At Last

Dear Ones,

Today for the first time in two weeks I climb the steps to my studio to be with you for a spell. I run my hand along the new section of railing beautifully crafted and installed for my benefit by a young craftsman who is scoping out the family, or more precisely, our only daughter, Valarie. I pass the doorway to the master bedroom, where the bed lies unmade with pillows on only one side, where Jeff attempts to recover through sleep from the stick thrust through his bike spokes. And on to the studio where son Jesse hastily made up his cot before returning to Seattle on the train yesterday after building me a set of steps so I can get off the back deck for a walk. He also stirred up a double batch of his super-nutritious, peanut-butter, chocolate-chip-oatmeal, everything’s-going-to-be-fine cookies to tide us over till he comes again.

It has been a lovely weekend of small pleasures and settling in after my sweet sister Lorie from Montana spent a week transitioning us from hospital care to self-care. Who knows what planet I might have been on by now without her careful calculating of my medicine schedules. But mostly it’s her tenderness and companionship that has nourished me.

I’m happy to report that I did accomplish my goal for the weekend: to trim’s Jeff’s hair. After 37 years of being the only one to cut his locks, I consider it my special privilege and responsibility to keep him looking debonair. On Saturday night the kitchen was filled with the intoxicating aroma of home-grown tomatoes reducing in a spaghetti sauce-to-die-for on the stove—chef Valarie and her sweetheart in attendance. On Sunday another young friend stirred up some custard for me. I love people cooking in my kitchen –it’s like observing a still-life set into motion, where every sense is awakened and every possibility of further communion activated. Last night we communed around the table with a future poet-laureate, a young Seattle friend who once gave me a pin that says it all: write or die!

Many of you have sent produce from your gardens and the generous fruits of your own kitchens. I can’t tell you how much the whole Hamm household has appreciated them. After a week of hospital food: yellow jello, yellow broth, brown tea and apple juice—I am truly in seventh heaven with all your wonderful dishes, lovingly prepared.

Your visits, calls, cards and blogs—which Jeff has been printing out for me to read downstairs in my little yellow bower—formerly a tiny den—make me feel tethered and remind me nothing is ever lost in our interactions over the years. I am honored by your kindness and loving concern.

Tomorrow we will learn more from the doctor about lab reports, prospects and the specifics of treatment. Things to be dealt with and planned for, but not limited to. It’s Fall, my favorite time of the year, when the nip is in both the apples plucked from our tree and in the air that has never felt so satisfyingly fresh.

Diane