Geography is NOT the problem, people.

On Wednesday April 16th, ya’ may recall reading that I went to the Habitat for Humanity “Blueprints and Blue Jeans Ball”. (I wrote about it here, under the title “Walking the walk”.) In re-reading my entry, I see now that I failed to mention something that turned out to be pretty significant a few days later. I have the opportunity now to make that mention, and I intend to do so.

The Habitat event was different for a lot of reasons – the suggested attire, the size of the auction, the average age of those in attendance, and the MC was a guy I hadn’t heard of. So while the salad was being set on our table, I took a second and reviewed the program for more information on who Ken Arthur was and why he was speaking. It turns out that Ken was chosen as MC because the Arthur Family were the first recipients of a San Francisco Habitat for Humanity Home about 12 years ago. Ken started out rather nervously as he addressed the crowd – not surprising, when you consider the audience numbered over 500 folks.

Ken told us the story of how he came to know of Habitat, and it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He and his wife were doing errands one Saturday and ducked into a sandwich shop to pick up some lunch. Habitat had some fliers at the counter … something like “Own Your Own Home!! No Money Down!!!” and Ken turned to his wife and said “Yeah sure – these nice folks would just LOVE to give a black family living in Bayview San Francisco a new home for nothing” but, for whatever strange reason, he folded up the flier and stuck it in his back pocket. And for whatever strange reason, when his wife was doing laundry a few days later, she took the note from his back pocket and put it in her handbag, instead of throwing it out. Stranger still, they decided to apply a few weeks later. “It couldn’t hurt” was the thought … “not like we have anything to lose, really.” And, most strange was the call the family received a few months afterwards, telling them that they’d been chosen as the first family that Habitat for Humanity San Francisco would partner with.

Watching Ken’s face while he related this series of events, you could see what having a home had done for this family. They were still living in the same Bayview neighborhood and they were still dealing with the same pressures, the same crime, the same problems. The ONLY difference was that they had a home … and it turned out that was all the difference that was needed.

Ken wrapped up his speech that evening with a couple of items that filled the room with laughter. The first was that he admitted he’d managed to fill a few tables with extended family members, who didn’t really believe that Ken was chosen to MC the event, and they just KNEW he was fibbing to them when he said he’d be presenting the Mayor of San Francisco with an award. The second was that Ken invited the whole room to join him in Tennessee in a few weeks. He wanted everyone to watch – and cheer – as his second son would be graduating from Fisk University.

That was Wednesday, April 16th.

Shortly after Midnight on Monday, April 21st, Ken Arthur was murdered. He was found lying dead in the street, a few blocks away from his home.

Now I won’t pretend that I KNOW Ken Arthur or his family. However, after reading the news on the HFHSF website, I have decided that I need to be a little less jaded. I’ll bet that a lot of people who read of Ken’s death in the local paper saw the words “stabbed in Bayview” and thought “well yeah – that’s a crappy area and that kinda thing happens all the time”. Well dammit – it doesn’t have to be that way. If you live in a city with an area like Bayview (and every town has an area like it to some extent), I encourage you to stop accepting this kind of violence as “usual”. I don’t mean donate, or volunteer, or even get involved. But please – let’s stop shrugging off this kind of thing as “standard” just by virtue of geography.

Murder is ugly … even the word itself is hard to look at. And it SHOULD be that way – no matter where it happens.

"Fall To Grace" will not be written this week ...

... in order to highlight the following 2 blogs:


http://parintachin.blogspot.com/2008/04/why-we-have-fat-poor-people.html#links
and
http://cookingatcafed.blogspot.com/2008/04/day-1-taking-deeper-look.html

Walking the walk

Events – things like galas, benefits, awards dinners, etc – are part of my job. The funny thing is that “events” have really always been a part of my job – but now I get to attend them, instead of arranging them. And the funnier thing is that, for some of them, I’d FAR RATHER be the person arranging the event.

