June

As I sit here, beating the heat in the shade with ‘The Boys’, I realize that it’s been some time since I added anything.

March was awesome. Berit and I spent a week in Kona, HI to start the month. Upon return we had to giddy-up with the summer planting. We pushed the dining table to the corner and set up two shelving units with lights and heat and began everything from seed. It’s been warm, dry and sunny recently, so our garden has taken off! We have yet to get the drip irrigation set up.

And we’ve been having fun with our online gardening program, Veg Club. We added more field trips this year. We’re going to people’s houses to visit their gardens for ideas and inspiration, and it’s been a hit. Check out our YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/@VegClub-vm1jd/playlists

Berit’s mom needed more help, so Berit arranged with her sister to create a schedule and split the time, half here and half with her mom. It was working out until her sister got sick. But they figured it out and have a solution that works for everyone.

I saw the Seattle Kraken play the Winnipeg Jets at Key Area (Climate Pledge). The Jets are playing in the Stanley Cup Championship as I write. And I am dismayed that a team from a state with no natural ice is doing so well against them.

By mid-April I was dealing with nausea, almost daily. And I had some pretty intense hip pain for two weeks and the nausea continued into May. I was monitored via monthly bloodwork because the numbers were indicating that my meds were causing some issues for my liver.

In March things began to improve and continued to do so. The back pain started after the May 14^th Lupron shot. I got sick on May 18^th and my back was really sore after. It took two weeks of not getting better to finally go to the hospital.

We spent 9 hours in Harborview Medical Center’s ER on May 27^th. By that time, I was worried that the meds had trashed my kidneys, or the cancer was in my spine, but the scans revealed good news; no organ damage, no cancer, just a cracked and compacted L4. I broke my back. I get a brace to wear for 6 weeks and follow a ton of restrictions to prevent damage. I look quite fetching in the brace, btw. And my PSA is 0.09!!!!!!!

 

I’ve read a ton of books, watched a ton of TV, as I was resting for the first week or two and I’ve written a couple of poems (see below).

My faves:

Waiting for the Long Night Moon: Stories by Amanda Peters (2025) Catapult

Amazing stories of forgotten people and folks in the margins. The writing is stellar, authentic dialog, real characters, and a true sense of space & time.

 

The Frozen River by Ariel Lawhon (2024) Vintage:

Historical Fiction. 18^th century New England. A body is found in the frozen Kennebec River. The deceased is a suspect in an assault and rape. One medical professional says he was beaten and hanged before being thrown into the river, another says he simply drowned and the ice damaged the body. Is it a murder or accident?

 

The Orange and Other Poems by Wendy Cope (2024) Faber & Faber

Great poetry! Astute observations cleverly constructed into verses about relationships & life in general, the good and bad, the happy and sad, all shared with lovely rhythm and whimsy, lots and lots of whimsy. I got many, many smiles out of this book.
Everyone should read this!

 

 

One Evening After Doggie Dinnertime

A crow complains.

Long & loud he leans into his grievance.

None of the other fliers seem to notice.

They have their own issues to discuss,

Not loudly, but just as important.

The corvid is ignored, except for a Doug squirrel,

Who keeps telling the bird to quiet down

Or he’s coming over there.

 

Undercover of a fading blue afternoon,

The gibbous moon waxes on unnoticed.

Soon it will be full of itself.

A planter’s moon,

Ideal for sowing,

Reminding us to get our stuff together,

Get it in the ground,

And nurture it to harvest.

 

The fir group sways slightly in light airs,

As if determining the danceability of the wind’s tune.

Their green shimmy makes me move a little,

How could it not?

The sky begins to blush

As the sun nears the Olympic siblings,

It’s as if it knows it’s doing something naughty

By leaving the day without light.

 

The boys drift across the grass,

Marking plants, tracking game,

And anything that isn’t us.

Occasionally, the little one rolls in flowers,

Gleeful for the sweet scent.

I sit in a lawn chair, inhale gently, but deeply and smile,

Taking it all in.

I am going to dream in color tonight!

 

5-2025 Marginal Effort Publishing

 

Blackberries

When I join ‘The Boys’

For their last whiff & sniff,

Before we say our,

‘Now-I-lay-me’s’,

I can hear 

Tendrils stretching,

Across new territory

Near the back fence.

From the corner of my eye,

I catch them creeping

Yet, turn to their stillness.

