Jessica Settergren's Blog

It occurred to me when I parked this afternoon that I’ve been coming to this office just shy of 7 years.

Seven. Years. My first time was the day before Thanksgiving, 2019, when I found out I’d have to have chemo.

Today I’m in for labs (oncology vampires are the BEST vampires!! They consistently steal blood with a single stick, and my veins are sneaky jerks.), Oncologist six month chat, and the dreaded bone density drug infusion.

Last time I did this, the day after I felt like I’d taken a beating. Today my awesome nurse is pumping me full of extra fluids and slowing the infusion down to see if we can make it any better. Why not skip it? Because I’d like my bones to stay strong, despite my anti-recurrence med.

Tomorrow, I’ll be somewhere on a spectrum between ok-to-be-up-and-working and lying in bed trying not to move while I sob.

Survivorship is wild.

TRIGGER WARNING – 9/11 IMAGERY

I’m not sure how a quarter century has gone by. A whole generation.

I had a whole post planned for today, but I just don’t have it in me. I have memories and sadness at the state of the country today, especially with the juxtaposition of the ridiculous RNC garbage last night against today’s anniversary. So forgive me if this post is both visceral scattered.

I remember watching the second plane hit the tower on the news. I remember watching footage of people jumping to their deaths. I remember seeing the north tower collapse. I remember feeling like I was in a surreal terrible movie when the Pentagon was hit, when Flight 93 crashed in Pennsylvania. I remember blood drives and flights grounded for days and sitting at my desk for hours without knowing what to do because work seemed completely foolish. Most of my co-workers did the same. I remember the horror and shock and sorrow the whole country expressed for the weeks and months afterward. I remember the way so many of us came together as a people, with our neighbors and our communities and our allied countries.

I also remember Muslims bearing the brunt of the blame across the country. I remember anti-Muslim anti-immigrant violence and vitriol rising. I remember watching how acceptable it became to suspect others, to “see something, say something” and to openly fear anyone not-white, especially if they spoke with an accent. I remember the war and conflict that lasted for decades afterward.

And just like travel restrictions and data mining under the guise of safety, fear and hatred has only grown like a fucking cancer until the tumor became the monster running the show. The conspiracy theorists have infected the culture. Here we are, all over again, with a leader who gives people permission to hate and be racist publicly, and points them toward brown targets.

I watch at least one documentary every year on this day, or the memorial reading of the names, or read transcripts of the actual voicemails and conversations Flight 93 passengers had with their loved ones when they decided they wouldn’t allow that plane to reach the capital, and knew they would die. If you’ve never listened to those messages, you should sometime. There is no hate: every one of the messages are a version of “I love you so much, I will miss you so much, I’m so sorry but we have to do this because we can’t let this happen.”

Administrations in this country love to talk about patriotism. They fly the flag of being a patriot to wind people up at rallies and conventions, to try to convince people America isn’t great and we need to do something to make things “great” again. But it’s the normal, everyday people like those on Flight 93 who are the example. Ordinary people who became extraordinary and knew exactly what would happen, and did it anyway.

I remember when the majority of us came together in compassion and unity with our neighbors and our allies. I hope we can be that society again. I refuse to believe ordinary extraordinary people are lost.

Part of me can’t believe it’s been 25 years, because I still cry watching the footage. I still viscerally remember the horror, confusion, disbelief, anger, shock, and grief. Maybe it’s unhealthy to do this to myself every year, but I feel like remembering the sacrifices made that day by so many people deserves the discomfort. Not because I want to be angry and reignite hate: because I want to remember that people in a crisis came together to take care of each other as a nation, and that gives me hope.

After a hot, dry summer we have one persistent morning glory blooming today. Usually that corner of the house is overflowing: the morning glories are generally a menace in late summer that take over the entire back garden and completely overwhelm poor Clem Clematis and our single, brave Salvia plant that never thrives in that spot but continues to try every year. Our glorious purple glories usually cover the old, rather rusty, repurposed baby crib base we’ve set up as a trellis by the end of July and bloom all of August and September. This year, only about half the trellis, which covers both sides of the corner of the garage, has vines and I can see a single determined flower. I wonder if we have enough to self-seed next spring, or if we’ll start over from scratch.

