Where the wind blows—something I think about a lot as a sailor. And something to be heeded during fire season here in the west. Where the wind blows, and how very hard, is fearsome this treacherous hurricane season. The wind can be violent, or a zephyr, and sometimes, for me, the wind can be a metaphor. In recent weeks, my mind seems to be wafting from one thought to another, shifting with the wind.
But this past Monday morning, the breeze blew toward Placitas, bringing these bright beautiful balloons to my neighborhood. Directly over my house at one point. Where the wind blows, where my mind goes—sometimes, like these balloons, I can drift. And I can hope, that we all find a safe place to land. Another metaphor? Perhaps. But for now, let’s just enjoy these pictures from my little corner of the 2024 Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta.
For decades, maybe most of my life (since my father, an Earth Science teacher, started telling me about geomorphology when I was a kid), I’ve been an ardent student of landscapes. Part of that, as a professional geologist, was developing studies to characterize the geology of sites that would be developed in some way or needed to be remediated after being contaminated. In that capacity, I’m a big fan of phased investigations—do an initial study, take those results, then go deeper (figuratively, for sure, and in geology, oftentimes literally).
I was surprised to find myself thinking in that same way, while discussing the best course of action with the surgeon and oncologist when I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2010. It was then that I began to think of my body as a landscape. And the same sense of curiosity that drives me in geological studies, helped me through the cancer treatment process.
Because it was detected early and it was not an aggressive cancer, I felt I had some flexibility in the decision-making process. Which is not to say that I dithered about those decisions (as finding out I had cancer was motivation not to delay), but I felt I could take the days I needed to consider the options presented to me.
I had that time, due to early detection. So the message I want to convey, on the eve of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, is this—do monthly breast self-exams, get regular clinical breast exams, and get your mammograms—because the science shows that early detection increases breast cancer survival rates enormously. According to the American Cancer Society, when breast cancer is detected early (that is, early stage disease, in a localized state) the 5-year relative survival rate is 99%.
Holly:
As little as a year ago, I took my unbroken body for granted. I rarely thought about brokenness, disease, or mortality, at least with respect to me. Then a routine mammogram changed all that. It turned out not to be routine at all. Today, my reflection in the mirror shows scars as proof of how close we all can be to brokenness, but I also observe a body that has healed from surgeries and chemical bombardments. I see my scars and think of the Japanese art form of Kintsugi where broken pottery is mended with gold. Just like a broken vessel, our bodies, with the help of amazing medical treatments and caregivers, can be rendered into a new piece of art, more unique and exquisite than before the break. Wholly beautiful, in truth. My art is part of my healing.
So, Holly and I—both survivors of breast cancer, and both so much more than that—found the words and hope these words speak to you, in whatever way you need them to. Perhaps you’ll schedule an overdue mammogram, or get through another day of treatment just a bit easier, or feel more deeply that you are so much more than a diagnosis, or you’ll remember to call a friend who might need a ride to the doctor or just to hear your voice. We wish you health and wholeness this Breast Cancer Awareness Monthand always.
In my last post, I chose to reframe “stuck” to “paused” and that was a helpful shift. But I have been paws-ed in another way since April, when I met a tiny puppy the day after she opened her eyes. The grandniece of our beloved Capi, this tiny Coton de Tulear puppy came home with us in June. Since then, she has filled the days with laughter and my heart with love.
We’ve named her Skipper, because she is running things on Kagán, and in our lives, in a most wonderful way.
So, please welcome our cute, curious, clever new crew member!
I had started a piece titled Stuck, but have decided to shift that sentiment. And so, I’ll say I’m Paused.
Given the privileges I enjoy in life, I can hardly call myself stuck. That doesn’t mean that hurdles don’t appear in the path I’d like to travel. Some of those can be leapt right over, and some require a detour around, but it occurs to me that there are times to pause—to consider the nature of the hurdle, and the way over or around. Or even to consider whether changing course all together is what I want, or need, to do.
So I am paused.
One place I’m paused is aboard Kagán. Most of the summer, we have been trying to find, and fix, an intermittent problem starting her engine. Hence, being stuck—in port. Twice we thought we had the problem solved, only to have it recur. Twice this happened while we were safe at anchor or on a mooring buoy (and more times than I kept count of at the dock). So, we were not, thankfully, adrift after furling sails as the wind died in what can be the strong currents of our cruising grounds. Now, I know what our problem is, and I feel damned lucky that we were able to make it back to our home port of Friday Harbor safely.
The problem is salt water incursion into the engine, the death knell for a marine diesel. I will be leaping the hurdle of re-powering Kagán (indeed, a long series of hurdles) during the off-season. I only paused a few moments to consider my course of action, as the desire to continue adventuring on Kagán still beats in my heart. When this race has been run (thank you for indulging me the metaphor—I ran the hurdles in college, and it feels apt), Kagán will be a more dependable boat, and therefore a safer one. I believe my re-powered boat will empower me as her skipper.
As for the other hurdles that have popped up in my path—life feels a bit like a Whack-A-Mole game these days—I’m paused. Considering.
Are you stuck, paused, or full speed ahead? What are you considering during the waning days of summer?
Geologists study the earth and the processes that shape it. Writers study the human heart and the processes that shape it. The GeologistWriter builds a bridge between the two. Come across it with me!
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