I thin & trim them,

Not to taunt, tame or tune,

But to slow the onslaught.

And just when I’ve pruned enough

Blossoms appear,

Pollinators pause,

And tiny green orbs

Become small dark orbs,

Beckoning.

By late summer,

I’m braving puppy-teeth-prickles

Every afternoon.

Reaching, stretching, balanced on one foot,

Applying a hybrid of Tai Chi,

Yoga, & Buns-of-Steel moves

I fill the pail,

Spilling very little blood.

So, I grab another pail and

Pick until my purple fingers say, enough.

The dark nuggets

Dribble from my pail

To ramble over a cookie sheet.

A gentle shake levels the mass,

Before a deep sleep

In the freezer.

As I grind through

The cold, dark & wet

Days of winter,

I will ration the taste of August

Into my morning mush.

If I’m lucky, my purple smile

Will last until the blossoms return.

 

6-2025 Marginal Effort Publishing

 

 

 

End of February

 

Great News!

Most recent check-in at Fred Hutch yielded a PSA of 0.11, which means the treatment is working. We are over the moon!!!!The past few months have been mostly unseasonably cold days, lots of layers when we go outside. It’s back to our normal weather patterns as of last week. The days are getting longer, I’ve been outside on my bike and the 300 or so bulbs we planted last fall are popping through for a peek. And we moved the rack, trays, pots and lights to the dining room, preparing to start our veggies from seed. It’s the beginning of our busy time which builds gradually until May, when we scramble to finish getting everything in the ground, then the pace slows to a steady rhythm until the veggies and berries start showing up in mid-July and we start eating and processing. Long days outside with lots of activity, and the company of "The Boys', aka, our dogs. Who could ask for more?

Veg Club resumed in February, our online gardening classes that we started when I worked at the library. The library has since discontinued the partnership. We found a local preparedness organization that is awesome. We are grateful to them for their support, values and community connectedness. And I love working with our Veg Club host. She’s knowledgeable, experienced and positive. You can find our YouTube channel, Kitsap Veg Club.

I’ve been writing quite a bit, both in my journal and composing poems. I wake quite early most mornings as I’ve not slept well since September and have a constant headache to boot. Nothing unmanageable, mostly just the side-effects from the meds I’m taking. I like to use the time to read, write and hang with Freddy, one of our dogs. I think he worries about me so he gets up and joins me on the couch in the mornings. Which brings an issue: if spell check, arguably a simple form of AI, is so horribly inefficient, e.g., not able to recognize ‘morning’ if letters are transposed or one is missing, is it a good idea to slowly cede the control of the world to artificial intelligence? I digress.

I’ve been enjoying quite a few great reads;

Goodbye to Clocks Ticking by Joseph Monninger, a memoir from a man whose terminal cancer diagnosis came 4 days after retirement. It’s a spare, simple and lyrical account of someone who has come to terms with his situation, sensed his priorities and is making the best of what he has left. It is hard to put down.

The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida by Shehan Karunatilaka, the tale of a war photographer of the 1990s civil war in Sri Lanka. It’s told from the perspective of his dismembered body looking for closure. Absolutely brilliant!

And a lot of poetry, The works of Ross Gay (Book of Delights, Catalog of unabashed Gratitude), Michele Bombardier (What We Do), and a few collections with poems of hope and gratitude from Story Publishing.

 

Lots of hockey to enjoy on TV. I’ve seen a couple of Kraken games with my good friend Larry. We both grew up in Maine, but didn’t meet until he moved to the island a while back. We know a lot of the same people, have similar childhood experiences and it seems like we’ve known each other forever. He’s a generous soul and I love hanging out with him.

Went to Smash Putt (Google it), I can say that it’s an unusual approach to mini-golf that has to be experienced. We went with our dear friends K&K, followed by one of the best Thai meals I’ve ever had!!! I love spending time with them, they’re positive, bright, warm, connected people who always have interesting and fun things to do. And they’re the closest we have to family (while not actually be related by blood or law) in the Pac NW.

 

Both dogs have been to the vet recently, not something they enjoy. Vinnie has some stuff going on and Fred is getting his teeth cleaned. Those furry little turd droppers bring us unlimited joy with their love and antics, plus taking them for walks gets us outside. We are so grateful that they live here.

 

And I have a couple of poems to share. One a Valentine for Berit, the most amazing human I know, and one for my father. You can figure out which is which.

