Life is like a sandwich...enjoy the big bites.

Courage when it counts

2012-01-30T03:49:00.005-05:00

Remembering an amazing man- my cousin Gary Giudice who died this past weekend.

Gary with his son Nicky

The universe brought our families back together after my Gramma died.

And two short weeks later, he called me to tell me he needed advice...he had cancer.

Pancreatic cancer.

He asked me for any resources I could think of to help him start out on the right path. Luckily, in my line of work I knew a lot of places for him to go. I made a few calls...but the gnawing feeling hit me each time I picked up the receiver. Why now? Just when we were getting to know him and his family again.

I can't tell you how my heart sank when hearing his voice catching on the phone. But his voice still had the lilt of optimism. He wasn't accepting no for an answer, he was going to give it 'his all' for his family. "I've got a lot of people right here who need me." He was solid and certain that he was ready for the fight what he knew lay ahead of him. And he did. He fought for almost two years with a determination that defied the rigors his body endured. And over those two years we got to know him very well. And we were blessed for that precious time. So very blessed.

Life and our paths circled back and family and true friends don't measure circumstance or count hours to define what exists between them. It just is. And that's the way my cousin lived his life. To a new generation of their family we were unfamiliar faces. But nonetheless family. The bond strengthened over those 22 months.

When I was wrapped up in work getting media for our hole in one contest last year...when the rains threatened to ruin our outdoor event, a card arrived at our center. A note and a check were tucked inside. As sick as he was, he took the time to write how proud he was of me in the card and how much he wanted to help the teens going through the disease.

Gary fought so valiantly against one of the toughest cancer diagnosis there is. He rallied like a champ...and even in his final days when Mom and I visited, he was worried about us. "Please drive safe." That was the last thing he said as we waved goodbye to him from the kitchen. He was smiling, even with all the pain.

My cousin embraced life...and anyone who walked into his life as though you'd been there forever. You didn't just get a hug...you were folded into his arms at the same time you were folded him into his heart.

And because of that it will be impossible to erase the memory of Gary Giudice.

Miss you.

How do you deal with a cancer diagnosis? My cousin went sky diving.

Live fearless. Live your dreams.

Why emptying a savings account filled my heart

2011-12-31T08:58:00.005-05:00

This Christmas I learned beloved Jack in England passed away.

He was my cousin Audrey's husband, a jolly and witty English gentleman. Memories of him and of Audrey during their travels to see us in the U.S. extend well into childhood.

By the time Jack died a few weeks ago he was in his late eighties, so by most accounts this should have come as no surprise.

But after the shock of hearing that he had passed away, a different feeling passed over me- parallel to the soft sadness...it was gratitude.

Four and a half years ago I travelled to Europe because I was looking to find joy again in life. So much had left to be healed and I was trying to find some way to do that.

On that trip, the one that cathartically and very purposely cleared my savings account, I took a bus out to Ripon to visit Audrey and Jack at their home. I had just finished a reunion in Oxford with my study abroad program and a whirlwind 2 week guided coach tour of eight different European countries.

For most young adults, the idea of spending time for three days with a couple in their eighties who no longer got around much might seem pretty lackluster. However, I found this to be the most enriching final days of the trip. We sat and talked over tea and toast with Audrey's homemade lemon curd which I loved. And she loved lavishing me with gobs of it...and eagerly copied down the recipe. Jack mused about the goings-on of their little town and its quirky political ways.

This visit with them was very different however. It came with profound realization that aging was finally catching up to my seemingly 'ageless cousins' from abroad. As a child I had marveled at their stories and whimsy as they traveled by caravan everywhere the 'tred-worthy' world would allow them to go. They sought adventure and collected tokens from across the globe to fill the shelves inside their tiny bungalow upon their return. But in August of 2007 I saw two people who were at last coping with the effects of time.

Jack had lost all but a tiny shadow of his sight. A driving enthusiast, he had at last had to turn in his keys, and his wanderlust that had been the open road. The whimsical drive we took with him through the rolling hills and dales of Yorkshire in the summer of '99...stopping for sheep and laughing at other motorists was just a faded memory. The darkness Jack was experiencing was the tightening grasp of macular degeneration.

Audrey whose gift for gab was unparalleled, too had changed. It became clear to me that although sharp, and still a teller of tales, her stories had begun to contain a significant amount of repetition. Audrey, although then undiagnosed, was in the early stages of dementia.

I had been given a gift that summer. Three days of stopping from the hustle and bustle of travel and adventure to be with two heroes of my childhood. The adventurers who lit my imagination with stories of places I one day wanted to visit.

As they reminisced with me, the American cousin they'd seen grow up before their eyes, the magic seemed to be returning to their lips. Sharing with a captive audience, the stories came alive again. I longed to hear them because I knew it might be my last time. It's not to say this was pessimistic. It was realistic. Living an ocean away, I knew this would likely be a last visit.

The night before I left, Jack had delighted in treating me and Audrey to a dinner of fish and chips. With joy he took me to see the shop and ordered his usual. "You can't leave our fair England without such a treat."

I remember our final goodbye at the train station...

"Off you go" said Jack softly as he patted my shoulder and "stay safe and mind the directions", said Audrey. They both seemed to love the role of care-taking, and I even relented, letting them convince this bold solo-traveler she needed their gentle reminders.
I felt tears come, but I winked them back and swallowed the lump in my throat. I rounded the corner and headed up the platform steps. I waved till they were out of sight.

Audrey, according to reports from family in letters, is now quite deep into dementia and now she is missing her partner in life and all adventure. I am left with but a fond collection of recollections of my favorite globe trotters.

I was so very lucky to have that time.

If there are reminders in life that ring true, then this is one.
Don't put off everything until tomorrow because the years creep up on you. Seize the day and spend time with the people you love even if it costs you a little something ( for me the better part of a savings account). In life this was a case where the reward far outweighed the expenditure.

Below is a link to the blog I wrote about that trip in 2007. If you scroll to the bottom, there is a video with the last message I taped of Jack and Audrey that I wanted to show to our family back home.

"Don't wait too long now. We are getting along in years," Jack says.

Memories are priceless.

http://lifesandwiches.blogspot.com/2007/12/year-in-reviewpart-thee-and-third.html

<3

The young and the blogless

2011-12-13T06:31:00.000-05:00

2011 has been a shameful blog year for me. As I looked at my tally I realized that I have only blogged 10 times since January of last year. Sure, I have been splitting my time between the YP blog I do for the Democrat and Chronicle, but really?
I need to change that.

I have tons of excuses for not blogging. Time is one of them. Yet, I'm going to try to get better at it- truly. I never realized how many of you were reading this until I got a few impassioned pleas that I resume the journal. And when I say a couple- I truly mean just a few. No one was drumming up a petition to bring it back. Let's be real here.

I have a couple interesting thoughts to share from time to time. But by the time I have down time to think about them- the good ones have sunk back into the recesses to be dug up later.

So here's all I got about yesterday's events:
Nutty Professor Has Nothing on Nutty Leah

Yesterday I was in the hospital ready with one of my favorite jokes for a teen patient who was admitted with a neutropenic fever (common affect of treatment).

I was about to tell her the joke and then I scratched my head and stopped, started again and forgot the punchline. She giggled anyway. Just watching me attempt to tell a joke is probably more hilarious than the corny one I have. Only take-away: I successfully triggered her smile reflex. Mission complete.

But here's the joke anyway.

How can nurses stand to work in busy hospitals?

They have lots of patients.

Yuck, yuck, yuck...I know I'm a riot.

The personal record of gratitude

2011-11-24T20:28:00.007-05:00

Personal records (P.R.s) aren't always about times. At least in my mind, I don't see them as that narrow of a definition. Ask the experts...but I'll tell you my take today is an exception to the standard definition.

With my sister and bro in law to my left drumstick

As I crossed the finish line: a tiny un-noted dot in a crowd of perhaps 5,000 runners in the Webster Turkey Trot... I made a P.R.! The time was about the same but something was very different this year. Crossing the finish line, I felt the breeze, the sunshine, the whole moment in real time...without the fuzzy and hollow disconnect of being too exhausted. One year ago it was only a second of my first running events ever. And last year it was not a comfortable one to run.

Today I felt good. No pain, no shortness of breath. And all around me- perspective.

How do you fully appreciate each day?

ANSWERS:

When you remind yourself of the growth you've experienced to date.

When you remind yourself to continue to celebrate this growth.

It's easy to fall into the negative box that contains life's yet unfinished accomplishments...and easy to dread things ahead that intimidate you. But when I look at (athletically) what I can do now that I never was able to do previously, having nearly two decades of my life in some form of illness...I look up and say thanks.

**This post was written soon after I first started running. How's that for looking back in astonishment.

I was thinking today about the person I always think of when I cross these lines. Zach. It wouldn't have been done without you, buddy. More than a year after beginning training, the concept of finish line is now a plural consideration. Without Zach's influence I wouldn't have ever believed it was in me or been just gutsy enough to try running...or anything that followed. Zach is no longer here to pump me up in person, but I carry his lesson of gratitude with me and try (for the most part) to emulate.

Oh, and one more thing. The song that played when I crossed the finish line today? It was the song they used as my theme song at First Descents this year, called the Underdog by the band Spoon. Our awesome camp photographer Beans chose it for me.

I faced raging rivers in July with a vessel no one else piloted with me. And as I listen to Beans' song again-- it reminds me of the way I used to look at things- feeling always like the underdog. No more. That cliche: you've come a long way baby, though slightly silly, it really fits a new life I'm finding. My old life is slowly peeling away, yet still remaining to guide my purpose.

Hey, there's no Flo Jo here. Make no mistake. Sometimes I can still really rock the couch potato time, but to know the definition of myself beyond it- it's everything I always imagined it would be. Zach, you WERE right.

Gratitude- pass it on.

And a child shall lead them...

2011-11-18T06:35:00.007-05:00

In my new role as program coordinator of the Teens Living with Cancer program at Melissa's Living Legacy, I spend a fair amount of time in the hospital. It's a place I've been a lot before, but in years past the purpose was different.

In the past, I can't say I ever saw the hospital for anything other than what it was to me in dire life situations: an inconvenience, a frustration and a place of limbo between old life and the new life I was reaching toward, but just barely touching. But lately, I've experienced some rather joyful moments that are easing my transition and my thinking out of the impression left by the past.

Yesterday I was giving a hug to a friend I saw in the lobby. Simply a 'good to see you' greeting. We pulled away and began to speak for a moment when I realized there was someone below me- about three or four feet below me, to be precise. Bundled in a pink winter parka, was a tiny girl of about two with outstretched arms. Suddenly her dad was closely on her heels.

She had seen my hug...and broken away from him to wait for hers.

Tears came to my eyes and I bent down to hug her...It was the most precious moment. That's what I love about children. They remind you of the most basic truths. A hug is an important thing. The feeling of sharing another person's energy is needed. And at that moment she decided she needed it.

Hospitals, with all the difficult life experiences that melt together inside, are mysterious places. Strangers converge in the lobby...cross paths with one another...and occasionally make eye contact. Though one's stride may carry difficulty, the weight of uncertainty or the joy of a new life, it is an experience locked and unshared with their passersby.

Both intimate and anonymous are the hallways of a hospital.
But here was one little girl who broke through that wall of void.
Lesson learned- Hug someone today.

Finding Your Happiness in 'giving it a shot

2011-11-06T08:48:00.001-05:00

Taken from
fellow author Karen Putz's blog

The book is out! My story "I Don't Quit" is featured in the newest volume of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. It's subtitle: Find Your Happiness.

