tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45464242923311938602024-02-19T03:04:48.004-05:00A Beautiful BurdenJanet Trever's story of surviving cancer across a lifetime.Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-87091265159036373442012-08-30T08:52:00.003-04:002012-08-30T08:52:36.673-04:00Peace, love, and strawberries<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWHI0GwgGwoKJhvUk7D3TB6yGmJlf7YWlnFQn7GewNesCfwGvYjNUknb-ocUl5W4RNzzko5-vTHUohTVcHukmVsdX8fQ8GMP69TkCMTS75wkPSXTI5wXXD1MFO82cBuuqjlWzG7VTClo/s1600/zermat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWHI0GwgGwoKJhvUk7D3TB6yGmJlf7YWlnFQn7GewNesCfwGvYjNUknb-ocUl5W4RNzzko5-vTHUohTVcHukmVsdX8fQ8GMP69TkCMTS75wkPSXTI5wXXD1MFO82cBuuqjlWzG7VTClo/s320/zermat.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
When the heart grieves over what it has lost, the spirit rejoices over what it has found.<br /> – Sufi proverb<br />
<br />
To JanJan on her 69th Birthday: peace, love, and strawberries.<br />
Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-72462808859775888452012-02-23T07:43:00.000-05:002012-02-23T07:43:10.392-05:00Marie ColvinSo sad to learn of the passing of Marie Colvin and in such a brutal manner. She died reporting what others couldn't see. I hope for peace in Syria, however impossible that seems today.Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-54179528173473861542011-10-14T08:08:00.001-04:002011-10-14T08:08:00.226-04:00Stawberry Story: Hope for the FlowersEllie and I just finished reading this one, a treasure my mom shared with me when I was young. Such powerful messages at any age. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizHKaRlbUT97FII4ZGJ-7gjy54fOUVZWu6lyIz-srxzA8tvfVJAjxk9fwKD09a4XxEsnO1teUHOcG2Q1lldYrcs6m8eRjNW708T0ekzQeihQtwTgcoCb9ujKXQFFrrU8jI9xuvBYxFh0g/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizHKaRlbUT97FII4ZGJ-7gjy54fOUVZWu6lyIz-srxzA8tvfVJAjxk9fwKD09a4XxEsnO1teUHOcG2Q1lldYrcs6m8eRjNW708T0ekzQeihQtwTgcoCb9ujKXQFFrrU8jI9xuvBYxFh0g/s320/cover.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hope for the Flower</i>s by Trina Paulus</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The book follows the travels and transformation of two caterpillars, Yellow and Stripe. Stripe is on a mission to figure out the meaning of life when he stumbles upon a pillar of caterpillars. There must be something at the top, he figures and starts to climb. Along the way he steps on Yellow and finds sympathy in his heart. The descend and travel together until the call of the pillar is too strong and they part ways.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsoW4TE-wVddVnEUz_h0wmXOUS3K0d4DT9p57nedmU7dxaEfZIroZIHRTfwy5tiGIKVSKRgeXqKwqvxrhGscF-HDpzUVb_S9d_vEu3P1YsMPBWbi0LvLL2O9TJDvAAfKri1FWI59zUFkI/s1600/snuggle+pilars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsoW4TE-wVddVnEUz_h0wmXOUS3K0d4DT9p57nedmU7dxaEfZIroZIHRTfwy5tiGIKVSKRgeXqKwqvxrhGscF-HDpzUVb_S9d_vEu3P1YsMPBWbi0LvLL2O9TJDvAAfKri1FWI59zUFkI/s320/snuggle+pilars.jpg" width="201" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They meet...</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6auZkCYYsnbnVO8xY5GyvPC8pwLtrhZj40oItnruVJ8O6yPWtL0FHcWAAjh0l-VDyQlRlhiILlKjR_aHF9XsQfZiS1o_COIgHxBxi2VKGJzz4B5QvXO3DQ9NcjnNhmAl0pDl0FEttQc/s1600/snuggle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6auZkCYYsnbnVO8xY5GyvPC8pwLtrhZj40oItnruVJ8O6yPWtL0FHcWAAjh0l-VDyQlRlhiILlKjR_aHF9XsQfZiS1o_COIgHxBxi2VKGJzz4B5QvXO3DQ9NcjnNhmAl0pDl0FEttQc/s320/snuggle.jpg" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">....they frolic....</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZImoqiOa3fVnaSTA5kdqJwi3ReA2rQQvDW46OKZ1hHmFeqeifxuBy4pUyVLqXMFpeyP7Hg1QdtFl9Z6Q49ZpMxe6wUnQVPCr0YaKWoiKIUJzsXHFfWJS_jxsdkxcXN_BflCmUOapj1qA/s1600/in+the+pillar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZImoqiOa3fVnaSTA5kdqJwi3ReA2rQQvDW46OKZ1hHmFeqeifxuBy4pUyVLqXMFpeyP7Hg1QdtFl9Z6Q49ZpMxe6wUnQVPCr0YaKWoiKIUJzsXHFfWJS_jxsdkxcXN_BflCmUOapj1qA/s320/in+the+pillar.jpg" width="177" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...they part...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ1JOKc7dpfGJ_Vq9a1XssMGOXZHVIKXKzx8iTuMS-MOGvkO0VyZ4SKJa2rhZ5Lqg3XmkSk_AhMvZjdLoEPBaDoCpNU26QTmYU5AsIrmK0qMji1l3LkZqSJBBPK0xxGrJ-zpYBhVtTMIY/s1600/bliss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ1JOKc7dpfGJ_Vq9a1XssMGOXZHVIKXKzx8iTuMS-MOGvkO0VyZ4SKJa2rhZ5Lqg3XmkSk_AhMvZjdLoEPBaDoCpNU26QTmYU5AsIrmK0qMji1l3LkZqSJBBPK0xxGrJ-zpYBhVtTMIY/s320/bliss.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">....caterpillar bliss!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
It's much, much more than a love story. Anytime I'm waiting in a ridiculous line or fighting to get ahead I wonder: am I just in the middle of a catapillar pillar?<br />
<br />
The truth behind the pillar is later revealed... (spoiler altert!)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7dF6vjfDTxPhiyexwqZHF54dGxOLa5VeCaXlFoSvOYaQUtvG8yQNLuusYTW05De0X822SlibXtWXfg08QhGMO3eNTVXHEKZnqoazloNVqrqq2Mr5dWYrPN47yE5bH5DoqapKqjkegY4/s1600/pilar+pilar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7dF6vjfDTxPhiyexwqZHF54dGxOLa5VeCaXlFoSvOYaQUtvG8yQNLuusYTW05De0X822SlibXtWXfg08QhGMO3eNTVXHEKZnqoazloNVqrqq2Mr5dWYrPN47yE5bH5DoqapKqjkegY4/s320/pilar+pilar.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BAAAAHHHH!!!!! Caterpillar pillars everywhere!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxSZaycvwDhq1hN4c2i8BHx4gp8nxYwKCE_Z9lsGHK6kJnY35G1GUWz_EyXMCwW8M7fwtx8c35h01UXO3kNtEs4f-sgmnHsEzWO7W4uSEhpFOlT45Nl_mAD0MtgfSWSPw1JcRMCZ_sGg/s1600/fuzzy+worm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxSZaycvwDhq1hN4c2i8BHx4gp8nxYwKCE_Z9lsGHK6kJnY35G1GUWz_EyXMCwW8M7fwtx8c35h01UXO3kNtEs4f-sgmnHsEzWO7W4uSEhpFOlT45Nl_mAD0MtgfSWSPw1JcRMCZ_sGg/s320/fuzzy+worm.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I should post this on my mirror.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>PS...If I ever got a tattoo, it would be Yellow and Stripe as caterpillars on one ankle and then them again as butterflies together on the opposite shoulder. <br />
<br />
Visit the authors website: <a href="http://www.hopefortheflowers.org/">http://www.hopefortheflowers.org/</a>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-88030646699980288082011-10-10T08:08:00.007-04:002011-10-10T08:08:00.615-04:00When She Smiles<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4hZJhRHnMoCXNwFtsAW_FcHT1SivIx2b2tHK2GtGjmzpsWSUADTRqIfLOCfx5YbuIxTnMvLpSSMSOyh_cgApfNCXw0S-u0G8y8ig_vc2k3us-f7FK2HGEwVNlyw4PbFePaw0gL8qkZeA/s1600/zermat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4hZJhRHnMoCXNwFtsAW_FcHT1SivIx2b2tHK2GtGjmzpsWSUADTRqIfLOCfx5YbuIxTnMvLpSSMSOyh_cgApfNCXw0S-u0G8y8ig_vc2k3us-f7FK2HGEwVNlyw4PbFePaw0gL8qkZeA/s320/zermat.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom at the Matterhorn.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
When she smiles,<br />
<br />
the patch covering the hole<br />
that cancer made where her right eye<br />
used to be,<br />
<br />
lifts and I can see the hole<br />
while I am trying to eat dinner,<br />
I am polite and swallow small bies<br />
<br />
as I try to flow with her frenetic energy,<br />
her passion for the next event, the next trip,<br />
for the family photos<br />
<br />
for the trips to Mexico for some kind of miracle<br />
and to Chicago for chemotherapy,<br />
and for her loved-soaked mother stories.<br />
<br />
She has suffered for over forty-five years<br />
with cancer, three or more primary sites,<br />
mixed with lost love and not enough money,<br />
<br />
and friends coming out of their walls<br />
to help her, and she, trying to lead<br />
the Yul Brynner Foundation<br />
<br />
For Head And Neck Canter, --<br />
that man who said, "When you watch this,<br />
I'll be dead. Whatever you do, don't smoke."<br />
<br />
I say, when she smiles,<br />
the patch over her cancer hole lifts<br />
and I take small bites and listen<br />
<br />
and can't even hear my problems--<br />
they have crawled inside her head,<br />
down into her heart<br />
<br />
and moved through her body,<br />
out her fingers and toes,<br />
coming back to bless me.<br />
<br />
And then she walks me to her truck,<br />
gives me a book of love and laughter and prayers<br />
and says, I never say goodbye, just so long."<br />
<br />
Then she smiles so beautifully--<br />
the patch always matched with her dress,<br />
and me, embracing my tiny pain.<br />
<br />
William L. Killian<br />
Written for Janet Trever<br />
Wednesday, September 24, 1997<br />
Tucson, AZSarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-80351909783748705062011-10-09T17:13:00.000-04:002011-10-09T17:13:39.096-04:00Let's Face It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUW24Yf2brXtckjieU89wIgwfeh3tOciWMIA2zITmSu_Rl7gmbna3azOgIxycWp4ECOGQdEj3hiqwgaytgSVF2IsQMF2j5zG5C7gdwDmVBpgCZSyAoBJhZphRpPgknjv9GUBUr4UnxEE/s1600/Betsy+wilson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUW24Yf2brXtckjieU89wIgwfeh3tOciWMIA2zITmSu_Rl7gmbna3azOgIxycWp4ECOGQdEj3hiqwgaytgSVF2IsQMF2j5zG5C7gdwDmVBpgCZSyAoBJhZphRpPgknjv9GUBUr4UnxEE/s1600/Betsy+wilson.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUW24Yf2brXtckjieU89wIgwfeh3tOciWMIA2zITmSu_Rl7gmbna3azOgIxycWp4ECOGQdEj3hiqwgaytgSVF2IsQMF2j5zG5C7gdwDmVBpgCZSyAoBJhZphRpPgknjv9GUBUr4UnxEE/s200/Betsy+wilson.jpg" width="200" /></a><i><b>"To support a person with facial difference, look them in the eyes and smile at them." - Betsy Wilson</b></i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div>Ellie came home last week with a question. "Mom, is Betsy (our cat) named after Betsy Ross?"<br />
<br />
Two hours later Ellie had her answer. <br />
<br />
In the summer of 1993 my mom and Loie took a road trip to and on the way back stopped to visit Betsy Wilson, founder of the "Let's Face It!" organization. They had a wonderful visit with Betsy, and on the way out of town spotted a pathetic, orange, flea-infested kitted on the side of a busy street. Loie looked at my mom with puppy dog eyes, and according to legend mom said, "Go for it!" Loie darted into traffic to collect the cat, and she's been in the family ever since.<br />
<br />
If you do the math, Betsy is now 18+ years old. She could have been a therapy cat- so calm and gentle. She also has a quirk: being by grandmother's cat she comes when called in an old lady voice. If I belt a gravely "BETSY! BETSY!" in the air, she is sure to come.<br />
<br />
But back to Betsy Wilson. She is the founder of an organization with the mission (from the <a href="http://desica.dent.umich.edu/faceit/about/mission.php">website</a>): To advance knowledge about, by, and for people with facial differences and to promote their full and equal participation in society. She comes to this work as a veteran of living with a noticable facial difference--she lost part of her face and jaw to cancer in 1972. With a Masters Degree thesis titled <i>The Child In the Health Care Setting</i>, you can understand why she and my mom got on so well. <br />
<br />
Below is a postscript from a 1997 letter to my mom:<br />
<br />
<div style="color: purple;">I lost my lower left jaw to cancer 25 years ago when I was 39 and my face is quite disfigured. I had what they call a radical neck surgery. At that time, I had a month of radiation, a month in the hospital and a month on an island in Maine with my husband and children. When we got home we decided for my first evening out in public that we would go to an evening of out door professional tennis. We had a picnic, the tennis was good and all in all it was a lovely August evening. The way out of the stadium was hampered by too many people trying to get out of one small gate. A boys face was about four inches from my face staring at me in horror. I put my hands up and yelled yahhhh at him. My friends said, "Good, Betsy is her old crazy self." But you see I did not give any thought to what I did. That was my introduction to living with a different face. I felt that for the first time in my life I had a glimpse of what every one different faces every day. Years after the surgery I learned that my anonymity is what I had lost and that my experience at the tennis match was called a "brief encounter."</div><div style="color: purple;"><br />
</div><div style="color: purple;">I love the name of the organization by that the English woman, Christine Piff, called <i>Let's Face It</i>. Christine lost her eye and palate to cancer. Facing facial disfigurement is, I feel, a fluid ever flowing river of challenges. My mood is often the most important factor in how I deal with being treated rudely or stared at. Some days it does not bother me, some days I want to give the finger to the person who is staring etc. I understand that it is animal instinct to stare at something different but many days it ticks me off and I have to honor that rage.</div><div style="color: purple;"><br />
