Double-duty month: Pink + Green = Success

Get ready to be bombarded with color this month. No, I'm not running in a race where they throw colors at you. But it is October and that means it is the Pink Month. Pink as in Baby, it's Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

Also kicking off this week is a national effort to get more females involved in Girl Scouts. Even Michelle Obama, the honorary Girl Scout volunteer, has recorded a message urging females to get involved.

I can't think of a better color blend because Girl Scouts is just one of the reasons my daughter survived her fight against breast cancer. The importance of regular exams of your breasts was emphasized at a health fair she first attended as a Junior Girl Scout, back when Juniors were in the fourth-, fifth-, or sixth grades.

The American Cancer Society handed out fake boobs with bumps for practice. The girls got to take them home. Fortunately, that started my daughter on a regular routine that led her to discover her bump when it was small. Too bad her doctor didn't realize that girls in their early 20s do get breast cancer and didn't take her seriously at first.

But Girl Scouts also helped my daughter develop courage and confidence so she didn't let that bump go unnoticed much longer. With radiation, two bouts of chemo and some surgery, the cancer has now been gone for four years, and almost four months.

I wish every girl had the opportunity to be in a good Girl Scout program. That would be a program where they are surrounded by strong people, especially strong women who are willing to carve out time to let some girls learn to bond with girls who are like them and different from them.

A good Girl Scout program would be one where the girls learn to make good decisions, learn to lead, and learn to succeed. A good Girl Scout program also would be one where the girls fail and then learn why failure happened, how to recover from a failure and what to do differently.

A good Girl Scout program would be one where the girls go outside their normal, day-to-day life to try things like sleeping in a museum, or climbing through a cave or sleeping on a floor in a room with 60 others who start out as strangers.

A good Girl Scout program would be one where girls could sleep in a tent with three hours, row a boat, ride a horse, roast a marshmallow, ride an elevator, see a 30-floor building and hear an orchestra play live.

To create a good Girl Scout program, someone needs to listen to the girls and be a resource. You don't have to be a parent to volunteer. Visit the national Girl Scout site to volunteer.

----

Want more? I've written about my daughter's battle and also about Girl Scouts.

E- records bring fast results

Brain scan

It has been a rough month of tests for me. But Henry Ford Health Systems is the winner in my world.

Friday, I had an MRI and an MRA done of my head, brain and neck.

Saturday, the hospital notified me by email the radiologist's report for six scans was available for me to read. 

That means I didn't have to wait until Monday or later to hear from my doctor about the findings.  Yes, I still need to follow up for the next step. But it is reassuring to know now that at least one doctor was way off in his explanation of some medical challenges. 

The entire MRI visit was made better because of the electronic records. I had just been to the neurologist who ordered the tests. We had reviewed my medicines -- those I am taking and those I should be taking. All were in the system so I didn't need to repeat the list. I did not fill out any forms or repeat why the tests were needed.  I did have to show I was who I said I was, though I am not sure anyone would willingly show up at 6 am on a Friday. 

An open MRI machine similar to where I was for 90 minutes

The radiologist had access to an MRI done in 1994 for some comparison so that was a help too, especially with one of the findings.

I can't wait for more doctors and services to be online together. Right now, the patient has to coordinate care when more then one doctor is involved, especially if they are not in the same health system. We don't always know what to share. 

 An electronic record patients have access to could prevent errors -- I recently read a doctor's report that incorrectly listed my parents as dead. Another doctor's report listed 3 conversations we never had. (Trust me I would have remembered those warnings).

I'm ready. 

Wanted: 1 editor

Sad. The newspaper said they met at a laundry mat. i bet they met at a laundromat. 

Simple question prompts black hole of envy, Big Bang

A simple question asking if I knew Stephen Hawking kicked my morning off with a heavy exam of my thoughts on assisted suicide.

Hawking has changed his position, now allowing someone with a terminal illness should be able to end his/her life. Interesting, since the 71-year-old physicist has lived with motor neurone disease* far past the two-years to go deadline doctors issued in 1963.

He's back in the news because his film Hawking will premiere in a few hours at the 33rd Cambridge Film Festival. We'll come back to that.

Hawking told the BBC about his change of attitude while answering a question about how he once was kept alive by machines and his wife given the choice to turn them off.

Although assisted suicide is illegal in Britain, Hawking argued that since we do not let animals suffer we should not let humans suffer. Still the decision to end another's life must not come easy, Hawking said.