A little background on this: I never expected to make it into this book. In the throes of last year's busy winter schedule I saw the call-out for stories on a flyer. I subtly noted the due date for submission and put it on my extensive to do list. Soon it was forgotten in the flood of other priority items in my day to day life.

But on 'D-day' after having worked a full day followed by evening meetings and then some, I returned home exhausted and dropped into bed at 10:30 with little creative energy remaining. It was a lost cause. The time the story had to be in to even be considered? Midnight.

'Forget it', I said softly. But then I remembered what I had originally intended to write was about not giving up. Certainly, this was a clear callout from the universe. What person in their right optimistic mind- one who believes in "not giving up"- gives up on writing a story about precisely that. I summoned up energy for a little bit more awake time and pulled out my laptop.

As I tapped away at the keyboard, I was well aware of the clock ticking on and the time of final submission drawing near. I was struggling, trying to crunch an almost twenty year story into under 1200 words. But I kept at it. Midnight passed. At 12:35 I finished my story,
and clicked send. It mattered not that the deadline had passed. It was of little consequence that I had missed it, but that I had given it my best effort.

But three months later...I received an email. My story had been chosen. Evidently the editor had looked past the post time- overlooked the clear guidelines they had set.

It's important lesson- you really never know the end result, so sometimes saying "what the heck" and giving it a go anyway can pay off. True story. Happy ending.

P.S. The publisher allowed us to buy 20 books at cost to benefit Melissa's Living Legacy Teen Cancer Foundation. I am happy to report that all those books have already been spoken for. If you are still interested in purchasing a copy for $15 please let me know. If we get 20 more interested folks, we may be able to purchase another box. The best part? Knowing you will not only get the book, but fund our TLC Tuesday program for teen cancer survivors!

Feeling Gravitys Pull

2011-03-12T07:42:00.014-05:00

I had this poster size on my bedroom wall

On September 29th 1995 my parents, my sister and I and a few of our school friends loaded into our family van-- bound for Buffalo.

The hour plus drive had been a serendipitous biproduct of begging, bargaining and outright pleading from this teenage girl whose whole continued existence seemed to be (at least then) dependent on one thing-----
seeing R.E.M....live on stage.

Though there have been many concerts since it, and oh-so-many adventures after, this night is forever a source of family storytelling.

A tale of teenage angst and my Dad's earplugs.

My family circa 1995

I will never forget the mixed emotion.
Namely because of the tug of war between love of band...and fighting the "uncool factor".

Let me explain.

The one condition of me going at all to this concert, at 17 years old, was that one of my parents had to take me to it.
That condition was agreed upon...in however in desperation.

In the rush of learning about the concert we had to act fast. It was assured to be a sell-out at lightning speed! My sister had decided she wanted to go.* .My sister quickly said she wanted to bring friends. I too had to bring along a friend. The lucky parent would have two of us...plus our friends to chaperone.
*Though not previously a fan of R.E.M., the Monster album was making enough waves to pull her interest.

It was going to be not the jaunt I had imagined--but a family adventure all packed into our grey Astrovan. We were quickly assembling a van-load second only to the Partridges.

The rarity of this musi-trological event was not lost on me. Since I had fallen for the band hard core (in junior high) they had been in virtual shut-in studio mode- having taken an almost unheard of lapse in the pre-requisite world tour.

This concert might have been my only opportunity... and believe me, I knew it.

Mary and I both blinked pleading eyes. Mom cracked open the phonebook to the T's. Ticketmaster. She took a breath and fired up our new cordless phone. She had that look--the parental sacrifice look.

As she waited on phone queue she looked uncertain.
I couldn't let her give up. I reminded her of her own youth. She had seen Diana Ross, the Turtles and Simon and Garfunkel in concert. It was time she gave me "my spot in the sun". As timeless as those artists are and as much as I liked them myself--irony holds that she was listening to those artists while being placed on hold.*
Retrospective- defined by when the 'then cutting edge' makes its way to easy listening fare.

She grimaced, probably thinking of the credit card statement. The minutes ticked off.* I was using everything I HAD. My sister also paced curiously nearby- though not with my level of anxiety.
For those of you born after 1995: Before internet there was the silent and deadly fear that accompanied concert purchases via phone.

Mom riggled through almost an hour of 'on hold'...she intermittently grumbled about Ticketmaster and their surcharges (however justified).Finally she got through and purchased six tickets! We had our seats for the Monster Tour!

Second-guessing the impending experience she asked,
"What kind of crowd is this going to draw?"
Parents have a natural hesitancy about concerts and teenagers. My mom had her reaasons.

Just the summer before I had primed and prepared my mom for my entrance into concert going by getting her to take me to John Mellencamp. I had led her to believe John (formerly Cougar) Mellencamp was a "Christian" artist. That was my thought...convince her that he was going to positively "influence me." She had believed me until we arrived at the concert venue emblazoned with the name of the tour, "Dance Naked".

The things we'll do to let our parents allow us to be participating members of the world of concert going.

At last she got through! Tickets purchased! R.E.M. was going to happen.

As September approached one of our friends dropped out. We were in a bind. We had one unclaimed ticket. Cost analysis enough was reason to blow a gasket in my parents mind.

My mom asked to take a friend of hers---for parental back-up, I suppose. Uh oh.The balance of power was shifting. Then that friend of hers ...became my Dad.

THIS WAS HORRIFYING, I thought.
Here I am- going to the concert of my dreams and now this!

A chance to be cool.
A chance to experience...But I imagined the cinematic level of stigma, pictured myself sitting in between BOTH my parents, my sister? OH the humanity.

I imagined the possibilities for utter embarrassment. There goes the cool factor. However, I HAD to get to this concert- I swallowed my pride. It was this way or no way.

Concert Day.
There were two things going through my head.

One: above all the excitement.

Two: the utter fear that my parents would embarrass the holy hairclip out of me for an unforgivable sin:

being parents at a rock concert.

*please note this is my teenage mind recounting.

Highlights of the evening

My father asking the parking garage attendant where an extra set of ear plugs might be purchased.

Dad referring to Radiohead (the opening act) as Stereoface throughout the night.

Mom unintentionally interrupting a flirtatious moment with a high school crush of mine at the t-shirt table.

Two ticket holders showed up at our row pointing to my parents seats and the duplicate seat assignment on their tickets. My sister and I thought God himself had sent this couple. Unfortunately, the usher "corrected" the seating issue (keeping our uncool intact).

Michael Stipe circa 1995

Dad loudly commenting about the colorfully illustrated face of a young man behind us--a young man-- who clearly had a "crush with eyeliner". *Clearly Dad has the memorable gaff category in the bag.

As much as I tell of the teenage suffering at that concert- when R.E.M. took the stage I tuned all else out. It was fantastic. The rich sound of my favorite rock voice was swimming in my ears, for the first time without a radio or cassette player.
* Yes folks, I said cassette player

It was perhaps the quintessential experience of any kid who sits anonymously in Row ZZZ appreciating their favorite band. The kid whose parents don't have "connections" to get them better seats, but who is in seventh heaven just to be there. The kid who sits hovering above the top of a large stadium but not lacking rock glory. An "Almost Famous" level of wonder...from far away.
Too distant for up-close encounters, yet feeling the reverberation of energy trickling up.

I had to wait three or four songs before any of my old favorites were played. The Monster songs weren't the like the earthy jangly sound I loved.*
I'm convinced had I had a past life...there must have been a lot of mandolin.

It became obvious that that from our nosebleed perch I was going to have to work hard to have a memory that was more than squinting and singing my heart out.*
*Though the memory of my Dad readilly showing another parent his state of the art earplugs is stellar. I believe they exchanged notes and said other parent asked Dad if he had bought the pair there.
Parents find each other at rock concerts, trust me.

I needed that lasting memory. I came up with an idea!

At the time the "Be like Mike" ad campaign for Michael Jordan was all the rage.
I devised a catchy chant. By the time there was a lull in between songs my sister and our friends joined me in chanting "We Like Mike".

Though our parents didn't exactly join in...the guy in the blue eyeliner did!
And his friends did.
And then the next row.
And so on.
And so on.
Our chant began to become louder.

It travelled a little farther...and just a little farther.... We were near the top section of the War Memorial...not to be seen by my favorite band...but I had to wonder if the message would travel to the stage.

You can imagine the squeals of a 17 year old Stipe obsessed kid when, after singing an entire song with his back to the audience---the enigmatic man in question walked slowly to center stage---and simply said "I like you too".

Sixteen years later, I still like Mike.

And P.S. I love my parents even more now for enduring a rock concert--because they loved us.

I love when good things are addictive

2011-03-10T20:58:00.003-05:00

I've had a lot of things rub off on me...some of them not so good.

Like the paint on the Benches on Parade bench I sat in this autumn (that evidently was not quite dry). Whoops.

Mary is da bomb!

But one thing good that's been rubbing off on me is better choices. I've never lived an unhealthy lifestyle, per say. Yet, that could be debatable.

No matter what the verdict would be about where I stood from a fitness/health standpoint...it doesn't much matter.
The point is things has been steadily improving for the better. I move more. I eat less junk.
Now co-workers and witnesses who saw me partake of the cookies in the staff room-- I said less not no junk--I am still being honest here.

Making the changes that make you feel better-- well, all that stuff is really kind of addictive.
It's addictive to feel good.

The change can be seen on a narrow list of things:

A crazy infomercial product
A crazy uber-inspirational guru
Opportunities for adventure and activity

and...me wanting to change!

She never wants to take the credit, but how 'bout my guru? She helped me believe in myself in a way I just never did before- in that physical/active self. Zach started my wheels turning, but the encouragement to follow through was courtesy of Mary Eggers. She helped a whisper become a resonant sound.

I have to admit physical activity had been such a limited part of my life for so long. It wasn't that I was always unable...I lacked the foundation that allowed it to be habit forming. Having been chronically ill from the age of 14 on- it just didn't provide confidence for a once fearless active teen.

So...here it is 2011 and I am rediscovering the Leah who might have been previously. But she is on her way to being more of the Leah she wants to be...even now. It really is never too late. I believe that.

And as for addictive---my energy and enthusiasm is spreading--in the same way I, in turn, caught it from others. Last month at our Dharma-Rama teen cancer retreat we featured fitness as a session. Led of course by the fabulous and aforementioned Mary.

It was by far the session with the most interest and questions. I loved watching the TLC teens get as enthusiastic about fitness as I was. I only hope we can continue to build the momentum and keep them as excited.

I am not saying I have become a different person. I'm not saying I won't occasionally eat a half a sleeve of Oreos when stress hits...slip ups happen.
What I will say is I know what the difference feels like...and the easy or lazy way is slowly becoming less appealing.

On this journey...since I first tested out a pair of running shoes almost a year ago (this April) I've learned a lot.

I've also been taking mental note of the fun discoveries.
Here are just a few...

- A Magic Bullet Blender is not just a hokey tv novelty
- You can make practically 1,001 veggie/fruit Magic Bullet concoctions!
- If you bring said mixes into a high school...prepare for the ick comments.

- Running in ice and snow is no picnic...but it makes the hot cocoa taste better.
- Running on a treadmill makes you feel like a wuss, but a fit one.

- I am rediscovering muscle groups based on the aching quotient.
- Jack Lalanne didn't live to be a vibrant 96 year old for nothing.

Hope this inspires you...and I spread some of the addiction.

Tickets to the trainwreck

2011-03-03T06:24:00.004-05:00

The land of self-worshiping celebrities.
I stand by my statement: if you live a life that counts yourself as #1 without reaching out to fellow man on a daily basis---it is as surefire a way to slow suicide as any other drug. Empty meaningless narcism.

Charlie Sheen is reminding us in a big way--that we, unfortunately, live in a celebrity culture. We live in a land where people prize fame so much that they eat it for breakfast (sometimes from Wheaties boxes with their shining mugs on the front).

