Friday: Massages by the pool with a friend, for a friend and her friends
Saturday: A massage for a client, Set up and then check in at rodeo committee's party, followed by a birthday party for a set of one-year-old twins, followed by a dinner out with friends and ending with dessert on the terrace of my friend's new house that has an incredible view of downtown
Sunday: on my bike at 7:30 a.m. checking in artists with Art Cars for the parade, then preparing lunch with my houseguest (co-founder of Sweet Notions), afterwards it was off to a baby shower, and finally registering guests at an Equality Texas fundraiser (outside ... by the pool ... in Houston's humidity)
So ....
In one weekend I played in the suburbs, downtown, on a "farm" and poolside.
In one weekend I encountered young stressed out moms in need of massage, artists, aging skaters who provide parade support, cowboys, advocates, about-to-be moms, sailors, pirates and princesses.
I've said it before and will repeat it till my happy ending ... You can't say my life is dull.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Second Best Was a First
Someone asked me this week if I had ever failed at something I set my mind to accomplishing. I had an easy answer because I had recently reflected on that time in my life.
Less than a year ago, I was second best twice in a row. Not one, but two organizations, told me I was one of two candidates that had survived the interview process for positions I thought at the time that I wanted. Neither organization went with me.
Whew!
Had it not happened, I would not have experienced Friday. And Friday was a dream manifested:
-- I woke up in a home where I can easily host guests and have done so for the last three weeks.
-- I spent some time working on social media for my client that focuses on breast cancer, in the comfort of my jammies, on a lap desk one guest gave me, using wireless another guest set up
-- A quick trip on a beautiful Houston day to my new client's office, and I was reading about passionate people willing to give extra time and energy in collaborating on how to address health and human service issues in Texas
-- Had just enough time to get back to my house, fix a sandwich for my current guest (another client who falls into the REALLy nonprofit category at the moment and is looking for an apartment so she can be bivocational and make an impact on the lives of vulnerable women), and prep for my next appointment
-- Did a chair massage for a former colleague and caught up on how inspiring she can be as she takes a pragmatist's view of making a difference in the world (I currently write what I hope are inspiring stories for the group she's with)
-- Gathered my massage materials and after another couple of hours online, headed to a table massage for someone who works for yet another client (the group who wants to convert a food truck into a job development program)
-- Drove to a friend's new place and after helping with the unpacking and a bit of takeout, gave my final massage of the day ... a freebie because I love her, she's worked hard this week, and in the move, I inherited what was once her mom's round table and four chairs.
How does mental and physical work, bartered items, and the simple things of life equal a dream?
Last July, I left a world I KNEW was not for me. I failed to help larger nonprofit organizations see who I could be in their operations. And that's when I first dreamed the dream. What if I helped small nonprofits who can't afford development directors and full-time communications managers and supplemented my income with massage?
Ta-da! Dream, meet Friday! Friday, meet Dream!
And the beauty of this new encounter? Saturday just added more fuel to the inspirational fires as I set a volunteer gig for next weekend, volunteered at a food truck festival, and spent time laughing with friends around a table ladened with good food.
Perhaps when you're second, you try harder. I've no doubt that in my case, I live larger!
Less than a year ago, I was second best twice in a row. Not one, but two organizations, told me I was one of two candidates that had survived the interview process for positions I thought at the time that I wanted. Neither organization went with me.
Whew!
Had it not happened, I would not have experienced Friday. And Friday was a dream manifested:
-- I woke up in a home where I can easily host guests and have done so for the last three weeks.
-- I spent some time working on social media for my client that focuses on breast cancer, in the comfort of my jammies, on a lap desk one guest gave me, using wireless another guest set up
-- A quick trip on a beautiful Houston day to my new client's office, and I was reading about passionate people willing to give extra time and energy in collaborating on how to address health and human service issues in Texas
-- Had just enough time to get back to my house, fix a sandwich for my current guest (another client who falls into the REALLy nonprofit category at the moment and is looking for an apartment so she can be bivocational and make an impact on the lives of vulnerable women), and prep for my next appointment
-- Did a chair massage for a former colleague and caught up on how inspiring she can be as she takes a pragmatist's view of making a difference in the world (I currently write what I hope are inspiring stories for the group she's with)
-- Gathered my massage materials and after another couple of hours online, headed to a table massage for someone who works for yet another client (the group who wants to convert a food truck into a job development program)
-- Drove to a friend's new place and after helping with the unpacking and a bit of takeout, gave my final massage of the day ... a freebie because I love her, she's worked hard this week, and in the move, I inherited what was once her mom's round table and four chairs.
How does mental and physical work, bartered items, and the simple things of life equal a dream?
Last July, I left a world I KNEW was not for me. I failed to help larger nonprofit organizations see who I could be in their operations. And that's when I first dreamed the dream. What if I helped small nonprofits who can't afford development directors and full-time communications managers and supplemented my income with massage?
Ta-da! Dream, meet Friday! Friday, meet Dream!
And the beauty of this new encounter? Saturday just added more fuel to the inspirational fires as I set a volunteer gig for next weekend, volunteered at a food truck festival, and spent time laughing with friends around a table ladened with good food.
Perhaps when you're second, you try harder. I've no doubt that in my case, I live larger!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Newest feature story for The Rose by Yours Truly
HOUSTON – More than 500 riders, volunteers, and supporters participated in the 3rd Annual Bikers Against Breast Cancer (BABC) record-setting ride Saturday, May 7. And at least one new rider plans to make it an annual event.
Debbie Stokes has arthritis, so she never considered a long ride an option. But as soon as she heard the BABC ride would be benefitting The Rose, she immediately signed up. According to Debbie, her daughter Elizabeth is alive today because of the breast cancer organization that provides services for the insured and uninsured.
At 21 years of age, Elizabeth found a lump during a routine breast self exam. The Liberty resident had learned about the importance of breast health care when she was 19 and a t-shirt attracted her to an educational booth at Houston’s annual Buzzfest concert. Since then, she’s taken care of herself and encouraged her friends to do so as well. However, as a young mother, she told herself the lump and her needs could wait and decided not to mention it to her doctor. Elizabeth’s father Larry had other plans.
Elizabeth’s aunt (Larry’s sister) is a 30-year survivor. He didn’t want his daughter taking any chances, so he applied a bit of paternal pressure. When Elizabeth went for her six-week checkup after having given birth to son Aiden, she mentioned the lump. Aware that she was uninsured, her doctor also knew of the services provided by The Rose and referred her for a screening. A mammogram, ultrasound, and a biopsy later, she got the news from Dr. Dixie Melillo, her physician and the Co-founder of The Rose.
She had breast cancer.
Both Elizabeth and Debbie thought of her own child when the report was received. Blue-eyed Aiden inspired Elizabeth. Debbie confesses her first thought was “Why not me?” and described the experience as “the hardest thing a parent can see her child go through.”
The Rose assisted Elizabeth in accessing the state-funded Medicaid Breast and Cervical Cancer Services Program. Soon she was insured and receiving aggressive rounds of chemotherapy at MD Anderson. She finished her last round March 7 and was pronounced cancer free on April 1.
“My mom never left my side,” the now 22-year-old Elizabeth reports.
“She kept telling me, ‘Failure is not an option,’” explained Debbie.
“I had an incentive – I wanted to watch my son grow up,” Elizabeth concluded.
Inspired by Elizabeth’s courage and tenacity, Debbie claimed her own victory when she completed the 45 miles on Saturday.
“I owe it to The Rose,” Debbie noted. “I wish I could do more. I tell everyone about what a great organization The Rose is, because, unfortunately, it’s still a secret to many.”
On top of caring for Elizabeth and helping out with her grandson, Debbie plans to continue to be a vocal advocate for The Rose and for young women not having to wait until they are 40 years of age to get coverage for mammograms.
Totals for the event are still being tallied, but 2011 BABC ride looks to be another record-breaking year. The event has grown from 125 bikes raising $10,000 in 2009 to this year’s estimated 391 riders and 85 ghost riders, raising nearly $50,000 for The Rose. A new opportunity called a “ghost rider” allowed for participation for those who would not be riding but who wanted to make a donation. In addition, more than 75 volunteers assisted with the registration, silent auction, and raffle.
“I applaud the incredible Bikers Against Breast Cancer Committee led by D’Etta Casto DeLeon for creating an outstanding event,” said Dorothy Gibbons, CEO and Co-founder of The Rose. “Looking over that sea of bikes was amazing. And I celebrated as stories were shared, tears were shed, and laughter and music made for a great day. There aren’t enough words to adequately thank the riders, committee, volunteers, and staff who made this fundraiser such a success.”
Bikers Against Breast Cancer launched in the Houston area in 2009. The committee consists of volunteers, assisted by The Rose staff. In its three-year history, BABC has raised a total of nearly $100,000 to benefit The Rose.
Debbie Stokes has arthritis, so she never considered a long ride an option. But as soon as she heard the BABC ride would be benefitting The Rose, she immediately signed up. According to Debbie, her daughter Elizabeth is alive today because of the breast cancer organization that provides services for the insured and uninsured.