</div><div style="color: purple;">It took me years to really cry and be sad about losing my face. It took a great Doctor with insight and patience to help me see that in order to live I had to "face" that sadness and rage. I think I was so glad not to have died that I just would not let myself be sad. Numb would describe how I was for many years. One reason I love this work I am now doing is that once of our major goes is to "market hope." Meeting you Janet through your tapes, the phone and then in person gives me and so many of us HOPE.</div><div style="color: purple;"><br />
</div><span style="color: purple;">Our board of directors has an annual brainstorming session. Ten years ago, at our first session, we decided that facial disfigurement is like a pebble in a pond. The patient is the pebble and family, medical care givers, and the public are the ripples that need continued care and education. Facial disfigurement is a very private experience and we want all people to know that they are not alone. It is very exciting to think of how we are going to carry out our goal of "Educating the public to value the person behind every face." Stay tuned. Hugs.</span><br />
<br />
For more about Let's Face It check out their <a href="http://desica.dent.umich.edu/faceit/about/mission.php">website</a>.<i><b> </b></i>A really great video of Betsy retelling the above story can be found by following this<a href="http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=2123510808401218131"> link</a>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXeTcGUQJL_txWdFa_TIfQa-lD6QCurn_QjAj1qOJv4hrw6hfHvFzjBYrwrhxVZONZxQ7kZYliBnCMv0xte19kTohe-sxY2rMoG136VjtqWbF_P2dsDbQ8TgoL6UotmRsGJcY3Ry44N2Y/s1600/betsy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXeTcGUQJL_txWdFa_TIfQa-lD6QCurn_QjAj1qOJv4hrw6hfHvFzjBYrwrhxVZONZxQ7kZYliBnCMv0xte19kTohe-sxY2rMoG136VjtqWbF_P2dsDbQ8TgoL6UotmRsGJcY3Ry44N2Y/s320/betsy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Betsy, the cat. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-32739409273751484772011-08-30T08:08:00.002-04:002011-08-30T08:08:00.715-04:00Happy Birthday Jan JanMy present sucks a little less this year (<a href="http://abeautifulburden.blogspot.com/2010/08/happy-birthday-jan-jan.html">see first post</a>). I couldn't imagine a better gift this past year than getting to know you better and keeping you a dynamic part of my life. <br />
<br />
I imagine you still up in the ballroom with Yul, and Tullis, and Virginia, and Baba...all dancing while John Denver sings.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/HkGS263lGsQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><a name='more'></a><br />
Annie's Song<br />
<br />
You fill up my senses <br />
like a night in the forest <br />
like the mountains in springtime, <br />
like a walk in the rain <br />
like a storm in the desert, <br />
like a sleepy blue ocean <br />
you fill up my senses, <br />
come fill me again. <br />
<br />
Come let me love you, <br />
let me give my life to you <br />
let me drown in your laughter, <br />
let me die in your arms <br />
let me lay down beside you, <br />
let me always be with you <br />
come let me love you, <br />
come love me again. <br />
<br />
You fill up my senses <br />
like a night in the forest <br />
like the mountains in springtime, <br />
like a walk in the rain <br />
like a storm in the desert, <br />
like a sleepy blue ocean <br />
you fill up my senses, <br />
come fill me again.Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-88685962359515188512011-08-02T18:03:00.000-04:002011-08-02T18:03:41.551-04:00Wild Women: Well hello againI love blogs...just because I haven't been posting doesn't mean that you all haven't been reading. I've been in a slump, due in part to the issues apparent in mom's book. Part III was the weaving together of many people, many resources, and many stories. It departs from the chronological telling of mom's story and instead focuses on advocacy. <br />
<br />
But thanks to blog stats that I find hard to be true (9,000+?), I write renewed in my dedication to the blog. We can do it!!!<br />
<br />
As a thank you, I wanted to post a Wild Woman entry sent to me by my friend Daphne who first met my mom when she came to visit us in Taiwan. To be clear, Mom would have watched and said, "Blech!" to the violence and revenge theme. But hey, how often do I have the chance to defy my deceased mother? Plus the footage comes from a Swedish film, "Thriller: A Cruel Picture"; my mother-in-law is Swedish and would also not approve of violence, so it's like an adolescent two-fer!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/9tuKkeQDSek?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-85865681064257239972011-05-13T08:08:00.001-04:002011-05-13T13:57:52.257-04:00Strawberry Story: Freddie the LeafBreak out the Kleenex- let's talk about <em>The Fall of Freddy the Leaf</em> by Leo Buscalgia<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVIdFFGv1zleVivLO63WvP6iKh6dJkdtyEZNmliirlLwLjxtTefaEcB6XhwI4u6-jYu9q518YzTDrWmrc0pEKOgSsF_TRGyOtOjDv3OUw2hfMmpllS4xjYtIvtUJuSfmfvbob413_b-w/s1600/leo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVIdFFGv1zleVivLO63WvP6iKh6dJkdtyEZNmliirlLwLjxtTefaEcB6XhwI4u6-jYu9q518YzTDrWmrc0pEKOgSsF_TRGyOtOjDv3OUw2hfMmpllS4xjYtIvtUJuSfmfvbob413_b-w/s1600/leo.jpg" /></a></div>Mom had this book in her "Death and Dying" arsenal for counseling. It's an an outstanding tool to teach and talk to children about those tough topics. I actually got to meet Leo Buscalgia as a child and hear him read it.<br />
<br />
A few years ago I took a graduate seminar in Curriculum Construction and Design at University of Kentucky. We incorporated the book into our final presentation answering "What does it mean to be human?" I completely broke down during the final performance...it's like I had blinders on up until that moment and didn't realize how much the book would affect me.<br />
<br />
Here's a short excerpt:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What's happening?" they asked each other in whispers.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It's what happens in Fall," Daniel told them. "It's the time for leaves to change their home. Some people call it to die."</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Will we all die?" Freddie asked.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes," Daniel answered. "Everything dies. No matter how big or small, how weak or strong. We first do our job. We experience the sun and the moon, the wind and the rain. We learn to dance and to laugh. Then we die."</span><br />
<br />
You can find a full copy of the text on the <a href="http://www.achievebalance.com/spirit/theleaf.htm">Achieving Balance</a> website.Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-204161754803077962011-05-07T08:08:00.001-04:002011-05-07T08:08:00.565-04:00Round 3: Three Times and you're out?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMIDyk-tOKD7iyrYmzMr6YPXPp5z2ySsW1RmrbXWugpBKD14_0Nvy2B6JLPbx85XX4nl0-ESKLQyU-e_DuS-8aSHGbgb08pP8UhzetL4LpgFIgI911v215cPxdOFUmzZGqEzaoJxVF-A/s1600/boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMIDyk-tOKD7iyrYmzMr6YPXPp5z2ySsW1RmrbXWugpBKD14_0Nvy2B6JLPbx85XX4nl0-ESKLQyU-e_DuS-8aSHGbgb08pP8UhzetL4LpgFIgI911v215cPxdOFUmzZGqEzaoJxVF-A/s320/boat.jpg" width="245" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family photo from the Philippines.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Mom's own intro Salivary Gland Cancer section of her book:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes I can actually see patterns in life as they are happening instead of the more common hindsight that comes close to 20/20. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I moved back to Illinois I found myself helping to plan a memorial service for my Dad. Then my Mom and I launched into amalgamating two households into one, learning to live together again in very new circumstances, getting her to eye experts and eventaully lined up for a cornea transplant to try to recapture the vision she was losing. About this time I made an appointment with a local chiropractor referred to me by my Colorado specialist. He asked me about the lump on the left side of my jaw and I explained that it had been watched by doctors for the past 8 years and I had been told not to do anything with it yet because it was too slow growing to be cancerous and would be messy to remove.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dr. DiDominico looked at me and said, "Yes, but don't you really want to know what it is?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He referred me to a colleague M.D. in a clinic a few towns away with X-ray equipment on site. I saw him the day Magic Johnson announced his HIV+ condition on the television as I sat in the waiting room for them to develop the films. The doctor referred me to a head and neck specialist and the drama began.</span>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-24634200119592772052011-05-06T08:08:00.001-04:002011-05-06T08:08:00.413-04:00Strawberry Story: The Big Hungry BearOur favorite children's book to read together, and the layered strawberry meaning makes it twice as sweet.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggboVhBxz6X-goz3VLHGMSt5ZKbEQdM4vIhh_OowlAlbTa9GxSXeNZWl2iKU3wMLYfpXyoswi5KJ87lRd59au-vm57detcD2UTjWpjxe6BRjcOV4JW_iR5p7T7U3eDoTlfemawaxI6G5w/s1600/hungry+bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggboVhBxz6X-goz3VLHGMSt5ZKbEQdM4vIhh_OowlAlbTa9GxSXeNZWl2iKU3wMLYfpXyoswi5KJ87lRd59au-vm57detcD2UTjWpjxe6BRjcOV4JW_iR5p7T7U3eDoTlfemawaxI6G5w/s1600/hungry+bear.jpg" /></a></div><em>The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the BIG HUNGRY BEAR</em><br />
by Don and Audrey Wood, Illustrated by Don Wood<br />
<br />
Hello, little Mouse. What are you doing?<br />
<br />
Oh, I see. Are you going to pick that red, ripe strawberry?<br />
<br />
But, little Mouse, haven't you heard about the big, hungry Bear?<br />
<br />
Ohhh, how that Bear loves red, ripe strawberries!<br />
<br />
The big, hungry Bear can smell a red, ripe strawberry a mile away...<br />
<br />
Especially, one that has just been picked.<br />
<br />
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The Bear will tromp through the forest on his big, hungry feet, and SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF! find the strawberry...<br />
<br />
No matter where it is hidden, or who is guarding it, or how it is disguised.<br />
<br />
Quick! There's only one way in the whole wide world to save a red, ripe strawberry from the big, hungry Bear!<br />
<br />
Cut it in two.<br />
<br />
Share half with me.<br />
<br />
And we'll both eat it all up. YUM!<br />
<br />
Now, that's one red, ripe strawberry the big, hungry Bear will never get!<br />
<br />
The End<br />
<br />
Credit: Don and Audrey Wood, Child's Play (International) Limited <a href="http://www.childs-play.com/">http://www.childs-play.com/</a>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-86911595572988279892011-05-04T08:08:00.001-04:002011-05-04T08:08:00.178-04:00Seven Wonderful, Terrible Years<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSIoZl-QLqkCJ1oJoJDI24Hqw_l9BCgg2xt-7XHWetdV8Lwpvlu7BURoI3jWIjPoIGseVb3a83wjIhgQK2ciEuXh4AY763KzEcJi63dWzxkoLhx8YffUcvOY9zsXVllhyphenhyphenDCh8PiwQs0ew/s1600/rain+cloud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSIoZl-QLqkCJ1oJoJDI24Hqw_l9BCgg2xt-7XHWetdV8Lwpvlu7BURoI3jWIjPoIGseVb3a83wjIhgQK2ciEuXh4AY763KzEcJi63dWzxkoLhx8YffUcvOY9zsXVllhyphenhyphenDCh8PiwQs0ew/s1600/rain+cloud.jpg" /></a></div>From the desk of Lois Trever-Basten:<br />
<br />
In late 1991 my husband died after a long illness. He was strangely surprised that I "took such good care of him," but I thought after fifty years of keeping our wedding vows to "love and to cherish" each other "until death us do part," that no other course was to be considered.<br />
<br />
He had said his goodbyes to Janet's children, grandson Andy and granddaughter Sarah, together the light of his life.<br />
<br />
At the moment of his death Janet had finished packing all her worldly goods in a van, ready to start driving from Fort Collins, Colorado, to our home of almost 50 years in Arlington Heights, Illinois. As always she was very helpful in arranging a warm memorial service and a blustery, rainy burial service.<br />
<br />
Janet and I had some important health decisions to make. She needed to find new good doctors to take over treatment of a mysterious lump in her jaw, and I too picked an eye surgeon to replace my defective eye corneas so that I could drive well again. My short trips to the hospital had been fraught with danger of going over curbs and rocks, several of which I had actually already done. I had my first eye surgery very soon. Janet found a wonderful doctor for herself, Dr. George Sisson, to be her physician, surgeon, friend and partner.<br />
<br />