It's a culture we feed into. I'm not the first and I won't be the last to make fun of this weird world of "Love Me, Worship Me...I'm Famous" crap-ola.
Case in point...look to the right.
Some quite brilliant person just thought of using sweet bunny pictures emblazoned with Charlie Sheen's recent interview quotes. Frankly, it beats the "Hang In There, Baby" kitty poster in my book. Genius.

I guess I can't get too self-righteous about this. I feed into this celebrity culture too. At least for the purposes of mockery. Afterall, it's giving me a topic for my blog.

I am not going to spend any more time singing a theme song of moral high-ground. You know where that would go. You blog readers, you know me by now. I won't even get into the multiple ways I'm dumbfounded at the financial resources and advantages these idiots squander that could benefit those affected by poverty or challenge-- in this country and beyond.
I digress.

Charlie Sheen joins a band of trainwrecks...some that more recently have included Mel Gibson, Lindsay Lohan---the list runs continuously in inkjet and Twitter tweets. We won't have to wait long for the next ticket to hot mess, trainwreck or just plain slow and systematic downfall.

We can't save them all. But all is not lost. I have an idea. Instead of trying to get them to reform on their own, let's just think about how these trainwrecks could somehow help society. What if through the justice system we made their 'antics' and whimsical gaffs...all part of a money making machine...for charity?

Let's be honest about this--fools make money. And fools also make money off the sins of fools. So, let's hook the 'celeb-trastophy' hawking up to the justice system and link it to small charities that are responsible with their funds.
What do you think?

Let's start with Mel Gibson. I think we should make his penance be another film This film, like so many others would be one directed and starring Mel...but with a documentary feel.
It would be Mel under a lamp of self examination. In black and white glory.
Let's call it De-praved Heart.
Place Mel in a room where he sits alone answering pre-recorded questions from an unseen source (a la Wizard of Oz). He would be hooked to a lie detector and with any time he answered untruthfully---Danny Glover would come out of a trap door with a Nerf bat (unlethal weapon) and just clonk him over the head.
Laugh track would play at each of these intervals.
It would take as long as it takes...for him to realize he's come to no good end.
But the end of the movie would feature a stern talking to from a row of three retired teachers/nuns from Catholic school. He would leave the set with the promise to take a vow of silence for 2 years. All proceeds from this film would go to battered womens shelters.

Now for Lindsay Lohan.
Oh Lindsay...Lindsay, Lindsay.
First of all...we would take her and make her re-watch Mean Girls with emphasis on how NOT to let a self-absorbed, status-obsessed, shallow life become your path of choice. Next, I would have her make another pop album. I am serious. Sure, she wasn't the best singer in the world. But I think she is due for another roster of songs. It could be entitled 'Don't Mess with Lohan' or if we made it a compilation album, it could be called Slammer Jammers. Team up Paris Hilton, Little Wayne and Courtney Love---all former members of the orange jumpsuit crowd-- each contributing a track.
It would sell faster than those NOW albums--what are they now on NOW 899 at this point?
ALL proceeds from the sale of this album would be split between amazing centers around this country devoted to helping teens chose positive activities---instead of substance abuse.

And last but not least, Charlie Sheen...the bunny quote posters are great.

But I've got a better idea. In honor (or in jest) of this over-inflated ego of his... let's create a carnival game called Take Pot Shots at the 'Hot Shot'. It would be a dunk tank where Charlie could face a tribunal of ex-wives, jilted porn stars, call girls and whoever else he wronged.

And if that weren't punishment enough...

We'll make him watch his 90s movie The Chase (without alcohol).

I haven't decided what charity cause would suit Charlie's tv show revenue...
but I am inclined to believe it would pull in so much money we could probably split it between many worthy causes.

And just in case you think I've taken unfair aim at these three-- why don't we drive the costs of production down (and the charity revenue up).

P.R. by Lizzy

Production design/images by these guys.

All cinematography and photography would be shot FOR FREE by these stalkers and paparazzi that call themselves journalists. They would be intentured servants of this project and donate all their "skill" to it.

P.R. and promotion for the project would be done pro-bono by Lizzy Grubman...the dynamo who mowed people down in a Hampton nightclub parking lot.

There you have it...in a nutshell.

HOW we could at least somewhat treat celeb-tastrophies of their apathy for the rest of the human race----and help out those who really need it.

Thoughts?

Money can't buy it...

2011-02-27T06:14:00.010-05:00

What do the possessions we have say about us?

I was confronted in a very real way with this question as I sat amongst a pile of my Gramma's things yesterday. My two aunts are preparing to sell her little house in Syracuse. The house my mother and her family grew up in- the first house they ever fully owned. The house where I spent many holidays and good times. And tucked away inside it... are her treasures. Nothing she owned could have ever made a pawn shop man's eyes glaze over, but they mean the world to us--because they represent the hard work and love they had for their family. In many ways, they are a vestige of just a stitch in the fabric of what some call our 'greatest generation'.

I think I wasn't prepared for the tears that would come as I held in my hands the momentos of her life---those things tenderly immersed in the memories I was tied to--and those that were of a life before I was even born.

Things like this I don't have a story for unfortunately. This tiny peach pit carved into the face and body of a monkey was probably something from someone's vacation. It was carefully wrapped, this delicate souvenir, but no one remembers where it came, but likely from a tropical island she never set foot on.

Inside her jewelry box were many pins marking milestones of significance, my grandfather's high school graduation and her own. And this, my grandfather's pin from his service in the Navy in World War II. As I touched it, I thought about the tiny token of such sacrifice. I know that the pride with which she held her husband's pin was also inextricably mixed with so many tears while he fought overseas. Like so many wives, she had waited in fear and hope for him to return safe while she held down life at home with two young girls. This pin doesn't fully tell us his story, what he saw or experienced as he fulfilled what he believed to be his most patriotic duty. It doesn't fully tell us her story--the premature baby she lost (who might have been the aunt closest in age to my mom) just a few months after he shipped out.

And this-- probably one of the more beautiful stories I have ever heard.

A woman's watch and a man's watch. Both seem inconspicuous until I was told how they were acquired. The watch to the left was a gift my grandfather received for three plus decades of service, working for Allied Chemical.

Yes, a women's watch.

My grandparents were not rich people and finding out that he would receive a fine quality watch for his years of work, he wanted it to be a gift for her--one perhaps she never would have accepted otherwise. Such a fine gift would have been far too impractical. With conviction, he asked the company if they could instead of the traditional man's watch, give him a watch for his beloved Godelieve. The answer from the company had been no. It had never been done before. Workers were always issued a man's watch and no one had ever asked for such a thing. But my grandpa, as it was told to me, stuck to his request and did not relent. He didn't want anything if it couldn't be for her. On the day they honored him and several other employees (with cameras flashing), he was told not to open the box. He posed with the closed box. Inside was the women's watch inscribed 'to William Duxbury for 35 years'. When he retired a few years later, the company presented him with a man's watch.

And this was upstairs. It is a lacemaking pillow. It belonged to my great grandmother, Emma DeClercq and came from her native Belgium. Before the family emigrated from Belgium, Emma and generations of women had learned to make lace on this stiff yet plush platform. The pillow still contains a partially finished strip of lace- the last to be made on it---in a craft not even Godelieve, nor her offspring would ever learn. A lost art from a country left behind.

The importance of this heritage was displayed in the framed print hanging above Gramma's bed - Vermeer's the Lacemaker. As a child I never knew this was a famous painting. I once saw it in an art book at school and declared that it was my "Gramma's painting". I am sure some art teacher must have laughed inside at that remark.

A few years ago when I made my first visit to the Louvre in Paris...I barely made a quick stop to gawk at the Mona Lisa. I instead made my pilgrimage to see the woman who I had beheld (in replica) as a child so many times at that little bustling house in Syracuse. Feeling the silent comfort of my ancestors, and stories long forgotten, I stood before that masterpiece in wonder.

It isn't easy to say goodbye to a grandparent. Neither is it easy to hold their belongings in your hands and realize that the touch of their hands have long gone from them.

Just recently I was reminded sharply of my loss while hugging a friend who had just lost her own grandfather. We prepare ourselves, knowing that one day nature and time ensure we will lose the grandparent(s) we cherish. Yet, inevitability doesn't make it easy. It doesn't ease the hole or the feeling of absence when they can't tell us in their own chosen words or we can't see in their eyes that recollection of history-- the one we never lived.

But as I carried in the box of things I had selected into my apartment...and as I look on my nightstand at the gold necklace I took for myself--the one with her initials, I know I will carry Godelieve Valerie Duxbury with me---not in any vessel I can haul or store or put on a shelf---but in my heart.

My own February break

2011-02-25T06:11:00.006-05:00

Every school year a week looms on the calendar that feels somehow like a heavensent offering. February break.

This year I miscalculated that break. In other words, I assumed it was the same week it had always been. I try to get away from Rochester (not that there's anything wrong with it) for my sanity. Each year I scrimp away and ask relatives for money for my airline tickets, in lieu of birthday and Christmas gifts.
And my sanity becomes a plane ticket out.

You faithful blog readers know I've been known to have "itchy feet". My older cousin Audrey in England swears I got it from her.

This year that miscalculation led to a trip that fell not on break, but the week before. No wonder the flight was only $200! We all know they jack up the rates for school vacations. Just before February break I went to Colorado.
Though, I had to take two personal days from work to do it, I did make my way out of Rochester. Sanity was safely restored.

I spent one day with my friend Susan in Denver and 3 days in Breckenridge Colorado. Part of the trip was all in the name of friendship and fun, but I was also there to help my friend Tracy's think-tank for her new non-profit called
SOLO Survivors, which is soon to be launched. It's going to be a resource for single people dealing with cancer. Tracy is forging ahead and she is going to do amazing things for people who often get overlooked in the cancer world!
Go Tracy!

AND then there was adventure...

The picture above was taken at Keystone. You can't see my face because I am laughing through tears. Also, I was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get up. It is indicative of the pretzel like way I landed on my butt about two dozen times. Okay, laugh all you want.
Yes, on this trip I also had some fun learning to ski.

I had never downhill skiied in my life. Sure, tons of cross country when I was knee-high to a tree stump, but not for at least ten years---and never downhill. So, leave it to me to take a stab at another Bucket List item in a big way.

Heck no, I don't try it out at home first, I go straight to one of the highest places in our country to give it a shot. And amidst some of the most accomplished skiiers whizzing by me. Toddlers still sucking pacifiers ski hard and fearlessly the green slopes in Colorado!

Let's say it started out as a brave attempt---but my fears got the best of me before we made it all the way down the mountain. The altitude, the view of 11,000 ft peaks! Akkkkk! Okay, you can laugh again when I tell you the name of this slope was The School Marm.

Ummm yeah...A story for another time when Sean (my fearless yet patient teacher) sends me the pictures that tell more of my first lesson.
Don't ask him about it, he will start chuckling before he even tells you how I did.

Thankfully, I really did have the best teacher beer could buy.
Beers and nachos with he and his roommate Ryan at the Dam brewery in Dillon, a little town nearby--- all he would accept for his lesson. :)

And now I write this from my couch, back in Rochester...a storm is expected today. Just when we think things are letting up. That's how it goes.
I'm whittling away at some paperwork...working on my taxes...back to reality.
But, I smile when I think back on the intoxicatingly beautiful combination of blue skies, sunshine, mountains and snow.

Rochester is home. But I can't help but heart Colorado.

hahaha windy much up here?

What's your Dharma?

2011-02-06T09:43:00.001-05:00

When Lauren Spiker asked me to come up with a name for a retreat we launched for our Teens Living with Cancer retreat last year it was a quick decision.

