Save the What?

Shirley Temple Black. Linda Ellerbee. Gloria Steinem. Richard Roundtree. Kate Jackson. Melissa Etheridge.

Fred Gwynne. Donna Reed. Steve Jobs. Patrick Swayze. Jack Benny. Michael Landon. Luciano Pavarotti. 

What is the link between these celebrities who were all found in a very elementary Google search? The first six listed are survivors of breast cancer while the next group of seven are victims of pancreatic cancer. Interestingly, I couldn't find a list of celebrity breast cancer victims in a search; nor could I find a list of pancreatic cancer survivors. 

October is a month when many people try to raise awareness of breast cancer. And quite frankly, I usually can't wait until October is over. 

I know that's probably considered heresy. After all, shouldn't we all be in support of Breast Cancer Awareness? Shouldn't we all get our our 'mammies grammied'? Doesn't everyone want to Save the TaTas?Don't we all <3 our boobies? Haven't we all posted a cryptically stupid Facebook status to 'raise awareness'? And don't forget to warn people to check their 'bumps for lumps'! 

The answer to the first question is absolutely YES. Breast cancer is real; it demoralizes, disfigures, and even kills women (even though Google seemingly doesn't want to tell you about that). But in answer to the remaining questions, I would answer: don't devalue your awareness of an ugly disease by referring to them as boobies, ta-tas, lumps, hooters, tits, jugs, or any of the other132 slang names found on listaholic.com. 

On the radio this morning, the talking heads were discussing a high school cheerleading squad who wanted to "raise awareness" for breast cancer and purchased "Save the TaTas" shirts to wear at their games and/or competitions. The principal said no; these t-shirts are not appropriate for school. I have to agree. By using such a slogan, the girls are buying into the male-dominated stereotype that breasts exist solely for visual or sexual pleasure and not for feeding babies. Cheerleaders elicit enough prurient interest already. Don't give them more to work with. These slogans also feed into the big business model that tries to sell us pink ribbons, pink dog shirts, pink hair products, pink stuffed animals, pink buckets of chicken, pink mixers and more. Where is all that money going, anyway? How much is actually going to help women (or men) who have breast cancer? 

Face it, people. Breasts (and the women who wear them) are not a commodity. Breasts are a functional part of our bodies. Just like an arm or a leg, or a lung or a pancreas. I'm all for awareness of breasts, and of breast cancer ... as long as it's for the right reasons. But I'm tired of breast cancer being over-hyped when people are getting diagnosed--and too often dying--every day of plenty of other types of cancer. 

I realize that I am very fortunate to not be speaking from firsthand experience in any of this. Maybe I'd feel differently about all this pink-ness if breast cancer had affected me directly. Or maybe not. I hope I don't ever have to find out. 

If you or a loved one have had breast cancer, or if you've lost someone to breast cancer, please know that I do not wish to insult you; I am sorry for your heartache. I don't mean to diminish that in any way. But I'm concerned that all the hype and all the pink-ness is somehow taking advantage of the very bitter struggle against cancer and creating yet another profit-making opportunity. And perhaps not one that actually benefits the cancer patients.

If getting involved helps you cope with the fight against cancer, I'm all for it. Many people find some comfort in the Breast Cancer 3-Day, or the Susan G. Komen events, or Relay For Life. Maybe you have a pink ribbon magnet on your vehicle, or a ribbon pin on your lapel, and I respect that as well. 

I participated in Relay for Life last summer. There were plenty of pink ribbons there, but there were also purple, and black, and gold, and green and ...you get the picture. I walked that day in honor of a dear friend, who has since lost her battle with pancreatic cancer; in memory of my dad, who died of lung cancer almost 40 years ago; and in honor of my husband, a lung cancer survivor. I also held in thought my friend and cousin, a 15-year breast cancer survivor. My friend who still struggles with periodic concerns over her T-cell counts 10 years after a bout with breast cancer. A friend's son, who was diagnosed with Lymphoma earlier this year. 

But you know what? More important than walking, or running, wearing a ribbon, or attending a cocktail reception is being there for the people you love. Feel like you need to do something? Call a friend who is battling cancer. Go and sit with them if you're able to. Bake a cake. Send them a magazine you think they'd like. Take them to treatments if you can. Make a prayer shawl, if that might bring them comfort. Sometimes, doing something tangible is way more important than raising money for a "cause."