I wonder that about a lot of things lately. The local news reports diesel is at a record high, which, if you read the stupid comments in neighborhood social media groups, is some varying degree of no big deal and the price we pay for kicking someone’s ass across the world. Yeah. What it really means is anything shipped will be correspondingly skyrocketing in the next week or two, whether that’s in obvious price spikes or sneakier shrinkage in packaging or increased air for the same price. It wasn’t that long ago that a 12oz can was actually 12 ounces, not 11.5, or a bag of frozen chicken patties for $8.99 had a dozen, then 10, and now 8. I suppose soon it’ll be the same price for 5 or 6, as though we who plan meals for families and buy groceries on budgets don’t notice that the packaging is smaller and what we buy doesn’t go as far: manufacturers seem to assume we’re stupid and unobservant. It’s infuriating, because neither prices nor packaging changes like this ever go back when the shipping crises are over.

So, here we are in yet another lean season, just in time for back to school and all the harvest and winter holidays. Autumn is a season of laying in supplies to prepare for a season of rest and planning, knowing that there may be hard times coming. It’s a time of transition and death, when crops are harvested, butchering is traditionally done, hunting seasons happen, and yes it’s also often even humans move on to the next life (as evidenced by a recent slew of deaths in the news). If we accept that everything is a cycle, then we plan for what’s to come and persist to the next season until things get better.

Now is the time for stocking, friends. It doesn’t have to be all at once, and it doesn’t have to be drastic, but maybe consider what multi-meal items you like that can be frozen or stored and stock up on those ingredients when they’re on sale. Chili, soups, lasagna, hotdish: they can all be made ahead and frozen whole or portioned out. Pick up a few extra pantry items or freezables every time you shop, and remember to think about stuff like marinades and spices, pickles, condiments, that sort of thing. Baking supplies like sugar and flour can be deep-frozen, so can butter and cheese. Brand name chocolate chips taste NO different from store brand, and they also freeze. Frozen veggies hold their nutritional value better than fresh most of the time.

I’m not advocating full on prepping or extreme couponing, although if that’s your jam good for you: I don’t have the extra time or energy for that, and especially not the space. But we are heading into a time of expensive goods: it’s worthwhile to consider how to mitigate those expenses with preparation and a variety of recipes that cut out meat or use cheaper cuts, if you aren’t already doing so. If you have recipes to share, I’d love to hear them, especially for pots of beans! I’m trying to get more beans (without bacon or ham, because I’m trying not to eat so much of those) into my diet: they’re healthy, they’re full of protein, and they’re on my Oncology yes-list, right along with lentils.

I’m determined to make this winter as comfortable and cozy as possible, despite the current state of the world. Resistance is persistence.

I borrowed this one from the local library as research for my own second book, and loved it so much I wanted to review it, too.

If you aren’t one of Misha Brown’s millions of followers on social media, you’re missing out on one of the mouthiest, sassiest, most positive and compassionate people on the internet these days. I adore him: his entire platform is built around not only loving and respecting yourself to the fullest, but also being an absolute smartass standing up to bullies. Misha is often a shield, putting himself out there to say the witty comeback to the rude folk in the wild most of us think up twenty minutes after the interaction is over.

Be Your Own Bestie: A No-Nonsense Guide to Changing the Way You Treat Yourself is an extension of that attitude. It’s set up in to sections based on Brown’s “SASS” method: Self-Reflection, Affirmation, Standing your ground, and Sculpting the life you want. Each section has a series of anecdotes, some heartfelt and some hilarious, and exercises designed to help you take action. This doesn’t read like a self-help book: it reads like coffee with a fun friend encouraging you to leave that shitty relationship because you deserve better and helping you figure out the steps to take to get out, or gassing up your self-confidence to take the next leap in your dream because they truly believe you can do it. Brown’s own journey through insecurity, alcoholism, terrible relationships, and rebuilding his life step by step to his current success is peppered throughout the book, not as self-aggrandizement but as a friendly “I’ve been there, I can help you find the way” guide.

I put this book down feeling encouraged, hopeful, and brave, exactly the way I’d want anyone reading my own books to feel. That’s honestly the best compliment I can give. I’ll return this copy to the library, but I’ve already ordered my own copy for my personal library. I recommend this book to all of us who struggle with imposter syndrome moments and self-confidence. Be Your Own Bestie is for anyone who is trying to break old patterns and create the life they want to live boldly and joyfully.