Oh sure – it SOUNDS tremendously glamorous – attending gala evenings with silent auctions and seeing, meeting, and hearing the fairly rich and pretty well-known speak about organizations that are (hopefully) near and dear to their hearts. But the truth of the matter is that sometimes it’s kind of a chore. For one thing, these events usually happen 40 or 50 miles away from my home, and are almost always at night – most times on weekends. And sometimes the MC for the event is just randomly hired and has little connection to the charity in question. They’re not walking the walk … they’re just attending to smile and wave and raise money. So basically, on my increasingly rare down-time on weekend evenings, I get to commute pretty much BACK to the area in which I work and meet a bunch of folks that, honestly, I’ll never really connect with as we all listen to a host who doesn’t TRULY care why we’re all there.

And then there’s the focus of the charity itself. Even though I know that work is being done to address the problems, most times the issues being addressed are REMARKABLY tragic. ANNNND then add to all these small annoyances that I’m usually required to dress up beyond all reasonable expectation … suddenly it doesn’t seem so glamorous. In fact, it can be rather a chore, but not this time.

On Wednesday evening, I went to the Palace Hotel in downtown SF dressed in a Michael Kors sweater, my low Manolos and a pair of Levi’s 501s. I looked, and felt, really great plus I was still smiling as a carry-over from my coffee-break with Thea earlier that same day. So I was comfortable and I looked terrific as I arrived at the “Blueprints & Blue Jeans Ball”, a benefit evening with San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom and his stunning fiancé, actress Jennifer Siebel. The event was well-attended, the auction items went FAST (I’m still kicking myself for not bidding on that Lake Tahoe getaway), we got to hear (and see) great stories about getting better, safer, more affordable housing for families that just needed a boost to get their footing annnnd we raised more than $300k in the process. Mr. Newsom passionately addressed the issue of homelessness and living far below the poverty line in a county that is KNOWN for having ridiculous amounts of money for about 15 minutes, and it was obvious that he cared deeply about the families he introduced to all in the room. It was a win all the way around. So it’s no wonder that I was in such an upbeat mood, not just that evening but … well, pretty much since that evening, actually.

My company requested the employee base to burn two vacation days this month, so I goofed off at home all day Thursday – thumbed through some old books, listened to music, made a few batches of brownies to take to the crew at Stanford who are caring for my Aunt Verna and enjoyed the terrific weather. I wasn’t even all that annoyed when my Stanford friends kidnapped me at 4:15am on Friday morning to attend the memorial event for the 102nd anniversary of the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake. Mr. Newsom spoke there, too – and we all sang “San Francisco” after the sirens sounded at 5:16am. It was a fun and unique morning - ‘tho it was a bit brisk outdoors (and, since we were running late, I changed from slippers to shoes in the car). I got home, relaxed for a bit, wrote a note to remind myself to later call my sister and wish my niece a happy 1st birthday and then got a random call from Karin, who found herself with a few child-free hours on her hands. We went out to lunch and had a good (and much needed) catch-up session.

Later in the day, I drove to Stanford to check in with my own doctors and then with my Aunt. The place where Verna is staying isn’t at all attached to the hospital facility itself. It’s a block of fully-furnished apartments meant for long-term and/or adjustable care patients who will be returning home in due time. It’s staffed by orderlies, nurses, and physical therapists. Doctors only visit when called or if someone has an appointment and are unable to visit their physician’s office … and surgeons are there only when something awful has occurred. About 15 minutes after I arrived, Lisa (my Cousin) arrived with a bunch of magazines and some medical journals that her mom wanted to have. I was getting ready to go when I was startled by a familiar voice in the hallway … one of my surgeon friends was approaching, but I think Verna and Lisa were even MORE startled. Greg assured them that he wasn’t there on business ... which was probably pretty obvious as he handed me my slippers and sheepishly said “here - you left these in my car this morning”.

Oh yeah – it’ll be weeks until I hear the end of this.

... And Don't It Feel Good!

I know exactly where I was at 5amPT on April 11th, 2005 … and I know exactly where I was at 8amPT on April 18th, 2007.

Now granted, that’s only three years ago and one year ago so I know it’s not like I’m digging deep into the memory vault here … but my overall sense of “time” is REALLY bad. I don’t know how old I was in the 6th grade unless I really stop and figure it out, and I couldn’t tell ya’ where I was employed in 1995 unless I was given a few moments. Heck, at times, I can’t remember what I had for dinner the previous night even. I’ve been known to start some stories with “the other day” when relating an incident to a friend, only to have them stop me to ask “is this like ‘yesterday the other day’ or ‘two months ago the other day’?”