"There must be safeguards that the person concerned genuinely wants to end their life and are not being pressurized into it or have it done without their knowledge and consent as would have been the case with me."

 The BBC interview (see below)  is worth a listen -- he knows how to find a silver lining! For instance, listen to what he says about disabilities, committees and meetings. In 2006, Hawking was quoted with remarks against assisted dying.

"I think it would be a great mistake. However bad life may seem, there is always something you can do, and succeed at. While there's life, there is hope."

I don't have a good answer for assisted suicide or as some call it -- assisted dying. I'm not willing to outlaw it for others. But I'd want to make sure that there truly was no hope of living before allowing someone to choose death."

I've struggled with how much of modern medicine do we use to keep someone with late stage Alzheimer's Disease alive -- worth a flu shot? Antibiotics? Bypass heart surgery?

Counter that with what we would have missed if someone had decided curing Hawking's pneumonia was not a good investment.

Back in Cambridge

Meanwhile, back in Cambridge for tonight's movie ... Hawking, director Stephen Finnigan, and other guests will then answer questions from the audience and some gathered from the film's Facebook and Twitter accounts. Even better, that Q&A is being beamed to about 70 cinemas in the United Kingdom. (Fingers crossed that someone will secretly film and then share since it is not being broadcast to the United States.)

The film follows Hawking's "journey from boyfriend underachiever to PhD genius," before and after the disease that has had him on life support for more then 20 years.

Hawking and Sheldon. Hawking
 introduced the group
 via video at the 2013 Comic-Con

I think I first learned of Hawking in a late night discussion over at Lyman Briggs College over at Michigan State University. Black  holes, anyone? Certainly not a topic most freshmen journalism students would discuss.

But that was the beauty of mixing students studying journalism, English and other liberal arts subjects with would-be scientists, letting each claim rooms in the dormitory that also housed the college for brainy soon-to-be physicists, doctors and such. Both sets were introduced to unexpected subjects.

Big Bang Theory recorded
 a video greeting for premiere of Hawking

Of course, those talks with the would-be physicists gave me an insider's knowledge when watching Big Bang Theory. Sometimes I am surprised that I understand some of Sheldon's or Leonard's white board scribbling.

Can't wait to see how the show will deal with Leonard on his expedition with Hawking. Meanwhile, do what I did and explore the Hawking entry on the Big Bang Theory wiki.

* A rose is a rose is a rose ....

I was so puzzled when I first heard of motor neurone disease. Then, I learned that is just what someone in the United States might call Lou Gehrig's disease or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Just one more example of how geography affects our language, even when we both speak English.

A sneak preview/trailer

Hawking opens Sept. 20 in the United States. Here's the trailer. Enjoy.

The BBC interview

Ex-staffer reviews changes in Ann Arbor media

Ed Vielmetti, who once blogged for the AnnArbor.com site and has blogged longer then anyone I've ever met, weighs in on bringing back the Ann Arbor News name and folding Ann Arbor news back into the mlive.com site.

His verdict?

Things are bad, but not as bad as they would seem. 

 He worries about links and the lost of information, but points out the Internet Archive's Wayback Machine saved all of the content and most of the links. So far, the original content also is available once you get past the former home page.

Vielmetti, a longtime Ann Arbor person, continues to serve as a focal point of information of the city and community. He continues to update the ArborWiki, always reminding anyone can contribute. He blogs, he tweets and he connects those seeking information with those who might know.

More interesting to a larger audience is a post on communities that lose big media and need to rely on multiple resources for its news.

Vielmetti acknowledges breaking news and the big news. News spreads quickly via Twitter. The entire news in Ann Arbor has drawn attention from all of the major media news sources. The city is rich with alternative media including the Ann Arbor Observer and the student newspaper at the University of Michigan. There also are bloggers, who become often start because of a certain issue.

Check it out: An active if diffuse media ecosystem.

(By the way, if you're into maps then you've got to add his blog to your must-reads).

Closing of Girl Scout camp means one less safe place for girls to grow

Sadly, another Girl Scout camp closed this month.

Logo from Camp T-shirt before council merger

Sure, you expect former Girl Scout campers and staff to be sad.

I am sad because it reminds me of the three Girl Scout camps I believed in and lived through their closings.

I am sad because the number of Girl Scout camps is dwindling.

Thankfully Mandi Elizabeth explains why even non-Girl Scouts, non-campers should mourn in a post that explains what is so special about a girl's place in the woods.

