Wordjanitor Strikes Again

I am angry. And I am sad. But at the moment, it's mostly anger. Keyboard and reader beware. That androgynous, faceless, scourge with too many names and ways of wreaking havoc.  That invisible stalker that sneaks in at the cellular level, latching on and demanding attention.  That predatory visitor that remains unseen until  it's too often too late.  It wins again. Today, cancer won again.  It won this morning, taking a young woman barely 30 from her world, her family's world, our world, this world. Quickly. Aggressively. Ruthlessly. I want to scream at cancer, cuss it out, kick it where it hurts, be heard. But cancer is a narcissist. It doesn't care that I'm angry. It knows nothing but itself and how to propagate until it wins.

I have that damned Disney song in my head. Because apparently, it's a small world after all. Here I was, minding my own business going through my Facebook feed. Well, actually, I guess going through my Facebook feed means I'm minding everyone else's business. Unless I'm only reading my own posts, which is either freakishly boring or narcissistic. But I wasn't, so I don't have to decide between the two.  Anyway... My friend Christine posted a cool new profile picture doing a yoga pose that, should I attempt it, would likely result in damaged furniture and a bloody nose (mine). The usual " Kermit the Frog and 22 other people commented on this post" message was with the post.

     Dear Triker Chick:      What is the appropriate bridal attire for a backwoods wedding?       Signed,      Wondering in the Woods Dearest Bambi, Wouldn't you know, this is a question I've oft asked myself. (Actually, I haven't. In fact, until tonight I didn't even know I had an answer to this question. But I thought if I demonstrated some understanding and affinity, you'd feel better about my answer.) Fear not, we have discovered a fabulous resource. Accidentally, of course. I must commend my fabulous friend Kristin for accidentally twirling me in the direction of what may be one of the raddest bridal websites ever. Ever in the history of the interwebby thing. Ever!

When I was a kid, I wanted to live in the mountains where I could hear a river run and avoid asphalt as much as possible. But this ain't about me. I am not the gallerina. There's a lot to be said for dreaming great dreams of what could be. There are big dreams and little dreams and in between dreams. And moving from dream to reality sometimes takes some pretty big chances. Once in awhile life plays out in ways that say "now, take the chance now." And Valerie did.

Destination: Stillwater Cove, Fort Ross, California Mileage: Approx. 340 miles, round trip Food & lodging notes here...  Should we ride 150 miles to go camping for one night? Let's do the math: Good people, good roads, good food, good laughs? That's 25 miles for each good. The math works for me, even without one of TG's grand spreadsheets. Load up, let's go. And really, by the time we got home, there were far more goods than that, so the goods per mile just kept getting better. TG wrassled with MapQuest and the Garmin zumo to map the route. It should be as easy as creating the map hiding behind that little link right below this paragraph, but... Oh well. I wanted to say, "Head North, Young Man," but you know how boys are with their electronic devices. Day 1: 2+2 Wheels Up the Coast Route: Silicon Valley to Fort Ross via CA-1 150 miles

Once upon a time on a very hot and humid planet, I learned about squeaky cheese. I have now been to Planet Wisconsin. And yes, cheese curds do squeak when you eat them – not in a mouse “eek” way, but a sound they make against your teeth. It’s a little weird, honestly. When I told people I was spending a week in Wisconsin, they invariably asked “Why?” I told them I wanted to throw cheese curds at giant mosquitoes.I expected the cheese curds to be more like cottage cheese, which would have been quite a messy way to distract bugs. And I expected the mosquitoes to live up to “Wisconsin State Bird” status I’d been promised. The mosquitoes were completely overrated. I didn’t need a tennis racket to fend off the little vampires after all. Although both my grandparents were born, raised, and met in Wisconsin, I’d never been before. But the reason for this trip was joining the Tall Guy to visit his family.

Feather River Canyon. Cars above train above river. Destination: Quincy, California Mileage: Approx 500 round trip Food & lodging notes here... I'd been hearing about last year's Quincy trip ever since the minute everyone got back. So when they posted it to the Meetup schedule waaaaaaaay back last winter, it was a quick click click click, sign me up! Day 1: Ugly Fish & Pretty Rivers Route: Quincy via the Delta and Feather River Canyon The morning started with 50+ of us descending upon on an unsuspecting Livermore Starbucks from random bay area points for pre-ride caffeinating and safety talking. It's a funny thing, when that many motorcycles show up in a suburban strip mall, the coffee sales go up but the minivans seem to scatter. Go figure. We staged in four groups, each with a lead rider and a sweep rider. We're big on safety and small on egos. It's safer, less stressful, and therefore more fun. As for the sweeps, it's a bit like the ...

