I stepped from Plank to Plank
A slow and cautious way
The Stars about my Head I felt
About my feet the Sea.

I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch -
This gave me that precarious Gait
Some call Experience.

Emily Dickinson, c. 1864

Sunday, July 6, 2025

Crocosmia, crows, and cancer

Crocosmia Lucifer at the harbor

I love crocosmia and am always thrilled to see it emerge in midsummer, looking as beautiful as I remembered it from previous years. The one species with which I am most familiar is the one entitled "Lucifer," for obvious reasons. It's redder than red and very prolific. Hummingbirds love it, and it consistently blooms from midsummer until late in the fall. We are so fortunate to have many varieties of flowers to enjoy here, but for some reason I tend to forget this plant until it returns in all its glory.

I have to admit that my memory is beginning to fail now and then. I did look at this pretty plant and tried to recall its name, but it just wouldn't come, until I finally looked it up and suddenly I remembered it as though it was right there all along. Memory is very curious, isn't it? 

Which reminds me of another one of those memories that I don't remember forgetting, until I once again recall it. I was noticing some crows around here in the past few weeks demonstrating a behavior that I had forgotten about, until I saw it again: crows that look exactly like their parents, same size and shape, but who are obviously babies, because they follow around their mothers and cry for food, when they can most likely already forage for themselves. Mama looks and acts distressed by the young one, until she finally gives up and feeds the "baby." I have learned to distinguish the young ones by their amusing antics as they also learn to fly. They flap their wings as if they aren't convinced this is gonna work, until they finally take off and wander around the sky, before any need for graceful flying is needed. Sometimes they get perilously close to traffic, but since I don't see any corpses lying around, I guess mostly they learn soon enough to avoid catastrophe. They are endlessly satisfying to observe.

Well, that covers crocosmia and crows, and now the part I really am sad about is the cancer part of my headline title. As some of you might remember, my dear partner has a form of lymphoma, one that affects his blood. He started taking a disastrously expensive cancer drug a few months ago, but his doctor was able to find some provider who would pay for the drugs while he takes it, two pills a day for as long as the drug helps. He has been very fortunate to have only a few minor complications, and as long as we don't have to cough up the cost, he will continue to take it. So far, the blood work shows it is making a positive difference, so we are happy about that.

Just in the past few weeks, I have found that two of my favorite virtual family members are newly diagnosed with cancer, and at least one of them is getting the same treatment as my guy: someone else pays for the sky-high treatment and he takes the drug. I hope he does as well wit it as my guy . The other person has just learned that she has cancer and will undergo a radical hysterectomy next week, with nobody knowing how many other organs might be involved. She will let us know, those of us who love her and hope for the best, as soon as she herself knows.

My family doesn't seem to succumb as much from cancer as other families do, but who knows? Something comes for us all eventually, and now that I am firmly ensconced in my eighties, I sometimes wonder what is in my future to deal with. I'll know sooner or later, right? Heart disease seems to be much more common with my relatives, having already taken both parents, one sister, and my son.

As we age, we find our own ways to adapt to change. And of course, that is the one thing we can depend on: change is part of life, and as much as I'd like to stay in the stable and comfortable life I have now, that is not how it works. 

The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance. —Alan Watts

I will continue to learn to move with change and find the upside of whatever I am facing. Right now, as I sit here in the dark with my dear partner next to me, lightly breathing, I am more than grateful for this moment and everything that I have. Tomorrow will be different, but today is just about perfect. The weather is mild and sunny, my friend John will come to take me to breakfast in an hour, and I will happily look forward to the days and weeks ahead. I love my virtual family, too, and will spend some time contemplating their situations. I am grateful for everyone who writes a blog and gives me a peek into their lives. Until we meet again next week, hopefully, I wish you all good things. Be well, dear friends. 

3 comments:

ApacheDug said...

Good morning DJan (well, it's 8:30 am in Pittsburgh). I don't consider myself a big 'flower guy', but I always feel like I learn something new & interesting about them from you. Same as your crows story, it was fascinating. The cancer stuff, how scary & sad. Lost both my parents to it (at the age I am now, 64) and I'm glad SG's pills are paid for, and your friend, but I wonder about the less fortunate people who are deprived of those pills. Especially in these current, GOP cruel times. Well, I better watch my words. I hope you have a lovely week ahead.

Marty said...

Good thoughts to your fella and friends. My own Guy had lymphoma years ago and now it is just a memory, thank heaven. Sometimes it feels as though that movie about reverse aging, Benjamin Button, had the right idea. It seems unfair that the reward at the end of the road is trepidation over what surprises our bodies have for us.

Rian said...

Hi DJan! I look forward to your Sunday post and read it with my tea. Love that you're noticing the crows in your area. If you feed them, they will come back on a regular basis. Ours actually congregate at feeding time and caw loudly for us to come out. We actually have 2 that must be 'assigned' to our house... but we have had as many as 6.
As for the cancer, our family has lost many, but I had a complete ovarian hysterectomy at 34 and did fine. But it's scary and I too pray for our blogger friends.
Memory is a funny thing. Today is my birthday and although 80 is just a number, I find it both exciting and scary. I too have trouble with remembering words on occasion. They come, but not immediately. But I can remember lyrics to old old songs and even our first phone number when I was a child.

Well, have a good Sunday and I'm so glad that someone else can pay for your hubby's meds. If it weren't for Medicare, I'm not sure what any of us older folks would do. We certainly can't pay those outrages medical bills.