Dharma-Rama.

Sound like a silly word huh? But take the first part of that: dharma.

It has various translations...but the English word I most favor in describing it-- is path.

Last year the word 'dharma' was kind of spilling out around in other places in my life.
In both of the senior English classes I work with at Norman Howard School, we read Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha. If you haven't ever delved into the story of the man who would become the Buddha. It is A MUST READ.

It's the story of a rich man's son, sheltered from the world outside the walls of his palace.
A world outside he needs to see, to feel, to experience.
He sets out on a journey to find things that make him whole, and invariably he stumbles and questions his choices along the way...

But who was he looking for?

You probably understand the answer to who isn't an external one...
the answer (as cliche as it may play in watered down description) is himself.

The novel is among my favorite selection of the senior literature course because it is applicable to all of us. Not because we relate to the particular details of Siddhartha's life...but because his search for fulfillment is relatively universal. Everyone is looking for that path...the dharma. We might not just put a name to it, but we are.

And I mean that.
Even the Jersey Shore reality dregs of society are... granted, in their own sick twisted way.

I wholeheartely and abruptly digress.

How do we find our path without knowing our selves?
How do we know ourselves without traveling that path?

Helping teens and young adults walking the cancer path (a path I know well) is important to me. Giving them the opportunity to try new things and experiences is part of why I couldn't help but especially smile this year while putting the program together. It's hard working long hours, having two jobs plus. Yet, maybe the reason my body tolerates it... is what it does for my spirit.

Aromatherapy/Fitness /Laughter Yoga/Writing/Drumming

Each gave them a taste of something new, something unique for their 'tool boxes'.

Photo by Kris Murante/ Democrat and Chronicle

Yesterday for the 2nd year in a row we held Dharma Rama. The experience was a microcosm of a whole path. It's not a short-cut, not a detour. Bite-size, quick and easily fit into the space of a day. We gave them scribbled notes on a roadmap not bright and flashing signs posted on their path. All of it merely whispers. The take-away is theirs to use or just put away for another time.

In some way this day was and is part of my path...but to me what's great about a path is the others who come on in it with you.

I have so many pictures from yesterday in my head I can't spill out on this screen. I can't upload them here now. The memory card is locked in the office, but my memories are locked in my mind.

http://rochester.ynn.com/content/top_stories/532521/cancer-retreat-gives-teens-a-reason-to-smile/

Heavy clouds, No moon

2011-01-04T12:19:00.003-05:00

Originally written Tues December 21st

Last night was a sight to behold...cosmic theater at its best. Tuesday December 21, 2010. A total lunar eclipse on the very same day as the winter solstice, when the earth is tilted farthest away from the sun.
The last time this happened? 350 years!

Apparently, it was spectacular.

But I didn't get to see it.

And not for lack of trying.
I set my alarm, bundled up-- and (my very good sport) friend Megan picked me up at 3:00 in the morning. My friend Dawn Nicole (also a super good sport) met us in the parking lot for the lodge at Cobbs Hill.

Totality was 17 minutes away. We shivered in the snow covered parking lot, waiting for an event that was absolutely happening, but we just couldn't see. Beyond the frustration and the futility of launching ourselves out of our beds, shirking warmth and comfort and missing vital sleep, it was fun.
We chit chatted and just enjoyed the experience.
Chalk it up to the novelty of just being there.

Sometimes in this life it's what you have to grab onto--the attempt, the curiosity. That is sometimes all you have when that the anticipated moment never comes. Dawn Nicole had brought hot chocolate. I brought half moon cookies, (which were particularly fun to photograph in place of the absent moon show). We laughed, we chatted, we nibbled and sipped our treats. No cosmic show, but no less a memory.

LUNAR ECLIPSE 2010 was a bust--- but fun.

Just an ordinary day

2010-11-14T09:12:00.003-05:00

Just a day just an ordinary day...
How often do we view an ordinary day as extraordinary?

I feel like an extraordinary day for me is one that isn't jam-packed and filled with oh so many things to do and places to be. Lately that has been my habit. The last person I dated said I worked too much. At times, I have to agree.

So yesterday I had an ordinary extraordinary day. I had a walk/run around the neighborhood.I even picked up a prescription that had been locked in drug store purgatory.*

*when a patient is unable for a string of days to get to the drug store during business hours, the prescription is held for several days....after which phone calls are placed to the customer, threatening the filled prescription to be returned to the shelf. Thereafter its return to the shelf the customer can then RE-refill the prescription...and if he/she is just as busy that particular week, well, the cycle begins all over again.

While jogging past the shops on Park Avenue I felt pretty good. There was time enough for me to enjoy this jaunt. There was time enough for me to look around and feel and just be. And just breathe. The sky was blue, the sun was shining and it was almost 60 degrees. If it hadn't been for the leaves crunching beneath my sneakers I would have thought this was a lovely afternoon in June.

It's funny how the brain works and processes sensory information when it's freed up from constraints. You don't even realize it then...but stopping to smell the roses is no pithy idiom. When the stressors, obligations and deadlines of a busy schedule hit from every angle it's pretty much impossible to even notice the more minor but enjoyable details of life.

I stopped to gaze at a window display, admiring the pristine detail of a lettered sign.

I noticed they are tearing up the sidewalk on Berkeley. I slowed to nod at the worker who paused from his shoveling as I passed. Working on a Saturday...

I noticed that Camille's Sidewalk Cafe* is now called something different. Hmmm...
Damned if I could remember what it IS called. Doesn't matter. I'll still call it Camille's for another few months.

My birthday's coming up*...funny that this should be the only time my head has been free enough to consider that.
Maybe I better make that a footnote in this blog---so you assume that I am going to be the same age---without moving up a number. Strike this from the record.

All this reflection on how good that free time was yesterday is leading me to reconsider something. I am done writing this very blog. I've got free time to use...What am I writing this for? And why are you still reading...?

Get out and enjoy your beautiful day!

There's only one first one. Part Two

2010-10-31T09:53:00.009-04:00

If reading from here first...scroll down and read the bottom (Part One) first.

PART TWO

As Forest Gump said "I just kept runnnnnningggg..."

Over parts of the way I had spotted this tiny little girl running in a witch costume. Even early on I had seen her (when I felt good) and said “Isn’t this fun?” and she enthusiastically squealed YEAHHH!

By mile #2, at the top of the reservoir, I was left running in a pack that stayed steady including the cute little witch, a 52 year old grandmother, a jailbird in black and white pinstripes and a fairy.

The little half pint was running all by herself, no parent beside her.

It was probably a miraculous distraction because I began to worry about her, sidetracking me from my own perilous fears about my spiking heart-rate.

We asked the cute little witch if this was her first 5k.

“OH NO” she said proudly, “I’m seven and I started my racing when I was 6.”

.My sister grabbed this shot later on on her run.

I just cut up. We were all laughing as I took my glimpse at the beautiful autumn Rochester city skyline from the high vantage point.

Suddenly a masked Spiderman came running up from the opposite direction up the hill toward us and outstretched his arms.

“Daddy” squealed the little witch.

Having, taken her under our wing, we (the jailbird, fairy and I) made sure the masked man indeed was her daddy. I thought he would scoop her up because her little legs looked as tired as mine but he grabbed her hand. The father told us he had just taken a top runner prize, but had come back to run along side his very confident yet weary little racer.

As father and daughter loped nearby I began to feel the wind come up.

“USE YOUR DOWNHILL” a volunteer called out. I was not far now. I really was going to do this. The hardest part was over.

When I rounded the last turn, I heard the music and cheering before I saw the 3 Mile sign. My face was chapped and wet with tears. I thought of Chad and Amber who I had lost this week…and I thought of the guy whose racing dreams I carried inside my sneakers and whose name was on my shirt. I began to run faster---knowing I wanted to finish strong. I passed a couple people as my speed picked up. I didn’t even know I had it left in me.

I heard an announcer call out 38 minutes and something, something. I began to smile through the waterworks. Knowing my limitations, I had set my goal at finishing under 40 minutes and despite all my slowdowns along the way I was going to meet it.

This was not going to be the time a hotshot would be proud of, but for me, with a pretty battlescarred lung and lots of hardwiring complications, it was something I could live with.

I hopped up from the road to the soft grass and caught sight of the big blue inflatable finish line and the familiar voices of my loved ones filled my ears. I ran through the finish with absolute joy.

After being assured that my tears were not from being hurt or in danger…hugs came from everywhere. I did it. Is this what it feels like? Is this why you keep at this whole running thing?

Then Zach’s parents hugged me. I can’t imagine their mixed emotions. They’d been there at the finish line for so many races. It's been almost two years since their iron-willed racer left us. If my chest felt full at that moment, it was surely not exertion, it was remembrance as I watched them. Zach's dad rolled the video camera and his mom snapped pictures..making sure to get a good shot of their son's name on my t-shirt.

My cheering section. Yes, Peter they got me my chocolate cake!

We all went out to breakfast afterward at Jines, ten of us in all. After our table was a smattering of empty plates Zach’s dad handed over a box to me. Inside were some of Zach’s things. “We’ve been meaning to give these to you,” Zach’s mom said. I saw the Captain Caveman action figure I’d given him for Christmas, a pile of photocopied articles about his racing, and inside meticulously kept and still in its box was his very high end triathlon level heart rate monitor. I didn’t want to cry again after all this, but I just had to hug them.
“He would be so proud of you,” Zach’s mom said.

As I prepare with a very heavy heart to say goodbye to Amber today at her funeral with all of our TLC crew…I am reminded that no one really leaves this earth without a trace. Love and remembrance are our way to hold on to the ones we love. As much as we miss them…we hold on tight to that which is ours to keep….forever.

There's only one FIRST one. Part One

2010-10-31T09:22:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was probably a day of more mixed emotions than I have ever known.

The weather, although slightly windy, couldn’t have been more perfect for a run in the park.
My first 5K: Pumpkins in the Park.

The starting line. I'm in there somewhere.
Picture from Fleet Feet Sports website

A couple friends were originally supposed to run with me, and at the last minute I found out I indeed would be running this solo (albeit with 466 other strangers).

My fears came hard and strong…what if my lungs start giving out?

Or my heartrate gets too high and I fall? No one will know me or my situation.

No one knows me in this crowd. I'm just an anonymous runner.

I had to quickly squelch the fear. I stretched my legs and readied for the start. I had prepared, I was ready and I was doing this for (and with) Zach. Maybe...in some ways it was prophetic, that I run this alone...no matter my disappointment.

By the time the start sounded adrenaline was pumping through me...and I just ran with the colorful crowd. Leave it to me to get lost in a crowd of butterflywings, colored wigs and zombies on my first race. Yet the beginning felt good. I felt the energy of everyone around me and kept a solid stride. By the time we rounded onto Cobbs Hill Drive I was still confident.

I am somewhere in this pack.
Picture from Fleet Feet Sports website

I'd run this little uphill neighborhood trail several times over the last two months since I'd found the course map online. The first mile was great, but as often happens (even in my workouts) I felt the rolling and winded breath fill my chest soon after the mile mark.

I had stayed with the racing crowd but at over a mile I began to gradually lose those familiar costumed characters dotted around me. An umpalumpa, a princess, a wizard, and a runaway bride passed as I began to feel the heaviness in my chest thunder in.

My heart-rate was 187. I slowed to a fast walk.

This is nuts, I thought. What am I doing, trying this while still recovering from an upper respiratory infection and after having such a difficult week?

I kept checking back at my monitor---waiting for my heart to go down 30 before I attempted to run again. It was then that I was approaching the hardest part of the run, the reservoir—all uphill. I honestly don’t have any memory of getting up that hill….something took over. The next thing I remember was that I was cresting the top and some volunteer had seen my shirt saying Zach’s name and shouted something encouraging…and then his name. I heard it and the tears came…I wasn’t going to stop because this is what I came here for.