In the week following Art's death there was a stunning electrical storm which darkened our lights and disabled most of our electrical household appliances. We spent a lot of time taking the microwave over, televisions, toaster, everything but the computer (which fortunately had not arrived yet) to various repair shops. All of theme were very difficult to find. We felt that we were traveling, like Joe Btfsplk, of cartoon fame, under unending showers, trying to keep dry under a tiny umbrella, while all around us were enjoying sunny weather.<br />
<br />
The time came for Janet's first surgery on that lump called the parotid gland. A good sized group was with me including a young lady minister and friend, a soon-to-be minister Tom Barth, the long time friend of Janet's from 3rd grade, Sue Culliton, who about that time promised Janet to take her to all future medical appointments. Sue was destined to wear out her good car taking Janet to Northwestern Hospital, Rush, Presbyterian, St. Luke's Hospital, University of Illinois Hospital, University of Chicago Hospital, the Neutron Radiation location in Batavia. What a promise, Sue, and how you have honored it!<br />
<br />
During many of these surgeries and medical visits as well as the follow-ups, I have remembered Meryl Tullis' advise to <a href="http://abeautifulburden.blogspot.com/2011/04/look-up-look-way-up.html">look up, way up,</a> before the torrents of tears can take over. Between Janet's friends and mine and my wonderful church, our families and neighbors, we have never felt abandoned. Instead we have had great support all along.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKJsJTHIYyEX0BKFGeKkou8Fqh03nUvZIxBAwvLtfAGoRdjhXBoiFhCL7MX6C9xytV5pYU7rzhfz6dtrXDhEI5dqcFr3TnlnFc-xLbnyO2QNpAeRnI6J0_Jci4rwMLovCGkjSOHN2GTo/s1600/Joe+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKJsJTHIYyEX0BKFGeKkou8Fqh03nUvZIxBAwvLtfAGoRdjhXBoiFhCL7MX6C9xytV5pYU7rzhfz6dtrXDhEI5dqcFr3TnlnFc-xLbnyO2QNpAeRnI6J0_Jci4rwMLovCGkjSOHN2GTo/s1600/Joe+2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Text: Lois Trever-Basten "Seven Wonderful, Terrible Years"<br />
Images: Joe Bflstck images captured from a great blog entry <a href="http://www.ronmartin.net/blog/archives/1312">http://www.ronmartin.net/blog/archives/1312</a><br />
and<br />
<a href="http://rexwordpuzzle.blogspot.com/2010/12/joe-btfsplks-creator-fri-12-17-10.html">http://rexwordpuzzle.blogspot.com/2010/12/joe-btfsplks-creator-fri-12-17-10.html</a><br />
originally drawn for Andy Capp comic by Reg Smythe who died of cancer in 1998Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-51171310898129133232011-05-01T09:02:00.000-04:002011-05-01T09:02:50.903-04:00On the Road Again: U-Haul Stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXgPzLevGFhrXcmDn15DobDTE4XrSObRkNFAE41Qm8wz8ykSTW90h7zXHN8Sc4Z592SuXjHKNnhwNVK5NgnaqtocxcmCJ_CHq_SCsd2jTVgTWY0JfwkWSyzDL1gpX16v4IdlYNQFb5kE/s1600/UHaul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXgPzLevGFhrXcmDn15DobDTE4XrSObRkNFAE41Qm8wz8ykSTW90h7zXHN8Sc4Z592SuXjHKNnhwNVK5NgnaqtocxcmCJ_CHq_SCsd2jTVgTWY0JfwkWSyzDL1gpX16v4IdlYNQFb5kE/s320/UHaul.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><br />
One thing about the Trever-Millers, we're kinda famous for our moves. Not dance steps, our many moves around the country. I like to tell people I went to 14 different schools by the time I graduated high school. We were military brats for a time, but even after my parent's divorce, I liken my mother's notions of moving to that of Juliette Binoche's character in <em>Chocolate</em>. She felt the wind blow and knew it was time to go.<br />
<br />
In her book she dedicated a paragraph to the week-long drive from Rapid City, South Dakota to Tucson, Arizona:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We again "upped the anti" in the gutsiness department. This time we were taking our U-Haul of possessions cross country to a place none of us had ever been. My parents flew out to Rapid City and drove our car, Sarah and Weesnick (the one who supposedly couldn't travel in cars), while Andy and I managed the big truck. We had to struggle mightily because the local office had given us a lemon to palm off on another state. It broke down, didn't have the power steering and automatic shift that was promised, the emergency brake didn't work, and was basically a huge gangly truck. I drove and handled the clutch while 10 year old Andy operated the top gear shifts that I couldn't reach, "Going for fourth." (as I put in the clutch but couldn't look at him) and he would respond "Got it," so that I knew I could let go of the clutch. It took all four of our hands and arms to turn the steering wheel, and he was the look-out since the outside rear view mirror on my side was broken.<strong> The last night as we were driving along the highway the desert was illuminated by yellow reflector lights ahead of us as far as the eye could see. Both Andy and I commented that it looked like the yellow brick road that we were following to our next adventure.</strong></span><br />
<br />
Originally I wasn't going to include the U-Haul story in the blog, but I found something today that changed my mind. A drawn caricature of my mom in a U-Haul, and an account written by SOMEONE ELSE of our move from Tucson to Fort Collins a few years later.<br />
<br />
Moving was part of mom and who she was. That essence of the Yellow Brick Road and that the next adventure was always on the horizon haunted and delighted her.<br />
<br />
I have no idea who wrote this, but its a wonderful description of our life on the move, and I love the imagery of mom ferreting around in boxes and the purple eye-patch brigade that saw her off.<br />
<br />
(excerpt from "The Move")<br />
THE MOVE<br />
<br />
This detailed description is not for the faint-hearted, nor for anyone contemplating a move in the near future. Consider yourself forewarned!<br />
<br />
Part The First----Preparation<br />
<br />
Jan became a box fiend, ferreting out every nook and cranny for a month before the actual event. The professional movers' estimate of $300 for the supply of boxes alone was enough motivation. She learned to haunt the campus hallways and staircases, the bookstore ramp, the new Mental Health office finishing its move into the old TKE house. A dear friend, Anne Price, sponsored a Garage Sale at her house for Jan the week before the move, and the $232 she cleared while lightening up on furniture possessions almost covered the $250 car repairs that week to get the old Bobcat trip safe.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
June 10th became a red letter day with a surprise farewell party in the Nugent building. Imagine a wall full of rogues all wearing purple eye patches with a letter on each..."Goodbye Jan." An incredible famous first! There were goodies everywhere to eat, a beautiful pottery dish platter by Marcy Wrenn, and Lisa Stark gleefully videotaping every moment. What a shock. What a delight. What a gift. (Jan will never again fall for the line about the engineer needing to know where to cut out the door in the CAPS room).<br />
<br />
Part The Second----Loading<br />
<br />
The professional estimate was for a 14' rental truck which was then reserved and picked up the afternoon of June 12th. The first omen of the trip came when it was picked up: Jan's 17 year old son Andrew had to spend a while jiggling the key in the ignition before it would turn in order to start. In the process they noticed the turn signals of the car reflected in the U-Haul window were again not working. When they got back to the apartment and called the car repair place and were given the green light to bring it in at 5 PM, Vic Zimmerman came to the apartment front door offering moving help; he got swept up in the drama and shuttled Andrew back and forth across town twice with the car.<br />
<br />
Meantime, people began arriving for the Pizza-Loading party. It turned out to be a real "happening" at Skyline BelAire apts. Anne Price arrived and began building a custom-made box for a tall, skinny Jakarta batik display piece; Dana, this year's CA at Career and Placement Services, was commissioned as the evening's photographer; Marie Cory came in her little sports car convertible with the moving Dolly in the backseat, and she began by fastening down the plastic covers on each mattress and box spring. Peer Advisor Jennifer Bluestone and friend Joe came to help, then Gavin and Lois Meerdink and City and Bob Johnson arrived and the professional moving of the evening began. Gavin out-did himself by meticulously figuring out the giant jigsaw puzzle--he put a 16' truck's worth of stuff into a 14' truck because the U-Haul offices had already closed at 6:30 and no truck exchange was possible.<br />
<br />
Jan had had two recent nightmares: that the truck would be too small at the last minute despite expert advice, and that it would rain. Sure enough, it went from a drizzle to a good rain, then began to let up as they were loading the piano, anyway.<br />
<br />
By 10 pm the deed was almost done...Marie Cory and Tarek Moses (Andrew's friend from Tucson who was going to make the trip to Fort Collins) took two cars to store the unpackable items leftover to Marie's house, Ellen Rosfeld was rearranging the car's hatchback for the trip complete with additions of a Kirby vacuum cleaner, typewriter, kitty litter, aloe vera plant, etc... All the while Cindy and Lois had totally cleaned the apartment and they polished off the evening with a mini-auction/Give-Away of the contents that wouldn't make the trip or handle storage well.<br />
<br />
(goes on for 5 pages! Will post when I get my scanned documents together...)Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-52859014054169890872011-05-01T08:08:00.001-04:002011-05-01T09:57:51.269-04:00Mom on Death and Dying (Water Weenies and All)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqWRGhS_TazgjE9mHVIphucyzb255KS_sltG_sekWBEZkyy9RrcOsCW_neU6I-7QKemmxjYhCLCp-NFoGpI0-_ZlJlWiP0L1zjBaJqmBRtgY2_V1mNAs3Ki3PcLBmHiGvXJOY3mlRYW8/s1600/Grander.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqWRGhS_TazgjE9mHVIphucyzb255KS_sltG_sekWBEZkyy9RrcOsCW_neU6I-7QKemmxjYhCLCp-NFoGpI0-_ZlJlWiP0L1zjBaJqmBRtgY2_V1mNAs3Ki3PcLBmHiGvXJOY3mlRYW8/s320/Grander.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing dress up in Loie's dress, her groom to boot!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>About halfway through my <a href="http://www.hospicenet.org/">Hospice</a> counseling after mom died, my counselor Noah began our session asking, "How's your anger?"<br />
<br />
"My what?"<br />
<br />
"You know, your anger. How are you expressing that?"<br />
<br />
I was mystified. He pulled a <a href="http://www.ekrfoundation.org/">Kubler-Ross</a> book off the shelf and showed me the five stages of grieving: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. <br />
<br />
Oddly, at this moment I found my anger. My mom had trained with <a href="http://www.ekrfoundation.org/">Kubler-Ross</a> in the 1970s and was a death and dying expert herself. How had we not had this conversation? She could have left me a list, bullet points for grieving. By nightfall I was kicking in grocery carts at the local Jewel.<br />
<br />
This morning I read in her book of Grander's passing, a brief glimpse into mom's own grieving process for her dad. <br />
<br />
From the book:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mom called me in Colorado the night I was packed to leave to tell me that my Dad had just died. So I drove alone the next two days, stopping at the halfway mark at cousin Sandi's in Omaha the first night. I had lots to think about en route. My dad had had many things wrong with his body at the end: diabetes, a pacemaker put in, on dialysis, etc. so in a way it was a Godsend to have him no longer in a nursing home barely conscious and surviving. And at the same time I realized that I was now half an orphan and it felt different. The local minister was very helpful with my Mom and making arrangements until I arrived, but she was delighted to see me again. We arranged for her to set up a cornea transplant for her failing eyesight. We were being very efficient with our time, having long talks to make up for all the years apart, learning to make decisions together as a team.</span><br />
<br />