I can’t remember the last time it rained here. Not a sad three drip drizzle, but real, all day, soaking rain. It was sometime in July, and we’ve had a total in the past thirty days of 3.57 inches in my area. August is usually dry and brown as we transition into the harvest season, and it’s definitely the driest month of summer, but right now everything is so dry the trees’ leaves are droopy and the deer are checking the birdbath for water every day.

Our morning glories petered out in drought for the first time since I moved here, so I’ve been watering extra when I can. Yesterday, while I filled the dogs’ yard-water bowl with the hose and sprayed the garden, a whole slew of excited spiders emerged from the eaves and edges of the house. Wolf spiders with egg sacs in their webs up near the flashing, daddy long legs on the siding, grass spiders by my feet, all peeking out at the giant they usually hide from out of life-threatened fear (wouldn’t you hide from a creature so big it could squash you under a single finger?).

OF COURSE I angled the spray so mist hit the siding and webs around them. Watching a daddy long legs scoot toward a droplet of water on the side of the house and hold it like a precious gem while it drank was a good reminder that we all share this place, and we all have a responsibility to take care of each other. All of those spiders do their jobs in the yard and outside, eating mosquitoes and bugs just as they should.

Later SK and I watched the doe and fawns drinking from the bird bath. Minerva protested.

The forecast isn’t great from a drought standpoint for the next ten days: it sounds like tomorrow we may get a storm, and if we do I hope there’s enough rain to prevent any fires, because a lightning strike right now would be a bad, bad deal.

It’s been beautiful here: low humidity, sunny, not too hot…and here I am hoping for an all-day-rain. Fall is weird, and I wonder how many days of spider watering it takes to become the Spider Queen?

I’m editing. This is a nonsensical break.

fAngus is tired of my bullshit.

I finished the first draft of my next CCB book two days ago. As of the end of today I’m on vacation for a whole glorious week. No deadlines, no work, no obligations, just fun reading and naps in the hammock and no schedules. We won’t be leaving our house alone, if you’re getting nefarious ideas: Ragnar and Minerva are far too old to allow that much doggie daycare.

I’ve been thinking about how privileged we are to take any sort of time off these days, even a low-cost vacation like the one we’re doing, where we’ll have usual groceries and stay in a cabin owned by family members. Gas is high, groceries are high. I’m a contractor, so I don’t have paid time off, much like many people in this country. I HAVE a job, unlike many more people in this country right now. That’s lucky as hell, and I know it. I saved and planned for a few months, carefully budgeting to be able to take a week without pay. I’m doing the same for a week in November, I do the same for any national holiday or other time off.

Earlier this week I had a work dinner with some folk from Denmark, and of course some of the discussion became comparison between social expectations, taxes, and governing. At one point, the topic rolled into talking about how university is free there, as is healthcare, but taxes are 55%. That got me thinking about democratic socialism and how this country’s current fearmongering is all about communism (which is NOT the same thing, nor is that even a thing right now, but those in power are scared and trying every bogeyman they can come up with).

I’m incredibly lucky that I live in a place that requires sick leave even for contractors, so if something happens I’m covered for a certain number of days. Many people aren’t. According to Heather Cox Richardson’s article, today is the anniversary of the signing of the Medicare and Medicaid bill, sixty years ago. Sixty years ago society in this country was full of people who believed the government exists to serve the country and people (of course it wasn’t everyone, and of course there were detractors, but it was enough of a majority to get things passed). The concept shouldn’t be revolutionary here, since it’s rather literally what America is based on: the revolutionary concept that the people’s government should serve them, not that the people serve the government as it did in the monarchy.

How the super-wealthy have managed to bamboozle so many middle class and poor people in this country into believing community and social responsibility for each other is bad is utterly beyond my comprehension. There’s a sickness of selfishness and pervasive base meanness that seems to be the worst extreme of individualism resulting in a disgusting, almost sociopathic refusal to consider anyone else’s humanity. It’s everywhere: in newspaper opinion letters and local politician articles, in community pages, in social media comments and posts, in every speech and press release by people who are supposed to be leading us. My time in corporate America has taught me a valuable lesson: when the CEO of a company is shitty, the culture of that company is shitty, too. Culture comes from the top, as example. Make of that what you will.