Running with a broken heart

2010-10-28T15:25:00.006-04:00

I've been staring down October 30th on the calendar for quite a few weeks (and months).
I've been worried about a lot of things for this 5K, but it turns out they were all of no weight in the grand scheme of life. That's right. Life. Those worries are of little significance to what's on my heart right now.

Chad was always in with the ladies!

I never knew that this week, the one leading up to my big race, would be one fraught with total heartache.

Two friends died this week...first, I learned of Chad, 32, a friend who passed away on the other side of the country. And just yesterday afternoon, it was Amber, a beautiful 18 year old young woman in our TLC program.

Both of them were beautiful souls...with sparkle, vitality, energy, talent and loving hearts...and both were lost to cancer.

One heartbreak is enough to sink a spirit, but two in a row have left me feeling incredibly hollow this week.

And in the midst of all this--- I'm planning on running a race?

Amber and I just two weeks ago

Doubts abounded. Yet, maybe- just maybe this is the right time to run. My athlete friend and energetic cheerleader, Mary Eggers posted on my facebook spurring me on. Even in this dark time, especially in this dark time---there is motivation.
She's so right.

As I take my mark among 500 other runners I will feel a lot of emotion. I'm still not aiming to make an impressive time because that would just be entirely unrealistic. I run with a purpose.

I carry with me Zach and so many others whose lives have been interrupted, forever changed--- or ended by cancer.

I can't fight cancer. I can't cure cancer.
All the marketing buzz words waving on banners can't annihilate this disease. Knowing that almost seems the definition of 'powerless'.

However, for whatever it's worth, I still feel there can be a vibration from the difference that one can make by doing something. It can't bring my friends back. Yet, in times of grief and tragedy we need a way out of powerlessness. I need to feel that even more now.

In some small way...I will carry the stories of my lost friends with me on my run.

Having raised over $1,700 for young adults across the country who still struggle with their disease and seek the financial help of the SamFund...I know I did something.

Thank you to all of you who have stood behind me and allowed me, not only to not give up but to push forward. There is no way I could have do this without you.

In case you wanted to help me out...

2010-10-13T11:07:00.000-04:00

As you know this 5K is also a fundraiser for the SamFund.
On October 30th I'm going to have a small cheering squad...but you can also cheer me on by donating....
http://www.giveforward.com/runningforzach

Serenity Now

2010-10-12T22:48:00.001-04:00

Another full day.

Up at 5:30...out of first job by 3:30---> Home for a brief few minutes--> Head out to job #2---

At the center by 5:30pm..and at last back home by 9:30 PM.

And then I do it again the next day.
I have not had a lot of time to think lately, or rest, or get myself together. I'm starting to feel like I'm watching the days blur by. They swirl together in a topsy turvy blender...and when I look back, I don't remember anything I've done distinctly.
This is the point where George Costanza would scream "SERENITY NOW."
Tonight serenity was mocha ice cream with chocolate cookie chunks (eaten from bed).

Yet as all this time passes the day of the race creeps up. I try to find a hole in my weekday schedule to place a run. I squeeze one in here and there...but when plotting it in between the two jobs, there is rarely enough time. Sometimes the run just doesn't happen. Yet, when it does, it feels like I am shedding a heavy skin, sloughing off stress.

Maybe that's my other serenity (besides the ice cream I mean).
If one's haven is technically a place then I've been finding mine in motion.
As hard as it is for me to work into my schedule, running has become my welcome mobile 'haven'.

Maybe it's because it reminds me of freedom.
Perhaps it's because standing still isn't an option.
Maybe it's simply escapist.
Whatever the reason, right now it's working for me.

Preparing for this 5k has forced me to be diligent...or at least work toward diligence.
I'm still not "good" at running. I may never be "good" at it. I'm just totally in love with the feeling it gives me. As I close in on October 30th I am reminded that as much work as this has been...there was something truly meant to be...that running found me.

Popcorn and Hooker Boots

2010-10-03T08:46:00.006-04:00

Last night my friend Carrie and I went to the movies. We saw the movie You Again---not an Academy Award winner, but another score for the hot-again octogenarian Betty White. But that wasn't the most interesting part of the evening.

So as we were leaving the theater, walking the opposite direction toward the theater for the late show was--- a rather, ahem, head-turning couple.

Picture a middle aged man, conservatively dressed---- accompanied by a woman with long jet black hair and dressed in a low cut top, thigh high heeled boots and a micro micro mini with slits up the sides---an article that barely could be classified as a skirt let alone be worn in public.

Let's just say the whole ensemble was the kind of outfit not just meant for bold and brazen dressers, but the kind designed to grab attention from city blocks away (if you know what I mean).

I had to check the date on my cell phone--first thinking they had come from a Halloween party.

Signs are pointing to two things :
A.) This was a woman of the night
B.) This was a chick with extraordinarily bad judgement in situational dressing.

Or maybe my yoga pants and sweatshirt were a little too demure. Maybe I'm out of touch with fashion. I can just imagine in my closet I have some neon fishnets left over from a college costume party----next time I'll rethink.

I digress.

Carrie and I probably got whiplash giving them a second look...but we weren't the only ones. People were literally doing the lightning glance of shame. In Henrietta NY---it's kind of an interesting oddity. There aren't a lot of Vivian Ward types roaming around this family friendly suburb. Which leads me to the question---
Do hookers get taken to the movies on their "dates"?

I'm sure hookers go to the movies...I mean surely we can't assume that this pop culture pastime is lost on them. Now I wish I'd stuck around to see which movie they went to...
The new Wall Street movie...a Disney flick, The Social Network perhaps.
I apologize in advance just in case there are hookers who read my blog.
Just simple curiosity, that's all.

Now I want some of you readers to share your stories...
Tell me about your favorite "people watching" double take moment....

Strange how it hits you...

2010-10-02T05:55:00.000-04:00

This past Thursday was September 30th.
That was my C-day. Not D-day, but C-day, and no less significant.

To me that date used to ring in infamy, so to speak--the day that changed everything. Six years ago this week I was diagnosed with cancer (the first time). It was funny how I thought I would always be haunted by that date.

I got the nicest email from a high school friend saying that she knew this was around the time that things had happened and she was thinking of me. It hit me that I had almost forgotten...again. Life has gotten busy...and a 'cancerversary' almost went unnoticed. A look back to my previous posts on previous September 30th dates on this blog. It signified a similar trend.

Perhaps the shadow of that day is softening or the outreach I do has put it into a different context. But in any case it haunts me less and inspires me to DO more.

But I am well aware of so many of those I have folded into my heart who still can't put their own C-days behind them. I think more about my friends whose cancer battles still go on. I wish with all my heart that their C-days were just a commemoration of a past experience---and not a reality of every day. If I had a wish to grant...this would be it.

This morning I am briefly presenting at a conference of alternative medicine practitioners...and then going to a baby shower. How life has changed.

How do I? What do I...? Can I?

2010-09-26T15:20:00.008-04:00

My Dad did a little photo-shop magic.

I finally found the official course map to the 5K. As it turns out there is some uphill challenge to this...About 1/3 way through the race I have to round the Cobbs Hill Reservoir. Ouch.

This weekend I tried a dry-run of the course. The top of the reservoir affords one of the prettiest views of the city of Rochester...but as I climbed up it for the first time, huffing and puffing as I went, I just kept thinking...
what am I doing? how am I going to do this? I'm not a runner...Am I seriously nuts for even trying?

The definitive answer to that last question has to be no.
There is no other way around this. I need to do this.
I wanted a challenge--and baby, here I go.
I'm just 34 days away from doing something I never imagined I would do.

Running taxes me earlier and more profoundly than most people who do it regularly--and at least from where I see it, effortlessly. Even with all this preparation...my heart rate is still too high through most of my workouts. It's not rocket science. I had a mediastinal tumor. Aside from my legs, the anatomical center of everything that is running (heart and lungs) is the very location of my second cancer's battleground. This is not supposed to be easy. I just didn't know it would be this hard.

I have received a lot of support from a lot of people who mean a great deal to me. So many have encouraged me in ways that are keeping me emotionally fueled. Gratitude is so much a part of why I'm doing this, but gratitude is what's keeping me going. I feel it...and every bit of love that comes my way keeps me focused. I even have a few dear people who have offered to run this with me. One of them, Heather (Swifty) is going to have to drive two hours from Ithaca to do so. Zach's parents will be there on the day of the race...cheering me on.

So far I've raised over $500 for the SamFund in Zach's memory--raising money for grant/scholarship funding for young adult survivors.

I've wanted to pay it forward for the help they provided me. Gratitude.
I had a friend who changed the direction of my life and I want to carry his banner of hope because he can't. Gratitude. I have a reduced capacity to be a 'natural' at all things physical---but I can try... I haven't lost the ability to do so. Gratitude.

If you feel so compelled you can visit my webpage and make a donation...you'll help me work toward my fundraising goal. But you already have my gratitude just for taking a moment out of your day to read this...because somehow my simple quest touched your heart.

No matter what lies ahead in the final month of preparation, I know that I'm going to give it my all. I have so much to be grateful for...Life isn't just like a sandwich...it's a big ol' road race....some of it uphill, some of it winding, and some of it a soft and gentle downhill slope--the kind you coast down feeling the breeze on your face.

Life is like a road race...and I'll bless every stride.

http://www.giveforward.org/runningforzach

Sha-Zam!

2010-09-20T08:03:00.000-04:00

This weekend I participated in the Rochester River Challenge as a pinch-hitter for the Cayuga Outrigger Team (from Ithaca). My friend Heather Swift, the glamourous redhead next to me in the group pic, introduced me to the sport that makes her tick...and now...I think I may be hooked.

Friday night I had called to chat up Miss Heather, a two-time cancer survivor herself, the night before...and found out they needed a paddler...

Who's in? Me! Me!

However, I might have felt a bit in over my head though when I found out who we were racing against in our two 400 meter heats. None other than the RIT R.O.T.C. team! Nothing like going head-to-head with a bunch of buff 20 year old army guys to give you a good morning workout. Needless to say, they beat us...but we made them work for it!

Despite having had absolutely no experience racing an outrigger canoe they said I did really well. I just watched Felix, positioned ahead of me and tried to stay in total sync with his stroke. I think I picked it up fairly fast all things considered.
We paddled quick and strong...and when the steerer called "hut" and we all yelled "ho" and switched sides. It was an absolute blast!

I really think I believe my friend Val about this "re-athlete" thing. She an I both had to step out of our athletic lives when we were teens due to illness, and she coined the word
"re-athlete" as a way to classify a person who is pushing themselves back into the active life.

I loved the adrenaline rush I got from throwing on a "Sha-Zam" t-shirt and jumping into a boat to race a bunch of tough macho college guys. Somehow it didn't even scare me that I was learning the call words and signals and all the rules of how to paddle an outrigger and how to race as we literally slid through the water to the starting mark.

Isn't that what life's about...taking a chance and seizing an opportunity when it comes your way?

Heather has this banner that she hoists at every race she does. You can see that it says "Never Give Up".

This is a woman who has proven she never gives up... Even after cancer her resilience has been tested severely. A year ago she broke her neck and was told she would never be able to be active on the same level again. I think she's proving that prediction wrong.

Something is really magical about a life where you get to mix the blessings of extraordinary experiences with extraordinary people.

Trip of a lifetime...

2010-09-19T15:36:00.007-04:00

Here it is three weeks after one of the most amazing trips I've ever taken...and I'm just now posting a blog?
You know the deal...work.... I was busy. Shame on me.