That doesn't give me a lot to go on. I wonder more deeply how mom handled the passing of her father. She never had to grieve for her mother. Maybe because of his age and condition she appears to slip from notification straight to acceptance. Or maybe the two days of intense driving gave her necessary time to work through the stages. I took a similar drive after mom's death, so I can relate. More likely, living a life always so close to death, she managed grieving in a different way.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Flash forward another year or two to a scene during my Cornell years (1991-1995) when I'm "home" in Arlington Heights visiting mom and Loie years after Grander died. With a four hour drive ahead of me, we sat down on the living room floor to say goodbye, my mom, Loie, and me. We got a little....distracted. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-qkQXaQDogi5igKnYzaJiPdnT88C9wRbxcrDof84kmn4Zi0dwm4CudsXo940pJ7EOcI86duKlJPQI6oOX5c7GlATQl_qa9UphKsEe15xYNQ8Ni7mQBwxsEuS2GeMh80AIqo6vOGrCz4/s1600/water+weenie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-qkQXaQDogi5igKnYzaJiPdnT88C9wRbxcrDof84kmn4Zi0dwm4CudsXo940pJ7EOcI86duKlJPQI6oOX5c7GlATQl_qa9UphKsEe15xYNQ8Ni7mQBwxsEuS2GeMh80AIqo6vOGrCz4/s200/water+weenie.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water Squeeze Toy, as Google informs me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I had what I call a water weenie- one of those plastic cylinders filled with water that slides within itself; the tighter you try and hang on to it the fast it runs between your fingers. As I fumbled around with the toy, Mom and Loie talked about how comfortable they were with death, how they enjoyed living in the present moment and hoped I would not be afraid for them. I went from playing with the water weenie as they spoke to tossing it like a hot potato. We remained in the circle playing water weenie hot potato for two hours! My mom took a picture of us playing and sent me the photo in a "Strawberry Moments" picture frame.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>And that was how we talked of death and losing a parent.<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-2223899644760309392011-04-15T08:08:00.001-04:002011-04-15T08:08:00.318-04:00Strawberry Friday: Graceful Exits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yPFOgHWj2WaF-xK3so1UBw6DapUilsjrUz-NScd_mY5pN9oyPxVvrnbnzYEctzNsbBYNg7lOgSN7cNHg-TX1j36hCPgzPvWlgHk-yPii134RY65R-tZC7qGzvpkwJmF9l0f3UH-c-cU/s1600/sushila.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yPFOgHWj2WaF-xK3so1UBw6DapUilsjrUz-NScd_mY5pN9oyPxVvrnbnzYEctzNsbBYNg7lOgSN7cNHg-TX1j36hCPgzPvWlgHk-yPii134RY65R-tZC7qGzvpkwJmF9l0f3UH-c-cU/s320/sushila.jpg" width="279" /></a></div>I had a special relationship with Sushila Blackman, compiler and editor of <a href="http://www.shambhala.com/html/catalog/items/isbn/978-1-59030-270-5.cfm">Graceful Exits: How Great Beings Die</a>. We met when I was three, living with my mom in a Siddha Yoga ashram in south Fallsburg, New York. I once told her I was her mother in a past life. We also shared a birthday, June 21, though probably 30 years apart. On our birthday in the darshan line, Sushila gave Baba Muktananda a pink and orange scarf with gold thread. Since it was also my 3rd birthday, when I got up in the darshan line, Baba re-gifted the scarf to me. I still have it today.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGr1_VL1SSaf5Tj-WlBS9-ipubjqlUaSCmJPar9HCew72WQgYNxqTWmZlMeS6Sh7_FVtgYpYoQ9P2cGnzvkBl7e7cxzy1UUG705N8SJH236Pb1Sxvul04vrXqFNJW0BdFaipWjD3yckX8/s1600/sushila_scarf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGr1_VL1SSaf5Tj-WlBS9-ipubjqlUaSCmJPar9HCew72WQgYNxqTWmZlMeS6Sh7_FVtgYpYoQ9P2cGnzvkBl7e7cxzy1UUG705N8SJH236Pb1Sxvul04vrXqFNJW0BdFaipWjD3yckX8/s320/sushila_scarf.jpg" width="311" /></a>When I was 24 and living in Taiwan I got a call from my mom that Sushila was dying of cancer. I was scared to call, it had been so long since I had talked to her. But I did remember our special bonds- our birthday and our cosmic birth order. I called her as her mother from a former life, eased her mind about the circle of life, and told her I'd miss her and to come visit me. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>It was hard to be brave and made that call. It's so easy to shy away from death, and to let hard calls like these pass us by. But one thing I learned from mom was the worth and value of a loving, truthful goodbye. I owed Sushila that much, and any other person I've come to know.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Sushila's book is amazing- it recounts the death stories of 108 Tibetan, Hindu, and Zen masters. In the spirit of mom's cherished Strawberry parable, I share some of the entries for Strawberry Friday.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No. 3</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Senior disciples assembled at his bedside as Zen Master Taji approached death. One of them, remembering the master was fond of a certain kind of cake, had spent half a day searching the pastry shops of Tokyo for this confection, which he now presented to him. With a wan smile the dying master accepted a piece of the cake and slowly began munching it. As he grew weaker, his disciples inquired whether he had any final words for them.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Yes," the master replied.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> The disciples leaned forward eagerly so as not to miss a word.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Please tell us!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "My, but this cake is delicious!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And with that he slipped away.</span><br />
<br />
Text credit: Graceful Exits: How Great Beings Die compiled and edited by Sushila Blackman, Weatherhill, Inc., p. 28<br />
Photo credit: Sarah Miller and cover of Graceful Exits by Sushila Blackman and D.S. Noble.<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGr1_VL1SSaf5Tj-WlBS9-ipubjqlUaSCmJPar9HCew72WQgYNxqTWmZlMeS6Sh7_FVtgYpYoQ9P2cGnzvkBl7e7cxzy1UUG705N8SJH236Pb1Sxvul04vrXqFNJW0BdFaipWjD3yckX8/s1600/sushila_scarf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-90702624678522741992011-04-12T08:08:00.001-04:002011-04-12T08:08:00.575-04:00Yul Brynner: A Gift from the King<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUjlnu6STun_nQ82G54k5Y0kGJ2TOo1Y5hgS3Asct8e2ARhbbVfttCk2HRoCuHVGbJBHARuETA3ilpLpE2yszc2Gy2-Q7pWnVq6ULWJqKqK1dVa4kms6D1WaAReUOmar5CQ_bVn5QAPgU/s1600/Yul_collection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUjlnu6STun_nQ82G54k5Y0kGJ2TOo1Y5hgS3Asct8e2ARhbbVfttCk2HRoCuHVGbJBHARuETA3ilpLpE2yszc2Gy2-Q7pWnVq6ULWJqKqK1dVa4kms6D1WaAReUOmar5CQ_bVn5QAPgU/s320/Yul_collection.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Promotional shots given to mom as she researched this article.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>From mom's own pen:<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Dr. Sisson invited me to be the Executive Director of the Yul Brynner Head and Neck Cancer Foundation in December 1993 as I was still recovering from the neutron radiation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is an article I [Janet Trever] wrote for an October 1995 newsletter that best sums up my experience with the Foundation and my hopes for its future.</strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In 1982 a very important alliance began between head and neck cancer patients and Broadway/Hollywood celebrity Yul Brynner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yul Brynner was diagnosed with a pre-cancerous larynx condition that had developed while he was starring in the King and I in Chicago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was referred to otolaryngologist, Dr. George A. Sission, Sr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A strong friendship developed between the two men beyond the initial patient/physician relationship; it continued until Yul’s death from metastasized lung cancer in 1985.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was this friendship that led them to establish the Yul Brynner Head and Neck cancer Foundation.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GMh8eqEIRWKDb4OqMlp9P5IbMQRk4HekorjEGhGBH-Rwe3yss8Ujv7AEqjUgsfC-EgCDKmNprGSe-CnokqYU0SqPGr5wc7R_aljmkaJIutFv4IcFNXt0K_G5iDMuTzYvitwdeaeVAS4/s1600/yul2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GMh8eqEIRWKDb4OqMlp9P5IbMQRk4HekorjEGhGBH-Rwe3yss8Ujv7AEqjUgsfC-EgCDKmNprGSe-CnokqYU0SqPGr5wc7R_aljmkaJIutFv4IcFNXt0K_G5iDMuTzYvitwdeaeVAS4/s320/yul2.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yul was a man for all seasons, a creative genius with versatility and adaptability to spare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Born to a white Russian mother and a Swiss father in 1920, he spent his early childhood in Peking and Paris.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the age of 12 he joined the circus as an aerialist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(He had to convince the owners of the circus that he was over 20 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, they believed he was 25).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Five years after his career as an aerialist began, it ended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a fall that left him “disabled” on one side of his body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yul then went on to become a gypsy folk singer in Paris clubs until his immigration to the United States.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Upon his arrival in the States, Yul worked as a truck driver and a stagehand for Chekov in New York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He later became a director for “Studio One.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of his early acting roles was that of the young prince in “Lute Song” where he met Mary Martin who was starring in the production.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was in 1950 that Mary introduced him to the first act of the script for a musical adaptation of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anna and the King of Siam</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was certain that he was the perfect person to play the role of the king.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first production of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The King and I</i> was in 1951.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Irene Sharaff was in charge of costuming for this production and suggested that Yul shave his head for the role of king.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her research had shown that historically this king of Siam had lived in a Buddhist monastery for 19 years and had his head shaved during that time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yul followed her suggestion and shaved his head; this eventually became his trademark.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Originally, Gertrude Lawrence had asked Rogers and Hammerstein to adapt the story into a musical especially for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She became the first “Mrs. Anna,” a role that has since been played by many actresses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The 1951 production was later adapted into a motion picture film in 1956 and went on to win 5 Academy Awards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yul had the distinction of being nominated for best actor in two motion pictures in the same year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He received the Oscar for best actor in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The King and I</i> (In addition to the Oscar, he has also earned two Tony Awards for his portrayal of the king) and was nominated for best actor for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anastasia</i> the same year.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdEcQ4wlzzyD7_5RsBS9IqQieC4re3ahqvJFEB5zPNNnUvMGsQ2zaoRgGXJV-uUY0cbi8WnfdV_cetXpjmKVyOXVuTY0e3QbNRGE0LTIMCN8tyPBjA_Ki6AfX7kZ2wfOy7-OPzPhuRgg/s1600/Anna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdEcQ4wlzzyD7_5RsBS9IqQieC4re3ahqvJFEB5zPNNnUvMGsQ2zaoRgGXJV-uUY0cbi8WnfdV_cetXpjmKVyOXVuTY0e3QbNRGE0LTIMCN8tyPBjA_Ki6AfX7kZ2wfOy7-OPzPhuRgg/s320/Anna.jpg" width="252" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yul made three dozen movies over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then in 1978 he launched a lavish production of King and I at the Palladium in London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This production ran until 1980.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was during this time that Yul met Kathy Lee, and aspiring dancer, who would become his wife the last years of his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kathy grew up in Malaysia, attended ballet boarding school in England, and landed the combined role of the lead royal dancer and Eliza in the Palladium production.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">King and I played in 31 cities in the U.S. from 1980 to 1985.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yul performed the role 4,625 times during his career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People often asked if he was not bored playing the same role so many times, but he always responded that he felt he was telling a spellbinding story for 3 hours, 8 times a week, and that the king was such a marvelous character that he was constantly learning new things at each performance as he told the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yul felt that the issues of human rights, of a changing world, and of cultures colliding in the name of progress were very relevant issues in the play and in reality as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He envisioned that King and I would be performed well into future centuries.