The bottom line is this: every kind of cancer is despicable. It doesn't matter if you're famous like Farrah, Gloria, Steve or Luciano. Cancer also affects everyday people named Alma or Tom or David or Rita or Harry or Oliver. 

No one deserves that kind of pain. And it sucks, literally and figuratively.

Focusing on what's important ... and it's not the drama.

You know how sometimes you can read a quote that you’ve seen several times before, but at that particular moment it really speaks to you? That happened to me last week when someone posted the following tidbit on Facebook:

“There comes a time in life when you have to let go of all the pointless drama and the people who create it; and surround yourself with the people who make you laugh so hard that you forget the bad and focus solely on the good. After all, life is too short to be anything but happy.”

Wow. That really hit home I have had mega-drama swirling around in my head for several months now. Some drama in life is inevitable, of course. But far too much of what goes on in the name of business, organizations, politics, or even family life is definitely of the “pointless” variety. And I have decided I need to separate myself from that as much as possible, because … yes, life is too short to be anything but happy.

If that seems a bit Pollyanna-ish, perhaps it is. But I have to say that in the midst of drama and yes, even sadness over the past few months, I have still experienced a great deal of joy. And I prefer to keep it that way rather than let the sadness drag me down.

Drama can be addictive, though. You get caught up in it and you start thinking about it all the time and you start talking about it to anyone and everyone. It becomes a part of you. And it’s also contagious. Like a nasty virus, you start spreading it everywhere you go.

Five years ago, I had a co-worker named Jessica. We weren’t close so I didn’t hear her complain, but she obviously had her share of burdens. She was quiet and never shared much about herself with me. I knew she was a single mom; she had a couple of teenage kids; she probably struggled with money like a lot of us do. Like me, she was unhappy with her job, but she was grateful to have it so she kept on working, despite the drama and the contention and the fact that she obviously would’ve rather been just about anywhere else.

One day, Jessica didn’t show up for work. The office was buzzing, as an office does when there’s some drama afoot, with theories of what crisis had happened to her that day. We later learned that her young son had found her unresponsive in bed; she never regained consciousness. She was probably 10 years younger than me, and all I could think about was how sad she was and I didn’t want to be that way. I realized how short and precious our time is here. And we never know how suddenly it can be all over.

Rather than end up in a similar situation, I left the job that was stressing me out and creating all sorts of negative drama in my life. It wasn’t an easy decision, even though I knew it was the right one, because it was downright scary to be leaving the security of a decent-paying job with benefits. It was also something that had almost become my identity. (I’ll never forget the time my husband introduced himself saying, “I’m married to the Enterprise.”) But the daily drama was too intense. I realized I had caught myself up in it and was making too many personal sacrifices just to stay on that enticing stage.

Throughout my life, I’ve tended to be a chronic volunteer. My husband claims I don’t have the word “no” in my vocabulary.  I get passionately dedicated to a cause and I just can’t stop saying “yes,” even when that cause starts to incite more drama than I need at any given moment. And so it is at this point in my life, that I realize I need to separate myself from some of the commotion in my life and focus myself back on my faith, family, and friends.

It seems that there are people who seem to feel better if they can create drama and discontent around them. In fostering that drama, they can eventually destroy an ideology and even, sometimes, the organization that was built around that philosophy.

It’s that pointless-drama thing, and yet it’s hard for the people who feel a commitment to certain principles or causes to simply let go. Sometimes you want to stick around to take a stand or make it right or fight the injustice, but you can’t spend your life butting heads. That's one thing I've definitely learned over the years.

A dear friend who taught me much about faith passed away this summer. I still miss her every day. And I especially miss being able to run across the street to ask her to share her priceless wisdom when I’m facing some kind of an issue. However, I know very well what she would say about the drama I’m in right now—get away. Fast.

I talked in my last column about making some resolutions at this time of year. So I’m drawing my line in the sand. It’s time to remember that two-letter word. Rather than get sucked into further drama, I will walk away. I’ll surround myself instead with those people who make me smile—and laugh.

And next time I see this happening, I hope it takes me even less time to listen to that inner guidance and say “no.”

Can you please some of the people ...

You may be surprised to learn that once upon a time I was a sensitive person who really wanted to please everyone. Yup ... me!

I tried to be A Nice Person; I figured that way everyone would like me. I could never figure out why it never made me Homecoming Queen. It rarely got me any new friends. And it didn’t make me the World’s Best Mom, either. That was before I was old enough to know better.

