DAY 020 -- "Potato Pancakes And Rose Tarts"

“Life is like a---”

Since getting cancer, I find myself beginning too many thoughts or conversations with that prelude, then stopping short of the answer. I’m also blaming (or crediting) my cancer for everything from my head to my heart to my herebefore and thereafter (I may have that backwards, but it works for me either way).

“Life is---”

 

Well, right now it’s a rose and a potato. On the porch at home, we have both, growing in pots.

I was thinking today about that botanical odd couple of tubers and flowers just as the rotating wings of the radiation machine begin their targeted circumferencing of me and my shadow. I had to. The Radionettes were playing some numbing background elevator music, and I was trying to move that evil audible into good imagery.

Surprising, because as you’ve seen thus far if you’ve been following along, they’re usually my spot-on DJ’s. I asked them about it.

“Why those saccharine tunes? Have I been a bad patient?”

“Frankly, yes. You don’t realize it, but you’re squirming, singing, breathing abnormally during the treatment, and it upsets things. We thought this would help calm you down.”

“Well, I’ll have to think about which is worse: cancer or canned music.”

So, I turned to the profundity of disparate potted plants in my mind, and that helped neutralize those soulless strains in the air.

Why is life like potted roses and potatoes? Maybe I should ask why MY life is like compacted buds and spuds. Your life may be like soybeans and palm trees.

Yes, it’s unusual to grow a potato in a pot, but it will still flower briefly just before harvest.

And, though it’s not common to use roses as a food source, we do have rose wine. They may not be a nutritional mainstay as a whole plant, but their petals will partially dress up a salad, or a smoothie, a jam, a fish garnish, even a rosy cupcake.

So, here we are halfway through my treatment regimen, with a food that flowers, and a flower that feeds. Somewhere in there is why my life and my cancer may not resolve, but they will reconcile.

Oh, and when my treatments end, you’re all invited over for potato pancakes and rose tarts.

More as we go, El