This is just but a mere glimpse of the beauty that I saw in Colorado. Above is a picture taken at the Colorado National Monument in Fruita Colorado (just outside of Grand Junction).

The drive there with Joy and Robin was just as incredible as the trip that would follow. I think I've fallen in love with yet another place. There are so many vistas that take your breath away...and I feel lucky in life to have added Colorado's landscape to that list.

I am sad to say that my camera misbehaved half-way through our four day trip and I only got a few images before it conveniently decided to expire. Bummer of all bummers. But luckily, several of the good friends I made will be sharing their pictures which will make their way into my collection. I will share what I do have with you...

We arrived at our camp site...fourteen single cancer survivors, two guides and a massage therapist-- ready for adventure.

I was so excited to be meeting a whole new batch of friends...and of course, hanging with some friends from way back. Juliana Carvatt(a pal from '08 at the LiveStrong summit) and Sean Swarner were there. Sean hooked us up with some sweet Marmot tents to use!

We paddled out on Friday morning from Fruita. The weather couldn't have been more perfect than if we had ordered it that way. The sky was a magnificent turquoise blue. We paddled into our next campsite late in the afternoon and right on schedule!

We camped on a bank near Black Rock...opposite these beautiful ancient metamorphic formations. Pretty cool.

In between paddling we had a good deal of "down-time". We ate meals prepared in the "tipped canoe kitchen", had some luau night fun and just chatted around the fire at night, watching the moon rise up over the canyon.

   There is something about getting to know people out in the great outdoors, no showers, no running water...that bonds you. Call me crazy, but it does. There's also something about being freed from technological distractions that makes it a sweeter experience. With one exception...Sean's constellation finder iphone app was fun to look at the stars with (until the battery died).

   On the playground of a riverbank along the most famous river in America...you somehow accept missing the comforts of home. Okay, I'll be honest the groover (makeshift bathroom) was something I took some time to get used to.

   Our creativity and fun-loving spirit as a group kept things interesting. One of the nights we sprinkled some aloha spirit on our canyon river fun...And you can't imagine what mischief happened when the train came roaring around on the other side of the river bank. Think high school antics....and you might guess what that was about.
Looking back at these snapshots makes me laugh.

Tracy, our fearless leader with the boys!

Aside from the fun on this trip, I think I challenged myself more than I expected. Traveling a thirty plus mile stretch of river, (and paddling it with little other experience than what I've done on the tranquil and predictable Salmon River)...really tested me.

Climbing up a canyon, the same giant layered formation that I had been gazing at from our camp circle---was scary--and then...it was amazing. Looking out from that great height when I made it to the top (with the help and encouragement of some amazing friends),gazing at the river winding around columns and ribbons of red sandstone as far as the eye could see---that was something I never will forget.

This trip, Canoeing and Connection-- was a labor of love and the brainchild of my very good friend Tracy Maxwell. She had a vision and a passion to make this trip happen. When she asked me to sign on to the committee, to help get it off the ground, there was no hesitation. I knew any idea she had cooking was bound to be a winner. And it was...

Thank you Tracy, thanks to everyone on this trip who gave me memories to fill a lifetime.

Here in DENVER!

2010-08-25T09:17:00.018-04:00

I arrived yesterday afternoon in Denver. I had purposely picked a window seat when I bought my ticket, so I could see the mountains when we landed, but yesterday's haze hid the view.

I could see just the thinnest trace of the legendary peaks.

After a slight baggage guffaw(please note: gate checked baggage doesn't always appear miraculously where you expect it to post flight), I was on my way to Tracy's car, already packed with gear for the upcoming trip. Canoeing and Connection- 17 single cancer survivors venturing over 3 days on the Colorado River- is finally about to happen.

Lots to do before then. Today was a doozy. Tracy, Kat (one of the guides) and I just got back from a huge restaurant supply superstore. This place is only for the SUPER serious. Normally you can only get into this place if you own a restaurant---but Kat had a connection.

Let me tell you- this place makes Sam's Club look like a roadside stand. We are talking orange jackets that they supply you with so you can roll your industrial cart through the giant meat freezer. Here Kat and Tracy pose with only some of the stuff we then carted off and packed into Tracy's SUV. The final bill was probably about half what we would have paid in a typical grocery store.

Tracy and I just finished stuffing everything into every inch of freezer and fridge space she had and threw the rest in coolers filled with ice. Pheewww!

I guess it hit me that the trip, a plan that's been in the works for months, has finally arrived. Tracy is a total wonderwoman---I'm just trying to keep up with her. She dreamed up this program on a wing and a prayer and gathered all of us together to help her achieve it. We've got such a fun adventure ahead. Tomorrow we will put our canoes in a town called Loma. Our final destination is Westwater Utah. Below is a map of our basic route.

This is going to be it for a while...pretty hard to blog on the river, folks... but I will surely update when I'm back home safe and dry. Hope everyone is enjoying their own last "summer hurrahs."

Does illness make you tougher?

2010-08-04T08:04:00.012-04:00

Read my subject title and answer the question posed in it to yourself...

Sure, the way it is written it almost tricks you to answer in the affirmative.

However I bet before I framed it that way you wouldn't have thought that.

Sure, people always told me I was "strong" for having fought for so many years...but physically strong? I learned to let go of that identity. It's only in the last few months that I have I been fighting for that physical strength again.

In my quest to run my first ever 5K my eyes have opened. There are so many of us who begin to realize that coming out of illness we want something more.

Many times that comes in the form of an athletic challenge.

I found out one of our i[2]yers here in Rochester Peter Kull has run two triathlons in the last month or so...and he is only a year out from diagnosis...GO PETER! And you read about Val in my last post.

But today I want to share with you a little bit about a fellow cancer comrade from Ithaca. Maki's story will blow you away... and I asked her if I could share it with you.

She is pictured here with her husband Jeff (they had just finished the Cayuga Lake Triathlon)

I first met Maki two years ago at our first Stupid Cancer boot camp in Syracuse (formerly called the OMG cancer conference). I hadn't gotten as much of a chance as I would have liked to talk with her and at the time she was going through treatment for lung cancer and slipped out of the conference early.

It wasn't until a few weeks ago while flipping through a fitness magazine when I saw her face, and read her name that I knew solidly she had beaten her disease beyond all expectations! As I read the article I immediately began to tear up. I was so incredibly in awe of her iron will and determination. And you will be too.

Read her story here.

Whether it is possible or not is not what is important---whether you have a stellar time on the clock or a ribbon or a medal, or prance around with an elite crowd of competitors is insignificant. That is not the success story and that is not the point. Afterall- we can't all be Lances. It's not even about getting to the finish lane.

The thing about cancer or illness that can make you tough is that when you re-enter life you have to start seemingly all over to 'figure it out' again. You have to push yourself. It's when you push yourself and redefine who you are supposed to be--that's what takes your breath away. The path is often more winding and more challenging---but you keep trying...you keep believing.

When you get a second chance in life---it's hard to resist that urge to try.

Tough...you bet...pretty damn tough.

Making a splash

2010-07-29T05:21:00.009-04:00

It seems I'm not the only one with an athletic challenge ahead. My friend Valerie is taking on something amazing this weekend (when you consider her story you will agree).

Valerie and I are living parallel lives it seems. Living in a suburb of Los Angeles, she and I trade war stories from the dating front and of course we share an understanding of illness. Strangely some of our life goals and interests have aligned in an odd symmetrical path, as though we planned it that way. Val's latest quest is no exception.

This weekend Val will compete in the Crum Pier to Pier 2 mile ocean swim in Manhattan Beach in California.

Two years ago my Val pal and I met in Montana as participants in the survivor retreat at Camp-Mak-A-Dream. We did the Hollywood thing and she drove me all around the rich and fabulous homes of Beverly Hills while I was there on the west coast also visiting my friend Kevin for the week in Playa del Ray. And in 2009-- did we ever cause some trouble in Vegas!

Val was diagnosed with aplastic anemia as a young girl and underwent a life-saving bone marrow transplant. Her struggle didn't end there as life threw her a series of curveballs--lasting side effects of the treatment and even a hip replacement at the age of 21- and age when most of us are aligning other more liquid aspirations, if you get my drift.

And what makes one decide to swim two miles in the ocean?

Her desire to help someone else. And I'm sure in the end Val will say it challenged herself in a way she never would have imagined. Overall though, I think it's Val's big heart that is the true selfless gift she is giving for a friend's daughter-- that is what is driving this pursuit.

I am so proud of Val. We've been both cheering each other on in our respective timezones.

We hit each others facebooks and blogs to track progress. And this weekend as she swims her heart out---I'll be sending my mental good vibes to her.

I will let her tell you the whole story and why she does this because she says it best.

If you feel persuaded to give her a donation...than you can't go wrong. But if you just want to read about someone worth knowing--a kind soul I call my friend...then take a look and marvel.

GO VAL!

http://www.giveforward.org/swim4mikayla/

Perspective is everything

2010-07-27T15:23:00.015-04:00

My lungs are stronger now than they've been in a long time, but this is getting tough. Really tough.

One mile? Am I really tapping out at one mile? There's a little more than three months until my first scheduled 5K. I'm not progressing the way other people do who train for these...it's taking me three times as long as they recommend.

The other day I began to beat myself up mentally--angry and frustrated at my own limitations. And then I paused...

I take my mind back to early April...Then an active lifestyle had been so far from my line of vision. It was so far down on my priority list that my five year old sneakers looked as new as if they were out of the box. Shameful. I would gasp for air even attempting to run a couple hundred yards. That struggle is still fresh in my mind, yet there is so much mental distance from then and now.

Instead of bemoaning this stalled mile mark as a defeat-- I choose to see it as a victory.

So what if it took me this long to get here and so what if it takes me much harder work ahead of me to get to the next mile?

I'm a better version of me than I was 100 days ago and many thousand ambitious and quick steps ago. That's what counts.

We're all running our own race. That's a mantra that comes to mind from a friend's recent advice. In other words: I can't measure myself stride for stride with others who attempt the same thing. They may not have come through the same hoops. If it hurts, I slow down. I listen to what my body is saying that day. There are days when I can feel a gentle breeze lift me and it seems to whisper to push harder---and on those days I listen too.

Today my reality check came with a check-up.

Heading to my three month oncology appointment I walked through the sunlit hallway at Wilmot. I spotted a young woman with a colorful scarf wrapped elegantly around her head heading toward me. She was laboriously rolling an oxygen tank with a LiveSTRONG sticker emblazoned on it like a team jersey. She too is running her own race.

We exchanged smiles hello and when she walked past I realized that I had slowed my own gait and cut back the bounce in my step. It was guilt, the heavy pang, one that I feel as a now healthy young woman returning to the cancer center, a place where I cross paths with others still fighting to get where I am now.

So many people I know are currently running against this most cunning opponent in a most arduous race. It makes a 5K look like a piece of cake. It makes a marathon or any other imaginable athletic feat pale in comparison. Truly, it does. I don't say that from a place of disconnected analogy---I've been there and this will never be as hard as that time was. I have incredible gratitude that I can be here to bemoan what I can't yet reach.

When I see those wheelchairs being pushed or the weary looks on the passing faces my brain shifts almost instantaneously to just a couple short years ago. I see the me of the past where they stand or sit--the faint shadow of who I am now (back in vivid color and fully in focus). I am grateful that I am here...but silently wishing for them to get to "here" too.

We can't run the same race at the same time. This is the mystery and unique pattern of human lives. Some playing fields can't be leveled. Perhaps they see me and want to trade places, but could I have even imagined back then that I would be here? Surely not.

I am reminded that there is no place without challenge if you are always in pursuit of something else. Something higher...something deeper.