At 21 years of age, Elizabeth found a lump during a routine breast self exam. The Liberty resident had learned about the importance of breast health care when she was 19 and a t-shirt attracted her to an educational booth at Houston’s annual Buzzfest concert. Since then, she’s taken care of herself and encouraged her friends to do so as well. However, as a young mother, she told herself the lump and her needs could wait and decided not to mention it to her doctor. Elizabeth’s father Larry had other plans.
Elizabeth’s aunt (Larry’s sister) is a 30-year survivor. He didn’t want his daughter taking any chances, so he applied a bit of paternal pressure. When Elizabeth went for her six-week checkup after having given birth to son Aiden, she mentioned the lump. Aware that she was uninsured, her doctor also knew of the services provided by The Rose and referred her for a screening. A mammogram, ultrasound, and a biopsy later, she got the news from Dr. Dixie Melillo, her physician and the Co-founder of The Rose.
She had breast cancer.
Both Elizabeth and Debbie thought of her own child when the report was received. Blue-eyed Aiden inspired Elizabeth. Debbie confesses her first thought was “Why not me?” and described the experience as “the hardest thing a parent can see her child go through.”
The Rose assisted Elizabeth in accessing the state-funded Medicaid Breast and Cervical Cancer Services Program. Soon she was insured and receiving aggressive rounds of chemotherapy at MD Anderson. She finished her last round March 7 and was pronounced cancer free on April 1.
“My mom never left my side,” the now 22-year-old Elizabeth reports.
“She kept telling me, ‘Failure is not an option,’” explained Debbie.
“I had an incentive – I wanted to watch my son grow up,” Elizabeth concluded.
Inspired by Elizabeth’s courage and tenacity, Debbie claimed her own victory when she completed the 45 miles on Saturday.
“I owe it to The Rose,” Debbie noted. “I wish I could do more. I tell everyone about what a great organization The Rose is, because, unfortunately, it’s still a secret to many.”
On top of caring for Elizabeth and helping out with her grandson, Debbie plans to continue to be a vocal advocate for The Rose and for young women not having to wait until they are 40 years of age to get coverage for mammograms.
Totals for the event are still being tallied, but 2011 BABC ride looks to be another record-breaking year. The event has grown from 125 bikes raising $10,000 in 2009 to this year’s estimated 391 riders and 85 ghost riders, raising nearly $50,000 for The Rose. A new opportunity called a “ghost rider” allowed for participation for those who would not be riding but who wanted to make a donation. In addition, more than 75 volunteers assisted with the registration, silent auction, and raffle.
“I applaud the incredible Bikers Against Breast Cancer Committee led by D’Etta Casto DeLeon for creating an outstanding event,” said Dorothy Gibbons, CEO and Co-founder of The Rose. “Looking over that sea of bikes was amazing. And I celebrated as stories were shared, tears were shed, and laughter and music made for a great day. There aren’t enough words to adequately thank the riders, committee, volunteers, and staff who made this fundraiser such a success.”
Bikers Against Breast Cancer launched in the Houston area in 2009. The committee consists of volunteers, assisted by The Rose staff. In its three-year history, BABC has raised a total of nearly $100,000 to benefit The Rose.
Friday, April 01, 2011
Celebrating the South -- Observations from a Wake
Road tripping across Louisiana toward Texas, I reflected on the cast of characters that I had encountered the night before at a wake for the 92-year-old uncle of Roger, my best friend. One of the bonds between my friend and me is our roots in small town life. My hometown's population may be ten times his but from what I saw at this gathering (and during my previous visits, one at which we threw a birthday bash for the then 90-year-old uncle), the people are incredibly similar.
Which is why I knew when the man with the khaki pants, cotton shirt and aviator glasses (circa 1979) introduced himself as the husband of a cancer victim, my other friend Geary and I might be in for a lengthy chat. Really, those were his first words to us. His wife had been diagnosed with two different types over the years, and he had spent time helping her during her treatments but he had also been "blessed with the opportunity" to do missionary work in South Korea. He went into great detail about how the teams were set up, what years netted what results, his own success in leading others to Christ (even gave us the numbers but I don't quite remember those), how they have changed the length of their stays through the years and much, much more.
After smiling, nodding, sharing the occasional "hmmm" or "oh, wow" I realized he was going to keep going and going and going. So I finally interrupted to ask for a bathroom break.
"Is this your church?" I inquired. (Bad choice of wording when you are talking to a zealous man.)
"No ..." pausing for effect and looking at me with anticipation that I might know where he was going with his response. I did.
"I know it's God's but are you a member here?" I shifted the words and quickly added, "I need to know where the bathroom is."
He smiled and offered instructions. Not wanting to leave Geary alone for too long and anticipating that the progress of the conversation wasn't going to be shortened by my absence, I grabbed Roger's arm as I walked by, "Get him out of that NOW," I whispered.
When I returned, Roger was still engaged and wanted to introduce me to two teachers from his grade school days. "I'll be delighted to meet them in just a minute, but I'm not kidding, get Geary out of that situation."
Walking Geary over to ostensibly be introduced to the teachers as well, Roger gave us the connect-the-dots introduction of the women that Southerners typically do. I got their professional roles, their family ties, and their impact on Roger's life all in one paragraph. Meanwhile, I look to Geary, "I had a plan for getting you out of that so don't give me that look of abandonment," I cautioned.
"He wanted to know how many souls I'd led to Christ," Geary said. "I told him, 'none.'"
"What did he say to that?"
"That's when Roger pulled me away."
We finished up with the teachers and then Geary and I shifted to different corners of the fellowship hall watching the extended family ... well, fellowship! When the deceased is 92 and there's plenty of tuna fish sandwiches, bbq, chips, colas and homemade cakes and cookies, the night before the burial truly is a celebration of a life well-lived. I took my own personal delight in watching everyone's face as they tried to determine if we were Bumgardners, Badgelys or some other branch of the family tree.
Geary and I tried to do what we could for the family members we knew and beyond that tried to stay out of the way. While it was nice to take it down a notch and stop in at Roger's cousin and the deceased's daughter's house nearby, we were fading fast. The hours on the road on top of a few hours of work and then interacting with strangers was doing me in. Finally we headed to Roger's sister's house.
Roger has a large family and through the years, I've met them all but know some better than others. We had never stayed at Betty's house before. I was rather shocked that we were now.
Betty and her husband haven't always embraced the reality of her brother. Betty is rather fundamental in her faith. Roger is gay. She spent many years ignoring that fact and the fact that her son has had a partner for a decade at least. So when we took our rooms -- mine with beautiful lace and pillows and dolls and the boys' with photos around the room, I was shocked. Note .. the boys' room.
The next day we were greeted with coffee and a wonderful breakfast of biscuit, rolls, bacon and venison sausage. Afterwards, while Geary was outside taking photos, he was greeted with much more.
"Geary, I owe you an apology," Betty told him as he snapped away at the gorgeous azaleas in her yard. "I've not always been that nice to you."
Geary, in reporting this back to me later, said he paused and was about to deflect her statement when she added through tears, "But for you to drive so many hours to be with Roger and his family, well that says so very much."
Geary thanked her and reminded her that we all love in different ways and we need only love each other as best we can.
The drive back -- which was filled with dogwood sightings and tons more azaleas -- gave me time to reflect on these two wake encounters.
And I'm pretty sure ... Geary's sacrifice of time, gas money, and energy was every bit as strong a witness as our missionary friend's many, many encounters along the Roman Road in South Korea.
Do I hear a hallelujah out there somewhere?
Which is why I knew when the man with the khaki pants, cotton shirt and aviator glasses (circa 1979) introduced himself as the husband of a cancer victim, my other friend Geary and I might be in for a lengthy chat. Really, those were his first words to us. His wife had been diagnosed with two different types over the years, and he had spent time helping her during her treatments but he had also been "blessed with the opportunity" to do missionary work in South Korea. He went into great detail about how the teams were set up, what years netted what results, his own success in leading others to Christ (even gave us the numbers but I don't quite remember those), how they have changed the length of their stays through the years and much, much more.
After smiling, nodding, sharing the occasional "hmmm" or "oh, wow" I realized he was going to keep going and going and going. So I finally interrupted to ask for a bathroom break.
"Is this your church?" I inquired. (Bad choice of wording when you are talking to a zealous man.)
"No ..." pausing for effect and looking at me with anticipation that I might know where he was going with his response. I did.
"I know it's God's but are you a member here?" I shifted the words and quickly added, "I need to know where the bathroom is."
He smiled and offered instructions. Not wanting to leave Geary alone for too long and anticipating that the progress of the conversation wasn't going to be shortened by my absence, I grabbed Roger's arm as I walked by, "Get him out of that NOW," I whispered.
When I returned, Roger was still engaged and wanted to introduce me to two teachers from his grade school days. "I'll be delighted to meet them in just a minute, but I'm not kidding, get Geary out of that situation."
Walking Geary over to ostensibly be introduced to the teachers as well, Roger gave us the connect-the-dots introduction of the women that Southerners typically do. I got their professional roles, their family ties, and their impact on Roger's life all in one paragraph. Meanwhile, I look to Geary, "I had a plan for getting you out of that so don't give me that look of abandonment," I cautioned.