At 8amPT on April 18th last year, I was in Gulfport, MS – where it was 10am local time … and I was on the phone getting all the specifics on the arrival of my second niece. At 5amPT on April 11th, 2005, I was in Bozeman, MT – where it was 6am local time – and I was in a hospital helping my sister deliver her first child and my first niece. (The Brother-In-Law doesn’t “do” blood or hospitals very well.)

I’ll admit that babies make me nervous (for numerous reasons) but these two small beings, who are rapidly developing very individual personalities, make me smile just thinkin’ about them. I hope to be a very cool Aunt to them for quite a long time to come. (I really loved my “very cool Aunt” and miss her greatly.)

*****

So there’s part two, as promised from yesterday … some people that you’ve heard me talk about before, and some new people that I haven’t discussed much. There are other folks that have helped me to lighten up as of late – and it’s possible I’ll “introduce” them here at some point, but I’m not ready for that right now. There are also folks that I WISH I could help lighten up … but I accept that I can’t make that happen. Everyone has to walk towards their own sunshine. The lucky ones, like me, have lots of lookouts guiding them on the pathways.

I'm Walking On Sunshine ...

In the last 4 days, I’ve heard from two very dear friends who I know will always be there for me (not because of what they tell me – but because of what they SHOW me) and three newer friends who have impressed me with their joy and willingness to … well, just their overall joy and willingness, actually.

Scott called me on Tuesday towards the end of his day to see how things were going for me. It’s not unusual for us to talk for 40 minutes at a time and suddenly he’ll look at his watch and say “yikes – time to pick up my kid” or for me to look at the laptop clock and say “aw nuts – commute hour”. We always cover quite a bit of ground in our conversations – we’re both quick talkers, and we each know the general cast of characters that we discuss, so background stories aren’t always necessary. In fact, I appreciate that he rarely asks me for details when he notices I’m not forthcoming with them on my own. (And we have great moments, too … like when I jokingly said “hey Scott – change lives with me!” and there was that half-second of silence that told me he was thinking of how that would physically not work so well for him, and we briefly discussed various logistics. Good stuff.) Scott is also getting harder and harder to surprise with how I conduct my life and the forced distance and self-protection/preservation that IS my nature. (I was getting pretty good at removing that distance and those protective devices – but my recent heartache only served as a reminder to how fragile I am. To judge me as “strong” wouldn’t just be inaccurate, it’d be downright laughable.)

Which brings me to the call that came shortly after Scott and I hung up. Tim was traveling last week to help celebrate his brother getting married. We brought each other up to speed, and while his trip was somewhat stressful and my week was as well, both situations had (mostly) happy endings. Per our usual conversations, there was lots of laughter at the insanity of the details of our lives in general (if you can't laugh at these things, good luck to you), and we wrapped up the call – just in time for me to drop a note to a friend who has posted here. I wanted to take her up on her offer for coffee on Wednesday – AND to hear all about her new job in August.

Thea started as a receptionist in our building as a temporary employee. She’d replaced someone who had done the job for gosh – maybe 4 years or more? So yeah, she had big shoes to fill, and she wasn’t just a great fit for the role, she was willing to do things above and beyond the “norm”, knowing that we’d all be very appreciative. (As a for instance, she helped me proofread my “letters to the company” on my Biloxi trips which, considering my lak of speling skilz, is a HUGE task). She became a regular employee shortly after she started, and when I’d hear her talk of her desire to finish her degree and then join the PeaceCorps, for whatever reason, I believed her. A lot of folks talk about this – but after seeing the drive of the “kids” I’d worked alongside of in the Gulf, I could easily see her doing this work, and loving it.

Well it’s better than all that … Thea’s been accepted into an AmeriCorps program near her home where she’ll work for a whole school year with special needs children. Watching her discuss the details with me, I just … I wanted to bottle her smile and the energy and use it during our next power outage. It’d light up the whole city. She came baring gifts (totally unnecessary) and it wasn’t until I got home that I saw she even included a coffee card for my morning routine. Oh and BONUS points – she made sure to enjoy that big beautiful bottle of champagne I’d bought her on the day she finished her coursework – PLUS she’ll be attending the graduation ceremony live. I really hope she shares photos.