Humans aren’t meant to be completely individual and unsupported. When archaeologists and anthropologists study ancient societies and the progression of humans from animals to civilization, one of the hallmarks is healed wounds that would otherwise be fatal. Broken legs, for example, which would kill a person without support, but bear the marks of healing, suggesting the person with the break was fed and cared for until they were able to function again, show compassion, love, and community.

America is an incredibly wealthy country, yet we’re the only wealthy country who actively hates citizens out of some misplaced Puritan punishment-style values, and that’s just shameful. The way we take care of our own, especially those who need help, is downright offensive, because while the extreme right wing want to push nationalism, they don’t actually care about the nation or citizens at all. Anything that actually helps citizens is cut and funneled back into the pockets of the wealthy. I know that’s a cycle; I can see the cycle over and over in our own history, from the wealthy Southern oligarch plantations pre-Civil War to the railroad oligarchs around the turn of the last century, to the backlash against social programs of the 60’s by voting in Reagan, to rise of the tech-bro billionaires. Eventually I hope we can rise up and fix this mess, but the apathy of ALL of us who aren’t the billionaire “ruling” class need to stand up and be vocal and be insistent. This mess is going to take time and effort to fix.

Where is the power of the people of the 1960’s who had dreams of making our society better for everyone? We need that to come back, because apathy is terrifying, and so very disheartening. I know we can do better, and I know there is compassion and kindness. I’ve seen it, after 9/11, after massive floods and fires, after other disasters.

Communities matter, taking care of each other matters, and goddammit, a government who serves US with all of the social services for everyone who needs them matters. THAT is the hallmark of a civilized society, not fucking billionaires bilking all of our taxpayer money out of the treasury for themselves and their cronies. What the actual fuck.

So I’m going on my vacation that I saved and planned for, then I’m voting in my state’s primary two days after I get home. And I’ll vote again in November. Because enough is enough, and our voices matter. Society will be what we make it, but, like all things magic and mundane, we have to do the work to make it happen.

Then, I’ll have to get onto editing, and my time won’t be my own again for a while.

I spent some time at the cabin this week with Grandma and Sarah. We didn’t melt, but it was close. I had just enough rest to feel motivated to work on unpacking and organizing the house more (yay, and sorry SK for the upcoming extra work fun assignments chores um, energy?), and I managed to get more writing done than I thought, but less than I’d hoped for. All in all, it was a win of a week despite the occasional dribble of sweat down my back.

While we were there, we stopped into our favorite local jewelry store, where the estate pieces are different every time and the stories that come along with them always fascinate. Of COURSE I asked about these:

Turns out the first piece is well over a hundred years old, high grade silver, and appears to be a necklace intended to carry prayers or pieces of the Koran: that bottom pendant opens on the end of the square and still has pieces of paper inside. How cool. The second piece? That’s the one that caught my eye. The owner thought it was a canteen of some sort, but I wonder. I took pictures because the “what ifs” hit me regarding containment about .5 seconds after I tested to see if the top was glued in…it was not. Sarah (rightly so) chided me, because dammit, I DO know better. Yeesh. So far, no negative effects. We’ll see I guess? Heehee. While it may be harmless in real life, the short story it inspired in my head is nearly fully formed.

In other news (literally): today I’m home in my blessedly cool office catching up on kid-doings, pet snuggles, work, and writing. While checking the news this morning I saw these two headlines together, exactly as they are here minus the ad that was between them. The ridiculous combination of “the world is ending” and “here’s some ice cream!” struck me as a perfect microcosm example of the world lately.

Yeah. We’re hanging in there. I hope you are, too.

Yesterday was six years since my last day of radiation, which signaled the change from “active” treatment and the beginning of survivorship. A few events have happened since then.