As I was driving to work in my sensible car, the local classic-rock station started playing songs that were popular when I was in high school. U2 is now classic rock. Not even early-career U2, mid-career U2. I cursed out the radio -- probably drowning out Bono crooning "in the name of love" or something equally inappropriate to have cursing as accompaniment. Ah, but that was just one of the rude awakenings that have arrived at my doorstep in more frequent numbers these days. Or, if not rude, they're just not terribly polite nor invited awakenings to my advancing age. I kept finding long blonde hair here and there in the house. I accused the dog of having an affair. Then I realized they weren't blonde. They were gray. And mine. Alas. And why is it that my gray hair comes in completely straight while my brown hair remains characteristically corkscrewy?

Admittedly, I'm pretty lousy at this whole dating thing. I was pretty clueless in my 20s and now that I'm single again at "somewhere beyond 40," I'm still in the fog. I'm not used to getting "hit on," probably because it didn't happen in my earlier life. Or if it did, I didn't notice because I was shy and pretty sure anyone interested in me was outta their damn gourd.  Somewhere along the way I escaped that way of thinking and evolved into my current goofy, relatively outgoing, more social self. I ain't bucking for Julie McCoy 's job on the The Love Boat , but ain't hiding behind plants, furniture, taller people, posts... I'm just me and I'm cool with who me is. But I just don't always pick up on those pick-up cues. I'll be in the middle of a conversation and realize, " Oh, you're hitting on me. Now I get it."

I have a titanium screw in my toe. There, I've said it. It's out in the world. Judge me for it if you must. This toe is primary digit of my left foot. Not the film My Left Foot. Mine. My actual left foot. I seem to have picked up a habit of damaging said recalcitrant foot every now and then since the first "incident" almost exactly 11 years ago in August 1999. What happens when you damage your foot?

Avoiding danger in the long run is no safer than outright exposure.  Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. - Helen Keller I recently decided to do something for myself. Pedicures and massages are great and all that. I guess shopping does it for some girls. OK, lots of them. Maybe even legions of them, given stacks of evidence ranging from

I got a boo-boo on my knee. A good friend invited me to go hiking yesterday. Yes, absolutely, ok, let's go. I didn't bother asking where, how far, and all of those details. It didn't really concern me. And who am I to turn down an excuse to be outside with trees and dirt and stuff? So off we went to Sunol Regional Wilderness and hopped on the trail along Alameda Creek to Little Yosemite. It looked to be a pretty mellow ambling walk along a well-maintained

I went to check out Alice in Wonderland and... ended up a test subject for The Wizard of Oz . After making it about 20 minutes into the movie, I started feeling relatively horrid, went home, and my fantabulous neighbor took me to the hospital. It is a bit amusing to go to the ER on April Fools' Day with your due-to-give-birth-in-two-days friend and identify yourself as the patient. But we have good news! A CAT scan proved I have a brain An EKG proved I have a heart Morphine subbed in for the field of poppies... No answers -- ok, except that I can and I still feel icky, but I'm home chillin' on the couch. Oh, and despite the morphine, there were no flying monkeys.

I realized my invisible superwoman cape isn't working. I sent it to the wrong dry cleaners and they used some sort of solvent that neutralized my superpowers. That's what I get for trying to save a buck.  OK, honestly, I was never quite comfortable in the tights either. The stilettos gave me blisters. And the leotard always gave me a wedgie , which made the cape useful until I remembered it was invisible.  Why is it that superheroes always have such ridiculous wardrobes ? If they're superheros, wouldn't they have the special powers to save the world in jeans, a t-shirt, and flip-flops?  My ego has always tried to convince me that I could simultaneously climb Everest, juggle flaming chainsaws , work full time, keep up with @, and figure out how to live without snobbishly good dark chocolate as the fourth food group (the others were fruits & veggies, tofu, and whole grains).  Hmmm... There might be a wee bit of exaggeration there. But it sure sounds like a fairly...