AND then, as if all that wasn’t great by itself (and it is), last night I got to attend a GRAND event in a BEAUTIFUL hotel for a TERRIFIC non-profit organization (which was totally unconnected to anything health-related) where the dress code was blue jeans. To top it off, I looked – if I do say so myself – really damn good. In fact, it’s possible that I even looked really damn terrific.

(More on the event and the other two folks providing brightness in my life tomorrow. I wanna extend this for just as long as I can.)

Me, My Mom, and George go to the flicks

In the spirit of keeping this as NOT a “nasty scary medical" or a "severe crushing heartbreak" or "random crappy stuff that happens to good people” diary, I provide to you the following comedy!! sketch – staring my mother (as “Mother”) and myself (as “Daughter”).

Scene Details:
Date: April 11th, 2008
Time: 12:45pm
Location: A movie theater

Scene Background:
After purchasing the standard operating snacks for watching a film (small cherry Slurpee, small buttered popcorn), our two lead characters make their way to theater #8, to watch the latest George Clooney film. This mother and daughter recognize that there ARE other actors in the film but … oh come on, who are they kidding? They’re there to see George Clooney be pretty, and maybe talk a little bit … but mainly be pretty.

Scene Action:
Mother and daughter enter the theater, which seats about 210 people … and which is currently empty. The daughter lets the mother lead, thereby giving up the decision of where they will sit.

Scene Dialogue:
Mother: Here … this is good.

Daughter (looking around): Are you sure this is where ya’ wanna be? Right at the end of the row like this?

Mother: It’ll work.

Daughter: Ok – I was just thinking if we moved in a bit, we could see the screen face-on, rather than from the side like this – but this is fine.

Mother: But this way we don’t have to climb over anyone to leave.

Daughter counts a beat, and waits for the logic to happen.

Daughter: “climb ... over ... anyone …” (Looks around.)

I waited for another moment before I couldn’t help it any longer.

“Right mom – ‘cause any second now the massive hordes of people are gonna come STREAMING in … on a Friday matinee showing of a film that’s been out for a week … and they’re gonna DEMAND to sit *right*next*to*us*.”

By the time the film began to roll, 20 minutes later, a total of 9 people were in the theater, including my mom and I. As the lights dimmed, I turned to her and said in hushed tones “ok – hang onto your chair ‘cause I hear the thundering crowd running towards the doors now”.

And, while she’d probably deny it, I think I made her snort a little of her cherry Slurpee.

How to “chill the f*&^ out”, Disney-style

As she stated in her comments on Thursday, April 10th, Jen’s advice to me on how to deal with everything that currently is my life was, essentially, “chill the f*&^ out” … but in nicer words. (Oh, and on an unrelated note, the photos on her website? Yowza!! I know about 47 guys – and a few women - that would wanna try a “Slinky Raspberry” after seeing THAT shot … but I digress.) Anyway, I pondered the advice my friend had lightly tossed my way and decided that it might be interesting and refreshing to heed it, if only for a few days.

It was a decision made less than 24 hours earlier, as my Aunt was being transferred to an on-campus recovery facility. The staff plays a version of “Truth or Dare” with those of us who spend our nights with our recovering family members. Questions are posed to those who want to be included with no real consequences and no wrong answers towards the simple goal of getting to know one another better outside of the REAL reason we’re there (be it for family or for employment). The question posed was “where was the last physical place (with NO influence on who you were with) where you really let loose? Where you didn’t worry about perceptions or judgments – and laughed for the simple reason of overwhelming joy and happiness?” The locations were varied, but it was surprising how many of the places named were carnivals, parades or fairs. When five of the staff realized they were approaching a 36-hour period of downtime sans pagers, the immediate reaction was a clear and resounding “we’re going to Anaheim tomorrow – who’s in?”