Susan Harrington, who I met through WAGGGS-L, one of the oldest email lists for Girl Scouts and Girl Guides, introduced the post this way:

"Anybody who can start singing if I type "mmmm, I want to linger...." will appreciate the bittersweet eloquence here. And anyone who can't, well, read the post to see just some of what I love about Girl Scouts."

Indeed Mandi Elizabeth, a college student still active in Girl Scouts, captures the magic of Girl Scouts, the amazing transformation that comes when you spend time being accepted for who you are. Girl Scout camp is the wind that helps the light grow.

But, I'm wasting your time here. Mandi Elizabeth says it so much better so please go read "Goodnight, not goodbye"

Then linger and ask yourself where will the "non-perfect" girls of tomorrow will find a place where
"no one cares what clothes you wear. Heck, no one cares if your clothes even match. No one laughs at you when you fall down and scrape your knee. There is no embarrassment, there is no harassment, there are no mean girls."

Mandi Elizabeth is talking about Camp Yaiewano, closed in September 2013 by  Girl Scouts of NYPENN Pathways Council. Mandi Elizabeth is talking about every Girl Scout camp where a girl discovered her uniqueness defined her and made her as worthy as the most popular girl in any school.

------------------

Want to know more?

Girl Scout camps are owned by Girl Scout Councils, not the national organization. Over on Facebook, there's the Save Our Girl Scout Camps page

Out on the web there's SOS Camps. Save Our Girl Scout Camps

Both are focused on camps in part of Illinois but there are links and information about what's happening with many camps across the United States.

Never say never: Ann Arbor News returning

Wait. Really. AnnArbor.com going, going, gone and Ann Arbor News is coming, coming, coming.

The announcement came today and so did the reactions.

I'm surprised it took this long to meld AnnArbor.com back into the Mlive.com  fold.  The return comes in a mere 8 days, according to today's announcement (AKA Letter to Readers) (A third online piece answers more questions, similar to what was posted when the rest of the Michigan Advance newspapers merged into mlive.com)

I'm glad that the Ann Arbor News name is coming back. To me, the name of AnnArbor.com indicated a web site about all things Ann Arbor, Michigan.

John Kroll puts together five thoughts about the ending of AnnArbor.com on his Digital blog, including praise for the initial bold move, higher praise for its handling of online comments, and a reminder about one of the better assets the site let go. (We're talking about Ed Vielmetti, an Internet old-timer and one-man news agency for his city, interests and communities..)

By the way, if you are still interested in what's happening with Advance and get tired of waiting for me to make public my thoughts or share some links John Kroll Digital blog is well worth your time. Maybe I say that because I like how he predicted his early retirement. while working for the Cleveland Plain Dealer. More likely I say go there because he writes about it frequently. ... he ended 27 years at the Dealer in 2013. Go John.

Of course, Free From Editors still remembers to share updates, including a link to a blogger's reaction to doings at the Cleveland Plain Dealer.  Hint: Blogger loved newspaper's coverage of Castro, not so happy with digital version review of a cheesecake factory. Go. Read. Chuckle and thank Slate for bringing us this highlight from a crime blog.



More reactions:
Damn Arbor: Like a jellyfish ....
Well that experience didn't last long

Background on AnnArbor.com (though admitedly out of date)

First class efforts: Stolen summer, online life

Goodness, I'm not sure what disappeared faster -- the days people call summer or my life online.

One moment I was encouraging my husband to get the pool open by Memorial Day. Today, just days from the traditional last big splash, I realize only my feet have touched the pool water.

Equally surprising is how quickly the online landscape changes. It seems like it was just last week that I was twittering, filling my Friendfeed, blogging and keeping up with sites like Publish2, Pinterest, Plurk and so much more.

But goodness, a Social tab in Gmail  hides Twitter messages that try to lure me with what's being said and StumbleUpon sweet summaries of the best. The Feedly set up to replace Google Reader is locked in a laptop that decides randomly if it will turn on. The spreadsheet that lists my social homes and magic words is garbled and unreadable on a thumb drive that landed too close to a big magnet.

Tell me again how much I'll love Windows 8.

Tell me again HP how you can't find anything wrong with the laptop that you could not save anything from because the hard drive was destroyed.

Tell me again why my backup device won't work and my iPhone battery has less energy then a person with multiple sclerosis on a hot, muggy Michigan day.