About 10 or 15 years ago, I grew up. I think it was at about the time I got more involved in the newspaper. Maybe it was when my kids were teenagers. Or both. Whatever … it was then that I realized that no matter what you do, or how good your intentions are, not everyone will appreciate it.

To paraphrase P.T. Barnum (or Abraham Lincoln, depending on whom you ask), “You can please some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can never please all of the people all of the time.” Since no one seems to agree upon who first said it this way, I’ve decided to credit it to myself. And if you don’t like that … oh, well.

In my foray into the world of journalism, I quickly learned the truth of this proverb. Some people liked me because they liked the newspaper. Other people didn’t like me because they didn’t like the newspaper’s owner. When the ownership changed, people who didn’t like me before suddenly thought I was great; while those who had liked me before were suspicious of my changing alliances. See? I couldn’t make anyone totally happy.

As I tried desperately to do everything right and keep everyone contented, I found out I was still making some people mad. Who knew?  Finally, I understood that people who knew me would decide for themselves. And those who didn’t know me could make up their own minds too. That’s when I figured out that the only person I really had to make happy was … me.

Time went on and I once again changed allegiances. I found myself in a new place where I could make both friends and enemies: Manchester Village Council.

For the first several months of my term as a council trustee, I didn’t mind asking “stupid” questions.  I was the new kid on the block, and I’d been thrown into the lion’s den due to the resignation of a former council member. I did ask my share of dumb questions (and as much as some people will tell you that there is no such thing, I can assure you that there are indeed “dumb questions.”) Now, in my third year on council, I am starting to feel like I know my way around, at least a little bit. I’m also starting to speak my mind … and maybe I do that a little too often.

As I said, I’ve found that I’ll never please everyone, so I might as well say what I’m thinking … whether or not it gets me in trouble. Look: I’m not a Manchester Girl. I wasn’t born here. I don’t have generations of relatives who live here. But the reason I wanted to be on council was because I really care about what happens in the community that I adopted as “home” almost 40 years ago.

Sometimes, I wonder what I signed up for. I’ve certainly heard plenty of people’s opinions on things that are on the village docket … as well as things that are only rumored to be on the docket. Either way, I’m actually happy to hear the opinions of village residents that I was elected to represent.  I decided early on that even if I was the only person who voted a certain way, and even if it didn’t really make a difference, I was going to stick to my guns. One time over the past three years I didn’t vote my conscience and I still regret it. I won’t do that again; I promise. But I have made some motions and/or voted with the majority on several occasions that haven’t been entirely popular. And, in response to that, I will only say this: Village Council is not a popularity contest.

I don’t vote a certain way because I like people. Or because I don’t. I will, however, always try to vote according to what seems to be best for the entire community, whether or not it seems best for you, or even for me. And whether or not it is the most popular opinion in town. And nothing other than my own conscience is going to influence how I vote.

This is not a campaign speech. I’m not up for re-election this fall (although some of my fellow council members will be). You’ve got a couple more years to deal with me—and to hold me accountable for what I’ve written in this article.

I won’t always agree with you, and I don’t imagine that you’ll always agree with me. But I hope we can still see each other on Main Street, or Adrian Street, or City Road … and find our common ground somewhere in the middle. 

IDK what this world is coming 2. How bout U?

Once upon a time, my post-office box was the center of my world. Or close to it, anyway.

For years, the highlight of my day was to walk two blocks to the local post office and pick up The Mail. We didn't have door-to-door mail in such close proximity to the post office, so we've had the same box number for almost 40 years now. It's small town living at its best.

In our old post office, we had quaint little metal-and-glass boxes with lettered combinations. I still remember the combination to my old box: You'd turn the dial right to AB; left to DE; and then stop again at I to the right. It was simple and straightforward. You could stop at the post office on your way somewhere else or while you were out pushing the kids around in the stroller. If you had questions, or needed something weighed, or wanted to buy postage stamps, you could go to the desk and talk to the quaint little postmaster, Mr. Kirk. He was awfully cute. He acted stern, but eventually you realized that his stolid face was often hiding a wry sense of humor.