More to follow…

 

Coda

If I should fall from thee,

Do not weep, for I have led

An interesting & fruitful life.

Celebrate my fortune

To have lived so well

Surrounded by caring people.

 

If I should fall from thee,

Know that I had purpose & value,

With friends I depended on

And those who depended on me,

That I cherished time with family

And was lifted by their love.

 

If I should fall from thee,

Be happy that I experienced

The warm closeness

Of a kind & gentle soul

Who blessed me with her trust,

Asking only for what I could give.

 

If I should fall from thee,

Embrace the opportunity of each day.

Know the tranquility of acceptance,

Revel in the gift of gratitude

And the release of forgiveness,

As I am not sure that I ever did.

 

If I should fall from thee,

Take pleasure in the hesitance of snowflakes,

The damp whispers of a foggy morning,

And a flash of green as the sun bids adieu,

For I am amidst stardust

With those who have gone before.

Marginal Effort Publishing

 

 

 

Hazel Smile

I wake to your hazel smile

And am released

From the worry and weariness.

A conversation, a caress, a cuddle, a kiss

Brings a closeness that,

Before you, did not exist.

In you I feel the beauty of the world,

The calm, the openness, the kindness,

And I want it for myself.

You are grace personified

And I am grateful

Beyond expression.

Love,

J

Marginal Effort Publishing

 

February '25

 

Cold and clear at 0545 today, 29 degrees. The boys barked at the door and ventured into the backyard without hesitation. I balked and made coffee in the warm kitchen.

I’ve been reading and writing in the mornings, when no one is stirring. It’s quiet. I like to be up to greet the sun when it arrives. Fred joins me. I think he worries about me. He’s a great friend. We were lucky to find him among the discarded dogs the lesser of humanity cast aside.

I’ve been reading ‘Goodbye to Clocks Ticking’ by Joseph Monninger. It’s beautiful. He has a spare style, honest and clear. I discovered him in this month’s Downeast Magazine. It’s not an easy read, but for those of you who dare to venture in, you’ll be rewarded with the story of someone whose path turns unexpectedly, forcing a hard look at life and a restructuring of priorities.

I bought a few poetry books at Eagle Harbor Book Co. on Monday, ‘A Happy Poem to Start Every Day’, ‘I Sing the Salmon Home’, and ‘The Path to Kindness’ which is by the same publisher who did ‘How to Love the World’. I haven’t been sleeping well. I get up frequently to pee and I have a lot of wild dreams, intense and vivid, not restful. It could be the meds. I was hoping some positive poetry would help.

Last night I dreamed of hanging out with puppies at an animal rescue in a Cascade Mountains, whistlestop, logging town. My partner and s-in-l Lisa were with me. Maybe the poetry is helping, but then again, I got so involved with my day yesterday that I forgot to take my after-breakfast meds. I’ve only missed a dose one time, not bad for an old geezer.

Still training for the Chilly Hilly at the end of the month. It’s 33 miles of island hills in the cold, hence the name of the ride. Like the Chicago song, 'I’m feeling stronger every day', so hope to make the ride and finish.

Check-up, bloodwork and a Lupron injection next week, the first since I finished radiation. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about it. The Hutch has the best of everything, so that dampens the anxiety a bit. And my partner will be with me. Her calming confidence and we-got-this attitude helps me stay on track and moving forward and most importantly, stay grounded. It’s hard to describe what her support means to me. It transcends words and always fills me with tears of gratitude when I try. Not sure why I continue to play the lotto as I won it when I met her!

I’m volunteering once again with the island’s preparedness group, a generous and kind collective of dedicated folks. And I’m still helping with gardening classes online with my friend Carol. Here’s a link to our latest class https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_FRUpNOzDI

And my wonderfully talented b-in-l (and amazing human) Sam Bergquist recently composed and uploaded a great tune on YouTube, ‘Lucky’

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2rPtK97x6U It's a heartfelt tribute to his dad and my father-in-law, another amazing human. Please be sure to like and comment as it supports Sam in his efforts and will keep him composing and uploading more great tunes.

More to follow…

 

 

The Boys

One rests off watch by the woodstove,  

So close you need oven mitts to pick him up.

The other stands sentinel.

His tower atop the back of the couch,

Waiting, watching & listening.

Don’t mistake the focus & intent,

For calm and patience, he will pounce.

They are rescues 4 & 5 aka, The Boys.

