No time to get to the computer....

I had these grand plans of updating the blog every day - letting you all know exactly what's going on over here. However, things here have been so busy, so crazy busy, that I haven't had the chance to get to the computer. Today is the first day that I've sat at home and just relaxed. Honestly, it's rather nice. Just by way of a brief update, here's what's been up...

Today*: We had a private Mass celebrated by my Great-Uncle. The rest of the day will be spent lazing around, sitting by the pool and just haning out. Perfect!

Yesterday*: The Baptismal Site of the Lord and The Dead Sea.

The Day Before Yesterday*: The Wedding -- We were out of house at 9:00 am to go to the salon. We got our hair, nails, and makeup done. Seriously, my ultimate dream. It was so nice. Apart from changing our clothes, we didn't get home till 4:00am. We nearly passed out.

The Day Before That*: The Ancient City of Petra. Amazing.

And before all that were parties galore. Apparently one of my cousins has already posted some pics on Facebook. I'll try and post some photos on here later, hopefully soon.

*Being on vacation and being totally sleep deprived, I've compltely lost track of both the day and the time.

Allemagne

I don't have much time to write now about Germany, but here are a few pictures...

All of us in Rolf's appartment -- Ollie, Petra, me, Ramzi (my brother), Linus, and my mum.

Der Mainzer Dom (ie. the Cathedral in Mainz)
(This year is the 1000th anniversary of this Cathedral.)


Linus
(He climbed into this ancient, broken bell, prented he was a baker and was serving us pretend bread. "It's hot, blow on it." )


Linus, the baker, again.

Linus and Petra

This is an ancient alter piece. It was discovered in burried underneath the Dom in Mainz.

My brother and Rolf Decot. Rolf, is Petra's god-father. He is also a Catholic priest who has in doctorate in Church History. He was the perfect tour guide!

Two Planes, A Train, and Three Countries Later

Ah, we've arrived! Sitting here now chilling with my cousins! It's so nice to be here!

It's strange to think that just two days ago, I was barreling down I-5 headed from Seattle to Portland, listening to American music, seeing English road signs. (NB: I started this post yesterday (the day before?) and am just now catching up.)

Everything here is different. The city, Amman, has grown by leaps and bounds. There are new neighbourhoods, new roads, new bridges... and the biggest change of all... there are now street names, street signs, and addresses. Yes, until just recently, this entire city, and quite frankly, the better part of the Middle East got by without address. How still boggles my mind, but somehow they did it. There seems to be a sense of order -- not the stand-in-a-straight-line-wait-your-turn-kind-of-order that we're used to in the States -- but a smaller, slightly more chaotic sense of order that has befallen the country here. People stop at red lights, they drive the correct way on a one way road, and now use turn signals instead of the horn on their car. It's amazing, really...

Family-wise things are okay. We have a large family, many with boisterous voices and a couple who are hard of hearing. Couple that with the Arab tendancy to speak all at once, one over the other, and a discordant cacophony arises -- one, that quite frankly, gives me a headache. Nonetheless, I still love them and am happy to be visiting here with all of them. My cousins, on the other hand, are fabulous! Certainly it's been an amazing reunion for the older generation -- the Aunts and Uncles -- but it's been a great reunion for us in the younger generation as well. Last night, we had the first in a series of pre-wedding parties. We ate, we drank, we danced, and we laughed... good times were had by all. Here are a couple pictures from the pre-wedding party. (The bride is in pink and the groom is in a checkered shirt.)




More about Germany later...

Octapeds in November

November is Pancreatic Awareness Month.

I realize that we're already nearly half-way through November, but I suppose that it's better late than never... And so, in honour of such an important topic and such an important month, here is the story of the ever-so-famous Octapeds!

The Octapeds for Langerhans (affectionately known as The Octapeds) is a team that was created in support of Auntie Becky, who was diagnosed with Stage IV pancreatic cancer on September 17th, 2007. Auntie, you see, is a Marine Biologist by training and has studied octopusus (yes, that really is the plural!) for many, many years. Those of us who have been fortunate enough to have been taught by Auntie remember all sorts of fabulous marine bio stories - not the least of which is that of an octopus in Hawaii with an excellent memory and a penchant for trouble.

The Octapeds were created specifically to participate in the first annual Lustgarten Foundation West Coast Walk in Santa Monica, CA. The Lustgarten Foundation is one of two national groups that does patient education and advocacy, as well as sponsoring pancreatic cancer research. (The other really fabulous organization is The Pancreatic Cancer Action Network.) Now that all the pieces are in place, here is the etymology of the team name:

Octapeds - Octopods is the generic term of Octopusus. We were walkers so, "OctoPEDS" instead of "OctoPODS". The final name of "OctApeds" came about solely because I can't spell.

Langerhans - Langerhans is merely a shout-out to the pancreas. The Islets of Langerhans are cells in the pancreas. They are not, traditionally, the cells in which pancreatic cancer begins. Still, Langerhans is a cool pancreas-associated word and a great addition to the team name.

Put it all together and what do you have?!

THE OCTAPEDS FOR LANGERHANS!!!!

Yes, it is a fabulous (though nerdy) name and a fabulous team! (A super-big thanks to my friend, Brandon, for the team logo.)

And so, last March, a small handful of us: my cousins, their two children, and my good friend from grad school, all headed to the coastal promenade in Santa Monica for the First Annual West Coast Walk. Armed with loads of monetary pledges in support of the Lustgarten Foundation and really fabulous team t-shirts, we had no idea what to expect. Would other teams show up? Would it be really sad? Would it be really fun? We were so amazingly surprised -- it was a beautiful, clear morning on the Southern California Coast. In total, over 500 people attended the walk, including one team of fire-fighters that had nearly 100 participants. Some teams had special t-shirts, others came as-is. Some people had pictures of their loved ones, others walked anonymously. Everyone, and I mean everyone, came to the walk with stories, memories, and a deep commitment to increase pancreatic cancer awareness -- it was beautiful!