Just don't tell me I've become a curmudgeon who resists change ... unless you are sending those words to me in an envelope with a first class stamp.

Enough: The '60s baggage returns

The 60s once invited images of groovy times, free love and "my way or the highway." Yes, the 1960s defined life for us.

Apparently, the 60s continue as a defining statement for us and our blogs. The search for living a significant life consumes.

A 60th birthday becomes the last milestone by choice for one man. What is unusual is he documents his decision making and leaves his biography for us. 

Martin Manley spent years in journalism and left us a pre-paid website so we will remember what he wants us to remember about his life and his death. 

What would you write for your last words?

Did it take courage?

Bill and Carol Mitchell also are in their 60s. They, too, chose to change their lives and to blog.

They left jobs, a big house, a hot state for  A Year In A Room 

Does it take courage?

I am not contemplating suicide. I do understand the desire to leave footprints

I know I am not downsizing ... yet. I am not leaving the familiar to try on a new city, a new way of filling the days or moving out to new experiences.

I think about the courage it takes to say enough ... Enough days.  Enough stuff. Enough.

Sorting out who you know

Some people are good at remembering the people who cross their paths. 

I am not. I want to remember when we met, how we met, why we met. I want to map the relationship to help me recall.

I rarely want to let go of anyone, even those who want to go, who should go, who should have gone.

It is hard for me to clean out my Facebook, MySpace, LinkedIn and all the other placesI hooked up with folks. I have address books from college, from first jobs, from other lives. 

I am Twittering again, or trying to is perhaps a more accurate statement. I see who has stuck around there and I remember vividly why they are there. Seeing their name reminds me of conversations once deemed important. There are 1,000 or so names there today, following me on Twitter 

Yet if I were asked to name 1,000 people I know right now I don't think I could. I need the prompts of the social media tools, my new address books.

I want to hold onto "old friends" even as I struggle with choosing a topic that will be worthy of a tweet. 

I want to yell about the senseless beating of a teenager, the anguish of parents, the outrage of what the law allows.

I want to share the joy of a couple on their wedding day, the absurdity of picking up 24-packs when 12-packs are ordered and the exhaustion that creeps in to steal all motion from legs that stop listening to my brain. 

Instead, I watch people whitewash their pasts. I wait. I wait. I stop. 

Then I start again.

I remember. I write. I connect.

Pinking out: Ban on girlish color backfires

My best efforts to ensure my little girl would not live in a sea of pink were useless. She loves pink. She lives pink. She wants pink.

I am reminded of her love for pink right now as I sit in the midst of pink flowers, pink glitter, pink paper, pink .... Well you get the idea.  She is hundreds of miles away.  I am in crafting, creating small pieces of pink for her upcoming wedding.

I wanted her to live in a world without stereotypes. But I knew pink was her color of choice early on just by looking at her toys or the clothes she picked out.

At least my effort to ensure she would know she could be anyone or anything she wanted to be turned out better. Right?

Certainly, you need to be a strong woman to move to another state permanently.

Certainly, you need to be a thinking woman to succeed in business -- she's a store manager in Tennessee.

Certainly, you need to be a wise woman to know sometimes you need to start over. She now volunteers at a hospital and will go back to college this fall for a few classes needed before embarking on a venture to become a physician's assistant.

First, though, there's a pink and aqua wedding in Tennessee. Pink bridesmaids' dresses. Pink bouquets. Pink glitter, pink ribbons, pink this and pink that. Even the white wedding cake will showcase some pink -- in the form of the pink cancer ribbons.

After the wedding, she'll go to school and work. 

After the wedding, I'll donate any and all pink flowers, fabric, ribbon and other craft leftovers to help an area breast cancer walking group raise money.

After the wedding, I'll try to figure out why I ever thought pink wasn't a good color for girls.

A floodgate opens

Surprise. Some still check this area to see what's new and what's spilling out through my fingers.

Sadly, perhaps, I've take another vacation from writing, from reading most blog posts, status updates and Twitter.

Saddest of all is I've lost interest in newspapers. Instead I get my news from the TV, from the Internet, and from friends and family.

The newspapers pile up because I still cannot stop subscribing. I cannot throw out an unread newspaper.

For awhile, I was checking the advertising inserts carefully. But then I realized I wasn't going to head to the stores for the bargains unless I had a need. And do I need an ad to tell me I need something? That makes it easier to throw out the ads unread.