"He wanted to know how many souls I'd led to Christ," Geary said. "I told him, 'none.'"
"What did he say to that?"
"That's when Roger pulled me away."
We finished up with the teachers and then Geary and I shifted to different corners of the fellowship hall watching the extended family ... well, fellowship! When the deceased is 92 and there's plenty of tuna fish sandwiches, bbq, chips, colas and homemade cakes and cookies, the night before the burial truly is a celebration of a life well-lived. I took my own personal delight in watching everyone's face as they tried to determine if we were Bumgardners, Badgelys or some other branch of the family tree.
Geary and I tried to do what we could for the family members we knew and beyond that tried to stay out of the way. While it was nice to take it down a notch and stop in at Roger's cousin and the deceased's daughter's house nearby, we were fading fast. The hours on the road on top of a few hours of work and then interacting with strangers was doing me in. Finally we headed to Roger's sister's house.
Roger has a large family and through the years, I've met them all but know some better than others. We had never stayed at Betty's house before. I was rather shocked that we were now.
Betty and her husband haven't always embraced the reality of her brother. Betty is rather fundamental in her faith. Roger is gay. She spent many years ignoring that fact and the fact that her son has had a partner for a decade at least. So when we took our rooms -- mine with beautiful lace and pillows and dolls and the boys' with photos around the room, I was shocked. Note .. the boys' room.
The next day we were greeted with coffee and a wonderful breakfast of biscuit, rolls, bacon and venison sausage. Afterwards, while Geary was outside taking photos, he was greeted with much more.
"Geary, I owe you an apology," Betty told him as he snapped away at the gorgeous azaleas in her yard. "I've not always been that nice to you."
Geary, in reporting this back to me later, said he paused and was about to deflect her statement when she added through tears, "But for you to drive so many hours to be with Roger and his family, well that says so very much."
Geary thanked her and reminded her that we all love in different ways and we need only love each other as best we can.
The drive back -- which was filled with dogwood sightings and tons more azaleas -- gave me time to reflect on these two wake encounters.
And I'm pretty sure ... Geary's sacrifice of time, gas money, and energy was every bit as strong a witness as our missionary friend's many, many encounters along the Roman Road in South Korea.
Do I hear a hallelujah out there somewhere?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Another press release from the desk of KC
HOUSTON -- When Jenny Mikyong Paek was referred by Hope Clinic for a breast cancer screening in July 2006, she took her first step in a life-saving journey. Fortunately for the Korean-born businesswoman and mother of two adult daughters, the journey came with a guide – The Rose.
The Rose is Houston’s leading non-profit breast cancer organization, offering a full range of breast cancer screening and diagnostic services including mammograms, ultrasounds, biopsies, breast specific gamma imaging and access to treatment. Annual gifts from customers and associates of Randalls totaling more than $1.5 million have made possible the continuing availability of Mobile Mammography Units. In fact, Randalls support provided for the purchase of the mobile unit on which Paek had her initial screening.
Paek’s introduction to the need for screenings translated into annual appointments – first at The Rose Southeast location and then last year closer to her home at The Rose Galleria. In late 2009, breast cancer was detected. Navigators from The Rose then helped her find the care she needed for her mastectomy in January 2010.
A 37-year resident of Houston, Paek speaks fluent English but is reticent to use her language skills until the subject turns to cancer. When asked to be on hand as a representative of the many individuals who have benefitted from the mobile mammography unit, she readily accepted. And she is bold when it comes to sharing her experience with friends and family.
“I talk to them and tell them they need regular checkups,” Paek explained. “I tell my friends who are over 40 years old to get a mammogram because it makes sense. It’s prevention!”
When Paul McTavish, President of Randalls Food Markets, made the 2011 check presentation for $225,000 to Dorothy Gibbons, Chief Executive Officer and Co-founder of The Rose, Paek was present. The mobile mammography unit was also in operation providing screenings for employees of Randalls.
“Randalls is honored to be a partner with The Rose and to sponsor the mobile mammography unit which takes this vital screening service out into the community,” said McTavish.
The gift comes from contributions made by customers and associates of Randalls during the annual October in-store Breast Cancer Campaign. Thirty-six Houston area Randalls locations participated.
“In difficult economic times, the large amount of monies raised -- which provide access to screenings for women who usually do not have such ease of access -- is especially noteworthy,” said Gibbons. “We are grateful to Randalls for continuing to remember that ease of access can save lives.”
Randalls’ previous gifts made possible the purchase of 1 of the 2 mobile units currently deployed to corporations, organizations, churches and clinics in Houston and 11 surrounding counties.
In fiscal year 2010, the Mobile Program traveled to 202 different sites for a total of 410 site visits, serving 5,679 women – more than 66% of whom were uninsured – across 11 counties.
Randalls is a division of Safeway Inc., a Fortune 100 company and one of the largest food and drug retailers in North America based on sales.
The Rose is Houston’s leading non-profit breast cancer organization, offering a full range of breast cancer screening and diagnostic services including mammograms, ultrasounds, biopsies, breast specific gamma imaging and access to treatment. Annual gifts from customers and associates of Randalls totaling more than $1.5 million have made possible the continuing availability of Mobile Mammography Units. In fact, Randalls support provided for the purchase of the mobile unit on which Paek had her initial screening.
Paek’s introduction to the need for screenings translated into annual appointments – first at The Rose Southeast location and then last year closer to her home at The Rose Galleria. In late 2009, breast cancer was detected. Navigators from The Rose then helped her find the care she needed for her mastectomy in January 2010.
A 37-year resident of Houston, Paek speaks fluent English but is reticent to use her language skills until the subject turns to cancer. When asked to be on hand as a representative of the many individuals who have benefitted from the mobile mammography unit, she readily accepted. And she is bold when it comes to sharing her experience with friends and family.
“I talk to them and tell them they need regular checkups,” Paek explained. “I tell my friends who are over 40 years old to get a mammogram because it makes sense. It’s prevention!”
When Paul McTavish, President of Randalls Food Markets, made the 2011 check presentation for $225,000 to Dorothy Gibbons, Chief Executive Officer and Co-founder of The Rose, Paek was present. The mobile mammography unit was also in operation providing screenings for employees of Randalls.
“Randalls is honored to be a partner with The Rose and to sponsor the mobile mammography unit which takes this vital screening service out into the community,” said McTavish.
The gift comes from contributions made by customers and associates of Randalls during the annual October in-store Breast Cancer Campaign. Thirty-six Houston area Randalls locations participated.
“In difficult economic times, the large amount of monies raised -- which provide access to screenings for women who usually do not have such ease of access -- is especially noteworthy,” said Gibbons. “We are grateful to Randalls for continuing to remember that ease of access can save lives.”
Randalls’ previous gifts made possible the purchase of 1 of the 2 mobile units currently deployed to corporations, organizations, churches and clinics in Houston and 11 surrounding counties.
In fiscal year 2010, the Mobile Program traveled to 202 different sites for a total of 410 site visits, serving 5,679 women – more than 66% of whom were uninsured – across 11 counties.
Randalls is a division of Safeway Inc., a Fortune 100 company and one of the largest food and drug retailers in North America based on sales.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Been Writing ... Just Not Here
In case you're wondering why I haven't been writing lately, I have! The writing I'm doing at the moment is for clients. I have six groups with whom I work -- ranging from nutritional supplements for people with AIDS, to social enterprise working with human trafficking, to an association of churches and my biggie which is all about breast health!
UBA is where I worked once upon a time when I was a bit more traditional. Here are a couple of links to stories I just finished for them: http://ubahouston.org/629238.ihtml and
http://ubahouston.org/629540.ihtml. I also have one in the wings about a man who has proven to be about faith and ministry rather than fame and millions. It's the next blog entry.
I meet lots of great people when I write features and the blog entry after the one on Pastor J is the feature I did on a 12-year-old who could teach us all a thing or two!
UBA is where I worked once upon a time when I was a bit more traditional. Here are a couple of links to stories I just finished for them: http://ubahouston.org/629238.ihtml and
http://ubahouston.org/629540.ihtml. I also have one in the wings about a man who has proven to be about faith and ministry rather than fame and millions. It's the next blog entry.
I meet lots of great people when I write features and the blog entry after the one on Pastor J is the feature I did on a 12-year-old who could teach us all a thing or two!
"Consistency” – A Watchword in Urban Ministry*
Pastor Jesse Shelton, or Pastor J, as he is known in a neighborhood rife with drug dealers and prostitutes, planned on planting a church in Clear Lake. But prayers for an evangelistic outreach led him to one of the lowest income areas of the state -- zip code 77078 -- what some refer to as “The Hole,” off of Mesa and Sterlingshire. Five minutes from North Forest High School, this mixed neighborhood of houses and apartments reveals an exceedingly high number of dropouts and teen pregnancy.
Faithful to his understanding of the biblical mandate to “make disciples,” Pastor J heeded the call and began to make his presence known. Every day.