And so I found myself at “The Happiest Place On Earth” on Sunday, laughing until my sides ached, smiling so much my face hurt, having an incredible day with terrific folks and just blowing off steam. The whole group of us Teacupped, Mr Toaded and Haunted Mansioned our way from one end of the park to the other. We ate the WORST possible junk food (I figured that if doctors have cotton candy and chocolate malts for lunch, it can’t be *that* bad, right?) and found our favorite characters for photo opportunities. We finished our day of escape with a GREAT dinner at Napa Rose (where, it turns out an event planner I worked with in 2003 still works *and* fondly remembered me) before flying back home. We had managed to have a whole day where we basically behaved as though none of us had a single care in the world.

And, at least yesterday, none of us did.

Do I owe Jen a “thank you” for posting a slogan that gave me the opportunity to experience such a care-free day? Possibly. But it’s also possible that “chill the f*&^ out” is the same as saying “Hukuna Matata” and, as I was reminded yesterday, that means “no worries for the rest of your days”.

But I’m not greedy … I’ll happily accept “no worries for 24 hours”.

Well East Coast girls are hip ...

My friend Jen is out this week from her NYC offices for training - and gosh I sure do wish my company lots of luck on that. (I keed, of course.)

I've admired "JLu" for quite awhile. While I talk about being adventurous, she's actually gone and DONE things that I still haven't found the courage to do. She was hired a few months prior to me and I inherited some of her tasks (which she was fine with, or so I was told. I SURE hope that was the case ...). Since I met Jen in 2002, she's faced quite a few changes - some by choice, and some by necessity - but she's also done so with a great deal of calm and acceptance. I'm certain that she'll argue this point, and I'm not for a moment suggesting that she hasn't had "freak out" moments, but she'll never convince me that she was afraid of failure. I never saw her hesitate on her decisions.

We had lunch today, while she was on break from her training, where we caught up and did the whole ‘girl chat’ thing. (That'd be her on the left - the one without the bags under her eyes.) I saw her last on August 7 2007 (and yes, I wrote about her then, too so feel free to look that up), and it took me a moment to recognize her standing outside our offices but, once I did, we started right up as ‘tho we saw each other last week - ok, except yeah, I had a bit to update her on. From her side, it seems she has a great beau who she’s rather taken by, and while she likes what she’s doing, California is definitely still “home” for her.

I know that some folks think that actors are, just by their nature, kinda … well … flighty. (Oh geez I’m gonna catch Hell for this.) Jen has a passion for acting – and she’s anything but “flighty”. In fact, she’s one of the most grounded women I’ve had the pleasure to work with, especially in projects that were anything BUT grounded. We have the same methods and, while we respect organization and “how to” guidelines, we don’t necessarily abide by them. I think it is safe to say that we work under the flag of “Ask for forgiveness, not permission”. I may be a bit more bold than she when it comes to how I present myself at work, but it is very safe to say that she’s more bold in her life OUTSIDE of work, and I respect that. I deeply appreciated her talking with me today, and I listened intently to what she had to say once she absorbed where things stand for me. Her advice made me breathe a bit easier, and I made a silent promise to keep her updated on what goes on for me in the next six months. While she hasn’t been on my road, I like that she can stand on the other coast and be my lookout.

For whatever reason, Jen is the first person that I’ve point-blank said “I have Breast Cancer” to, and she didn’t flinch. I’ll never be able to tell her what that meant to me. I can’t even try to do so.

I may not see her again for quite awhile. I don’t have plans to be in NYC anytime soon and, with my job ending in just over a month (and since I haven’t bothered to look for anything else internally), it’s pretty likely that I’ll next catch up with her when she’s back in California. That being said – she’s worth my making the trip out to New York for a visit.

I look forward to reading her comments on this, as long as she doesn’t try to post a photo of herself. (Actresses do that sort of thing, yanno …)

A couple little victories

A funny, surreal thing happens when the pressure is removed on something that would USUALLY cause stress. Your perspective changes and, with worry taken out of the equation, progress can be properly noted and appreciated.

It is Annual Review season at my company. Having worked in Sales for the first five years, I’m used to getting a 20-word review: “Here’s what your salary was, here’s your new annual salary, here is your bonus rate, now get back to work”. Last year, in fact, I didn’t receive a review at all. Since my current position rolls under the Human Resources umbrella, they were interested to note this, to say the least. Reviews are mandatory – at EVERY level and, even when I explained “I didn’t get a review last year because I didn’t write one”, I was met with disbelief. “You’re not supposed to write your own review” is the common response and I WOULD say something like “yeah, well I’m not supposed to sign my own expense reports either but ….” but I do know when to shut my mouth.