Curious & cautious, suspicious of squirrels,

And loud black birds, and worm-steeling birds, and flittering birds,

Actually, any birds,

And gravity-defying cyclists,

And little ones being pushed in strollers, or carried in packs

And fast cars, and cars with roof-top carriers,

And big trucks, and loud trucks, and trucks with trailers,

Actually, any trucks,

And the brown and the blue vans,

What are they thinking,

Leaving their junk on the porch.

Sound the alarm at the slightest provocation,

Better safe than sorry.

The world can be scary when you’re the size of a loaf of bread.

The Boys are in charge of security,

Because humans just don’t know.

Greeting the day with yawns & stretches,

Soft bellies beckon a rub.

Nearly hiding behind a kitchen chair to avoid a rainy-day walk.

Couch napping, sun seeking, toy chewing, floor wresting,

Ball chasing, turd dropping, snack snatching cuties,

One jumps, twirls, whines & growls,

While the other waits & watches from his ‘place’

As slow humans fix doggie dinner.

They love dog loaf, kibble, flax seed, and pumpkin,

Shredded carrot or sliced cabbage or chopped broccoli, always.

Maybe sardines or leftover salmon or halibut, yum.

And treats, lots of treats.

Spa Day is not so bad.

The warm wet, the smelly suds,

The cuddle in a towel, and the hot, blowing air

From that loud thing, noisy and scary,

But oh, that hot, blowing air…

Humans are nice, especially the smaller one,

Who smells good and speaks softly.

Like pre-pubescent boys, rescues 4 & 5 are living contradictions,

Tough shells, filled with fragile tenderness and love.

8 Feb 25  John Fossett  Marginal Effort Publishing Co.

 

Chester

My father departed in the wee, small hours today. He walked the earth for 94 years and 8 months and 'glided to a stop', as my brother so aptly put it. My brother and my sister were with him. 

My father passed the way most of us would like to, peacefully, family near, surrounded with love.

He was a complex guy not always easy to be with, still, my heart breaks when I think of him. Upon reflection, he'd probably say the same of me.

It's been a quiet morning. 

I've been listening to a playlist of music he liked and polishing up some poetry, I've included one below.

I'm going to walk the dogs now.

Heavy Weather Sailing

The storm endured for 94 years.

She deftly navigated the wind and waves,

Surviving in the eye for nearly nine decades.

Sailing to exotic ports of call,

Away from the boom & bluster.

Fixing her position by

Sparkling stars and summer sun,

All while providing a lee for her crew.

But the rarely relenting vigor

Of the gale wore her down.

Her compass, charts, and sextant,

Swept away by seas,

Her sails in tatters, helm untended,

Flotsam/jetsam in her wake,

She drifted, alone on the briny deep.

But not before showing her crew

The easy way and balmy breezes

Of the tropics.

 

The storm endured for 94 years.

She trained her crew well,

Preparing them for their own voyages.

They jumped ship, one at a time,

Departing for ports of their own,

Finding their own gentle navigators.

Some dropped anchor a few hundred miles from the eye,

Sharing hard-won knowledge with others.

One sought refuge on the far side of the world,

On white sands with sweet citrus and tree ferns.

Another found the sheltered shores

Of the Salish Sea, away from the fury,

With a navigator, positive & patient,

Kind & caring, brimming with love,

Showing that not every voyage

Charts a course through heavy weather.

 

The storm endured for 94 years.

Like the great red spot on Jupiter,

He scoured the planet,

Devouring conflict

Like a Michelin starred meal,

Because being right

Brought more than being happy.

His days were councils & committees,

Rarely resting, constant motion,

As another task awaited.

Occasionally, the mistral abated,

Never the Horse Latitudes,

As mackerel skies and mare’s tails

Always loomed on the horizon,

But the wind let go, with the sun

Filling cracks in the clouds,

Like caulking between planks.

He joked with friends, sang in the choir,

Shared his wisdom, helped as needed,

Sailed, fished, hunted

And played cribbage.

And He cried as each of the crew departed.

It was his brand of love, but love, nonetheless.

The squalls and squabbles have dissipated,

No longer filling sails,

While the abiding chaos of navigating shoal water

And confused seas have taken their toll,

His work is done.

He is underway to Snug Harbor.

May he rest his oars at last,

And know the solace

Of fair winds and following seas,

And that his crew loved him,

His brand of love, but love, nonetheless.

26 Jan 25 John F Fossett  Marginal Effort Publishing