Since 2007, he and usually 2-3 from that initial prayer group, make the drive of more than 30 minutes. They walk the neighborhood, greeting people whose usual menacing presence is somehow softened at the sight of these faithful believers who have proven they simply want to make Christ known.
“The people love us,” the pastor explained. “The people protect us. We’ve developed relationships with some of the most hard core. Even the people who don’t come respect us. I can leave my car doors open.
“Consistency is the main thing. It wouldn’t be safe if we were only going once a month or once a week. They know we’re committed.”
Ministry looks the same here as in many other areas of the city. Time spent throwing a ball around with youth. Prayer. Small group gatherings in homes to search the Scripture and equip new believers to stand strong and reach their sphere of influence. Baptisms.
But the faces of those attending The Walk Church reflect a deep knowledge of transformation from the inside out. From a life of drugs, they have found freedom.
Calvin, known to the group and the neighborhood as Spider, was the first person of peace God used to open doors. Initially, the group used another church’s facility but soon discovered an apartment’s community center and resident’s house were more conducive to their desire to have a consistent presence among the people.
That consistency is key to helping Pastor J deal with the realities ministering in such a drug ravaged area. Though Spider returned to drugs, Linda soon took his place. Delivered from her own dependency, she now reaches out to her family, neighbors, and her former dealers.
“We like to call her house Solomon’s Porch,” said Pastor J. “We use her house to store our speakers, a freezer of food and our baptism pool. She has become a person of peace on a level I can’t even begin to explain.”
Acknowledging that it is discouraging to see someone like Spider fall, Pastor J, a husband and father of four ages 2-7, returns to that consistency that is a mark of his ministry.
“They are just like family. So, yes, it’s painful for him to get to the point where he didn’t recognize us anymore. But the good thing is that his family still comes – children, mother, brother, and one of his best friends, Skyler, a drug dealer, who has given up all of that and is with us every single day and is in the word. It hurts but we understand that it does happen. Even though he looks at us as the enemy, we still show our face to him.”
Recently, the Baptist Standard highlighted a particular September day when a planned baptism of three believers spontaneously grew to an immersion of more than 40 individuals. < http://www.baptiststandard.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=12108&Itemid=53>
“Some of them are still with us,” said Pastor J of those who were led to act on faith that day. “And some came a couple of times and didn’t continue.”
For those who remain, the discipleship continues. With a core group of about 15 meeting weekly, the daily bible studies with two to three can last hours.
With a background in video production, Pastor J is currently working on a documentary of stories told by the people he encounters every day. By sharing their words on the Internet as well as on a DVD accompanying a book he’s completed on urban ministry – he wants to send the message to others that “there’s hope, deliverance. Lot of the testimonies are crying out for the churches to come. They are afraid to go to church. They think they will be judged by their appearance.”
When asked what the church outside The Hole can do to respond, Pastor J returned to what led him to the ministry that captured his heart in the beginning. Prayer.
“We always include in our prayers that God would send workers for the harvest. We need leaders out of the community. Please pray.” Pastor J said.
*Feature written for UBA, an association of more than 600 churches in Houston area
Faithful to his understanding of the biblical mandate to “make disciples,” Pastor J heeded the call and began to make his presence known. Every day.
Since 2007, he and usually 2-3 from that initial prayer group, make the drive of more than 30 minutes. They walk the neighborhood, greeting people whose usual menacing presence is somehow softened at the sight of these faithful believers who have proven they simply want to make Christ known.
“The people love us,” the pastor explained. “The people protect us. We’ve developed relationships with some of the most hard core. Even the people who don’t come
“Consistency is the main thing. It wouldn’t be safe if we were only going once a month or once a week. They know we’re committed.”
Ministry looks the same here as in many other areas of the city. Time spent throwing a ball around with youth. Prayer. Small group gatherings in homes to search the Scripture and equip new believers to stand strong and reach their sphere of influence. Baptisms.
But the faces of those attending The Walk Church reflect a deep knowledge of transformation from the inside out. From a life of drugs, they have found freedom.
Calvin, known to the group and the neighborhood as Spider, was the first person of peace God used to open doors. Initially, the group used another church’s facility but soon discovered an apartment’s community center and resident’s house were more conducive to their desire to have a consistent presence among the people.
That consistency is key to helping Pastor J deal with the realities ministering in such a drug ravaged area. Though Spider returned to drugs, Linda soon took his place. Delivered from her own dependency, she now reaches out to her family, neighbors, and her former dealers.
“We like to call her house Solomon’s Porch,” said Pastor J. “We use her house to store our speakers, a freezer of food and our baptism pool. She has become a person of peace on a level I can’t even begin to explain.”
Acknowledging that it is discouraging to see someone like Spider fall, Pastor J, a husband and father of four ages 2-7, returns to that consistency that is a mark of his ministry.
“They are just like family. So, yes, it’s painful for him to get to the point where he didn’t recognize us anymore. But the good thing is that his family still comes – children, mother, brother, and one of his best friends, Skyler, a drug dealer, who has given up all of that and is with us every single day and is in the word. It hurts but we understand that it does happen. Even though he looks at us as the enemy, we still show our face to him.”
Recently, the Baptist Standard highlighted a particular September day when a planned baptism of three believers spontaneously grew to an immersion of more than 40 individuals. < http://www.baptiststandard.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=12108&Itemid=53>
“Some of them are still with us,” said Pastor J of those who were led to act on faith that day. “And some came a couple of times and didn’t continue.”
For those who remain, the discipleship continues. With a core group of about 15 meeting weekly, the daily bible studies with two to three can last hours.
With a background in video production, Pastor J is currently working on a documentary of stories told by the people he encounters every day. By sharing their words on the Internet as well as on a DVD accompanying a book he’s completed on urban ministry – he wants to send the message to others that “there’s hope, deliverance. Lot of the testimonies
When asked what the church outside The Hole can do to respond, Pastor J returned to what led him to the ministry that captured his heart in the beginning. Prayer.
“We always include in our prayers that God would send workers for the harvest. We need leaders out of the community. Please pray.” Pastor J said.
*Feature written for UBA, an association of more than 600 churches in Houston area
Bram Lowenstein, 12, Launches Mimi's Wigs to Benefit Breast Cancer Survivors*
BELLAIRE, TX -- For most of Bram Lowenstein’s life, his grandmother Carole Betty Bercutt, or “Mimi” as he knew her, greeted him wearing a wig. When she died in November 2010 after a decade of living with breast cancer, the 12-year-old Bellaire resident wanted to remember her in a special way.
Mimi’s Wigs was birthed as a service project for Bram’s bar mitzvah. The wigs she had left behind and ones he gathered through donations and purchases became the start of a program to benefit others going through treatment. In February, Bram donated 23 wigs to The Rose, Houston’s leading nonprofit breast cancer organization. According to Bram, that’s just the beginning.
“I know that I want to keep expanding on this project. I will keep collecting wigs and donating them because there are a lot of people who are in need of them, who want to wear a hair piece when they go outside, play with their kids, or be with their families. I like this project,” the seventh grader said during the wig presentation to members of The Rose staff. The presentation included a check from his family to cover the cost of even more wigs.
The Rose offers a full range of breast cancer screening and diagnostic services to both insured and uninsured women. The donated wigs will be offered at no cost to uninsured women going through treatment.
Receiving the donation, Chief Operating Officer Bernice Joseph expressed The Rose’s gratitude, “We want to thank you for your generosity and for your ingenuity. Every time someone as young as you starts thinking about giving back, it’s the beginning of a consciousness that grows and leads us all to a better place. There are so many women we treat who cannot afford a wig. Their lives will be changed,” she said.
Attending the presentation were Bram’s mother, Pam Bercutt; father, Glenn Lowenstein; grandfather, Henry Bercutt; and brother, Coby, whose baseball teammate is the son of Dr. Daniel Roubein, the radiologist at The Rose Galleria and a resident of Bellaire.
Dr. Roubein reflected on his personal connection to the family as he addressed Bram on the day of the donation, “You’re doing something with a project that’s original. The fact you want to continue doing the project is meaningful, because you’re not going to know the people these wigs go to. That’s a high form of charity.”
Bram, a student at The Emery/Weiner School, has plans to start a website to encourage others to contribute to Mimi’s Wigs. For more information or to make a donation, contact The Rose at 281.484.4708.
The Rose provides screening, diagnostics, and access to treatment for all women regardless of their ability to pay. The Rose Galleria is located at 5420 West Loop South, Suite 3300. The Rose Southwest is located at 12700 N. Featherwood. For more information, visit www.TheRose.org.
*Feature story sent to several local media outlets and on Notes of Facebook page for The Rose, a non-profit breast cancer organization.
Mimi’s Wigs was birthed as a service project for Bram’s bar mitzvah. The wigs she had left behind and ones he gathered through donations and purchases became the start of a program to benefit others going through treatment. In February, Bram donated 23 wigs to The Rose, Houston’s leading nonprofit breast cancer organization. According to Bram, that’s just the beginning.
“I know that I want to keep expanding on this project. I will keep collecting wigs and donating them because there are a lot of people who are in need of them, who want to wear a hair piece when they go outside, play with their kids, or be with their families. I like this project,” the seventh grader said during the wig presentation to members of The Rose staff. The presentation included a check from his family to cover the cost of even more wigs.