I pick up the newspaper each day it is delivered. I start to read it and then get stopped by another activity, or  worse by an unanswered question in the story. Take a short piece about a film at local place. The writer explains the details are on the website. My questions: Which website? The film's? The place where it is being shown? The one where the article is?

The surprise is how little of the what is in the newspaper is relevant to the day the newspaper comes out.

Perhaps though this interest was just dormant while I worked on preparing a body worthy of the new mechanical knee inserted in my flesh.

This week I spent a whole morning hunting through Facebook, catching up on family and friends.

The big splash on TV on another big study on breast cancer and the upcoming pinking of everything reminded that most don't know my daughter continues to show no signs of cancer returning.

A search for some information for an obituary for my stepdad uncovered the death of editor Ben Burns and a reminder of his dedication to a multicultural cadre of journalists covering a multicultural world.

Both deaths remind me I've never acknowledged the passing of one of the greatest news people I've ever known. Dave Poniers deserves more  from me. But his death came too fast after the deaths of two who  influenced my early days in Flint, especially post-divorce.

Yes, life is moving too fast not to stop and share what's inside and outside

Surprise II: This was written months ago and I thought published then.

Unexpected: Michigan media Detroit Lions reporter dies

Tom Kowalski, who covered the Detroit Lions for media in Michigan died today, Aug. 29. 2011.

The Grand Rapids Press posted an article about his death and role in Michigan media at mlive.com: Tom Kowalski longtime Detroit Lions reporter, dies

The 51-year-old started covering the pro football team in 1985 while working at the Oakland Press. He began covering the Lions for Booth Newspapers in 1997, according to the article.

Kowalski (aka "Killer") is also the Lions insider to WDFN-AM Detroit, WJBK-TV,Detroit, WRIF-FM Detroit, and The Sporting News.

More coverage and reactions is being added online on the  Mlive.com Lions page.
and national sports sites also are reporting on his death.

Over on his Twitter stream, one of his last Tweets:

TomKowalski36 Tom Kowalski OK fellas, here we go ... Sleep well, I'll most likely kill you in the morning ...
17 hours ago

Some of his recent coverage of the Detroit Lions is archived.

The Booth Newspaper chain includes the Ann Arbor News, Bay City Times, Flint Journal, Grand Rapids Press, Jackson Citizen Patriot, Kalamazoo Gazette, Muskegon Chronicle, and Saginaw News. Booth is part of Advance Publications.

Tomorrow starts now for those who live in the moment

It is so hard to live in the moment, to appreciate what we have right now, to know that what is here is enough, is right, is perfect for what this moment is.

It is so much easier to wish for tomorrow, that phantom time that will let us live our life the way we want to, not the way our kids mold our days and nights, not the way our parents shape what happens with questions and love, not the way the should tasks fill much of the 24/7 schedule.

Sometimes the only way I get through the periods of pain is by focusing on what will -- OK may -- be possible another time.

Yet the pain - in my body, or my mind or my heart - clearly calls me back to the moment. That pain shouts deal with me NOW.

Sometimes the rythmatic actions of online games can mask the frightening accumulation of pains.

Sometimes the warmth of conversation can melt the icy coat of hurt.

Sometimes catching the happiness that crosses the faces of those lost in the now is enough, is inspiring, is a call to action.

 Can I create moments modeled by Jimmy Fallon who often giggles with the delight of the results of the right guest at the right time?

Does a grin cross my face and sparkle my eyes just like Keith Urban on a morning TV show performing "You Look Good in My Shirt?"

Do I ever get lost like the child who disappears into a bucket of Legos, box of crayons or a body-swallwoing mud puddle..

But, mostly I wait in the clutter of  tomorrow.

I wait for that day when there will be time to read the books that are no longer grouped by subject and those books that wait in boxes for their turn on the shelves.

I wait for the right pattern, the right mood, the right idea to turn the yards of fabric, the boxes of embellishments and the bolts of ribbon into the beautiful objects that I see in my mind. I start many projects, finish few.

I wait for the space, the right tools, the day when the words and memories flow to deal with the photos aching for a place in an album that is completed with the who, what, when, where and why.

My contact list, my Rolodex, my addressbooks are filled with names and details such as birthdays and anniversaries. I am still overwhelmed by perfection and let the personal celebrations slide by with no acknowledgement from me, with no purchased card let alone one of the many cards I've put together or could put together. Next year, I tell myself.