I've spent the first two months of 2010 growling at myself for picking the high-deductible medical plan, given how much time I've spent with the medical community thus far. I like rice and oatmeal as much as the next girl, but there's been precious little variety beyond that since November. Two weeks ago my esophagus and I had a photo shoot (think internal vogue-ing on enough valium to make a horse levitate). I expected to awake to answers, not "We'll have biopsy results in ten days." The concept of biopsy threw me; it somehow wasn't a word I was expecting. But it was less the potential of what it might mean than the nebulousness of not knowing the next step. Boy howdy the Serenity Prayer does come in handy when you're scratching for control you're just not going to get. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the differenc e. I knew I couldn't change the te...

This is my sixth year walking for March of Dimes. I walk, speak, and work on behalf of March of Dimes to honor my sons -- the one who has the most amazing laugh in the world and the one who is forever etched in my memory. My sons were born at 26 weeks and weighed less than two pounds each. It was, by far, the most frightening and memorable day of my life. And it was just the beginning of months of heartbreak and fear. @s brother died within an hour of being born. We didn't have time to grieve because we had to be strong and give @ every ounce of our strength and love to help him survive. He was in intensive care for nearly four months, had several surgeries, and spent a year on oxygen after finally coming home. We finally felt confident to celebrate on his second birthday. It took that long just to feel confident that yes, this amazing strong fighter of a kid would get to be a kid. @ is five. This year we celebrated his birthday with a trip to the Academy of Sciences and I decorat...

There's definitely something to be said for cute. Even an overload of cute. My friend Cristal like has this friend, you know. And her name is like Meg, you know. And she's really cool (Cristal too of course). Any like she -- Meg, not Cristal -- started this blog posting pix of cute little critters. And Cuteoverload.com , well, exploded -- in a good way. How good? The #1 selling calendar on Amazon.com Multiple Webby awards An appearance today on Martha Stewart Cristal and Meg just happen to be three of the leading ladies who provide the fab three-part harmony in the Bootcuts , one fabu rad band o' fun folks. And then check Cristal and Meg singing . All I can say is, RIGHT ON MEG!

Once upon a time, long ago, my left foot and I had a great relationship. We walked on the beach, played soccer on the fields, swam in the ocean, hiked in the mountains... until "the incident." Like many that change relationships, this incident changed the foundation of my relationship with my left foot. One day we went a little too far afield and met the edge of a sidewalk with all of the force you'd expect a soccer player to deliver in pursuit of a round spotted object. There was the realization of "Hmm... Gee, that hurt" followed by a bit of tenderfooting around for the next week. Ah, but it was the end of the season and tournament weekend had arrived. No visible injury, probably just bruised... A month or so later my first visit to the podiatrist began with him staring at an x-ray while delivering a question along the lines of "See these two pieces of bone? How did they get so far apart?" He really didn't like my answer of, "Well, I thought...

I've been introducing myself as Marge on conference calls this week. I sound like a 67-year-old smoker with a two-pack-day habit. I got tired of people saying, "who is this?!" So I now have a sister. (No, I haven't actually always wanted one.) Unfortunately Marge doesn't have the same respect for health as I do. My abs are rock solid, not from exercise, but very active coughing. But here I am in sunny Seattle working with some of my favorite co-workers. Had I known that my lungs would have felt better as checked luggage, I wouldn't have boarded a plane. I thought the fever had been the worst of it, but I keep hearing estimates that the cough lasts six weeks, maybe just four. WHAT?! The Seattle office is adjacent to Seattle Center and Space Needle, walking distance to the Music Experience (going next time!), strolling distance to the Seattle Art Museum sculpture garden (so cool!), and within a few blocks of all sorts of good restaurants and such. They claim it...

I was recently up at my dad's house and decided to bring home some things I'd stored up there. It was an interesting excursion into the past. I had shoeboxes upon shoeboxes of letters from summer-camp friends. Another box from my first boyfriend, who lived across town and went to a different school. (Never mushy teen melodrama, just two sarcastic smart-ass teenagers writing their views of the day back and forth.) I also found "slam books " from the pre-teen era. Each page has a question and each person has a line and answers the questions. In the end, you have a microview of preteen life, trends, and the occasional nasty sniping comment about some other kid. The current equivalent of the slam book now arrives via e-mail as spiffy little chain-letter question sets you're supposed to answer, then send to ten friends, while cc'ing the person who originally sent the list to you. For some reason, I'm still entertained and fascinated by this concept of shari...