At 10am today, I sat down at a table across from my boss and got my annual review. You might remember that I’m leaving my place of employment shortly so, while I would like to think that I’m providing a positive service to my company, I’m not awake at nights worrying about every little detail. My biggest concern is to make sure that I transfer 6 years of contacts, birthdays, phone numbers and data so that I have it when I go. Oh yeah, and I need to take over the billing of my cell phone and my blackberry. Other than that, I’m good to go, essentially. “WHERE” I’m going remains to be seen, but … well … nevermind.

Anyway, my manager and I discussed the projects I’ve worked on, the representation I’ve given at various functions, the information I’ve collected and the new ideas I’ve come across for future services or funding. I got a bonus (a sizeable one, which was rather embarrassing – considering my JOB is to give money away), a pretty decent raise, and a really great review. It was relaxed and … well, it was a great way to leave the company, honestly. Everyone is happy.

FAR BETTER, though, was the news waiting for me after my review. It seems the campaigning I’ve been quietly doing each night at Stanford with the doctors and surgeons has paid off and my Aunt has been accepted into an on-campus care facility. She’ll receive as much (or as little) attention as she would like, will be encouraged to rebuild the muscle strength that Chemotherapy robbed from her and, if she is able to demonstrate a sufficient level of mobility to her doctors, she’ll be allowed to go home by the end of this month. Of course, this is a small, mostly hollow victory … clearly her body has shown that she’s unable to take ANY amount of chemo at all and, without it, her Cancer will continue to rampage through her body with no way to control it. The best thing we can focus on is how to manage her pain, and try to make the most of the time we have left with her while we TRY to prepare her family, especially my Uncle, for life after she’s gone.

Of course, this means I have one less distraction … one less reason to keep me from focusing on myself, my own future, my own health, and my own road ahead. But I’m not stressed about that. I’m clever. I’m sure I’ll come up with something. I always do.

To sleep, perchance ...

I’ve been spending an extraordinary amount of my “free” time in the hospital for the past several weeks. (“Free” time can also be read as “time when I should have been sleeping, or eating, or doing laundry”.) I’ve found also that if I’m not at work (or driving to and from work) and I’m not at the hospital (or driving to and from the hospital), I avoid ANYTHING medical-related – with one prominent exception.

I’ve always been a fan of M*A*S*H, and I own the movie and the entire television series on DVD. It was a show that I vividly remember watching with my mom (along with Barney Miller and, later, Night Court). We would always watch each M*A*S*H episode, rerun or not, and would look forward to hearing Alan Alda’s infectious laugh. He had … has … one of those laughs that, when we’d hear it as it burst out from his chest, it seemed spontaneous and hearing that joy and that unexpected reaction … well, it’d make us laugh, too. He also wrote and directed episodes as the series aged, and we’d know if we saw him listed as a writer that this may be more of a serious 30 minute period a laugh-out-loud one.

One episode in particular has stayed with me … it was in the 8th season, near the end and was titled “Dreams”. (A quick bit of research tells me that “Dreams” first aired on February 18th, 1980.) Basically after working several stretches over numerous days, each character in the show tries to take a catnap, only to be haunted by various nightmares and distributing images and then the REAL nightmare of where they are and what they’re doing intrudes and wakens them.

I usually remember my dreams, at least for the first few hours of my morning and then, most times, they drift off. Last night though, as I slept soundly in my own bed surrounded by my familiar touchstones and a warm, purring and VERY contented cat, I had a fabulous dream that was very, very real. There were colors and textures, sensations and distant noises that made me … well, if I could have been purring too I woulda been. I heard footsteps all around on the first floor, and doors closing while children went off to school … and then the familiar trod of feet coming up the stairs to the bedroom. I heard the soft shifting of covers being moved on the bed, and then felt a warm arm slip over my shoulder while a voice in my ear asked for a day of TLC.

I awoke with a start, sitting upright immediately in my bed, looking around to identify where I was.