And so I'll just keep pushing on...

Yoga-Pup

2010-07-09T16:54:00.004-04:00

I've been trying to use this vacation to focus my efforts on getting stronger.

The running, as I said the other day, has been out for the past three days-with high heat and humidity.

Swimming and yoga have been my friends.

The other day though I had a nice little surprise as I did my a.m. routine. I got a nuzzle from my furry friend who joined me on the floor.

It turns out Lucy is pretty good (naturally) at downward dog. She likes to stretch out on my mat even when I'm not on it. Hilarious. There is a reason we named her after the redheaded comedienne.

Heatwave

2010-07-08T14:21:00.003-04:00

I've been on a no-run streak. The heat is just too much for me.

I have been enjoying this vacation and I love spending leisurely days on the porch swing and going for quiet walks, but I miss those runs.

It was my dog who spurred me to slow down, not my own sense. I had a little conversation with Lucy, my chocolate lab, after we took a brief break from the run.

She had never complained and never asked me to turn around, but as I was looking down at her panting hard in a fur covered body---and felt my own chest tightening from breathing hard and heavy we turned around and walked home.

"That's it girl. Not until this heat lifts."

The best I can do for now in this 93 degree day is swim...

And of course beside me is Lucy---- whose specialty stroke is the dog paddle.

Sometimes it's worth slowing down...

2010-06-30T20:50:00.004-04:00

One of the little side benefits of all this jaunting around is just getting out there in my own neighborhood.

Tonight during my workout I was slowing my stride past a part of Park Ave that my friend Emily used to live on when I saw someone come out on her old porch. I did a double take. It was Emily! She and her then boyfriend had moved to Boston some five years ago! There was Emily on her old porch and visibly pregnant. I stopped my workout and gave her a hug (albeit slightly sweaty).

Oddly enough she and her now husband were packing up things in the house (they had re-rented the place a year ago when they moved back) and are now moving out to the burbs where they bought a house. Of all coincidences tonight was their last night there.

We caught up to the extent we could, made plans to reconnect and I continued on my merry way. Strange to think how paths cross when you start moving around a little more...

Still doing it...after all these tears

2010-06-28T20:54:00.008-04:00

It's after 9:00 p.m. and I hear the raindrops falling outside my window. My sweaty running clothes are in a ball in my hamper and somehow although I'm tired and a little drenched ---I feel good.

Training for this 5k-- is reinventing me. The girl whose lungs blew after just a short jog around the block is no more. Though she's a hell of a ways from her goal, she still is not anywhere near where she started and what's ahead- the marked goal points- seem within reach.

This physical journey is challenging the alternate reality I lived in- the one set up out of necessity by illness. I could have given up this quest and rested when sorrow hit. The last month was difficult experiencing the loss of my grandma. Yet strangely, the stress of this time has not deterred my plan. Running and being active every day is therapeutic, even through hard times. Heck, it's even good medicine for a bad date. Is there such a thing as a good date in your thirties?

Sometimes when I am on my jogging path the world comes into focus differently. The feel of air moving against me, the sounds and the rushing colors of life passing me-- I feel all of this-- up and down the street where I live and beyond...it feeds my breath...it makes me feel alive. I can push past the barrier of what I thought was possible. I now finally understand what the

Z-Man was talking about.

My neighborhood is full of joggers doing the same thing I am. Almost all of the time they're faster than me. Sometimes I eat the dust from their $200 custom running shoes. I'm not in it to win. I'm not in it to prove anything to anyone but myself. I am in this because somebody once believed in me--that I had this physical strength within me--when I didn't so much believe it was there. He isn't here any longer...but every time I breathe fuller and stronger...I know now that he was right.

Sometimes you need some time to let wisdom sink in...

Life is full of disappointment and hardship...but it is also ripe with possibility.

My inspiration

Suitcase of memories...time after time

2010-05-27T08:41:00.012-04:00

My suitcase is not nearly packed. I've been pulling apart my closet to find the right dress and the right things to wear to services today and tomorrow.

In between all this I've been sorting through photographs of Gramma to take to Syracuse for today's calling hours. It's not hard to find pictures of my grandma. For so many important moments in my life she was there.

But the ones that strike such an emotional cord for me are the ones taken at my sister Mary's wedding.

We all hoped desperately she would be around to share that day-- for my dear grandmother it was the day that she had to be at. She told everyone how much she wanted to be there for her grandchild's special day. Being there to see that mattered more to her than anything else on this earth.I recall the hug I gave her after the ceremony--tears were flowing freely, knowing she had made it just in time to see me walk down the isle and then Mary walk down the isle with my parents. She was wheeled into the church literally just in time.

*** You see, the car carrying her, my aunts and the nurses aide had been trapped in traffic from the Puerto Rican Day Pride parade running through Rochester (I kid you not). Such is the Seinfeld episode that can be our lives.

That day I remember thinking how wonderful she looked...a peace and contentment was on her face. I don't have a photo of my moment with her (as we waited for the photo session to be arranged) but it will be locked in my mind's eye and heart forever. The joy we both felt about having seen Mary get married was pretty indescribable. Yet for her...it was a triumph beyond measure---she had made it to that very special day, one marked on her calendar.

She patted me wistfully, just like when I was a child. She held me close and whispered in my ear "Some day it will be your turn."

Open emotional waterworks.

I was speechless for a moment but whispered back...

"I'm still looking for Mr. Right Grams....and they don't make many like grandpa anymore."

It was then that she smiled smile as wise as I'd seen her smile in a very long time- the softness of recollection in her eyes. I will remember forever that look of gratitude she had at those words--perhaps pride-- that I held on a pedestal the only love of her life. Her smile said it all...and I know now as I grieve her loss-- I know she has reunited with him...

My sister Mary's moment with Gramma. Priceless.

I know love because of Gramma

2010-05-24T18:32:00.007-04:00

I can't put into words what I am feeling right now.

After an incredible weekend at the OMG Cancer Summit for Young Adults in NYC and all the emotions and high of that energy...there followed some difficult news. I am sitting quietly in my apartment hearing the birds chirp and feeling the profound loss of a most incredible woman- my grandmother.

As my plane touched down she was leaving this earth. She slipped away quietly and peacefully with my two aunts at her side.

When I've had time to soak this all in I will share more...but for now I smile--even in my tears.

I smile because for ninety-five years she graced this earth...and I have had the miraculous good fortune to have loved her for all of mine.

When all you can say is WOW

2010-05-14T05:48:00.038-04:00

Photos by the very talented Brady Dillsworth (George Eastman House photographer)

Pinch me.

I don't know that there are a lot of times in life where you take a deep breath in and think that you are dreaming. Wednesday I was having one of those nights. I won an award given by some of the people I respect most in this city.

Roc City Rising is an event that invites established community leaders and groups of young professionals to the world famous George Eastman House for a night of networking and energizing. Young people with fresh ideas and perspective can mix with the likes of the mayor, the county executive and other elected officials and notable Rochesterians.

When Maria Fisher (then Thomas) first approached me about attending this event three years ago, in its first year, I was more than a little intimidated. She secured me a table for I'm Too Young For This almost immediately. It was something about her ease and encouragement that settled my panic. It was not only her willingness, but utter determination to help connect me to this opportunity that made me forget all of the misgivings I might have had.

You might ask why I was intimidated. I felt that those in the room I would inhabit would be different from me--successful and on their stride. After years of struggling to peak my head out from a curtain of illness that covered everything else in my identity I felt like this was a place I did not belong---yet. I was happily so very wrong. And despite my trepidation got the very distinct feeling that amidst the crowd of suits and the tinkling of wine glasses, there were people attending that just like me wanted to make a difference in their community.

Nicole Brown joined me from that first year and we were able to take turns moving outside of the boundaries of the table into the crowded room. Our table was all the buzz. People stopped and noticed a sign that said "stupid cancer" and sometimes would have to ask. Many of them probably had not even seen the word 'stupid' printed brazenly in large letters at such an event. What surprised us both was the amount of YPs that told us they knew a friend their age who was struggling with cancer. One young woman even quietly glanced side to side, as though checking over her shoulder for eavesdroppers, as she whispered--"I had cancer too".

This event ended up being the biggest and most powerful way to get the word out to our demographic about what we were doing with the then newly formed chapter of I'm Too Young For This...and it didn't stop there. Maria would play an integral role in getting the word out to the masses of the young professional community--in a way that reverberated over the next few years to come.

This high profile opportunity- to tell people why cancer is something to talk

about for the very generation the event was meant for - became an annual tradition.

This Wednesday night when Maria began to read the speech she had written to introduce me as the first recipient of the Emerging Leader Award presented by the Eastman Young Professionals and the Roc City Coalition I felt the tears coming.

Since Day One-- Maria had not only become aware of the profound impact of cancer on young adults, but had grappled herself with the echo of cancer strongly within a smaller local circle. Her very real and profound connection to cancer came with the loss of a dear friend. Maria got it.

She got why this was different- and she got why this was a message others needed to hear. The fact that it was her who presented me with the award was more meaningful than I can ever describe...and the fact that she had managed to still surprise me made me an absolute "puddle".

Just mere moments before I stepped near the podium to prepare to be called up to it, I had seen my parents arrive and my sister and brother in law--so it was only then that I knew the 'nomination' that Maria had told me would be announced...was not truly a nomination--it was the real deal.

A hug from Maria. I think the emotion is pretty evident from this picture.

Words have failed to really describe it...so all I can say is wow.

What a long road it has been these few years. Don't get me wrong I haven't really changed.

I still am the same ol' Leah. I'm the girl who trips over her own feet, feels victorious when she eats dessert before the main course... and is still very often caught by a stranger at a stoplight in the car next to me singing heart and soul out (usually to something Tom Petty).

I haven't changed all that much. It's just funny how things appear to have changed around me.

Six degrees of Z-man

2010-05-11T22:59:00.015-04:00

I met a friend of Zach's today...

and it's fitting to write this now tired, slightly achy and headed to the shower after a workout.

Mary Eggers is just the kind of person that I can totally imagine Zach gravitating toward in his early quest to make his athletic goals come true. She is the real deal. Funny how life brings people at just the right time.

When I first found Mary it was through her blogs. Way back in the day she wrote the most touching blog about Zach, after meeting him for the first time. Later she became one of his most vocal supporters, trying to garner votes for him when we were pushing him through the channels on his way to win the LiveStrong Dare to Share Your Story contest. Her account of meeting him at his very first triathlon was so quintessentially Zach that I knew she understood the kind of person he was. I had to email her and reach out--and so I did---that was the fall of '08.

And today---roughly 18 months after that electronic introduction-- (here in the spring of '10) I found myself face to face with this kick ass athlete, trainer, 5 time Ironwoman, wife, mother, nurse and blogger... and what is the occasion? what am I up to? ...I'm ready to tell you.

Three weeks ago after a run I found myself overcome with emotion during an attempt to run. I don't feel really ready to fully describe that experience here, but suffice it to say it was emotion this time and not the breathlessness that made me stop...and then it was something else that kept me running. Tears filled my eyes and I felt a very keen sense that I was not running alone. When I got home-- almost on instinct I flipped open my laptop and emailed Mary. I didn't wait until the feeling had passed-- I just typed to her as the tears were still splashing on the keyboard. I just asked her a question---if someone like me---whose lungs are shot (and badly scarred from treatment) could ever do a 5K?

She wrote me back in 5 minutes. Her answer---was of course--YES.

And so---no turning back.

So today in the Pittsford Y lobby--where Mary waited for her son to finish gymnastics class--we chatted about what it will take, how I can accomplish this successfully---and of course about Zach.