Several years ago, the post office moved to "new-and-improved" quarters just one block away from our house. I'm sure it was a good thing for the post office. It wasn't always so good for me. By this time, Mr. Kirk had retired. The new postmaster wasn't hiding anything (especially not a sense of humor)--what you saw was what you got. In little old Manchester we started to understand the meaning of "going postal." It was no longer as much fun to go inside and buy postage stamps, but that was OK because you could now buy them from a little machine that spit out one stamp at a time, and sometimes even spit out one-cent stamps in "change." The kids loved that. If you wanted something weighed you hoped that the postmaster would stay in his office and that Skip or Frances would help you out.

Worse, however, was that our awesome little combination lock boxes were deemed "old-fashioned" and had been discarded. Now we all had plain, ugly boxes, that were opened with keys (which you could obtain for a fee). And we weren't allowed to forget them at home. There was no glass in the box, so you had to open it up to see if there was anything inside. My mail started piling up in the box because I could never remember to take the key when I went out for a walk.

Still, I loved the days that I remembered the key and could pick up The Mail. I never knew what kind of neat surprises my mailbox would hold. Sure, there were bills; but there might also be a nice, long, letter from the friend that I'd met in fourth grade in New Jersey. Or family members from far away. There might even be a package once in a while.

Slowly, however, The Mail was mostly just bills. And junk. People I knew were starting to communicate electronically, so my allegiance eventually turned to email. I started gathering email addresses from my friends and we could chat happily and cheaply. I joined some email lists as my realm of friends broadened out. We poured out our hearts from our computers to folks we'd never actually met in person. But you know what, I couldn't wait to log on and see who I heard from next.

Then, there was Facebook. The friend who invited me apologized for "luring me into this evil world." Uh-huh. Well, it's OK. I have gotten over Facebook a couple of times. And I'm back again. However, it now seems to have overtaken email. Seemingly, it's easier to tell the world that you have to go to the bathroom than to just walk away from your computer and come back in a few minutes to finish reading ... or writing. It's faster to just click "like" on someone's status than to actually respond to them via a private message. I still check in on people, but I will confess that it is probably more because I'm nosy than truly concerned.

And, of course, if you're posting from your phone, which you can use for texting, updating your facebook status, sending an email, and "tweeting" your 140 characters on Twitter, you are making all sorts of little abbreviations to shorten up your message. Because let me tell you--it is a HUGE pain to send messages from your cell phone. At least it is from mine.

So instead of getting some satisfying letters, cards, and/or juicy information via mail or email from our friends (which is a term used somewhat loosely in Facebook-land), we are now getting stupid, often meaningless, updates from those dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of friends/acquaintances/contacts. It's overwhelming. And not very personal.

Email has pretty much been relegated to sending "forwards" (the electronic version of junk mail) that tell you to send it to everyone in your address book, so you have to scroll down through the names and addresses of everyone in everyone else's address book that's gone before you. It's crazy. And half the time, by the time you get to the actual message, something has convoluted it and it's either there in duplicate (it's kind of like the email version of carbon paper) or it's disappeared entirely into some kind of an .html attachment that you don't know if you should open for fear of getting the newest virus hatched by some hacker in India who has nothing better to do while answering your phone calls for tech support.

Quite succinctly--I need to get back to some simpler ways of staying in contact with the people I really care about. I think I'm going to start using my cell phone for what God intended it to do--talking. What a concept.

What you don't see when you haven't got a camera

It's been a long time since I've blogged, but today I happened to be out with my camera and I saw some interesting sights, all within a two-block area of Beautiful Downtown Manchester. I figured that posting a few photos of The Center of the Universe would be a good way to get back into the habit of regular writing.

The first thing I spotted was simply incongruous:

The brand new sign on the left (underneath the word "Movie" on the window) advertising "Free Kids Tickets Available Here" might not be so unlikely if the store on which it's placed hadn't been closed for the past five months ...

... or if this store hadn't been closed for four years. (Too bad you can't see the decorated Christmas tree in the window, which appears to be a full-time attraction in Manchester now.)

There was yet another sign posted on the window of the building formerly occupied by Riverside Consign, which has also been closed for several months. I think the Village Council probably needs to do something about their sign ordinance. (She said, tongue firmly implanted in cheek.)

But I also saw something very cool:

I doubt they made very many of these vintage Lincoln Continental convertibles with suicide doors. And baby blue interiors. I saw a similar one (1962, although I'm not sure if this is the exact same model year) shown on eBay for $12,900. It appears that the trunk is hinged from the rear. I can't really understand why you'd do that, but it looks neat. 