It’s a strange thing to be disappointed by the simple act of just waking up. But the silence I woke to is so much more painful than anything I’ve heard thus far and it continues all throughout my day, making the hours damn near unbearable. No amount of noise I make covers it up, and the only way I can see for the silence to end isn’t in my hands.

So tell me again why sleep is so damned important.

The Eyes Have It

Even at close inspection, outwardly I look no different than I did a few months ago. There’s no discernible “something is up” stamp that one could look at and say “her body is betraying her”.

Throughout my high-school years, I knew that there was nothing remarkable about my body, and it probably didn’t help that I was friends with five pretty girls throughout those years. I was what was referred to as the “late bloomer” in the group, so I had plenty of time to develop in every OTHER way. For instance, I was the quickest wit in the group, without question. I was the one go to with a plan, or solve issues, or figure out solutions and I nearly always had the fastest come-backs. I was the "funny" one and I was always "the buddy".

Up until the time I finally *did* get a body, I’d taken stock and decided that I had terrific legs. From that point on, I LIVED in short skirts and very high heels. The heels came in handy when, in my mid-20s, I’d started dating a guy who was over 6 foot 6, and he seemed to appreciate the effort. After a couple of years, our relationship had lost direction, and my feet were relieved when my legs and I walked away. By that time, of course, another body part had taken over the terrific title - my mother and sister both admitted that I had received all the “boob” genes.

Considering my recent boob betrayal though, I’ve decided now that I have terrific eyes. I’ve always been a fan of them – they’re a good combo of being both blue and green, they’re pretty honest with me and show me the entire picture (even when my heart begs them NOT to), and they’re not too proud to let me second-guess them every now and again. The best part of having terrific eyes of course is that I still have good legs, nice boobs and continue to tend to be the quickest wit, good with a plan, equipped to solve issues or figure out solutions, and I still have a quick-draw on “fastest come-back in the West.” .” I'm told that I'm still the funny one - and I have no doubt that I am a damn good friend (to those that allow me to have that cherished role in their lives).

I guess I’d like to be remembered for my eyes. Or, to use a line from REM’s “Try Not To Breathe”: This decision is mine. I have lived a full life, and these are the eyes that I want you to remember.

I'm through bein' cool

Something small and strange yet rather wonderful happened last night.

I have been a virtual reading machine as of late. Apparently, that’s what happens now that I’ve made a habit of sleeping sitting upright in chairs in strange hospital rooms. I equip myself with a book in my hands, headphones with music in my ears, and drift in and out of fitful moments of sleep. A quick review of the past two weeks tells me that I’ve spent more than 4 days reading the same paragraph in the same book. I’d tell you what book the paragraph is in, but … I uh … I don’t remember the title … or the subject matter, honestly. CLEARLY being a reading machine has NOTHING to do with retention or comprehension.

But no, the "strange and wonderful" had nothing to do with the reading.

I have three different personal music devices that provide me with a portable soundtrack. I bring all three with me pretty much everywhere I go, realizing that ONE will likely require recharging at some point, and then I’ll just move over to the other device.

I was sitting in “my” chair late last night (actually it was very early this morning), when a surgeon I’ve befriended peaked in to see if I needed anything. I’ve become very well-known in these hallways – I’m “Cookie Niece”, “Bread and Jammers”, “the FMD gal”, and – my personal favorite – “Brownie Babe”. This surgeon actually knows me by name and we walked down to the café for a 2:20am tea break. We talked about everything but his job and my reasons for being there (turns out that avoidance is rampant all over places like hospitals in the still of the night) … and then he asked what I was listening to.

“Oh – just uhhhh a bunch of 80’s stuff,” I said. What I was thinking was geez … this is Stanford freakin’ Hospital. I SHOULD be listening to Bach or some oratorio or something befitting the location. “Yeah – like what?” he asked. I felt myself blushing a bit … “ummmm … Oingo Boingo, Depeche Mode, Talking Heads. When ya’ ducked in to say howdy, Devo was playing ‘Through Being Cool’.”