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yul was a very generous individual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rita Morino recalls a wonderful story of his generosity as they prepared to film the movie in the mid 1950s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that time, she was a young and inexperienced actress who had been cast in the role of Tuptim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yul saw this young actress in a deeper portrayal of the role than proposed and consequently paid for her to have acting and coaching lessons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time Rita wondered why he was offering this gift, and later realized how much he cared about her strength as an actress and her attainment of the highest quality portrayal of the role.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He was also a man of great compassion, especially for children and for those less fortunate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During a 1981 televised Boston interview with Elliot Norton, Yul spoke of the significance of “The March of the Siamese Children.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said it was symbolic for the king to bow to the children to show honor and respect for each individual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed Yul was a man who possessed these qualities of honor and respect and later became Ambassador for Children to the United Nations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was also awarded the United Nations Peace Medal for his projects with refugees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together with Edward R. Murrow he hosted a television special entitled “RESCUE” dealing with the plight of eastern European refugees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many were stranded in refugee camps indefinitely if a family member was found to have a spot on his/her lungs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yul likened these people to the “Anne Franks of the Cold War.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1983 Yul became a spokesman for the Hollywood Red Cross blood drive giving interviews and urging people to donate blood despite the new fear of HIV transference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He assumed then that it was safe at that time and place to contribute, as he had just done.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yul’s wife, Kathy, who serves as Chairman of the Foundation’s Honorary Board, describes Yul as an unbelievable funny man, with an incredible zest and appetite for life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He made me laugh,” she says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When two ladies put their hands on top of his head as they passed him going the opposite direction on department store escalators, he quietly muttered, “You could lose your hands that way.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another incident that Kathy described was Yul’s evening drink during the last months of his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each evening he would ask Kathy to fix him a dry Manhattan and she would dutifully bring him his carrot juice.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A man of many contrasts and complexities, Yul like caviar on his scrambled eggs, spoke Georgina Russian, Chinese, Versailles French, and English: he personified the lyrics of his “Puzzlement” soliloquy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He received several academic degrees, and even attended classes at Northwestern University in Chicago during the day while performing the King and I at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said he was very lucky that he had no classes on Wednesday afternoons when he gave matinee performances.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yul’s sojourn with cancer began in 1982.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Following day surgery on Monday, he was told that his voice should be allowed to rest and not used for several days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ignored Dr. Sisson’s orders, began vocalizing in his hospital room as the anesthe3tic wore off, then went on with his weekly performances beginning the next evening so as not to miss a single performance.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yul planned to retire the role of the king on June 30, 1985 and then planned to tour the country raising funds for a Head and Neck Institute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, in the fall of 1984 he was again stricken by illness and was diagnosed with terminal lymphatic cancer requiring chemotherapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He swore his wife and doctor to secrecy, and continued his performances 8 times a week throughout his treatments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The supporting cast and audiences were not aware of any medical condition or problem.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yul Brynner thought he had beaten the odds, but in the spring of 1985 he was diagnosed with cancer that had metastasized to his lungs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His final performances were very difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mary Beth Peil was interviewed on national television the day that Yul died, October 10, 1985.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was his last “Mrs. Anna” on stage and spoke of his generosity when she began playing the part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gave much of his time to her, coaching her and sharing his excellent timing and stage presence; working toward the perfectionism in her that he always demanded of himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said that during his last performances when he could barely get on and off stage, Yul came to depend on her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dance scene was choreographed so that he only turned as she did the primary dancing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Supporting him at this time was a very small part of the huge debt she owed him from those earlier days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said that, although Yul was in great pain, the look of pain on his face would disappear as the curtain went up and wouldn’t reappear until he had to struggle off stage after the final curtain call.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">During a “60 minutes” interview with Mike Wallace in 1985, Yul and Kathy talked about coping with cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, I was taught that we are born alone, we live along, and we die alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you accept that as total reality, then any friendship, and relationship that contributes to your life you accept with gratitude as a gift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You must never take it for granted.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Yul was asked how he was able to perform during the chemotherapy in Los Angeles and during the cancer in the spring of 1985, he laughed and said, “What would you rather do, lie in a hospital bed full of tubes or have a standing ovation from 2800 people each night?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The last gift Yul gave to the world during his living years was the public service announcement he made concerning smoking. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this 30 second recording he states that as this announcement is air, he is already dead, and he died from smoking 5 packs of cigarettes a day in his younger years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He states flatly, “Don’t smoke, it’s suicide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you smoke, quit; if you don’t smoke, don’t start.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The announcement aired only a short time before networks took it off the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Television audiences complained that it was depressing and commercial sponsors felt it damaged the sale of their products.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many smokers might have quit in the last 10 years had this announcement continued to air?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Yul Brynner Head and Neck Cancer Foundation is currently working to return this announcement to television as well as introduce it in movie theaters so that the present generation of young people will have exposure to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today’s current statistics show that 85% of the cases of head and neck cancer are caused by smoking.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Part of the mission of The Foundation is to continue support of basic clinical research in the fields of head and neck surgical oncology and plastic and reconstructive surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the past 20 years many advances have been made in resecting head and neck cancers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition, better ways are being developed to cosmetically and functionally replace defects from surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the past nine years Dr. George Sission, Sr., and Dr. Peter Constantino have been pioneers in extending the limits of surgical resection in order to remove the hazards apparent in malignant tumors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both men have academic rank at Chicago’s Rush-Presbyterian and New York’s Mt. Sinai medical centers, respectively, and both are practicing head and neck surgeons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their research, funded by the Foundation, was developed to find improved techniques that would significantly restore form and function to the patient recovering from head and neck surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Additional research to improve the basic procedures of these techniques continues.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Foundation also highlights patient advocacy concerns, particularly concerns of young patients and their families; of life threatening illnesses; and the coping skills required to deal with facial difference which may result from surgery/treatment to the head and neck area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yul and George had often spoken of building a Head and Neck Institute in Chicago so that patients would have one place to go for state of the art diagnosis, treatment, and support services.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the present time the Foundation is planning to develop a pilot project in the Chicago area which will provide special kinds of support that head and neck cancer patients need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition, the Foundation plans to develop a national referral system for the location specialty care.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I get to know Kathy Brynner better, and get to know Yul through the many tapes of his interviews, the book he wrote entitled, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bring Forth the Children</i>, and the collection of stories from those who knew him personally, I marvel at the elasticity and the grit in a person who allowed himself to cope with change, and with being “different.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yul often quoted the last lines of his famous soliloquy: Perhaps there is a message in this for us all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Everyday I try to live for one more day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyday I do my best for one more day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But...Is....<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A...Puzzlement!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yul Brynner cared very much about his world and the people in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wanted to leave this world a better place than when he found it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one of his final interviews with David Hartman on Good Morning America in the spring of 1985 he said that as he retired the role of the king he felt that 90% of his life’s work was still ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the Yul Brynner Head and Neck Cancer Foundation, we feel we have been given the opportunity to continue his work.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-31916290887460862562011-04-10T15:00:00.000-04:002011-04-10T15:00:03.776-04:00Look Up, Look Way Up<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_KHpwJuFCAt13uDIqiD_AYzTneA6NKJi3xUz8s6K9jKZvGItK6fZLKzwV1P9v0pUUgvZUf5adJIcMjjF8h7isRHSkqGp30hegLWhmz0OWvkG-rdIK_4n4bjjqlIRGxmKsu-WntyLgCc/s1600/blimp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_KHpwJuFCAt13uDIqiD_AYzTneA6NKJi3xUz8s6K9jKZvGItK6fZLKzwV1P9v0pUUgvZUf5adJIcMjjF8h7isRHSkqGp30hegLWhmz0OWvkG-rdIK_4n4bjjqlIRGxmKsu-WntyLgCc/s320/blimp.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Arthur Nelson Trever, 1933 Chicago World's Fair.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">A Divorce Followed by Breast Cancer</div><div style="text-align: center;">by</div><div style="text-align: center;">Lois Trever</div><br />