The Rose offers a full range of breast cancer screening and diagnostic services to both insured and uninsured women. The donated wigs will be offered at no cost to uninsured women going through treatment.
Receiving the donation, Chief Operating Officer Bernice Joseph expressed The Rose’s gratitude, “We want to thank you for your generosity and for your ingenuity. Every time someone as young as you starts thinking about giving back, it’s the beginning of a consciousness that grows and leads us all to a better place. There are so many women we treat who cannot afford a wig. Their lives will be changed,” she said.
Attending the presentation were Bram’s mother, Pam Bercutt; father, Glenn Lowenstein; grandfather, Henry Bercutt; and brother, Coby, whose baseball teammate is the son of Dr. Daniel Roubein, the radiologist at The Rose Galleria and a resident of Bellaire.
Dr. Roubein reflected on his personal connection to the family as he addressed Bram on the day of the donation, “You’re doing something with a project that’s original. The fact you want to continue doing the project is meaningful, because you’re not going to know the people these wigs go to. That’s a high form of charity.”
Bram, a student at The Emery/Weiner School, has plans to start a website to encourage others to contribute to Mimi’s Wigs. For more information or to make a donation, contact The Rose at 281.484.4708.
The Rose provides screening, diagnostics, and access to treatment for all women regardless of their ability to pay. The Rose Galleria is located at 5420 West Loop South, Suite 3300. The Rose Southwest is located at 12700 N. Featherwood. For more information, visit www.TheRose.org.
*Feature story sent to several local media outlets and on Notes of Facebook page for The Rose, a non-profit breast cancer organization.
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Two Forward One Back
The visionary life takes you from "Start" to "Can't-wait-to-finish" at record speed. You see. You want. You make it happen.
Reality ... not so much.
The visionary life has me thinking "Why can't I support nonprofits with my communication skills, allowing those who can pay to fund my life needs while those who can't teach me new lessons? Why can't I do massage and fill in the financial gaps left by the nonprofits? Of course, I can ... and in fact I will!"
Reality ... shows me that people are people and nonprofits have their fair share of cynics and those quick to assumptions and judgement, as well as the sacrificial almost-martyrs who are mostly living on passion. Reality also includes ice storms that cancel last classes, full schedules for state testing sites, and only so many hours in the day to accomplish the endless needs of entities desperate for comfort and/or funding.
Much like the other day when I wanted to simply make a home cooked meal. But first I had to deal with the smoking oven. Then I had to clean the smoking oven. Then I had to prep the vegs. And, finally, I got to roast them.
Two steps forward, one step back. I'm moving ahead but patience must be a companion on this journey.
Reality ... not so much.
The visionary life has me thinking "Why can't I support nonprofits with my communication skills, allowing those who can pay to fund my life needs while those who can't teach me new lessons? Why can't I do massage and fill in the financial gaps left by the nonprofits? Of course, I can ... and in fact I will!"
Reality ... shows me that people are people and nonprofits have their fair share of cynics and those quick to assumptions and judgement, as well as the sacrificial almost-martyrs who are mostly living on passion. Reality also includes ice storms that cancel last classes, full schedules for state testing sites, and only so many hours in the day to accomplish the endless needs of entities desperate for comfort and/or funding.
Much like the other day when I wanted to simply make a home cooked meal. But first I had to deal with the smoking oven. Then I had to clean the smoking oven. Then I had to prep the vegs. And, finally, I got to roast them.
Two steps forward, one step back. I'm moving ahead but patience must be a companion on this journey.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Taking Stock
-Two feature stories a month for UBA's website
-Helping get a concession stand converted into a food truck for Mission Houston
-Working behind the counter a few weeks and serving as team captain for the Houston Buyers Club AIDS Walk team
-Increasing the number of insured women who receive mammograms at The Rose Galleria, a local center with 25 years of serving the insured, underinsured and uninsured
-Serving as storyteller and occasional editor for Matryoshka Haus, a resource reservoir for social enterprises
And massages.
As of Feb. 5, these are the days of my life. I could use one more gig that pays but overall, I'm thrilled that the dream is about to become reality.
-Helping get a concession stand converted into a food truck for Mission Houston
-Working behind the counter a few weeks and serving as team captain for the Houston Buyers Club AIDS Walk team
-Increasing the number of insured women who receive mammograms at The Rose Galleria, a local center with 25 years of serving the insured, underinsured and uninsured
-Serving as storyteller and occasional editor for Matryoshka Haus, a resource reservoir for social enterprises
And massages.
As of Feb. 5, these are the days of my life. I could use one more gig that pays but overall, I'm thrilled that the dream is about to become reality.
Monday, January 17, 2011
This is getting old ... but I can give a good massage!
One classmate is a expert at needlework and is working a new pattern. Another colors pictures ... from a coloring book. One took a nap under the table. Another is reading a book.
Such is life in the classroom in the last semester of massage class.
I alternate between trying to write, reading my emails, and playing spider solitaire.
What's the instructor doing? you might ask.
Well, we don't start until 9:15 a.m. Roll call taking such a very long time when you have 19 students (and yes, my tongue is firmly planted in my cheek). Next we review the muscles we "learned" the day before. In actuality, he reminds us what he told us to underline the day before because they are the EXACT things that are on the quiz. Then we take a break. After, we read about more muscles and underline more portions of the text. With such a taxing schedule we are now ready for the hour and a half lunch period.
Returning from lunch we wait for everyone to arrive. That's another 15-20 minutes. We then take the test on anatomy. Of course, that's ONLY AFTER we've reviewed. And what is the review of? Were you listening? That's right -- the exact questions that will be on the quiz. We take that quiz, read the next section of anatomy, underline, and at that point it's 2:30 or 3 p.m. and wow ... that was such a full day we now just ... sit.
Or do needlework, color, nap, or read.
I'm looking at three more weeks of this.
Can you say, ARGH?
Such is life in the classroom in the last semester of massage class.
I alternate between trying to write, reading my emails, and playing spider solitaire.
What's the instructor doing? you might ask.
Well, we don't start until 9:15 a.m. Roll call taking such a very long time when you have 19 students (and yes, my tongue is firmly planted in my cheek). Next we review the muscles we "learned" the day before. In actuality, he reminds us what he told us to underline the day before because they are the EXACT things that are on the quiz. Then we take a break. After, we read about more muscles and underline more portions of the text. With such a taxing schedule we are now ready for the hour and a half lunch period.
Returning from lunch we wait for everyone to arrive. That's another 15-20 minutes. We then take the test on anatomy. Of course, that's ONLY AFTER we've reviewed. And what is the review of? Were you listening? That's right -- the exact questions that will be on the quiz. We take that quiz, read the next section of anatomy, underline, and at that point it's 2:30 or 3 p.m. and wow ... that was such a full day we now just ... sit.
Or do needlework, color, nap, or read.
I'm looking at three more weeks of this.
Can you say, ARGH?
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Another Day in the New Life of Me
Spent the day counting nutritional supplements and healthy options for everything from hand creams and shampoos to power bars and energy drinks.
Then set up an AIDS Walk Houston page for the Houston Buyers Club (where I was doing all that counting).
Came home and read the incredible tale of the young man who worked with Congresswoman Giffords before trained medical assistance could arrive. I began to cry as I thought of all the interns and staffers I've worked with and how every one of them had equal degrees of passion, intelligence and courage.
So when I opened the door to my two expected guests, I was in tears. I then explained why and proceeded to (a) try to stretch and knead a constricted neck muscle on my friend, then (b) give her daughter her third-ever massage.
After, I received a text message from the friend which I will treasure forever: "I hope someone says about me what my daughter said about you, 'I felt like I was her friend after 5 minutes in her home.' (Emphasis on the 'I'.)"
Today was the day I've been working toward for the last several months ... non-profits, caring people, addressing pains, providing pleasure.
Ahhhhh . . . I think I'll sleep well tonight.
Then set up an AIDS Walk Houston page for the Houston Buyers Club (where I was doing all that counting).
Came home and read the incredible tale of the young man who worked with Congresswoman Giffords before trained medical assistance could arrive. I began to cry as I thought of all the interns and staffers I've worked with and how every one of them had equal degrees of passion, intelligence and courage.
So when I opened the door to my two expected guests, I was in tears. I then explained why and proceeded to (a) try to stretch and knead a constricted neck muscle on my friend, then (b) give her daughter her third-ever massage.
After, I received a text message from the friend which I will treasure forever: "I hope someone says about me what my daughter said about you, 'I felt like I was her friend after 5 minutes in her home.' (Emphasis on the 'I'.)"
Today was the day I've been working toward for the last several months ... non-profits, caring people, addressing pains, providing pleasure.
Ahhhhh . . . I think I'll sleep well tonight.
Saturday, January 08, 2011
A Dark Day
If I were in a relationship, today would be the kind of day I'd call and ask him to come over and hold me for a while.
Mid-afternoon, Facebook activity increased. The word at the time was that a Congresswoman had been killed. Later we learned that while Gabrielle Giffords was shot in the head, she was actually alive. As of this evening as I'm typing, we're told six people were killed.