So much waits for that moment when it is their turn to step into the moment and out of tomorrow.

About this blog
Yes, I'm still alive. Yes, the above explains some of the reasons that no posts appeared for such a long time. Yes, it has been a rough time because the thoughts remain even when I lose the ability to recognize and repeat the right words at the right time. I am dreaming more and moving less. I am trying new medications, new practices, new habits to try to return the multiple sclerosis to the stage that allowed me to work hard, to write right, to move freely and frequently. Let's see what happens.

More buyouts for Advance in New Jersey

No time for comment but I thought some of you would be interested in this Editor & Publisher article:

Newark 'Star-Ledger' Offers New Round of Buyouts
While the Garden State's largest daily is not revealing how many buyouts are being sought, Publisher Richard Vezza wrote in a letter to employees that based on its performance over the first seven months of the year, the paper is projected to lose $10 million in 2010.

The Star-Ledger is part of the Advance Publications network, sometimes called Newhouse newspapers.

Dads march into daughters' lives

I smile everytime I watch this video of a "It's a Dad's life," marveling at how expectations of what dads do, should do, will do has changed over the years.

We've moved dad's role from main money man to one more involved with every aspect of their children's lives. I cringe everytime I hear a father say he's babysitting his kids, a line I have never heard a mother say. I envy dads who play daily with their kids, who drive them places and never require a DNA check.

Jealous, of course

Summer is when I miss my dad the most. We built some pretty good memories around Christmas too. Mostly though, we postponed.

We started postponing when I first discovered the earring that was not my mother's. Someday, he would say, I would understand why.

We continued as I struggled to understand why he forgot to come get the five of us for bowling or sledding or whatever dad-time outing was planned. Someday, he would say, I would understand why you work when you can,  why there was so little to say, why it was hard to for him to be around.

The first divorce

That divorce way back in the 1960s made our family unusual in the neighborhood, our schools, and especially our church. It changed our childhood as we became the first family to have a mom who worked, who celebrated Christmas twice, who skipped most events requiring a dad.

Someday, he said we would be closer, someday when I was older.

Once I had my driver's license, it was easier for us to meet him at his house on the lake. In winter, the trip almost always meant a new scratch on the car when I hit the tree at the bottom of the hill. In summer, there were boat rides, barbecues and chats by the grill.

Mismatched visions

He did not understand why I went to college or why I continued after marrying that nice young man. He expected I'd used my cooking, sewing, household skills for my own family, not knowing how tired I was of that life.

Still, he sent what he could. His campus visits almost always included a football game, a nice dinner out and a little extra cash slipped into my pocket. He was at the wedding. He was dad-proud at graduation.

Years later, he said he was sorry for telling me to stay married, sharing he was afraid I would follow his lead of multiple marriages and divorces and not recognizing the abuse, my cry for help, my need for my dad.

Birth breaks barrier

We repeated years of silence as I slipped into single life, wild life and then a new married life. Wisely, we let the birth of my daughter wipe out  the barriers that led to month after month of no contact.

Christmas became fun again as he and my stepmother spoiled the grandchildren. Summers meant pontoon boat rides, grilled steaks, and water things like splashing and fishing.

Pattern continues

Mostly though we continued our postponing tradition.

Some day, but not this year, we would decorate the pantoon and participate in the Fourth of July water parade that took place in his "backyard."

Some time, but not now, we would look through photos and try to match memories and names and he would tell me stories of his growing up.

Some winter, but not right now, he would help replace the kitchen cabinets in the "new house." He had recognized the cabinets the first time he visited. They were  cabinets from the company he worked at from high school until the end.

We postponed fishing trips, visits and calls.

Mismatched visions

I miss my dad right now because he would be taking me out on the deck for a private chat and a what-for. He spoke plainly and hated my ideas of what I thought life and love and work should be. He'd help me shake the blues, finding the rightness of now.

He thought the buyout was a great idea, giving me time to do nothing, to do crafts, to relax. He thought I deserved an easy ending to counter the hard start. He thought maybe nothingness would ease the pains of multiple sclerosis.

Mostly though, he thought we would have more time together. Instead, he postponed sharing symptoms with doctors, he postponed treatments but he couldn't postpone death.

Not so surprising is how my dad's death is linked to the grandchild that reopened our grill gabs, dad-daughter dreaming and predictable postponements. He died from cancer on the day my daughter started her cancer treatments.