Janet and her husband decided to divorce after their two years in the Philippines; it was a very painful decision. A short time after Janet and the children returned, she called to say there was some suspicion of breast cancer. Not long after that, she asked me to come take care of the children during her hospitalization.<br />
<br />
There were lists on the side of the refrigerator telling me how to cope. As always, Janet had built a large army of true friends who were ready to help. When Janet came home, folks brought food--one big man had, himself, baked two pies. The refrigerator and cupboards were well stocked.<br />
<br />
It was a very pretty house, rented from a minister. There were swings in the backward, roller skates, swimming lessons on the calendar. Both children, especially Sarah, were eager to show me a beautiful cemetery just back of the back yard. We three walked there several times every day. Sarah, will of the wisp as she was, would dance and skip ahead around a corner and disappear only to be found in a little while, full length on her back on a tombstone, long blond hair draped over the stone. Andy was more likely to be riding his two wheeler bike off on an intersecting lane. I don't know if I am imparting the sweet but eerie circumstances as they affected me.<br />
<br />
The time for Janet's breast surgery arrived quickly. The children went off for a day at a friends house. I drove to the hospital. When Janet came back from surgery there came her wonderful friends to be sure she could faintly hear spiritual music. They came in many numbers, each with something comforting to bring and to do. I found myself at the door of the room and decided to go out and walk a bit in the fresh air. As I walked tears broke through, quickly becoming an uncontrollable torrent. I climbed into the car but then came more tears of helplessness and sorrow. I remembered I was near the office of Janet's favorite friends Meryl Tullis, a motherly figure in Janet's life. <br />
<br />
Meryl came to the door, invited me in and brought coll water and soda crackers. I felt her concern and understanding. As the weakening sobs continued she said, "Lois, look up, look way up." I did so and realized that my uncontrollable tears had stopped. There is a magic made up of actual knowledge of anatomy that stops the tears and sadness when we look up, "way up," as Meryl said. I have often used Meryl's magic to help me.<br />
<br />
Before I returned home Janet and I had a few happy times together, including times all four of us walked or rode bicycles in the quiet cemetery, visited by no one but us.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvlWQJM_SV4E9i0nKz88-nkPko_05ERGUGIvV1S59-P86s0VR-7KUkZzrXfrjnmqF4gjAGZcL7PPoH6QExDQvjv21VAtyRggGcghqa-JbwGTOc1fKqt_1h1qLdRTdJbohuoKN34WlXCfQ/s1600/2407+arrow+street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvlWQJM_SV4E9i0nKz88-nkPko_05ERGUGIvV1S59-P86s0VR-7KUkZzrXfrjnmqF4gjAGZcL7PPoH6QExDQvjv21VAtyRggGcghqa-JbwGTOc1fKqt_1h1qLdRTdJbohuoKN34WlXCfQ/s320/2407+arrow+street.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah, Janet, Andy during that terrible/wonderful year.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh35zYqkxnUhtT-jZYtARXiEJtdOdPePgnOWvc7NwT0b7XOETE6rp6ASb_fBf0e8_a4qPu2R6w_6nAzLdpYGdwpZUh0WBUI4JIiNmnjYP4Zumv-iV3Ilgn8S0WAsbFgTaIQBh3JqtX0ZgI/s1600/IMAG2045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh35zYqkxnUhtT-jZYtARXiEJtdOdPePgnOWvc7NwT0b7XOETE6rp6ASb_fBf0e8_a4qPu2R6w_6nAzLdpYGdwpZUh0WBUI4JIiNmnjYP4Zumv-iV3Ilgn8S0WAsbFgTaIQBh3JqtX0ZgI/s320/IMAG2045.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Odd, my own Good Year shot last month over Daytona. Guess its in my blood.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-36193398980419831052011-03-30T08:08:00.007-04:002011-03-30T08:08:00.395-04:00La Mujer Salvaje: Sonia Velasquez<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmWj8Khf_wAJHwQR8rAT6KCV8ER5DM45tYV9uI6fqf4qIfgyMGshCvKHjDeCp6n0b8YdKvWJKASIsLzEHGmN8HeiGhIfVfHdXPdBbxRQEQYThtp-kCmED7ek4HTph6t8bARXMilkaNa4w/s1600/cara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmWj8Khf_wAJHwQR8rAT6KCV8ER5DM45tYV9uI6fqf4qIfgyMGshCvKHjDeCp6n0b8YdKvWJKASIsLzEHGmN8HeiGhIfVfHdXPdBbxRQEQYThtp-kCmED7ek4HTph6t8bARXMilkaNa4w/s320/cara.jpg" width="279" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Here's another remarkable "Wild Woman" in the media, though I may need a translator. Sonia Velasquez, originally from Colombia, refers to herself as a philanthropic journalist and a social activist: "I make a TV segment to create social awareness showing the initiatives that are making a difference in different parts of the world." <br />
<br />
In her own words (Source: <a href="http://www.creativecaribbeannetwork.com/person/506">Creative Caribbean Network</a>):<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">I currently produce and present the radio show "Uniendo Mundos" "Bridging Worlds" aired on Caracol Radio Miami 1260 AM every Wednesday at 1:30 PM interviewing people who work to alleviate the pain of others. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">In 2010 I produced the lifestyle series 'Dolce Vita a lo latino' </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/soniavelasquez#p/a/u/1/5Xw9vnwu8ww"><span style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">TV Show</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">, an adventure with the spirit of the Latin people building their dreams and changing the world. Stories with style and intensity presented with action, surprises and more. 'Dolce Vita a lo latino' was broadcasted in HolaVision, 12.2 digital in Palm Beach, USA.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">As a Colombian journalist I am devoted to helping others. I am a peace activist who advocates for a fair world working from social media using video as a tool to express my vision.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
While I saw no reference to personal information (such as any damage to her left eye), it's clear she embraces a patch lifestyle. Seems like an understatement, she OWNS it!<br />
<br />
Check out her cute logo:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2u88C_tdG56F_zyw58Lnq77kJ7kq-jdhDbOFJdinzcfSmHotrjP-8lj-OSPr9S3ofjgzJ5_XYgOTf2mPnok_redMYforzdRg1ZfyQadNFASLBSswdpKNVmxpuSDd7LdOxX4Mk3T0otAA/s1600/sonialogo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2u88C_tdG56F_zyw58Lnq77kJ7kq-jdhDbOFJdinzcfSmHotrjP-8lj-OSPr9S3ofjgzJ5_XYgOTf2mPnok_redMYforzdRg1ZfyQadNFASLBSswdpKNVmxpuSDd7LdOxX4Mk3T0otAA/s1600/sonialogo.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I did see a testimonial add on the <a href="http://www.eyepatchstore.com/id4.html">Eye Patch Store</a> website, so if you'd like to order a similar black patch, she claims they're the most comfortable. <br />
<br />
From her website:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpilylMb1lEyZgrHkuG1KdrTw763uDk9PSkRnqjayFKwAxEz47BZXQIf_3NH2wliYk-yKHXh7-Sfop0b7jnRLwGSblua6hTIrCUUzF7CezuC5IPXkB-vtjT_Xn_JRovJwCZKEm5HZnZtU/s1600/sonia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpilylMb1lEyZgrHkuG1KdrTw763uDk9PSkRnqjayFKwAxEz47BZXQIf_3NH2wliYk-yKHXh7-Sfop0b7jnRLwGSblua6hTIrCUUzF7CezuC5IPXkB-vtjT_Xn_JRovJwCZKEm5HZnZtU/s320/sonia.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-cfAIup4DK-ObvyWy-QBIdXmznu6NsylvgD1dyB7-tq2IWXn3eDpJIAUdOTo8mxeL_5jnnDT5Wr65qC1SDf3350IKrFk3qZrjAMhWBDj4ahyGJkqJHbcpFUHQuSHBbkxjXmxmSbt_kBk/s1600/soniafashion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-cfAIup4DK-ObvyWy-QBIdXmznu6NsylvgD1dyB7-tq2IWXn3eDpJIAUdOTo8mxeL_5jnnDT5Wr65qC1SDf3350IKrFk3qZrjAMhWBDj4ahyGJkqJHbcpFUHQuSHBbkxjXmxmSbt_kBk/s320/soniafashion.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>From YouTube:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/gUewzYVnkfI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
<br />
Ellie likes this one because it has horses:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://1.gvt0.com/vi/mhM937MtZ_E/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mhM937MtZ_E&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mhM937MtZ_E&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><br />
Photo Credit: <a href="http://www.soniavelasquez.com/">http://www.soniavelasquez.com/</a><br />
Video Credit: youtube.comSarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-33616728239359782072011-03-25T08:08:00.002-04:002011-03-25T08:08:00.427-04:00Strawberry Friday: Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTy7sOhNcKZVEJcm4NcFzMZVG-RmA3-Uy9o_1OmefXWan-RiQBMm55mdrUQf_QJpfyQO8eh3XnnYwYuRyc68cBl-EcV7XgBdBvLieflFEcFwdhYXXpo7AswVOPDNA3K7OxkfKsQvtaSOA/s1600/tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTy7sOhNcKZVEJcm4NcFzMZVG-RmA3-Uy9o_1OmefXWan-RiQBMm55mdrUQf_QJpfyQO8eh3XnnYwYuRyc68cBl-EcV7XgBdBvLieflFEcFwdhYXXpo7AswVOPDNA3K7OxkfKsQvtaSOA/s320/tree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><strong>Tree</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">I am no longer afraid of mirrors where I see the sign of the Amazon, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">the one who shoots arrows. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">There was a fine line across my chest where a knife entered, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">but now a branch winds about the scar and travels from arm to heart. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Green leaves cover the branch, grapes hang there and a bird appears. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">What grows in me now is vital and does not cause me harm. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">I think the bird is singing. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">I have relinquished some of the scars.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">I have designed my chest with care given to an illuminated manuscript. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">I am no longer ashamed to make love. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Love is a battle I can win. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">I have a body of a warrior who does not kill or wound. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">On the book of my body, I have permanently inscribed a tree. </span></div><br />
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Mom writes: Someone in AVANTA gave me a great poster picture of a bare breasted woman who had apparently had a mastectomy and then a beautiful vine tattooed all across her scars. I loved it and hung it in my bedroom. Sometime, over the years, I would hear my kids explaining my strange collection of art to their friends while they were passing through my room. <br />
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[yes, I can confirm the poster was hung prominently and proudly, and took some getting used to]<br />
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<span style="color: black;">Photograph by Halla Hammid, words by Deena Metzger, poster design by Shiela Levrant de Bretteville. </span><br />
Image credit: Deena Metzger, as viewed on <a href="http://www.fawi.net/BC/heroines.html">http://www.fawi.net/BC/heroines.html</a><br />