Among them are a 9-year-old girl who recently had been elected to her school's student council, a federal judge and one of Giffords' aides -- Gabe Zimmerman, her community outreach director who was engaged to be married.
Every loss today was senseless. Every life should be recognized and treasured. But I was particularly moved at the thought of Zimmerman.
As a former staffer for a state representative who organized plenty of town hall gatherings like the one that was scheduled for today, I could identify with his last moments. I know what it's like to get somewhere early, make sure the staging is set, greet the representative, ensure she has all she needs to be comfortable and then stay on the edge of activity, alert to who shows up, who looks friendly, and who might be trouble. Never did I ever think I would have to scan the crowd for a shooter. We did hire security on a couple of occasions but it was more for crowd control than actual fear of violence.
I have met so many young men like Gabe, believers who want to make a difference, who dedicate hours upon hours for little monetary reward, and who have so much potential you can almost see their future office-holding in their eyes. No one should die at the hand of a crazed gunman. Knowing just a little bit about one who has makes the loss so much more real.
I don't have a pithy comment about the U.S., about the demise of social decorum, or about how one side or the other might have brought this on. I have no clue why things like this happen or how we can keep it from happening again.
What I do have is a great sense of the void widening today. Dark, deep and wide it's kinda scary. And I could use a hug.
Mid-afternoon, Facebook activity increased. The word at the time was that a Congresswoman had been killed. Later we learned that while Gabrielle Giffords was shot in the head, she was actually alive. As of this evening as I'm typing, we're told six people were killed.
Among them are a 9-year-old girl who recently had been elected to her school's student council, a federal judge and one of Giffords' aides -- Gabe Zimmerman, her community outreach director who was engaged to be married.
Every loss today was senseless. Every life should be recognized and treasured. But I was particularly moved at the thought of Zimmerman.
As a former staffer for a state representative who organized plenty of town hall gatherings like the one that was scheduled for today, I could identify with his last moments. I know what it's like to get somewhere early, make sure the staging is set, greet the representative, ensure she has all she needs to be comfortable and then stay on the edge of activity, alert to who shows up, who looks friendly, and who might be trouble. Never did I ever think I would have to scan the crowd for a shooter. We did hire security on a couple of occasions but it was more for crowd control than actual fear of violence.
I have met so many young men like Gabe, believers who want to make a difference, who dedicate hours upon hours for little monetary reward, and who have so much potential you can almost see their future office-holding in their eyes. No one should die at the hand of a crazed gunman. Knowing just a little bit about one who has makes the loss so much more real.
I don't have a pithy comment about the U.S., about the demise of social decorum, or about how one side or the other might have brought this on. I have no clue why things like this happen or how we can keep it from happening again.
What I do have is a great sense of the void widening today. Dark, deep and wide it's kinda scary. And I could use a hug.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
In one day ...
-- Got a great email from a friend who reads this blog and likes it. Since she's a published writer, I was incredibly moved.
-- Had lunch with a friend who runs a coalition of organizations that focus on health and human services as well as education and after bemoaning how bad it's going to be for them in the 82nd Legislative Session, we mapped out what could be an education/awareness gig for me.
-- Opened a reply from a non-profit providing mammograms and breast cancer awareness for uninsured and undrerinsured that was advertising for a full-time communications person but was open to a part-timer with 25 years experience (that would be me) and have set up an interview on Thursday.
-- Connected with my client based in London but who is now in Alaska visiting her ailing mom and made plans for a communications overhaul
-- Remembered why I love my life . . .
-- Had lunch with a friend who runs a coalition of organizations that focus on health and human services as well as education and after bemoaning how bad it's going to be for them in the 82nd Legislative Session, we mapped out what could be an education/awareness gig for me.
-- Opened a reply from a non-profit providing mammograms and breast cancer awareness for uninsured and undrerinsured that was advertising for a full-time communications person but was open to a part-timer with 25 years experience (that would be me) and have set up an interview on Thursday.
-- Connected with my client based in London but who is now in Alaska visiting her ailing mom and made plans for a communications overhaul
-- Remembered why I love my life . . .
Friday, December 31, 2010
Creating new habits
I needed a bit of inspiration this morning. This week has been rough -- saw the reality of aging parents and the stupidity of hospital systems seemingly absent of both heart and mind plus got the news that my streak of being great at relationship building continues. The man I dated for a couple of years is now engaged. Since the last man I dated became engaged after we were a couple I'm thinking I may need to get the word out that if a man wants to marry he should date me first. I'm guaranteed gold in the "ring-on-someone-else's-finger" department. That way I would have a few dates and marriage stats would go up significantly.
My problem is that I couldn't quite figure how to launch a new blog entry that didn't sound like a bitter woman making light of her romantic woes. I'm not bitter but readers can't see me smiling as I type. I'm actually quite happy for the new couple. They are both getting what they wanted. And, since I didn't want to get married again, so am I.
That's why I went exploring. I googled "best blogs of 2010" and found Time's list. That took me to zenhabits.net. I think I'm going to like this one. I had to laugh though when I saw that while the writer emphasizes minimalism he still wrote that his blog had "helped the minimalist movement grow by leaps and bounds." Does anyone else see the humor? Wouldn't a "growing minimalist movement" be an oxymoron?
I checked out a few others on the list and discovered everything from tech toys to failures has a blog about it. Since I'm streamlining my purchases and giving up the daily paper, I bookmarked several options to check out.
Encouraging creativity in others is easy for me. I am passionate about creating and love to help others do so. Sometimes, though, I get stuck. Since I've been feeling a bit mired in the last year, I'm glad to be shedding baggage, looking around, and staying alert while waiting for the next big thing.
Perhaps I'll pick up a few zen habits of my own to blog about.
My problem is that I couldn't quite figure how to launch a new blog entry that didn't sound like a bitter woman making light of her romantic woes. I'm not bitter but readers can't see me smiling as I type. I'm actually quite happy for the new couple. They are both getting what they wanted. And, since I didn't want to get married again, so am I.
That's why I went exploring. I googled "best blogs of 2010" and found Time's list. That took me to zenhabits.net. I think I'm going to like this one. I had to laugh though when I saw that while the writer emphasizes minimalism he still wrote that his blog had "helped the minimalist movement grow by leaps and bounds." Does anyone else see the humor? Wouldn't a "growing minimalist movement" be an oxymoron?
I checked out a few others on the list and discovered everything from tech toys to failures has a blog about it. Since I'm streamlining my purchases and giving up the daily paper, I bookmarked several options to check out.
Encouraging creativity in others is easy for me. I am passionate about creating and love to help others do so. Sometimes, though, I get stuck. Since I've been feeling a bit mired in the last year, I'm glad to be shedding baggage, looking around, and staying alert while waiting for the next big thing.
Perhaps I'll pick up a few zen habits of my own to blog about.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Doc
My stepfather spent many decades as the town doctor. He was known for his ability to diagnose a problem. He also was recognized as one who would refer a patient elsewhere if he thought he lacked the needed expertise. I came into the world in the operating room of the four-bed clinic where my mother usually served as his nurse. After his wife died of cancer, they married and will celebrate a silver anniversary in 2011.
At least I hope they will.
Doc has been on dialysis for three years. He claimed 86 years of life on Christmas Eve but he wasn't celebrating much. He's got heart problems, prostate cancer, something's been wrong with his esophagus for years, his blood is thin and he's constantly "leaking" somewhere so that frequent transfusions are necessary.
Today as we struggled with getting him ready for a visit to the ER after a night of vomiting and diarrhea I was reminded of the portrait of Dorian Grey. Instead of age and past sins being visited upon a painting of himself, I visualized that all the diagnoses that he was famous for were somehow now manifesting themselves in his body.
I didn't cry then though. Nor did I at the thought of the indignities the sick and aging must endure such as Doc giving up a penchant for always wearing dress slacks and suspenders because sweats would make it easier to get to the bathroom. Or the independence ... like when, over expressed objections, others tell you that no matter what you have to go to the hospital to restore the fluids you lost.
Watching him moan in the van beside me as I drove he and my mother to the ER, seeing him clutch the bucket in his good hand in case he felt nauseous once again, wheeling him into the waiting area in a wheel chair ... these didn't prompt the flood gates.
It was walking away. After he was moved to a larger hospital, secured in ICU, color returning, and complaining about the order that would net him no food until the morning, I began to feel the weight of it all. As I exited the building with my mother safely tucked away in the family waiting/sleeping lounge and him monitored to the hilt, I cried.
Being the long-distance daughter has never been an issue for me or my mother. I think she reveled in my freedom and celebrated all my unorthodox choices as small victories of her own. But tonight when I hugged her small frame goodbye, I felt the magnitude of those miles. While tomorrow I will board a plane and return to Houston, she will be there, beside him, and still in the midst of his continuing and daily transformation from doctor to patient. In that hug, I traded places with her. I wasn't the little girl any more and she felt frail. She was tiny in my arms and the forces engulfing us both were so beyond our control that while I felt larger than life holding on to her, I knew we were too weak to stop the inevitable.