(We were the best dressed team, by far!)

(The walk, itself, was down the coastal promenade starting in ritzy Santa Monica, meandering into hippie Venice Beach, and then returning to Santa Monica. As we approached Venice, the crisp smell of salt-water we could so clearly smell in Santa Monica, was replaced by the sweet smell of pot -- hilarious! You could just close your eyes, take a deep breath and know exactly where you were!)

(Walking along the coastal promenade.)

Perhaps the most touching moment of the walk, for me anyway, was at the end. We had already crossed the finish line and were headed to the beach in a search for seaweed (the kids are obsessed with seaweed). We looked back just in time to see an older gentleman walking all by himself and holding a sign that read, "In memory of my wife [her name]". It was so sad. I had had so much fun that morning at the walk -- seeing that man really brought home the whole point of the walk. Pancreatic cancer -- well, really any kind of cancer -- sucks. We need to do anything and everything we can to fight it!

The 2nd Annual West Coast Walk is scheduled for March 8th, 2009 in Santa Monica, CA. The Octapeds will be there and we'd love for you to join us! Please mark it on your calendar and please come if you can! (We'll give you a fabulous team t-shirt -- promise!!)

And if you can't come, and would like a t-shirt (available in regular or girly-tee styles), we'll be selling them as a fund-raiser for Lustgarten! C'mon you know you want to be cool like us...

Life: What's it worth?!

Next month, voters in our state will have a big decision to make -- yes, we'll be helping elect the next President of the United States, and the the next Governor of Washington, and probably many other elected positions that I've never heard of. But we'll also be voting on the Value of Life. Okay, so this doesn't necessarily sound intuitive, but really that's what I-1000 Death with "Dignity" Assisted Suicide measure is all about.

If we vote to pass this measure, what we're really telling people is sure, you count. - you matter while you're well. But the moment you're ill? Well, you're not really valued any more. So sure, go ahead and kill yourself. Wow. That's quite possibly the saddest thing that I've ever heard. Every person matters.

I say this from experience.

When I was 10 years-old, my father was diagnosed with melanoma in the form of a brain tumor. The oncologist, who first saw the CT in the presence of my mother, was rather blunt about it, "It looks like melanoma. We'll do a biopsy just to confirm, but I know that I'm right. There's no chance -- you might as well start saying goodbye now." He certainly wasn't much for bedside manner, but he was a damn good oncologist. And he was right -- my father died just three short months later. Had this measure been in effect, he would have been a candidate for assisted suicide - death with "dignity".

I assure you, he would have never done it.

I also assure you that he died with dignity.

Despite being young, I remember it very clearly. My grandparents were visiting from out of town. It was a Monday of a 3 day-weekend and it was also my 11th birthday. We were going to go to the Coast to celebrate. I was so looking forward to it. I fell asleep the night before with butterflies in my stomach from excitement and I awoke the next morning feeling rather ill: there was commotion in the house and it didn't sound good. I could hear my mother frantically on the phone with the emergency operator. My father, though conscious and lucid, was paralyzed on one side and unable to speak.

One of the first responders to our home was our former neighbour and a friend of my father. Assessing the situation, he asked my father if he recognized him. One tear slid down my father's cheek -- it was his way of saying, "yes". My brother and I watched all of this from a distance and were eventually ushered out of the room. After my father was loaded on the gurney and was being wheeled away, our uncle told us to say goodbye. I don't remember if I did or not. I'd like to think that I did, though, as it was the last time I saw my father conscious. He slipped into a coma later that day and peacefully died three days later, with my mother at his side.

It was most certainly a dignified death.

Those three months from my father's diagnosis till his death were amazing, though difficult -- in retrospect, I value every single moment of them. Assisted suicide could have taken that away from us. Sure, we knew he was dying. Hell, he knew he was dying. And it was hard. There were hot, angry tears, and screams of frustration -- there were even moments when I wished that he wasn't my dad and that I wasn't part of this family. But there were the sweet moments, too -- the quiet, family moments. Being at bat in a softball game and hearing my dad shout out my name in support. (This is especially meaningful, because I sucked at softball.) Board game nights in the evenings and even yes, doing homework while my dad was looking on. My dad was using every moment to make memories with us. And in his living - and even in his death - I learned so much from him. I am forever grateful and I wouldn't trade a minute of those last three months. I know that he wouldn't have traded them either...

My Dad and me.

*****************************************************************************

Not that it's so unlike me to digress, but I actually logged on to share an audio clip. Our priest, and dear friend, Fr. Tom, was on the radio yesterday discussing his diagnosis of Stage IVb esophageal cancer and sharing his thoughts on the I-1000 measure, the so-called "death with dignity" initiative. We are all very hopeful for Fr. Tom. But living with such a diagnosis does give him a unique perspective to discuss this measure. Before going on the radio, he wrote on his blog, "I ask the Lord to bless my words as I will speak against the initiative and for life, mercy and compassion." Those of you who know Fr. Tom can attest that his words are always guided by the Holy Spirit. His time on the radio was no exception -- if anything though, his words were even more filled with grace. If you haven't already heard his 1/2 hour interview on the "Conversations with Fr. Bob" radio show, you can listen to it (or podcast it) here. I encourage you listen; it's truly amazing. And of course, please do keep Fr. Tom in your prayers.