Dance now idea led to moody musings

I'm struggling with a proposed class on social media that might be offered in March. It's frustrating to try to predict what web site, tool, or technique will be hot in seven months.

It's equally frustrating because I don't know how I'll be today much less seven months from now.

In fact, I'm frustrated that I'm not keeping promises that I've made to myself or to others. Even knowing that there is no way that I would know what multiple sclerosis would deliver, I'm still frustrated.

I want to walk easily. I want to talk easily. Oh what the heck, I want to write and I know that is never something done easily.

I know the randomness of multiple sclerosis with its symptoms that come and go makes planning or promising useless. It seems there are more bad days then good ones, more times of the year when I know the best I'm going to do is make it to the recliner.

Precious tears

Plus, I know I'm frustrating my family and friends who want to help. I'm not surprised that as I'm writing I hear Rob Thomas explain the story behind Her Diamonds on the Rachel Ray show. (video below) The song is about a couple dealing with the effects of  an autoimmune disease like multiple sclerosis.- His wife has another autoimmune disease. From Thomas' online bio:

"Her Diamonds” was written “about a couple dealing with that on a day-to-day basis. There’s an incredible amount of sadness that comes with something like that."

There's incredible frustration too. The song  Her Diamonds starts with a woman laying back down in frustration with a familiar line of "I just can't win for losing." Then:

And I don't know what I'm supposed to do.
But if she feels bad then I do too so I let her be
And she says ooh I can't take no more
Her tears like diamonds on the floor
And her diamonds bring me down
Cause I can't help her now

Yet, there's the reminder that we all face hard times. From that bio:

"There are moments where I think I flirted with a thinner personal line than I’ve ever done before, but, really, I’m writing a song about how people deal with hard times, and that hard time is universal, that hard time can be anything.”

In fact, what I thought I was writing about today was something inspirational for a friend facing hard times. That started with a video of disco-dancing cows (below)because how can you not smile when watching that.

Just dance

I wanted to credit the oft-quoted phrase of dance like nobody is watching. Perhaps I should credit William Watson Purkey, who closed speeches with:

"You've gotta' dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth”

But I liked how Crystal Boyd's  inspiring piece, which uses the phrase as a title, writes of the importance of not waiting until the kids are older, the mortgage paid, the time is just right)

Then Rob Thomas popped up on the TV screen and I realized the hard times are here as well as there. I'd like to make it easier for all, but I don't know what I need much less what I want that is possible.

For now, I'll go tackle the improbable task of predicting what I'll teach about social media in seven months. You watch the videos, OK?

Daughter's challenge inspires crew

Losing a bet led to this

Yep, that is my daughter licking a dumpster, a most unusual stunt for a germ-fearing kid.

She challenged her crew to make it a 4k day to see her lick the outside of the collector of trash. Had they sold 5k worth of pizza, bread sticks and drinks she would have licked the inside. Fortunately, they were $50 short of that last goal.

I'm still not sure who came up with the payoff. But even with less then two months at her new store, I am sure the crew knows how important cleanliness is to her. I'm sure they have scrubbed every surface, noticed the newly painted ceiling and learned the health department standards are minimum suggestions.

This is the daughter who sends unsused silverware that sat on the table during a meal to the dishwasher. This is the daughter who always checks the best used date on every box and bottle before consuming. This is the daughter who carries antibacterial cleansers everywhere and says "Purell is my friend."

Perhaps she's always had that cleanliness streak but I did not notice it until she came back home to successfully fight breast cancer. All of us stepped up the cleanliness madness, wiping surfaces constantly, degerming everything she touched and using hand sanitizer as if it were a lotion guaranteed to give us smooth skin.

That cleanliness obsession makes this motivating action even more surprising. Still she gave her word, never expecting the crew would make it the store's best day of the year.

Not surprising she did clean the spot first.

"lol I did it but I still scrubbed like crazy! Still gross lol. But the loophole was the purell they never said I couldn't lmao!"

 A friend online labeled that action "deception by omission." Her response:

"lol hey they never said I couldn't! It was still disgusting :)"

Even as I cringe, I'm proud of my daughter finding creative, non-monetary ways to motivate people working with and for her.

Even as I beg her to look for a safer payoff next time, I celebrate this one step that shows cancer is loosening its grip on her life.

Even as I worry about my mistakes as a parent, I recognize the successes illustrated in this stunt - the importance of promises, the benefits of working together, and the neccessity of being prepared.