As soon as my eyes welled up, I walked away and reached out to friends and family. Thanking God for them, I updated each on Doc's status and asked for prayers. Of course, they quickly came.
Now, I'm waiting for life to go back to "normal." Yet, I know I passed through that door at the beginning of this trip. Those days of "normal" will never again exist because I've seen up close what day to day "life" is for Mom and Doc.
I'm sure I'll be back this way very soon.
At least I hope they will.
Doc has been on dialysis for three years. He claimed 86 years of life on Christmas Eve but he wasn't celebrating much. He's got heart problems, prostate cancer, something's been wrong with his esophagus for years, his blood is thin and he's constantly "leaking" somewhere so that frequent transfusions are necessary.
Today as we struggled with getting him ready for a visit to the ER after a night of vomiting and diarrhea I was reminded of the portrait of Dorian Grey. Instead of age and past sins being visited upon a painting of himself, I visualized that all the diagnoses that he was famous for were somehow now manifesting themselves in his body.
I didn't cry then though. Nor did I at the thought of the indignities the sick and aging must endure such as Doc giving up a penchant for always wearing dress slacks and suspenders because sweats would make it easier to get to the bathroom. Or the independence ... like when, over expressed objections, others tell you that no matter what you have to go to the hospital to restore the fluids you lost.
Watching him moan in the van beside me as I drove he and my mother to the ER, seeing him clutch the bucket in his good hand in case he felt nauseous once again, wheeling him into the waiting area in a wheel chair ... these didn't prompt the flood gates.
It was walking away. After he was moved to a larger hospital, secured in ICU, color returning, and complaining about the order that would net him no food until the morning, I began to feel the weight of it all. As I exited the building with my mother safely tucked away in the family waiting/sleeping lounge and him monitored to the hilt, I cried.
Being the long-distance daughter has never been an issue for me or my mother. I think she reveled in my freedom and celebrated all my unorthodox choices as small victories of her own. But tonight when I hugged her small frame goodbye, I felt the magnitude of those miles. While tomorrow I will board a plane and return to Houston, she will be there, beside him, and still in the midst of his continuing and daily transformation from doctor to patient. In that hug, I traded places with her. I wasn't the little girl any more and she felt frail. She was tiny in my arms and the forces engulfing us both were so beyond our control that while I felt larger than life holding on to her, I knew we were too weak to stop the inevitable.
As soon as my eyes welled up, I walked away and reached out to friends and family. Thanking God for them, I updated each on Doc's status and asked for prayers. Of course, they quickly came.
Now, I'm waiting for life to go back to "normal." Yet, I know I passed through that door at the beginning of this trip. Those days of "normal" will never again exist because I've seen up close what day to day "life" is for Mom and Doc.
I'm sure I'll be back this way very soon.
Feliz Navidad and Other Airport Adventures
When the news reported the security delays, weather delays, and holiday delays for flights, I determined that I would lessen my stress by getting to the airport in plenty of time. I figured that if I allowed an hour or more to make the 45 min trip to IAH, an hour to get through ticketing and security, I'd still have 90 min or more to grab a bite and read a book before boarding.
The drive took only 30 minutes. I got my bag checked and was through security in less than 10 minutes. When I was on the "other side" and finished with all my responsibilities, I was three hours early. One half-cooked personal deep dish pizza later, I was 2 hours and 45 minutes early.
So rather than bury myself in my book, I thought I'd see what living in the moment would net me.
Settling in a seat near my future gate, I watched the crowd. Parents were desperately trying to subdue children under the influence of Christmas candy and visions of Santa dancing in their heads. Weary souls seemed desperate to become under the influence with the next drink or two. Santa hats were askew. Teenagers were texting, listening to Ipods, and chatting live and in person all at the same time.
Soon a nice looking white haired man a few years my senior and casually well dressed motioned to the seat beside me. Attempting to not only let him know that it was available but also that I was not opposed to conversation, I nodded and replied, "Sure but I hope your pizza is better than the one I just had ..."
Before I completely finished the thought, he interrupted, "No English."
Hmmmm ... thinking that this revelation would test my in-the-moment-making skills, I asked, "Lingua?"
"Italiano or spana," he replied.
"Lo siento, me espanol is muy mal," I apologized for my lack of vast knowledge of his second language and indicated that I knew nothing of his first.
Then he told me in Spanish that I was doing fine, he was going to visit his daughter, his son lives in Chicago, and would I like a slice of pizza?
I asked in very broken Spanish if he was an abuelo (grandfather) and he feigned great shock that I would think so and declared this to be a complete falsehood. We laughed and chatted just a bit more about where I learned Spanish and whether he was on time and in the right location for his flight.
I assured him he had at least 20 minutes and then two minutes later they began a rush boarding of his plane.
"Ahora!" I pointed at the line and began to help him gather his things. He struggled with closing the pizza box and then stood searching the area and looking as though he thought he were forgetting something.
Suddenly, he looked at me, bent down, exclaimed, "Ciao!" and planted a kiss on me with more gusto than I've experienced in a while.
"Feliz Navidad!" I said with a smile.
"Feliz Navidad!" he shouted and was off.
And so goes the story of my Christmas kiss.
Enflamed by the sweetness of his gesture, I determined that I should reach out to a few other folks who by virtue of a recent loss could possibly be dreading the holidays. I called each one and either left a message or had an incredibly sweet conversation with each. One chat lasted 45 minutes! When it was all said and done my experiment of "the moment" had totaled several great conversations, touching texts, and numerous smiles as I determinedly walked the concourse with a grin and made the effort to actually make eye contact with my fellow travelers.
Now that's a secure way to beat the holiday stress blues!
Feliz Navidad indeed!
The drive took only 30 minutes. I got my bag checked and was through security in less than 10 minutes. When I was on the "other side" and finished with all my responsibilities, I was three hours early. One half-cooked personal deep dish pizza later, I was 2 hours and 45 minutes early.
So rather than bury myself in my book, I thought I'd see what living in the moment would net me.
Settling in a seat near my future gate, I watched the crowd. Parents were desperately trying to subdue children under the influence of Christmas candy and visions of Santa dancing in their heads. Weary souls seemed desperate to become under the influence with the next drink or two. Santa hats were askew. Teenagers were texting, listening to Ipods, and chatting live and in person all at the same time.
Soon a nice looking white haired man a few years my senior and casually well dressed motioned to the seat beside me. Attempting to not only let him know that it was available but also that I was not opposed to conversation, I nodded and replied, "Sure but I hope your pizza is better than the one I just had ..."
Before I completely finished the thought, he interrupted, "No English."
Hmmmm ... thinking that this revelation would test my in-the-moment-making skills, I asked, "Lingua?"
"Italiano or spana," he replied.
"Lo siento, me espanol is muy mal," I apologized for my lack of vast knowledge of his second language and indicated that I knew nothing of his first.
Then he told me in Spanish that I was doing fine, he was going to visit his daughter, his son lives in Chicago, and would I like a slice of pizza?
I asked in very broken Spanish if he was an abuelo (grandfather) and he feigned great shock that I would think so and declared this to be a complete falsehood. We laughed and chatted just a bit more about where I learned Spanish and whether he was on time and in the right location for his flight.
I assured him he had at least 20 minutes and then two minutes later they began a rush boarding of his plane.
"Ahora!" I pointed at the line and began to help him gather his things. He struggled with closing the pizza box and then stood searching the area and looking as though he thought he were forgetting something.
Suddenly, he looked at me, bent down, exclaimed, "Ciao!" and planted a kiss on me with more gusto than I've experienced in a while.
"Feliz Navidad!" I said with a smile.
"Feliz Navidad!" he shouted and was off.
And so goes the story of my Christmas kiss.
Enflamed by the sweetness of his gesture, I determined that I should reach out to a few other folks who by virtue of a recent loss could possibly be dreading the holidays. I called each one and either left a message or had an incredibly sweet conversation with each. One chat lasted 45 minutes! When it was all said and done my experiment of "the moment" had totaled several great conversations, touching texts, and numerous smiles as I determinedly walked the concourse with a grin and made the effort to actually make eye contact with my fellow travelers.
Now that's a secure way to beat the holiday stress blues!
Feliz Navidad indeed!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Shy Moon and a Heat Wave on the Winter Solstice
Never one to embrace "normal", Texas maintains its independent spirit on this first day of winter. The forecast suggests we're heading for a frosty 82 degrees today. Brrr ... may need to take a coverup for my swimsuit today as we "study" hydrotherapy at massage school.
A quick review of Facebook updates reveals that our perspective on the lunar eclipse last night was stymied by clouds. However, a few patient and sleep-deprived souls did report capturing a glimpse of the real thing.
I was playing hostess to Stan and Roger with a "cleaning-out-the-fridge-before-traveling" meal when the two community college instructors determined that with no school today they would head out of the city lights in order to catch a better view of the lunar activity. Passing, due to the actual strain a day of reading a textbook aloud can create, I packed up to-go bags and sent them on their way.
When I discovered the fact that their efforts may have been hindered, I was sad. I was counting on living vicariously through their playfulness today.
