The adventures of others will feed the soul while I acquaint myself with a chemical DNA/RNA disruptor, Bendamustine. And a monoclonal antibody, Rituximab.
Yeah, I’m moving off my wait-and-see, pain-management strategy. In part because it’s not working all that well. I don’t want NSAIDs to be this big a part of my diet, and without them my diseased white cells can render my right arm and shoulder practically useless. A mere 40 miles on the iron piggy and I’m lamed for the day.
The other thing is: waiting to see whether this indolent stage 3 will mutate into something more aggressive is bound to spike anxiety levels in the loved ones around me. Now and again we’ll be talking about nothing—just everyday things—and I can read a subtext of dread on their faces. They look as if they’re passing a particularly bad car wreck.
So… screw it, chemo’s up next. Starts in the morning at Miriam Hospital. Two days on the IV, 28 days off, two on, 28 off, two on, lather, rinse, repeat. By April I’ll be cooked. But in a good way. Or not.
There are no guarantees with the Emperor of All Maladies, even if you are lucky enough to draw the anybody-can-do-it starter kit. Many other blood cancers present an imminent end-of-life challenge. Across the spectrum of lymphatic cancers, the one I’ve got is the equivalent of a skinned knee.
Bendamustine, I was surprised to learn, is derived from nitrogen mustard, the blister agent that went into lethal gas shells in the War to Not End All Wars.
In 1963 the East Germans discovered that nitrogen mustard destroys not only Doughboys but cancerous B-cells associated with certain lymphomas; among them, the one that accompanied me to the top of the world and back.
If anything worth mentioning happens, I’ll see if I can loft a carrier pigeon your way from the Front.
Tony DePaul, October 22, 2019, Cranston, Rhode Island, USA
You can make all this a topic of a new story, decide to have a happy ending. Who knows where it all leads; new friends you’re destined to meet, big courage to share and inspire others another screen play? Even if it’s wisdom to quit being jerks about the little stupid stuff, your superpowers are way needed these days. You are in Frank and my discussions and thoughts – we are rooting for you on all fronts.
Hang in there, my friend.
Hope the side effects don’t get too bad. Looked up the following in Wikipedia, just in case, ya know…
Under Rhode Island law, “Approved Qualifying Debilitating Medical Conditions” for medical marijuana are: cancer…..etc.
Of course you can’t always trust what’s on Wikipedia, but I think this one is a good bet.
Thanks for writing, all.
I had a good day, all things considered. Was in the chemo chair for 8 hours, chemo running into my arm for maybe 6-1/2 of them. Bendamustine went easy but my body fought the Rituximab.
Funny, my immune system is chock full of cancer from head to toe but it put up a vigorous defense against this invader it had never seen before. Maybe that’s why I haven’t felt sick with cancer. No fatigue, no fever, no night sweats…
The defense made for slow going today. The doc wanted me to get 700ml of Rituximab, all the nurses got into me was 258ml. As soon as you break out in hives they stop, administer IV antihistamine and/or steroids, run straight saline for a while, then it’s back to the Rituximab at a reduced feed rate, slowly step it up until the body defends again, then the process starts over.
I left the hospital feeling great. First time since July my collarbone hasn’t hurt. Nurse said that wasn’t the chemo, most likely the steroids.
Another long day in the chair coming up tomorrow. Right now I’m starved (steroids again). Will chow like mad, crawl under the covers and Zzzzzz…
Sending you good thoughts from Nairobi as you begin the treatment today. I’m so glad my Kilimanjaro trip is providing some measure of comfort to you when you can’t go out yourself.
Your positive outlook is so inspiring to all of us! I loved the example you gave a few posts ago about how you and C will be watching each other, hands on the holster, every time you meet. I’m using that to visualize my own battles and to always stay positive.
Africa awaits you!
This was a great post — what an assemblage of topics. Fingers crossed for you at Miriam. You deserve the best.
Tony,
Wishing you all the best with the chemo with all of our thoughts and prayers. You’ve got a great outlook which will add to the strength you need to get through this. We’re here if you need anything at all. God Bless!
Kim and Ray
So typically Tony — you give us 20 grafs of charming material about your carpentry and travel exploits of your friends before getting to the C word. Talk about burying the lede, but I understand. In my own encounter with cancer 11 years ago, I wanted to keep it a secret but came to realize my partner needed the emotional support of our families and friends. Cancer staging is an inexact science, so I am glad for your sake, and for your family’s sake, you have opted for chemo. Hoping by spring the chemicals have done their job effectively and with minimal side effects.
You will be in my thoughts all day, Tony; I suspect that you will be taking in – no pun intended – every minute of this process today, and make it fodder for your keyboard.. …fingers crossed and positive thoughts…I am close by, so please send my little girlfriend across the street with a message if you/family need anything!! Keep the words of your friend Terry Close first and foremost; he knows you so well: It takes a hero to write a hero…
Wise decision, Tony. Occam’s razor now is better than the surgeon’s later.
You’re in our thoughts and prayers.
Good call amigo. Glad you are getting after it now, and how!
Tony:
Alan Bates in “The King of Hearts” ; one of my favorite actors and films respectively.
Thank you !
I am studying a new topic in my field in retirement. I hope to finish before I’m 70 and actually work in a new field of research.
It may not happen.
A suggestion: Work on the novel for the sweet sake of doing it as opposed to having a goal in sight—“for the lovin’ of the game”. You may rediscover the joy of writing your novel that you never really lost. I’m doing that now. Best educational experience of my career.
To say nothing of the fact your writing is becoming an essential in my life.
Love you, Dad! Thinking of you always, especially tomorrow.
I don’t know what chemo is like, except from others. However, I’m glad you’re taking the aggressive approach. It puts you in charge, not it. Way to be proactive! Wishing you all the very best outcome.
You hang in there big guy. You have what it takes to come out on top of this. You have many years to write yet on the 21st, our Phantom. Tony you keep The Phantom at his best. It takes a hero to write a hero. 🙂
Will be thinking of you. If there’s anything you need just call.