Today I understand even better that the apple does not fall far from the tree.

---

I've written about my daughter's cancer crusade, including the challenge of hair, chemo and TV shows that make me cry.

Wrong about beauty, being dumb and other thoughts Facebook feed provokes

The first glance today at my Facebook feed finds so much more then FarmVille, FrontierVille, and other mindless chatter that replaces the workplace coffee pot and/or water cooler.

The casual mutterings loosen up my fingers, my brain before I step into another major challenge of dealing with the three layers of government, one nursing home, a man with Alzheimer's, a confused spouse (the man's, not mine) and an overstressed grandmother frustrated by juggling too many grandkids, a mother with fading abilities, a long-distance wedding and, well, life. (Just writing that tells me why my lower back hurts.)

Via a Blackberry and straight into my stream comes:

"Beauty fades, but dumb lasts forever"

Perhaps it is the age of the sharer that makes her feel that way. She'll learn that you fix dumb with an education - in school, via books (or is that reading), and life experience. You fix beauty by cultivating the good or helping the community learn what real beauty is - the glow of motherhood, the spark of new love, the warmth of old love.

Comics change

Then, there's the viewpoint that ComicCon has changed as movie studios came into an event where geeks once reigned.

"Comic-con sure has changed. Went a couple times with my kids and it was fun. I liked all the unusual, but devotedly geeky people who knew about Green Lantern and Captain America when they were still 2-D. This year the studios took over and it feels as fake and polished as Hollywood. I miss the geeks."

Indeed, the definition of news, comic books and collecting is changing. A piece on some national news broadcast looks at how comic books are moving from paper to digital. Within 60 seconds, there is:

• Reflection about the benefits of seeing the characters in crisp, bright colors immediately in a form that the young - the traditional starter comic audience - prefer. Bits over paper.
• Moaning about how electronic delivery means the destruction of investing in comics as having a first-edition version of Superman loaded on your iPad won't ever increase in value like the coveted first paper editions in perfect condition in perfect environment will (or is that did?)
• Prediction of the loss of community created by enthusiasts who bonded at local comic stores while waiting for a new shipment of comics on paper. (Or is that a prediction of another business doomed to die unless it finds a new niche?)

Back to the July 22-25 ComicCon in San Diego.The simple status update reminds me of what I like about Facebook - its ability to let me know a little bit more of people in my community. I watch as people press the like button on Facebook, leave a few words, and reveal just a tiny piece of information that helps define the uniqueness of each.

Hint of the news

One reply leaves me wanting to know more:

"geeks must still be there ,,, how else would someone have been stabbed with a pen (pocket protectors are now holsters.)"

That takes me off to the Internet to learn how one man vented by using his pen to attack the face of a man who sat too close. Ah yes, crowd control is crowdsourced.

CNN shows us video of the stabber handcuffed and escorted out and share quotes on why the convention folks must find a way to comfortably shoehorn in enough people to make a profit without risking multiple meltdowns that lead to pen stabbings and other horrors.

Back to work. Back to unraveling the bureacracy that uses registered mail to deliver a notice of change for skilled nursing care on the same day the change takes place and a mere 24 hours after the deadline to protest.

Juicy, red tomato says summer with every bite

We watched the plant blossom, a small green tomato grow bigger, a green tomato turn red, and finally we released it from our garden, brought it inside, washed it and brought it to the dinner table:

"Had the first tomato out of my first garden yesterday. It was really good. Nothing like a vine ripe tomato."

That was a Facebook posting from a friend that I could have written.

A backyard- or porch-grown tomato shares such a different taste from those from the Flint Farmers' Market, Whole Foods, the local grocery store.

We've been munching on the cherry tomatoes from the yard but nothing compares to the just-picked big ones.

I love tomatoes even when they don't love me back. So I enjoyed three big slices and (almost) gladly suffered through the migraine.

I wish I understood why the canned tomatoes or the market tomatoes don't trigger a headache. Heck, I wish I would remember about the garden effect BEFORE I ate the tomato.

Yet, I know I'd still eat that first one. And I know that I'll keep eating them - maybe just a smaller portion until I find the magical, safe quantity. Or maybe a dose of Benadryl before eating?

I'm thankful my husband planted and cared/s for the minigarden.

I'm thankful for one more sign it is summer (despite the back-to-school sales that are sprouting up in my community.)

I'm especially thankful for homegrown tomatoes.