Text viewed at <a href="http://www.donnellycolt.com/catalog/humrightposter.html">http://www.donnellycolt.com/catalog/humrightposter.html</a>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-86726031674820091592011-03-18T08:08:00.000-04:002011-03-18T08:08:00.316-04:00Strawberry Story: Do not stand at my grave and weep<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://satirtraining.org/training/general_information"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvPbtFgm7htnmzy3oeY4GcE22br1Uxd99FUR8JzmI5nTJ8RuyhyuirYHNEwcXL1-Zr42EAXeEROSYXaAjE4MNnqYAyiuFg0GEXgim610sjtdja9uGiNd0xouXbBZdNaNJ9iQBlFRk8Y0/s320/baloon+release.jpg" width="220" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Do not stand at my grave and weep</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not there I do not sleep</div><div style="text-align: center;">Do not stand at my grave and mourn</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not there I have been born</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am the four strong winds that blow</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am the diamond glint on snow</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Do not stand at my grave and weep</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not there I do not sleep</div><div style="text-align: center;">Do not stand at my grave and mourn</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not there I have been born</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am the sunlight on ripened grain</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am the gentle autumn rain</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">When you wake in the morning hush</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am the swift uplifting rush</div><div style="text-align: center;">Of quiet birds in circling flight</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am the soft starlight at night</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Do not stand at my grave and weep</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not there I do not sleep</div><div style="text-align: center;">Do not stand at my grave and mourn</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not there I have been born</div><br />
I LOVE this poem. I first learned it as a song in Silver and Burgundy Singers at Blevins Junior High. I heard it again at Virginia Satir's memorial in Crested Butte in 1988 (photo above is from her balloon releasing in 1987 one year earlier from <a href="http://satirtraining.org/training/general_information">http://satirtraining.org/training/general_information</a>). And of course I think of it every time I see a diamond glint on snow or need my own morning uplifting rush.<br />
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Authorship of the poem is an interesting divergent story. Read <a href="http://www.businessballs.com/donotstandatmygraveandweep.htm">website of authorship debated</a> for more information.Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-50975487997949708312011-03-15T08:08:00.015-04:002011-03-15T08:08:00.315-04:00Wild Women: Lily Charles<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgej_r4afybJJKuqJFp6j53VkpUfApDTCgzZO5c6RSHB_ECNUCYCROehbV3G8Pw24MS_USEfzKmZl7Hxr2mf3lU28Bj5EaZhbNnKVTL4z-ORDyxAGnwarZgrr7sUpViYDCGuiT0oTwaY2E/s1600/lilyCharles1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgej_r4afybJJKuqJFp6j53VkpUfApDTCgzZO5c6RSHB_ECNUCYCROehbV3G8Pw24MS_USEfzKmZl7Hxr2mf3lU28Bj5EaZhbNnKVTL4z-ORDyxAGnwarZgrr7sUpViYDCGuiT0oTwaY2E/s1600/lilyCharles1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An agoraphobic, alcoholic, ex-synchronized swimmer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>One of the most creative characters to don a patch was Lily Charles, aunt of Charlotte "Chuck" Charles on Pushing Daisies. The show's protagonist was a boy who discovers his gift to bring the dead back to life. The gift has rules, one being he can never touch the re-living again or they will drop dead from the slightest contact with his skin. The plot thickens as Ned grows up and brings his childhood crush "Chuck" back to life. Then what else, but they run around solving crimes. <br />
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Like "Heart to Heart" meets "Murder She Wrote" meets <em>Grease</em>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0J_fjbesI6AyIYoYJAMotuujig0SqXvATk5Q24I7ELk3-Zdo_YtT3Pv2_Jy5mV68H3gm8cnoDLRkb4hILQ88-WJBlQ8FmMtM0xsClrcfdtKv1hdob2Z61yOHJawjcXOxdIagp_U-XYg/s1600/darling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0J_fjbesI6AyIYoYJAMotuujig0SqXvATk5Q24I7ELk3-Zdo_YtT3Pv2_Jy5mV68H3gm8cnoDLRkb4hILQ88-WJBlQ8FmMtM0xsClrcfdtKv1hdob2Z61yOHJawjcXOxdIagp_U-XYg/s1600/darling.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Darling Mermain Darlings. I'd have taken Ellie to see them!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Enter Chuck's aunt Lily Charles, one part of the ex-synchronized swimming duo the Darling Mermaid Darlings. Lily, played by Swoosie Kurtz, lost her eye to a cat box accident and wears beautiful, decorative patches. <br />
At the end of the series (spoiler alert) I find I have more in common with Charlotte. Lily is not her aunt, she's her (dum dum dum) MOTHER! Let's hear it for the one-eye moms! Alright, this mom is fairly twisted. And to be a nit pick, mom could never put her head underwater without an industrial strength facemast for fear her ocular cavity would fill with water and she'd drown. That aside, the Darling Mermaid Darlings have elegant style and fluid moves that would have filled mom's eye with envy. <br />
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Check out the cool patches:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHJvsk5F49IRrSRGnQsA8TCFKJxzgH5ku6YjVXDYYbGIvpidvuEdKlecIabzdX_IBkw7qenx4FIDOgzvi7hVcZszGzgCGsJxGoVEGDAlKZPXgcoZMmLwfN6nG3rM90TaqLir_QRzA0PE/s1600/lilycharles3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHJvsk5F49IRrSRGnQsA8TCFKJxzgH5ku6YjVXDYYbGIvpidvuEdKlecIabzdX_IBkw7qenx4FIDOgzvi7hVcZszGzgCGsJxGoVEGDAlKZPXgcoZMmLwfN6nG3rM90TaqLir_QRzA0PE/s1600/lilycharles3.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBhOm_8VnyZZRLxPmTuphieeaovacMsMpMyi1UxcMyDesHmj0ox4iYRXvaxaW2vr3H4yAd3m7IHvLeZEzrCRlvWgINWWdYQmUHMyiBDa2nVJZY6lfkhsv0NuZZZ4Z1LO7yhE6i1jsvXzM/s1600/nun2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBhOm_8VnyZZRLxPmTuphieeaovacMsMpMyi1UxcMyDesHmj0ox4iYRXvaxaW2vr3H4yAd3m7IHvLeZEzrCRlvWgINWWdYQmUHMyiBDa2nVJZY6lfkhsv0NuZZZ4Z1LO7yhE6i1jsvXzM/s320/nun2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lily Charles before Early-Mid-Middle-Morning Prayer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jDMMbOBnsyRLvF0ygQLMPhNbwEZL2qe51BhSMsNnxA_PHCkuBRKt37gypSMHVP-LV2aHEEpA3MEsQroZGLwRRpz2RY6A9FCW2ljPYVWN6xoulfxzzTlIelJbucdhDlQRddch4hk123M/s1600/look+of+shock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jDMMbOBnsyRLvF0ygQLMPhNbwEZL2qe51BhSMsNnxA_PHCkuBRKt37gypSMHVP-LV2aHEEpA3MEsQroZGLwRRpz2RY6A9FCW2ljPYVWN6xoulfxzzTlIelJbucdhDlQRddch4hk123M/s320/look+of+shock.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shock at seeing Chuck alive.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODDGU9TWOMdp1p76UE_si_B6_mnIb_Y0bCOR-NcGcZV3r04ZMlPrLJImIv6mW3Mm83_WQaFecYJSzlWj8ZlJ8-9r02yee033VbhpXF6HnNPRU11IuzauiUblWF7__6UU2TwieG7XDJGY/s1600/lilycharles2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODDGU9TWOMdp1p76UE_si_B6_mnIb_Y0bCOR-NcGcZV3r04ZMlPrLJImIv6mW3Mm83_WQaFecYJSzlWj8ZlJ8-9r02yee033VbhpXF6HnNPRU11IuzauiUblWF7__6UU2TwieG7XDJGY/s1600/lilycharles2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63H-6xLyBYeyDwIK5XtA92L39LJp_iEnDKq4Z_P4wzR_9CitdDFpRFKUhZ6oW4KUrgptx-DQ5BHaw8VakAv9Ig4Pxwl9XPneXEczv_jMDB7eGNeGnMGrdco-rZO4DlCZTThhWejtX32o/s1600/darlinglast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63H-6xLyBYeyDwIK5XtA92L39LJp_iEnDKq4Z_P4wzR_9CitdDFpRFKUhZ6oW4KUrgptx-DQ5BHaw8VakAv9Ig4Pxwl9XPneXEczv_jMDB7eGNeGnMGrdco-rZO4DlCZTThhWejtX32o/s1600/darlinglast.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIodmUF_qnArDV0Ar-yNV2sTTOz4PjqwgI7XQyrK1rXGaYXFxH1hZwHE34mtVV1VecLp2JRr-5futrSqJZySN0rpo50wPJV66txsUxNP9HbXGf9d2Nc7VsM9pFT8ZyTYMvOq1VmloIGQw/s1600/darling2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIodmUF_qnArDV0Ar-yNV2sTTOz4PjqwgI7XQyrK1rXGaYXFxH1hZwHE34mtVV1VecLp2JRr-5futrSqJZySN0rpo50wPJV66txsUxNP9HbXGf9d2Nc7VsM9pFT8ZyTYMvOq1VmloIGQw/s1600/darling2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Mom never saw the show, but one thing she would have loved was the frequent treat of Kristen Chenoweth or Greene bursting into song. Mom loved herself a musical. Check out the Sound of Music, Birdhouse in Your Soul, or Morning Has Broken to fall in love with the show yourself.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Swoosie Kurtz on playing one-eyed, agoraphobic, vodka-holic, "Bette Davis meets Clint Eastwood":</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/9oN79T5LmcU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Video of Birdhouse in Your Soul (can not RESIST a They Might Be Giants reference):</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/DFKJB8cHNcM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I can't get the Morning Has Broken segment to link, but you can find it here: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jv0klnEAZmM">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jv0klnEAZmM</a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-72994620669337054942011-03-11T08:08:00.001-05:002011-03-11T08:08:00.546-05:00Strawberry Story: The Little Prince<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Little-Prince-Graphic-Novel/dp/0547338023"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0iJiZyaomagw4FuEbafEJdQc6rykBeSUyu_EvtRR8_bspbEC9C9eLVqBF8VrPvWT793JnOjjfdgJTqLa7V1sBFjOgwoHYie_TihamPAviEW78EZjWYXJYEr181Xik859ChDsCZkxasuA/s320/440033145.jpg" width="237" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLsRN4PNflzoeXbrIuj-VGa0CoYsJ32eKErilGD4UfM6V-ZaVjzFkV9Sr2EBhWq0HcI1xSOtLyO5IGps8AvYtLCpBhBtHYDyrjf4ZJEc3ZeaEom7Zl0y3UCO7cpPBBzbGA3MBqycOhF4I/s1600/taming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLsRN4PNflzoeXbrIuj-VGa0CoYsJ32eKErilGD4UfM6V-ZaVjzFkV9Sr2EBhWq0HcI1xSOtLyO5IGps8AvYtLCpBhBtHYDyrjf4ZJEc3ZeaEom7Zl0y3UCO7cpPBBzbGA3MBqycOhF4I/s640/taming.jpg" width="462" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taming of the fox.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
It's cheating to use a whole book for Strawberry Friday, but I can't help it. Mom introduced me to the book, and I have made it required reading of my friends in my twenties. I don't just read the story, I collect it. I have purchased or been gifted translations from all over the world inclding the original French, Mandarin, Hungarian, Swedish, Spanish, and Hindi. With Joann Sfar's version, I am now able to share it with my daughter who loves it in her own right. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXukev9O6vrhN4etP2kL9ASSU6InhuVSgqLkY0Tp8cFyvvJgQ881im8cNcUkaGGlV9FuVYviRqZUgZQJG80yNZFhM9uVgDu5CruqZLpTv_vconkZlq9xz05CcoH2rKGy2gcXYr-cGUUOU/s1600/lpl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXukev9O6vrhN4etP2kL9ASSU6InhuVSgqLkY0Tp8cFyvvJgQ881im8cNcUkaGGlV9FuVYviRqZUgZQJG80yNZFhM9uVgDu5CruqZLpTv_vconkZlq9xz05CcoH2rKGy2gcXYr-cGUUOU/s320/lpl.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ellie's favorite part, introduction of the rose.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This graphic version of <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Little-Prince-Graphic-Novel/dp/0547338023">The Little Prince</a> </em>is by Joann Sfar, adapted from the original by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. Transplated by Sarah Ardizzone and color by Brigette Findakley 2010.<br />
For our wish list- check out this video of a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/mpd/permalink/m24BIC4KSI8V38/ref=ent_fb_link">cute pop-up version</a>!Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-38440829954306169392011-03-10T08:08:00.001-05:002011-03-10T08:08:01.426-05:00Ribbon Check: What Color Are You?I had no idea there were so many ribbons to promote cancer awareness....<br />
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From the <a href="http://www.choosehope.com/">Choose Hope</a> website:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="227" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFyQHm7MAakA69tcLq9pG9GVWMU6wpoH_JBG3wxTjGkMf_l56RahxtryaveE1Vh8wI6KvAymsijY-BZOzz_69k2Dr5cJaYFo2Hm_VXzQlUca_fQQcsG_ogNYx0FoM71pZLTbNxcP-m9ls/s320/cancer+ribbon+colors.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ribbon colors and meanings from <a href="http://www.choosehope.com/">http://www.choosehope.com/</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table> So mom could have chosen from lavender, pink, gold, burgundy/ivory, and I'm not sure about her neuroblastoma. At first I thought grey, but thanks to the exhaustive awareness list on the <a href="http://www.personalizedcause.com/">Personalized Cause</a> website, gold should cover it. Come to think of it, considering the spread by the end I might as well order up the color wheel. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0g2q8Jty3zn5LzG_VmA76Km-s-jnhgy698gNqR1s5OSZO5P19HMpgOXqlygGLwujVg_a2GJqjQ2y94kmAcuzGHGLuqJXbOPTVKMd0hzxK3WwPZW9cvgrp_2y3qnlwkqIkI4H18RJeTHU/s1600/bracelets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0g2q8Jty3zn5LzG_VmA76Km-s-jnhgy698gNqR1s5OSZO5P19HMpgOXqlygGLwujVg_a2GJqjQ2y94kmAcuzGHGLuqJXbOPTVKMd0hzxK3WwPZW9cvgrp_2y3qnlwkqIkI4H18RJeTHU/s320/bracelets.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <a href="http://www.choosehope.com/">http://www.choosehope.com/</a> </td></tr>