“No foolin’!” he said and, ‘tho it was very early in the morning, he suddenly seemed far more awake. We talked about music for the next 15 maybe 20 minutes while he recovered from a surgery session that I learned had gone into double-overtime. In that time, he went from a brilliant surgeon who had just spent more than 3 hours working on the interior of a patient … to just some guy I could have been friends with in my high school days. We’d spent our free time on weekends at some of the same places and, while our paths hadn’t crossed, we had a LOT of the same memories of a LOT of the same spots.

When we finally stood up to return to our posts – his to sleep for a bit in the employee lounge, me in “my” chair – he said “You know … I’ve been watching your family for more than a week now. I’m pretty impressed at how all of you are handling this. I’ve seen families REALLY tear each other apart, at a time when they can least afford it. And – specific to you – I really respect the tough decisions you’ve made. I hope you have a really good support system because it seems to me you’re taking care of everyone else pretty well, and I think you deserve the same care.”

For whatever reason, hearing this guy say this to me - recognizing he didn’t really know me at all but saw a LOT of families dealing with what we were TRYING to deal with - I suddenly felt pretty damn cool.

“Time to clean some house. Be a man or a mouse. Waste those who make it tough to get around.”

And, just to add a bit of entertainment ...

Possibly not the version you're used to ... but I think Mr. Monahan's echoing voice suits this song quite well.

More when I'm properly motivated ...

Full of "Grace"

So here’s the thing … I really have nothing to say today. I’m not down or blue or sad … but I’m not feeling particularly inspired or clever, either. However, as is my habit when I’m at work, when I logged in today one of the pages I pull up happens to be this one … and there it is. Yesterday’s entry.

I’m very uncomfortable with leaving yesterday’s entry as the first thing folks see … and, as such, the first thing that I see. Now, each time I come here, it’s just sitting there, staring me in the face - the very thing I’ve tried to maintain a significant personal distance from. Even though I am surrounded by it at my every turn, and even though I have no desire to make this space about illness, or pain, or terror ... there it all is now bright and electronically glaring back at me. Of course, I realize that something will come to me soon, and I will again feel compelled to write. My March 31st entry eventually will be further pushed down this page and, ultimately, available only if selected from the list at the right. I would just like for that to happen sooner, rather than later. I’m selfish that way, I suppose, even though the entry itself was MY doing and important (to me anyway).

Ya’ see - it’s plenty disheartening that I find myself absorbing medical terminology and methods between the hours of 9pm and 6am four to five times a week as I sit in a hospital chair NOT sleeping, but there’s the added benefit of the tasks that ARE my job. Most people have their personal lives to offset their professional ones – but that’s been turned inside out for me. So I drive to work hoping for a distraction from my personal life and find that the proposals I face asking for donations are from all KINDS of worthy organizations and supportive charities including, of course, ones for every KIND of disease. (I don’t have to be specific on WHICH disease … and honestly, would it make any difference? How many GOOD diseases are there????)

Last year, I found myself repeating “this, too, is manageable” whenever I felt a wave of too much crashing over me. The details of my Biloxi experiences and the self-assigned guilt I felt for feeling as though I wasn’t doing all I could for my friends in Mississippi? The upheaval and betrayal that blindsided me in my personal life? Manageable. Even things that were POSITIVE – the new friendships formed, the warmth, passion, incredible support and amazing openness with which I was accepted into a new family, the details of switching from a job focused on what I could get vs. what I could give … all these things were met with my attitude of “this is manageable”. My father’s heart attack, though deeply jarring, was also manageable. Chaotic, for certain but … yes, manageable.

This year, thus far, I find myself repeating a two quotes. The first is widely attributed to Mother Teresa of Calcutta: I know that God will not give me anything I cannot handle. I just wish that He didn’t trust me so much.

And if I’m gonna have anything staring me in the face, any message bright and electronically glaring back at me, I think we can all agree it should at LEAST be a positive one. Don’t be confused - I ain’t no Mother Teresa by a LONG shot, and I am NOT making any comparisons between her life, behavior, compassion or dedication and mine at all - but if she allowed herself moments to make the request of “slow down, I’m not readyfor this yet”, then I can feel a little less guilty asking for the same kind of slack.

Oh yeah – the second quote that has been in my head these days is by a different amazing woman. The quote is “Never place a period where God has placed a comma”, attributed by none other than Gracie Allen. Talk about graceful women ...