Surgery for port removal. Started Tamoxifen, which started all sorts of fun side effects.Started therapy (still in therapy). Adopted Minerva (yay!)Online dating adventures during CovidMet a keeper & his horde. Broke up with the keeper. Burned my eyeballs so I didn’t need glasses. Failed at breaking up with the keeper. Road tripped to Maine. Took Grandma to Hawaii and officiated a wedding.Snorkeled with sea turtles! Did not get eaten by sharks (woo!)Got engaged to the keeper. Sold my witch cottage that saw me through cancer. Moved in with the horde. Planned a wedding. Got married, across the road from the house. It was a long limo ride back and forth. Disney honeymoonQuit my job to write a bookStarted taking cello lessonsPublished articles and a short storyGot 3/4 through a novelWrote a non-fiction bookSold a book!! Got a job againFamily horde trip to DisneyGot pre-uterine-cancer (likely a side effect of cancer recurrence prevention drug)Hysterectomy (FAR worse than lumpectomy). Stopped tamoxifen, because it’s useless with no ovaries. Re-learning to use abs and starting over with fatigue yet again. Starting letrozole – bone scan for baseline included. Saw Pat Benatar & Neil Giraldo multiple times, including once with Pink and once with Bryan Adams (yes, Pat and Neil were the headliners in my mind). Saw Wardruna in Seattle, went to Oregon and Tacoma. Started Zometa infusions, because side effects of cancer recurrence prevention drugs are shitty, including bone density loss. Zometa is terrible. 0/10, do not recommend. Book published & marketing is a weird learning curve.Started a cancer/chronic illness support group in the city. Ending that after 6 months of no-shows, and re-working the concept. Helped teach 3 teens to driveAnnual trips to the cabin. Annual birthday musicals for one twin, + more. One twins trip to NYC. 6 years of marching band (including one College!)SO MANY Band, orchestra, and choir concerts3 years (to date) of show choir2 Track & Cross Country seasons1 graduation & off to college2 actively college shopping1 about to take drivers ed1 house renovationGot a contract for a second book: woo!

Survivorship is a rollercoaster. Sometimes it’s nice to review the busy-ness, and know that even though I’m a homebody I’m not actually always in my office.

Also, I just realized I haven’t practiced cello for over a week and my lesson is tomorrow. Oh dear.

As a bit of domestic maintenance, did you know I also have a Substack? Today’s post is: https://jessicasettergren.substack.com/p/book-2-is-coming. Join it if you’re looking for an admittedly not always regularly scheduled newsletter focused on my author announcements and writing updates.

Sunday is the Summer Solstice: if you celebrate, may your day be gentle and lovely and bring you joy in abundance.

Sunday is also Pagan Cancer and Chronic Illness Support Group at Magus Books: stop by if you need to chat.

I may be more sporadic until the manuscript is done, but I’ll still pop in when I need a break. Survivorship can be a heavy topic, and the Horde is usually good for a weird story or three. Let me know what you’re reading/watching/doing to chill and regulate your nervous system this summer!

We have a lone doe hanging around in the yard this spring and early summer, ignoring the dogs barking at her in favor of ALL the available weeds abundantly thriving in the yard. It’s possible the lawn mower had a setback and the parts took a while to get here, so the yard was a bit of a hayfield for a while there. Oops.

Anyway. The pretty lady bravely getting as close to the fence as the playset slide (VERY close to the garage and dog fence, just outside my office window) where she listens to the golfers at the first tee box and occasionally snorts at them. The rest of the herd, which is usually anywhere from three to seven deer strong, is nowhere to be seen. We suspect she has a fawn she’s stashing in the woods close by, because while Ragnar and Minerva are loud barky buttheads, they don’t seem to bother her and I bet she’s banking on them keeping other predators away from her baby. Between her presence, the daily aerial battles by humming birds on my windowpane, and the lightning bugs winking like fairylights in the woods and yard at night, life is quite Disneyish around here lately.

My email sent a lovely little reminder the other day from a writing magazine, on a day I felt a little fussy about the state of the world and my place in it. The contents were irrelevant: selling some class or service for which I’m unwilling to pay, but the subject did catch my eye.

Leap, and the Net Will Appear.

It came less than a week after my publisher accepted my proposal for book two, which is exciting and terrifying and thrilling all at once.

I have no intention of leaping netless: work is still work and bills are still bills. But I do have an excellent project plan and I’m making decent progress into the first draft: manuscript is due in September and I really want to be able to take my cabin week off to just read fun books and swim in August.

It’s a magical summer indeed.