Newcott Blog

My mom’s cancer is back.  She had her ovaries removed and went through a round of chemo that ended last December.  This year has been a relatively smooth time of follow-ups.  The warning flag is here cancer count which has skyrocketed over the last couple of months.  She called last night to say a first opinion only gives her 7 months to live.  The news is shocking and unbelievable.  My mind has been racing with thoughts of what will happen.  There is apparently no successful treatment for her rare form of clear cell cancer.  All studies point to life expectancy of 7-15 months.  At some point, she says, she will need to make the decision of whether or not to fight with treatments.  How does a son react to news like this?

We had an awesome weekend with Tiff and Chris.  It’d been a while since we could lounge around and chat it up.  Bowis and Taylor came down on Sat night for a little dinner party at our house — like our old Savory Six dinner parties in DC.  Chimes made two batches of sangria that tasted like punch.  I drank more wine this weekend than I have in a long time, but it was in great company.  Sunday morning, we dedicated Silas on the beach in a nice little service with friends and family.  We all sang Jesus Loves me acappella at the end of the dedication as done at Fourth — a tradition I really like.  It definitely choked me up a little.

Silas has a standard method for playing in the ocean.  He runs towards
the water, picks up two handfuls of sand, and then chucks the sand
into the water.  When the wave goes out, he runs towards it, not
realizing the next wave will swamp him.  Then he gets scared, and
usually gets salt water in his face, and I have to pick him up and
take him into the water.  I like to scoop up the little sand crabs in
the sand and put them in his hand.  He gets a little freaked out
because they’re totally creepy.

This past weekend, Bronwen and I drove through the wildfires engulfing the foothills of
Mt. Whitney and went hiking up at the Ancient Bristlecone Pine forest.  This is a grove of trees that are OVER 4,000 years old.  Think about how old that is.  They were alive at the birth of Christ and when the ancient Egyptians were building the pyramids.  The bristlecones grow at 11,000 feet in the Sierra Nevadas.  I’ve wanted to visit them since
I learned about their existence when I was in college.  The experience was totally spiritual.  I don’t know how to express it better than that.  We sat in silence sharing a moment with the trees.  These ancient beings have witnessed so much in their lives.  It puts our puny existence into perspective.  Life is slow and remarkable on these rocky cliffs.  Our guidebook explained the many reasons for the trees’  long life.  One of which is the ability for the tree to let parts of its bark, which is twisted and gnarly, die while the rest lives and continues to grow outward.  The oldest tree in the grove, Methusela, is unmarked to keep it safe from people.  I’d like to go back when I’m 70 and have another moment with the ancients.

I had a nice work trip to Brazil, or as they say in Brazil, Brasil. My conference was in a small town in the North called Sauipe. The beaches were beautiful. The people are friendly and willing to try speaking English. Total travel time in each direction: 24 hours. This includes a flight from LAX to Peru, a flight from Peru to Sao Paolo, a flight from Sao Paolo to Salvador, and a 1 hour bus ride from Salvador. I’m tired just thinking about it.

I have two main impressions of my trip. 1. I did not visit the real Brazil, like you would experience in Rio De Janero or Sao Paolo. Instead, I visited the equivalent of a cruise line’s private island in the Carribbean. Everything was perfect in the little resort town I visited — 5 deluxe hotels, nestled far outside of a major city, connected by walking paths and a central “village” replica designed to look like Brazillian towns of old. 2. There is no sarcasm in broken English. Sarcasm requires a firm grasp of the language on both sides of the conversation. And sarcasm is, at its root, anger and fear and aggression. In Brazil, I didn’t make or hear a single sarcastic remark.

I heard a famous Brazillian band play in an outdoor amphitheater. I participated in a dance party in the town square, which apparently is common in this area of Brazil, where Carnivale started. I went running on the beach every day. Mix that up with a lot of work and meeting lots of new people. I even got in the warm Atlantic ocean for a little surf session. Too bad the one afternoon I had completely free, it poured rain. Just my luck!

Bronwen and Silas are at Max and KJ’s graduations this weekend.   Silas is dressed up like a little graduate.

Spent a weekend with the fellas down in Mexico.  These guys are 5 of my closest and longest friends.  We knew each other in high school and are still best friends.  Most of them live in DC and we get together on holidays, which is a ton of fun.  But my goal is to, once a year, get together for a boys-only trip somewhere.  This was the first annual.  It was refreshing to fill the friendship tanks with some concentrated time together.  My favorite times were sitting on our ocean-front deck in the sun, drinking beers, discussing politics and girls.  Each conversation lasted for hours. 

I read on CNN.com that in Virginia, kids 12 and older can buy rifles and shotguns.  18 and older can buy handguns.  And if you buy a gun secondhand, like at a gun show, there is no waiting period.  I also read a blog post by someone that said if VA Tech had allowed concealed weapons on campus, students would have been able to protect themselves by meeting fire with fire.

I went to bed thinking about what I’d do if someone charged into my classroom armed to the teeth, shooting up my classmates.  I don’t think we can really know what we would do in the situation.  We all react to fear differently.  There are two possible tracks:  active or
passive.  Fight or flight.  The passive leads to self-preservation, at best.  It’s the roll-over and play dead.  Lizards and spiders do it.  When attacked by a bear, or if your bank is being robbed, they say it’s your best defense.  Don’t interfere.  Just play dead.  The active
response to a hostile attacker, being more dangerous, usually leads to self-harm, but MAY save other lives.  Self-defense classes teach this approach to confronting a rapist or attacker.  Gouge the eyes.  Kick the balls.  The passive response on 9/11 lead to the demise of the twin towers.  The active response on 9/11 lead to a downed-plane in a field.  I don’t know what I would have done during the VA Tech rampage.  It’s sad I even need to think about it.

Just got back from another whirlwind trip to the East coast.  I worked in NYC and Baltimore Mon-Wed and in DC on Thurs.  Bronwen and Silas met me in DC and we made a long Easter weekend of it in DC.  The cherry blossoms were in full-bloom.  And Saturday we had a freakish-cold-snow.  Very rare sight to see cherry blossoms covered in snow.  Bronwen and I walked through the winter wonderland.  On Friday, Bronwen and I Metroed downtown to Foggy Bottom and walked from GW University, down along the River, and up Wisconsin Ave, through Georgetown,  up to the National Cathedral.  The best part was being back along the river.  There was a crew regatta going on, and Thompson’s boathouse was wide open with people, boats, and oars everywhere.  We walked in, up to the Ergometer (i.e. machines of death) room where rowers were warming up or working out.  I have so many fond memories of that place.  It smelled, sounded, and looked the same.  The shells didn’t look like much has changed (technology-wise) since I last rowed in 1998.  I can’t wait to get back in a boat someday to see if my body still remembers the motion and sense of balance that came naturally after so many years of training. 

Big Sur is a funny name for a place.  It is the English word Big and the Spanish word South.  I might have picked Big South — even though South is also a weird descriptor for this place of splendour.  Or possibly Grande Sur.  But I wouldn’t have expected the Spanglish combo name Big Sur.  Then again, it was probably named by the crazy explorers who came out here and killed most of the natives with their diseases and greed, so logic need not apply.  Bronwen and I just got back from an excellent trip up the California coast, along the state park Big Sur.  We camped the first night in Malibu.  Then we spent a couple of nights in a yurt resort, called Treebones, in the cliffs along Big Sur (thanks for the recommendation Mari and Terry!).  And we finished it off with a B&B, called Secret Garden, in Santa Barbra.  Silas stayed at home with my parents, his Iah and Papa, and he did quite well without us.