If I hadn't taken a photo of this, I probably wouldn't believe I'd actually seen it, because when I came back up the street just minutes later, it had disappeared as mysteriously as it arrived.

I also saw a turtle trying to cross Main Street. Fortunately, when I quit trying to get close enough to get a decent shot (1), he turned around and headed back to the river (2). I hope he made it: 

Finally, while I was uptown this morning someone asked me if I had noticed the old bank clock, to which I alluded in a blog post last year, was working now. No, I admitted, I didn't notice. As we were talking, we both looked up the street at the clock, which was registering ummm, about 2:53 (no indication of a.m. or p.m.). After talking about the unique internal workings of said clock, which evidently required an out-of-state firm to get it running again, my companion commented that they must be still working on getting it fixed.

But, as I walked past the other way, I noticed that the time was right on the opposite side of the clock:

So, we are both vindicated. I'm pleased to see the bank and the building owner's joint commitment to making this a local landmark once again.

Now I'm back at home, doing laundry, planting the Memorial Day flower pots to take to the cemetery (only a day late) and recuperating from my busy weekend. Enjoy the unofficial "First Day of Summer." Maybe I'll be motivated to write some more soon.

Does anyone really know what time it is? Does anyone really care?

The Daylight Savings time change is really confusing me this year. And every time I go to bed too early, or too late, and wake up at the wrong time, I think of this song by the band Chicago.

I can't figure out what is the benefit of changing the time, whether it happens in October or November; whether it happens in March or April. There are still the same number of hours in every day--it's just that the numbers on those hours are different. It is amazing how much that one hour time change messes with my body's internal clock.

I'm falling asleep on the couch or in front of the computer early in the evening, and I think it's because of the time change. But wait--8:30 p.m. is really 7:30, not 9:30 p.m. Or is it?

It's almost a week into the time change and I suddenly wake up for no apparent reason at 5:30 a.m. But is that really last week's 4:30 or 6:30 a.m.? I can't remember.

My poor mom ended up changing her clocks twice--once on Saturday evening and again on Sunday morning. I know she moved them the right way on Saturday because I visited her that night. I don't know if she moved them back again on Sunday or ahead another hour. Best of all she didn't discover her error until Monday evening when my niece came over to visit. We had a good laugh about it, but I can understand why she got confused. It was the lead story on every single news show for all day Saturday and Sunday.

And darn--I swear that in the olden days it used to be evenly divided between "Standard Time" and "Daylight Savings Time." Six months of one, six months of the other. The last week of April and the last week of October. That seemed fair, somehow, even if it was sometimes confusing whether we should spring-forward or fall-back. Oh that's right--that catchy little phrase was supposed to remind us what to do. But I still can't figure out if I'm gaining an hour or losing an hour. I think either way, we end up losing.

This year, Standard Time started in November (after Halloween! Did it get dark too early or too late for trick or treating last fall? It's so hard to remember.) And it ended the second week of March. So we only had about four months of "Standard" time and if they keep it the same--who knows whether they'll change it yet again--we'll get eight months of "Daylight Savings" time.

Please explain to me what we are "saving," and why. And if it's really Standard time, then why are we getting shorted on our "standard"?

Then there are the states that decide not to participate in this ritual. What's up with that? Maybe they are the smart ones.

So, what time is it, really? And why does it matter? My suggestion is to just leave it one way or the other. I don't even care which time we end up with. But let's figure out what time it really is, once and for all.

And then maybe I can sleep in peace. Or maybe not.

Support Your Local Everything

I have mentioned before that I live in "The Center of the Universe," also known as Manchester, Michigan.

Manchester takes a certain amount of pugnacious pride in being classified as “a small town.” A very small town, in fact. Heck, we’re so small we don’t even have a fast food place!

But you might also be surprised at how much else this small town has to offer.

In past columns for “M” Magazine I have focused on the importance of supporting local events and businesses. And as far as naming names, I’ve really barely scratched the surface.

This time, I’m putting in a plug for the many services you can enjoy without leaving our little corner of Washtenaw County.

You can put your money with the financial institutions that run the appealing ad campaigns on television, billboards, and Facebook … or you can deal with one of our local banks where you’re more than just a number. You’re a person and they know your name. They might not be open 24/7 like the big city banks, but they have ATMs, Internet Banking, and plenty of other options to serve you wherever you are and whenever you need them. Best of all, you don’t have to deal with someone in New York City or San Francisco … or India … when you want to speak to a real person.