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Reminds me too of all the colored bracelets we wore in school, stacked up our wrists almost to our elbows. Madonna: early supporter against Melanoma?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1iD2C4hSGMh4UiJbnmlaB_n-pB2ose_Ku1TQ4XW9u_Oyf106Vecxd3XqOTX0y1m4sgXP7VEBa3QA4WQvZjcSrliU6P7CiXa5Hfoo4VEe4Q4IQcSxOyDxoRi910sKYemOjSn1HULMlcus/s1600/madonna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1iD2C4hSGMh4UiJbnmlaB_n-pB2ose_Ku1TQ4XW9u_Oyf106Vecxd3XqOTX0y1m4sgXP7VEBa3QA4WQvZjcSrliU6P7CiXa5Hfoo4VEe4Q4IQcSxOyDxoRi910sKYemOjSn1HULMlcus/s200/madonna.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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More than raising awareness, these kinds of products let people feel like they're doing something, part of something, that can often feel so helpless. In the spirit of deliberating over this new information of so many causes, pardon as I share some random musings.<br />
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1. Not a fan of the black. If I had to pick a cause, I'd want it to be bright and beautiful. Melanoma = black? Murder? How bleak! <br />
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2. Ditto for grey. Brain cancer = grey. Seems like grey matter issue, so makes sense. Grey can also be for lead poisoning, allergies, or diabetes. <br />
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3. There is a lot going on for orange. Putting world hunger and feral cats into the same band category doesn't seem like a good idea. Is there peer review for these colors? <br />
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4. Pearl, you are a cheater and are gray (lung cancer). Same goes for you silver. Interesting that you can combine them for different meanings, ie pearl next to white for non-smoker lung cancer awareness.<br />
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5. When in doubt, wear red. Seems to cover the most causes.<br />
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6. I did not realize that Native American Repatriation had an awareness band: turqouis.<br />
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7. Indigo seems to be wide open. If you have a cause, claim it now!<br />
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8. I didn't think about it before, but are these bands international? There are many national interests represented for some of the colors. For example, Save Darfur (green), Ukranian Orange Revolution of 2004, and Canadian Cancer Society is yellow.<br />
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9. Brown, I have some issues. Anti-tobacco causes seem to go for brown. I get it, but again, if you're against tobacco something brighter might do.<br />
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10. Whatever I think of the color band/ribbon system, it gets points for being open and inclusive. I like the move towards combination colors. How about patterns? Maybe leopard print!<br />
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Me? I'm a plum. <br />
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What color are you?Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-48132915203373211322011-03-08T08:08:00.000-05:002011-03-08T08:08:00.866-05:00Chapter 5: I Am Woman Hear Me Roar<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/MUBnxqEVKlk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
Mom says, "I went around the house the next week singing Helen Reddy's "I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar." What follows I find hard to believe and understand. Maybe others can empathize.<br />
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In her own words:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Somehow part of it was exhilarating. I began a water aerobic exercise program at the YMCA just days out of the hospital. The dressing flowed out of the top of the bathing suit as I swam with my head above water. Two weeks out of the hospital I began the masters program and a counseling internship placement in nearby school systems. I felt I had no more time to give the medical world. I did very well in my classes that were in the evening; the girl next door would come over to babysit my school-aged children. Being in a counseling milieu is a great place to be during a major life transition, and I felt I handled all of my issues up front the best I knew how.</span><br />
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Now this I sadly believe, and so timely to our own time:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I did not pick up a dating and social life afterwards, and it was clear that being in the midst of a divorce during a mastectomy was a tricky process in terms of self esteem and body image. <strong>I had to stop the divorce proceeding because I was not insurable without the military</strong>, and could only begin it again after I had been hired the next year as a school counselor. </span>Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-25674879221435090192011-03-04T10:33:00.000-05:002011-03-04T10:33:35.378-05:00Strawberry Story: Lyrics to an Unknown Song<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_usoRJT2JC0wnuR2j-ropKuV0vCoEJb8ngUIgCsnyKcmpsvv03hEEB_qlkwjYLGv5Qq-yaYDcTWxgBLPpQOqJ8Vy68NsLgfb-T_NkvZrbgwtNgWKpfGCg74VBeoI0P1rj_8bYdv6u9og/s1600/cat+in+covers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_usoRJT2JC0wnuR2j-ropKuV0vCoEJb8ngUIgCsnyKcmpsvv03hEEB_qlkwjYLGv5Qq-yaYDcTWxgBLPpQOqJ8Vy68NsLgfb-T_NkvZrbgwtNgWKpfGCg74VBeoI0P1rj_8bYdv6u9og/s1600/cat+in+covers.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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If I lie inside the covers <br />
With the darkened warm of breathing-only me<br />
And I curl up like a kitten,<br />
Closing all the blankets very carefully,<br />
Perhaps the goblins will not find me,<br />
Will not touch me, maybe even go away<br />
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If I climb onto a tree limb<br />
With the shiny leaves in bunches<br />
Hiding me<br />
And I never move to stir them,<br />
Sitting motionless and waiting quietly,<br />
Perhaps the bullies will not find me,<br />
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.<br />
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If I watch a funny movie<br />
With lovely couples all surrounding me,<br />
And I eat the salty popcorn<br />
And the candy<br />
Till I'm laughing painfully,<br />
Perhaps the worries will not find me,<br />
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.<br />
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If I only talk politely<br />
To the friends who never fair<br />
Inviting me<br />
And I skim the paper lightly,<br />
Glancing at the news reports just casually,<br />
Perhaps the questions will not find me, <br />
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.<br />
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If I tumble in the grasses<br />
With another who pretends he's loving me,<br />
And we exchange the little gesture,<br />
Little phrases of the way<br />
Love ought to be,<br />
Perhaps the loneliness won't find me,<br />
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.<br />
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If I lie inside the covers with the darkened warm of breathing-only me,<br />
And I curl up like a kitten,<br />
Closing all the blankets very carefully,<br />
Perhaps my life will jnot find me,<br />
Never touch me, Maybe even go away, go a way.<br />
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** This is a song mom heard in South Dakota in the late 1970s. She didn't know who wrote it, but included it in her book as it represented to her the option of hiding from life, in her words "the choice that is always there and that at painful times often looks the most inviting." Do you recognize it? Let me know!Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4546424292331193860.post-8154315266326749022011-03-03T08:08:00.001-05:002011-03-03T08:08:00.624-05:00Chapter 5: Lightening<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.arizonahighwaysprints.com/Store_Gear_Product_Merchandise/Arizona-Highways-Lightning,-Cathedral-Rock/P_ID-17009/index.mhtml" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="251" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXuMXL7Hfilc_o06FrxVDoqNHL-s53vMdFua1AcGZu5MDKcqzYygioq6ubz48oj38XMA2_rxXaLzDWTly0gUG2P3xRccHw-bq8FqSM4Sl2JXRqjjuPZH_ZfkMkJvLOzyTWH6WgprBR48w/s320/lightning+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Lightening by Ramona Handel<br />
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"Lightening won't strike in the same place twice. Janet won't have cancer. If I think positive, it won't happen."<br />
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These were the thoughts repeating through my mind like a mantra as Janet and I waited for her biopsy results.<br />
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WRONG! Cancer can strike twice or more in the same person and positive thinking isn't enough to change the diagnosis.<br />
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Janet's Air Force doctor advised a radical mastectomy. I knew a modified radical mastectomy was just as effective and less disfiguring with fewer medical problems later. I also believe the military medical system was behind the private medical system in the "latest treatments" available.<br />
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Get another consult, outside the military.<br />
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The diagnosis was the same, the surgery was modified, and performed by one of the best surgeons available in the community. It was well known in the private medical community that he had no personal support to offer a patient but instead had great surgeon's hands.<br />
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As I visited Janet in the hospital during her recovery from surgery, a tape recorder playing chanting in the background, little did I know I would walk a similar path in the near future.<br />
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January 1981 I saw the same doctor for a lump on my breast. He examined me, my mammogram was negative, so was the diagnosis. I skipped out of his office into the sunshine of that crisp Dakota day with feelings of joy and gratitude. I did not follow my own advice and get a second opinion, after all the news was good and what I wanted to hear. Why would I ask for a different diagnosis? I was making a mistake.<br />
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My focus was elsewhere. I had been divorced for a year now and still adjusting to such a huge shift in our family. I was beginning a life long process of coming out as a lesbian and staying sober. My immune system was weakened from high stress and in retrospect I was a candidate for cancer or any stress related illness.<br />
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Eleven months later a needle biopsy of the lump showed cancer. I had a mastectomy and my recovery was enhanced by the love and support of friends and family. Two months before I surgery I had met and fallen in love while on a trip to Mexico. That was a strong healing factor through my surgery, recovery, and life. Love has a way of making life instantly more previous, as does cancer.<br />
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After the surgery and three months of chemotherapy the cancer has stayed in remission. Not because I have made great efforts to avoid carcinogenic substances. I eat anything and quit smoking many times each year. In that sense I am a terrible gambler and most definitely addicted.<br />
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Cancer has been a challenge and I have been more challenged by accepting my homosexuality, accepting my parents' nonacceptance of my sexual orientation, and the resulting periods of depression and despair. I believe I have learned to cope in better ways and the despair is in the past.<br />
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My family has come to a form of silent acceptance in sixteen years and although they do not talk about my orientation I occasionally say something about a gay or lesbian friend and there is obvious discomfort and a change in subject. We have stopped fighting over the issue that should be a non-issue in a healthier system.<br />
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My sons are of another generation. My younger son has come out about his lesbian mother to his friends and has talked about how difficult that is. My older son talks freely with me about his homophobia and that he can't tell anyone about "it."<br />
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I think it is not my faith that has carried me thus far but rather the caring of friends, lovers, and family.<br />
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What I am grateful for was best said by Yeats. "Think where man's glory most begins and ends and say my glory was, I had such friends."Sarah E. Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07035989200467703169noreply@blogger.com0