Educationally speaking, the presentation of the curriculum for my massage class is less than stimulating. I'm trying to hold on to as many story threads as I can so that I can entertain myself during the agonizing ordeal of poor teaching practices.
Today I'm going to ponder a shy dark moon, a balmy winter day, and friends over 50 who still have the spirit of adventure.
A quick review of Facebook updates reveals that our perspective on the lunar eclipse last night was stymied by clouds. However, a few patient and sleep-deprived souls did report capturing a glimpse of the real thing.
I was playing hostess to Stan and Roger with a "cleaning-out-the-fridge-before-traveling" meal when the two community college instructors determined that with no school today they would head out of the city lights in order to catch a better view of the lunar activity. Passing, due to the actual strain a day of reading a textbook aloud can create, I packed up to-go bags and sent them on their way.
When I discovered the fact that their efforts may have been hindered, I was sad. I was counting on living vicariously through their playfulness today.
Educationally speaking, the presentation of the curriculum for my massage class is less than stimulating. I'm trying to hold on to as many story threads as I can so that I can entertain myself during the agonizing ordeal of poor teaching practices.
Today I'm going to ponder a shy dark moon, a balmy winter day, and friends over 50 who still have the spirit of adventure.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
REK -- Another Texas Phenom
I know of Robert Earl Keen's persona more than I know his music. Poet/storyteller backed by a steel guitar and a steady beat, he's a Texas singer/songwriter. And with a couple of decades in the business, he more than earned the right to move beyond beer soaked stages at dimly lit honky tonks to the likes of the Verizon Theater in downtown Houston where I saw him last night with a few hundred of his closest friends.
'Course after an evening of hearing his work up close and personal, I wondered if he's not just as comfortable in some New Mexican cantina than in the well-lit venue (save for the shadow falling on his face due to the large cowboy hat) with the great sound. After he used the signage of a Idaho motel to pen one of his numbers and with topics ranging from the ghostly visitations of Hank Williams to a dysfunctional family Christmas, I was fairly convinced he didn't care where he was as long as he got to recreate his musical characters on a regular basis.
The crowd knew his music by heart. I relied on the good sound system and leaning toward my friend and one of the legion of his fans to ask, "What did he say?" But one line was crystal clear and took my breath with its purity and clarity:
"Feels so good feeling good again . . . "
Yeah.
I'm not sure if such a statement is wasted on the young. They may simply equate it with the day after the morning after. But for me and mine, the line holds the truth behind letting go of years of stress and strain, of releasing one's worries about what other people think, of living in the simple reality that everything isn't necessary and enough is truly enough.
Listening to an artist practicing his craft is just one more means of my own "feeling good again." So glad I did.
'Course after an evening of hearing his work up close and personal, I wondered if he's not just as comfortable in some New Mexican cantina than in the well-lit venue (save for the shadow falling on his face due to the large cowboy hat) with the great sound. After he used the signage of a Idaho motel to pen one of his numbers and with topics ranging from the ghostly visitations of Hank Williams to a dysfunctional family Christmas, I was fairly convinced he didn't care where he was as long as he got to recreate his musical characters on a regular basis.
The crowd knew his music by heart. I relied on the good sound system and leaning toward my friend and one of the legion of his fans to ask, "What did he say?" But one line was crystal clear and took my breath with its purity and clarity:
"Feels so good feeling good again . . . "
Yeah.
I'm not sure if such a statement is wasted on the young. They may simply equate it with the day after the morning after. But for me and mine, the line holds the truth behind letting go of years of stress and strain, of releasing one's worries about what other people think, of living in the simple reality that everything isn't necessary and enough is truly enough.
Listening to an artist practicing his craft is just one more means of my own "feeling good again." So glad I did.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Chronicling
I probably should have seen The Heidi Chronicles by now. As a woman sometimes called a "feminist", I find it hard to believe I haven't. I know that I at least thought about seeing it when the playwright Wendy Wasserstein died in 2006. But good intentions didn't purchase the ticket so I have been ignorant lo these many years.
Until tonight.
One of the smaller but nevertheless very substantial theaters in town is presenting it. Roger invited me to go and, never one to turn down a free night at the theater, I said yes.
As we journeyed back in time with this product of the 50s whose consciousness was raised in the 60s and who began to wonder about her choices in the 70s only to realize her unhappiness in the 80s I alternated between feeling somewhat cheated to great relief and finally deep satisfaction.
When I heard the dialogue between the women who were discovering their voices and shouting with great passion and solidarity at the obstacles in their path, I wanted to have been there, to have participated in something other than a small town's attempt at disco fever as I did in my formative years. But when the conversations of "what if" turned into "what else" and a whining quality crept in, I was pleased to have skipped that level of angst. Finally, when our heroine discovers that she may be living into the heroine of the 21st century as she coos at her newly adopted daughter, I found my ahhhhh.
For I truly am satisfied. I don't live in regret. I celebrate who I am and am ok with not having done what was socially prescribed for a woman of my age during the various decades of my evolution. Choices -- both those that were thoughtful and based in compassion as well as those that were selfish and could have caused pain -- have made me ... well, me. And I hold no sadness that I am somehow not what I set out to be. Having never had the capacity to dream bigger than my reality, I'm thrilled with what's happened to me thus far and anticipate what's next with almost a giddiness.
Seeing it with my dear friend made the play that much more meaningful. Heidi has her doctor and I have my Roger. When we exited the theater, I told him I would have to wait a few moments to say something because I knew when I started to speak I'd cry (as I had done numerous times in the play) and didn't want to be seen sobbing as we walked to the car. I finally found my words when I told him, "Seeing plays like this -- it's a play from the 80s, so someone has to have AIDS -- reminds me that I am so fortunate to have encountered the gay world after the decade that took so many. I am selfish and I can't imagine losing any of 'my boys.'" Having just heard one friend speak of that time as he told of going from six parties in one week to going to six funerals in one week, I hold close the fact that while some friends are positive (though actually very few) and deal with medications that are sometimes horrific, they are still here. They are alive and bring life to my world.
Also, seeing it with Roger was significant in that as I have reflected of late on my lack of a love life, I could honestly tell him that because of him, Stan, Geary, Jerry, Shane, and others I know I will never be lonely. I may be alone, but not lonely.
So now I'm glad to say I have seen The Heidi Chronicles but not lived it. My march may lack some of their fury but it is no less significant. And while I am grateful for the doors they broke down, the ceilings they crashed through, and the paths they forged, I am no slouch. I revel in being present with young women today, answering their questions when they arise, sharing a story or two when appropriate and listening.
The Karen Chronicles continue...
Until tonight.
One of the smaller but nevertheless very substantial theaters in town is presenting it. Roger invited me to go and, never one to turn down a free night at the theater, I said yes.
As we journeyed back in time with this product of the 50s whose consciousness was raised in the 60s and who began to wonder about her choices in the 70s only to realize her unhappiness in the 80s I alternated between feeling somewhat cheated to great relief and finally deep satisfaction.
When I heard the dialogue between the women who were discovering their voices and shouting with great passion and solidarity at the obstacles in their path, I wanted to have been there, to have participated in something other than a small town's attempt at disco fever as I did in my formative years. But when the conversations of "what if" turned into "what else" and a whining quality crept in, I was pleased to have skipped that level of angst. Finally, when our heroine discovers that she may be living into the heroine of the 21st century as she coos at her newly adopted daughter, I found my ahhhhh.
For I truly am satisfied. I don't live in regret. I celebrate who I am and am ok with not having done what was socially prescribed for a woman of my age during the various decades of my evolution. Choices -- both those that were thoughtful and based in compassion as well as those that were selfish and could have caused pain -- have made me ... well, me. And I hold no sadness that I am somehow not what I set out to be. Having never had the capacity to dream bigger than my reality, I'm thrilled with what's happened to me thus far and anticipate what's next with almost a giddiness.
Seeing it with my dear friend made the play that much more meaningful. Heidi has her doctor and I have my Roger. When we exited the theater, I told him I would have to wait a few moments to say something because I knew when I started to speak I'd cry (as I had done numerous times in the play) and didn't want to be seen sobbing as we walked to the car. I finally found my words when I told him, "Seeing plays like this -- it's a play from the 80s, so someone has to have AIDS -- reminds me that I am so fortunate to have encountered the gay world after the decade that took so many. I am selfish and I can't imagine losing any of 'my boys.'" Having just heard one friend speak of that time as he told of going from six parties in one week to going to six funerals in one week, I hold close the fact that while some friends are positive (though actually very few) and deal with medications that are sometimes horrific, they are still here. They are alive and bring life to my world.
Also, seeing it with Roger was significant in that as I have reflected of late on my lack of a love life, I could honestly tell him that because of him, Stan, Geary, Jerry, Shane, and others I know I will never be lonely. I may be alone, but not lonely.
So now I'm glad to say I have seen The Heidi Chronicles but not lived it. My march may lack some of their fury but it is no less significant. And while I am grateful for the doors they broke down, the ceilings they crashed through, and the paths they forged, I am no slouch. I revel in being present with young women today, answering their questions when they arise, sharing a story or two when appropriate and listening.
The Karen Chronicles continue...
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