Need a haircut, color, manicure or pedicure? All of those services are available at the locally-owned barber shop and styling salons right here in Manchester. Some are open on weekends. Most of them accept walk-in clients. You may not get one of those $8.99 cuts you see advertised but the prices will be equally reasonable once you consider your travel time and the gas it takes to drive out of town. Once again, the people you deal with will be local and they want your look to be good advertising for them, so you will get excellent professional service. Call for an appointment, and I’m betting they’ll bend over backwards to get you in and show you what they can do.

And since I am on my blog instead of in the magazine, I can mention that my daughter works at one of those salons. Marti's Salon, in fact. 734-428-7616. And she's excellent (Sadly, my own hair does not always provide her the best advertisement ... but she tries very hard, and I'd look a lot worse without her help). 

We have all made the acquaintance of Flo the Progressive gal, or the Geico gecko, once again through their entertaining ads on TV. I love the ads, too … but then I consider what might happen if I suddenly needed their service at a moment’s notice. Flo is probably getting her hair and makeup done for her next shoot, and the gecko … well, let’s just say he’s not going to show up and be terribly helpful. Adorable, but not helpful. You can choose to purchase insurance from a local agent. If you call during the day, you get a real person who probably knows exactly who you are.  If you have an after-hours emergency, you’re invited to call the owner’s cell phone. To me, that’s comforting, and real “insurance.” If I need them, they’ll be there.

Doctors, dentists, optometrists, chiropractors, and other health care professionals are all available right here in Manchester. Most of them live right here in the community and take an active interest in what is happening on Main Street as well as inside your mouth, your eye, or anywhere else in your body. They have chosen to serve their neighbors here in their hometown rather than make it easy for themselves by joining a big corporate practice. Most of them are active in civic organizations as well, so they are constantly reaching out to help their community in their personal lives too. You can be proud to support these great people in their chosen professions, by seeking your health care locally.

You may argue that the price is higher when you shop locally. I still contend that once you figure in the time you spend getting somewhere else, the cost of gas, and the convenience factor, that you may actually be saving money by buying in Manchester. In addition, you help to guarantee that those goods and services will continue to be available here, where it’s convenient, friendly, and safe.

There are dozens of other business services that I haven’t mentioned yet—contractors, photographers, painters, caterers, printing and graphic design, automotive repair shops, floral designers, and a multitude of other small miscellaneous services that you might not expect to find in such a “small town.”

We have a wealth of talents right here in Manchester! If you live nearby, I hope you'll take advantage of them. If you don't, try checking out the resources in your own hometown. You might be surprised at what you'll find! And make sure you let these businesses know that you appreciate the services they offer close to home. 

Trust me—they don’t hear that often enough. 

An anniversary, of sorts

I started this blog one year and two days ago, and I've published 50+ blog entries since then. I guess I might as well celebrate.

I read my original blog entry a couple of days ago and I guess in many ways, things have not changed appreciably since that time. I'm still vitally interested in most of the same things--healthy eating and living, buying locally, protecting the environment, figuring out ways to live more simply, and trying to navigate the ever-more-confusing health care hurdles.

I'm not sure I've totally lived up to the hype of my first blog since I think I must have expected everyone to sign on and beg for more. Maybe I've watched a little too much "Julie and Julia," and thought that people would magically flock to my site just to see what I had to say that day. Or that week. Or that month.

Oops, maybe that's the problem. I haven't been as disciplined as Julie was. I am not blogging daily or even weekly. Despite the fact that this is my 52nd blog in one year, I can see that there are times when there have been long lags between posts. And times when I posted two or three times in one week. Sometimes, I've cheated by re-posting something that I found elsewhere. Hey, I've found that counts for other people. And you know, Margaret and Helen sometimes go months in between posts, but there's constant activity on that site.

I probably overestimated myself--again. I'm not Julie. And I'm not Helen. I'm just Marsha. At 56, I think I'm OK with that.

On the bright side, however, I have 2,187 page views (OK, how many of them are mine and how many are from other people ... I am not sure). I've had comments, both public and private, from close friends and even from one or two unexpected corners of the world. I've discovered several other blogs, some of which I now follow. Some are written by friends and others by people I've never met. I read an article the other day about how a lot of people think that blogs have gone by the wayside in the face of Twitter and Facebook, but that they're still an important means of communication and networking. I tend to agree with that assessment. I can't say everything I want to say on Facebook, and I can't bring myself to Twit, or Tweet, or whatever they call it. So, regardless of who's reading it, or what they're saying, I guess I'll just keep posting here.

If you are so inclined, of course, you're always welcome to comment here on the blog site. Or on my Google "Buzz" page. Or by emailing me at marshajc@gmail.com.

See you back here soon. (Very soon; seeing as how I'm going to cheat again and post another column from the magazine here ... because I want to.)

Keep on Keepin' on

Today is Groundhog Day. Whenever I think about Groundhog Day, a certain song starts running through my head: "I've Got You, Babe." 

I know – the sound track in my head is evidence that I have probably seen the movie, Groundhog Day one too many times. I'm sure you've seen it too--newscaster Phil Connors, played by comedian Bill Murray, goes to Punxatawney, PA, to cover the Official Groundhog story.

While there, he has what must be the world's record of consecutive bad days. Each night he goes to bed thinking how much he messed up that day, and figuring that tomorrow has to get better. The next morning he wakes up at the same time and hears the same song on the radio - "I've Got You, Babe," and the radio announcer starts in with the same announcements he's heard the day before. He walks out the door and runs into the same old high school acquaintance. And he has to keep covering the same story.

And every day, he makes the same stupid mistakes over … and over.

Finally, he realizes he is doomed to repeat Groundhog Day until he gets it right.

Now there's a fantasy for you. Wouldn't it be great if we could all repeat our bad days until we got them right? What a golden opportunity. How long might it take us all to get things right?  Would we ever get it right? 

Probably in a way we do end up re-playing those days, if only in our heads. We are always second-guessing ourselves and wondering if what we did was the right thing. It’s so easy to muse, “what if I'd done it differently?”

Starting over can be a frightening thought, though. I can think of plenty of bad days that I would not want to repeat. The days with embarrassing moments, heartbreaks and words I wish I hadn’t said. Yet, I can call them to mind all too vividly at a moment’s notice. I am reliving them, re-thinking them and repeating them – probably worse than if I woke up to “I’ve Got You, Babe” every morning on the radio.

It seems no matter how hard we try to do things differently a second (or third) time, they tend to turn out the same way  Patterns of behavior are ingrained sort of like the weather. We mere mortals tend to repeat our mistakes, and only by an extreme act of will can we divert our deeply entrenched habits and courses of action.

If I had the chance to repeat a given day of my life, would I end up doing any better? Would I be like the hapless Groundhog, awakened from a winter’s slumber and just groggily going through the motions? Or would I, like Phil Connors, simply move through the day on auto pilot and make the same mistakes I made originally?

As a mother I always hoped that somehow, after all the blunders I have committed in my life, I could help my kids avoid making the same mistakes that I had made. As parents I suppose we would all like to spare our children the second-guessing and regrets that comprise the Groundhog Day syndrome.

But our kids are only human, too. They will falter along the way, just like we did. You can’t tell them what to do. Well, you can – but they probably won’t listen.

We can hope, however, that just like us, they will find a way to redeem themselves and come out wiser for their experiences.

Maybe the beauty of this movie’s message to us is the idea that we can end up getting it right, after all, and move on from there. There is no more need to re-hash the past. Instead, we ought to look toward the future and all it has to offer.

Not a bad message at all.

Of numerology and other stuff

I couldn't let 1/11/11 go past without any comment. OK, so now I've commented.

There you have it.

But that's really not what's uppermost on my mind these days.

I've been thinking a lot about the recent shooting in Arizona and pondering what this particular incident says about our culture. And our political system. And also about our media.

Evidently I was living in some kind of a bubble all day Saturday, because I didn't actually hear about the Arizona shooting until the 10 p.m. news came on. I hadn't checked my email or Facebook all day (gasp!). We had been watching movies all afternoon and evening. I had been happily finishing up a knitted Christmas stocking before we put away the decorations for another year. That pretty much summed up my day.

And when I did hear about it, I was dozing through the news and it seemed just like another passing tragedy. Which, in and of itself, is a rather sad commentary on our culture and our media.When I checked in to email and Facebook the next morning, I saw a plethora of posts that seemed to refer to something I should have been able to figure out, but couldn't. Why were people so angry and/or sad, and why was there so much vitriol in some of the comments on Facebook?

I finally plugged into an NPR report on the shootings and some bloggers' reactions, which led me to the "Tea Party" supposed connection to this whole sad affair.

But as much as the stories of those victims have touched me, and as much as I deplore the supposed "targeting" of those deemed too liberal for S.P. and her ilk, and the overall conservative political agenda in this country, and the hot political rhetoric on both sides of the spectrum, I can't blame the Tea Party or Rush or Glenn or Sarah, the NRA, the "liberal media" (where is that liberal media, anyway?), or any other group or individual for what happened. The blame lies squarely on the shoulders of one person who decided to do this.

I can't begin to imagine what has been going through the head of Jared Loughner in recent weeks. Seeing his smiling face in a mug shot is disturbing. Seeing him described in news reports as "vacant-eyed" is confusing and distressing. Learning that he is the same age as my youngest son is very upsetting. What a waste of a young life. My heart goes out to his parents, who have to be wondering some of the same things that I am. 

Already, I have heard, there is a "backlog of legislation" on Capitol Hill to "help stop this from happening again." Legislators are taking extra precautions for their security, yada, yada, yada. How secure is our new governor in his non-gated million dollar home near Ann Arbor? How great is it that the media publicizes that while more people with a twisted vendetta are watching?

Whatever. Legislation can't stop this from ever happening again. Whether it's laws banning guns altogether or laws allowing everyone to have guns for their own "protection," no one is going to stop the actions of one determined madman--or, shall I say, idiot. I hate to even taint those people who have mental illnesses with sharing the caliber of personality of this young man. (Absolutely no pun intended there). From my understanding at this time, it sounds to me like he had a legal license to carry a weapon. Obviously a big mistake in my book, but I can't do anything about it. Nor could anyone else. People will do what people will do.

Only a conscious decision to turn the tide from hate to civility, starting with you, me, and everyone else as individuals, can we ever hope to see a change. Let's take a stab at claiming some individual responsibility for events that happen in our lives instead of trying to find someone to blame.

Is it worth the effort on this auspicious day? The numerology link referenced here indicates that Jan. 11, 2011 can be considered as a "day of opportunity." Let's consider this: today brings an opportunity for us stop the hate; today we can start talking to each other instead of yelling back and forth across the room or the senate chambers; and today we can start to change the world for the better--or at least our own little corner of the world.

And hey, maybe it wouldn't hurt to turn off the news once in a while, either. I'm just sayin'.

A reflection on the recently-passed holidays

They were here, and then they were gone. Just that suddenly.


However, looking back on the month of December I realize what a lovely season it has been in my life. Nothing earth-shattering happened. I didn't take any fabulous trips. I didn't get any really outstanding gifts (although I did receive many very cool and much-appreciated gifts). There were no extraordinary visitors (except, of course, Santa Claus). 


Actually, we did most of the same things we always do, and some of those things we did a little differently this year.


I think that in retrospect, it was the simplicity of this holiday that made it so wonderful. A friend recently shared the Dec. 23 blog post from "The Yarn Harlot," Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, titled 'Enough.' And I have thought of that phrase so many times over the last few weeks ... even before it was shared with me. However, Stephanie has put my thoughts into words very well. 


She wrote, "The dictionary defines enough as 'occurring in such quantity, quality, or scope as to fully meet demands, needs or expectations.' Clearly, since we live in a house, eat when we are hungry, drink when we are thirsty, put on clothes when we are cold ... obviously we have enough. Enough of everything. Where does it come from then, that feeling I have when I stand in a shop, holding a gift in my hand and thinking 'Is this enough?' or I bake a hundred cookies, and then stand there surveying the lot and wondering 'Is that enough?'"


Oh, yeah. I know exactly where she's coming from. For a multitude of reasons, I scaled back my expectations significantly this year. And therefore, I wasn't ever disappointed--in fact, I was actually overwhelmed in many ways. Because I do, indeed, have "enough." And then some. 


I baked once, and only two different types of cookies. And it was enough. (We are still eating cookies). 


I spent less time shopping, and consequently, less money. And it was enough. 


We downsized our Christmas tree. I only put up 2/3 of our artificial tree, and only used the most special ornaments. And it has been enough. 


What else did I do more of? I think--I hope--I gave a little more of myself this year to the people that I love most. And perhaps that is what was so satisfying. Maybe that is what makes me feel more content as I look back on the always-too-busy, never-enough-time, never-enough-stuff season.


May it remain so into this new year of 2011.