There are times I can feel the inspiration that Zach placed in people---and I could feel that with Mary. When you meet someone special and they are no longer of this earth---its kind of comforting to be around someone else who gets them---and hasn't forgotten their spirit. Its a joy that is tinted with sadness--that Zach was not here to do the introduction.

I must thank Mary from the bottom of my heart--she's agreed to train someone like me--- out of shape, clueless and fearful of doing something the wrong way---as a pure and honest gesture of friendship. Something about that gives me confidence- to make me believe maybe I can achieve this goal.

Zach--you have a mysterious way of reminding me--and others that your spirit still lives on.

I have a lot of work to do, but I think you'll agree...it's something worth fighting for.

Dr. Seuss meets Pema Chodron

2010-05-08T09:48:00.024-04:00

Life brings you things that challenge you when you open yourself up to something new. Yet when flipped around, life can also open you up to something new--- when you are challenged.

This is my take-away from an amazing new page-turner I've been reading in spare moments at day's end--the time that comes before my eyes start to flutter enough for me to switch out the light. My friend Tracy introduced me to a writer and philosopher whose book is captivating me and somehow this Pema Chodron feels more like required reading with each turn of the page.

Currently I am reading The Places That Scare You. In my mind's eye it seems the adult philosophical sequel to the undoubtedly famous All The Places You Will Go. You know that one. Everyone I knew got a copy of that Dr. Seuss book as 'that token gift' upon graduating from high school. I remember thinking that sort of optimism was truly about charging forward and taking on the world. What on earth would make me draw this connection? Perhaps because Dr. Seuss was in many ways as schoolchildren our first introduction to philosophy, all bundled in bright primary colors, fun and whimsy.

Watch below to refresh yourself on this commencement gift classic...

Where Pema seems to pick up-- is that important little middle lesson that Dr. Seuss's book skimmed over--- exploring the place where you've lost and need to reclaim the wonder. It's that wonder and excitement that through 'growing up' one may abandon.

Somewhere along my road--through the fear acquired from naturally "fear-inducing" experiences I followed different paths and the places I went, or was on the way to going changed.

Yet, contemplating this sort of a scenario---regarding those broken bridges and detours as places I tend to look upon with bitterness really has never done any good. Concentrating only on the impossibilities of "what if" and "if only" would be a horrible way to live life, right? But in little bits I did that. Negative self-talk seems hard to avoid at times. Yet Chodron's words direct us to stay steady on course.

The HERE and NOW is where it's at. She emphasizes that there are no promises of fruition in life. She seems to lead us toward looking at joy and sorrow with a more complex lens. It is this challenge-- to look deeply at both joy and sorrow and have gratitude for both for the value of what it teaches us that triggers a profound change in our thinking.

This is also my take-away from several experiences in my life as of late. The old way I used to cope with the fall-out from new things that became dead-ends was counterproductive. New thoughts and new confidence are bringing me a different groove, so to speak,---a different way to look at those seemingly aimless detours.

Are dead-ends really hopeless? Or are they just leading us to an intentional re-route? Dr. Seuss planted the seed, but my recent read has clarified those thoughts. Disappointment, in matters of the heart or in matters of course, is going to be there. Whatever alternate scenarios exist in some other possible plain of life (the one containing unfulfilled plans or dreams that didn't transpire) aren't where I was supposed to be...

There is something comforting in letting go of an ache to go back and try to make it different. You can't. Now is what's real.

Thank you Tracy. Thank you Dr. Seuss and Pema Chodron.

Oh...the places you can go when you begin to let go of the harmful 'what ifs'.

'Runny' is bad. Diversify---good!

2010-05-05T06:10:00.004-04:00

A runny nose tells me May is here. I don't think there's any ragweed in the city, but something must be making me 'run' like a champion. I may have never mentioned the whole allergy thing. Where is that damn bottle of Allegra (likely expired)?

Well, it's not the allergies that kept me totally out of a morning jog today but maybe too much salsa sashay in my Zumba class last night. What a workout!

Did I mention I've been taking classes at a gym? It's only a two week trial, but I am trying to make the most of it. Dancing as you most know is hard for me to resist--so I think by building a variety laden workout schedule I can't possibly get bored with I'll be more likely to stick to it. Diversify. Heck, that principle works for investments...makes sense for the workout too.

Keep the comments coming. I need the encouragement.

when fear jogs through my mind...

2010-05-03T10:39:00.010-04:00

I will admit it--- there are lots of things that scare me. Having cancer didn't eradicate that sometimes timid part of my nature. I'm no daredevil and usually when I try to be it can end in...well... humiliation or near disaster.

Fear hasn't been the only thing keeping me from regular or vigorous workouts in recent years. Since my second battle with cancer my lungs have felt heavy and I've failed to catch my breath after any length of a run. There are at least two possible reasons for this--and maybe even a combination; scar tissue inside--- or the lasting souvenir side effects of my nasty, but necessary bleomycin. "Bleo", as I affectionately call it, is undeniably a miracle drug--but so notorious for its harmful lasting effect on lungs that Lance had it removed from his protocol during treatment.

And now...I cant help but think Bleo was having its little laugh on me. But does it have to be that way?

One avoids what one fears...because fear is protection. Fear is like a shelter. Living within its confines seems so comfortable for a while. Yet it restricts us-- preventing us from experiencing anything new and in the end it just traps us in stasis.

I had to get to a point recently where I admitted a fear had gotten the best of me. Sure, I am a busy girl---I work a lot, I play a lot...I am always on the go...but my excuses were running out.

I avoided running because it scared me. And then I remember Zach. His voice still rings in my ears.

What the heck am I afraid of? I know that's what he would say if he were here.

Three weeks ago I started jogging around my block...I started tracking my progress easily by following the ordered grid of my street. I am at the H end of a line of alphabetical intersecting streets...and when I first started with this plan I could barely get from H to E without stopping. Yet--over the last three weeks something has happened...I've gotten farther. I now am beginning to work toward looping around the alphabet.

When I've felt that pressure on my lungs...I have resisted the urge to stop, but instead I slow the pace...change my breathing. The progress has been very gradual-- day to day.

I've felt stronger...and something has replaced that former fear. It's not to say that I'm fearless. I still move with the caution of someone who knows what it means to suffer a setback--but I just don't feel that same tension anymore. Instead I feel something childlike and exciting.

I feel curiosity.

Every day my curiosity, instead of my fear, kicks in first as I lace up.

I'm curious because I want to see how much farther I'll go today...

Flick the flick

2010-04-21T22:04:00.010-04:00

Having spent large chunks of my life seriously ill has led to the accumulation of a lot of "stuff" meant to entertain someone not able to be active.

Read this: I have a lot of DVDs...some have been gifts...but I've seen the need to (slightly) reduce my collection. Besides, as my sister reminded me "do you really have time for all these movies anyway?"

Good point.

If I don't really like the movie that I own I think its obvious it should go, right?

Ummm...yeah pretty simple.

Today we are going to play Flick the Flick--I've been doing this large scale, but just to simplify so you folks can play at home...see the assortment above.

Let's take a sampling of 8 DVDs--

Seven of these films are special to my heart, make me laugh till I cry or hold some significance. One of them is just taking up space.

See if you can select the movie that should be pitched.

If your answer agrees with mine...well, you don't win anything, but you have the satisfaction of knowing you're special. :)

Ready?

Set?

Pick...

Featured item of DAY:

The movie I should have not even rented

Category: Cinema

Winner of Community Garage Sale submission: Fools Gold!!!!

Proof that Matthew McConaughey running around a tropical island shirtless is no good reason to waste precious shelf space.

Past tense Overhaul

2010-04-17T09:00:00.007-04:00

Past tense. For me that phrase holds a double meaning. The past can make us tense.

And so I'm making an attempt to clear some of the remnants of the past--to make things not so tense.

One might argue that anything that's "done is done"; that the past does not influence our present state. But it does. Here I am---on a Saturday morning going all lumpy couch philosopher (don't have an armchair) and you're thinking I need to just shut up and tell you about the fun adventure I had instead. Bare with me.

This week- this vacation--- I am staying put. For the first time in almost I don't know how many years I am not hopping a flight or a train and putting miles between myself and my home on spring break. I am staying right here and making my adventures not only local, but purposeful as it relates to my daily life. I am trying to make a dent in a collection of articles from the past....objects of varying degrees of sentiment....that need to be pitched.

Over the course of this effort I will try to present a picture a day (if I can

stick to this) of an object from the past, its significance (however shallow in justification) and then tell you its fate. STAY TUNED as the visual catalogue

builds.

Featured item of DAY ONE: Le Femme De la Nuit

Category: Artwork

This is the first 'original' artwork acquired after moving from my first post-college apartment. Ummm yeah.

Please do not judge. I was very utilitarian and my Japanese roommate actually left this picture behind when she took off for parts unknown. She insisted it was not her painting (although she was an art and photography student). Supposedly, she h

ad saved it from the discard project pile at R.I.T.

So why did I save it? Somehow at the time it just intrigued me because of the black and white and the simplicity. Probably the same reason the roommie saved it from the flames of the college's incinerator. Let's be real though---even the lines, the angles and shadows are wrong and it violates all laws of perspective that I remember from my limited art training.

Perhaps I tried to justify keeping it in storage because it represented something-- a time and a place in my life. And maybe at one point I thought the painting was akin to commentary (a happening single girl taking a moment to reflect). Well...that was until my friend announced with absolute certainty "it's a hooker".

In all actuality it is just bad art. IT GOES!

Hockey players rock!

2010-03-04T06:22:00.008-05:00

I just want to share a brief little note about our city's fine athletes. Last night six Rochester American hockey players dropped by our center to play a little Kan Jam with our teens in the Al Sig Center gym. Each teen was assigned an Amerk as a teammate and the fun began. Most of the guys, who had never played Kan Jam--might possibly be hooked on this simple 'yard' game now.

Afterwards the guys snacked on some ice cream and other goodies with teens and their families and chatted briefly, answering questions that even reporters never get to ask. Off the record, of course.

These guys were just 'class acts'- truly connecting with the teens and families in a way that shows that these tough guys love to play nice. I want to thank Rory Fitzpatrick for allowing us to have some time with these fantastic fellows who included Mike Duco, Victor Oreskovich, Andrew Sweetland, John DeGray and Clay Wilson!

Friend or Snow....

2010-02-28T19:01:00.009-05:00

Snow days always seemed magical when I was a kid. They were something akin to Christmas---the adrenaline of anticipation---waiting for the radio announcer to reach my school's position on that alphabetized list. Were we all there once- at least once?

Well, at least us upstate NYers can attest to that.

Last Friday was a snow day for my school...and I enjoyed every minute of it. Lately, I've been skimping on the time to just breathe out a little. This three day weekend was a delightful way to push me out of that frenzied mode.

What it also gave me was a chance to slow down and just appreciate my neighbors. Glancing at any given street on any given winter day, my city can at times appear to be a deadzone. The bitter cold forces most of us to spend our waking hours completing this cyclical pattern-- darting in and out...car to building...building to car...with little time idling or lingering.

A snowstorm, on the other hand, is game changing. The very effort necessary for clearing out cars buried under mounds of snow takes time---and forces us to interact differently with strangers.

Nothing slows one down from the rush-rush and the dash-in and out cycle like two feet of snow, let me tell you. A magic happens for all this inconvenience, or at least that's how I saw it this weekend. I saw people again. Everywhere on my street. Families in the neighborhood were shoveling together...I heard the echoes of laughter, even felt the spinning air of a snowball rush past me.

"Sorry," called the voice, realizing my proximity to their actual intended target.

Despite some haphazard melodrama, in a way this weekend's storm, ironically almost, brought my little corner of the universe back to life again. Or maybe it was just my awakened perception.

To me it's that extra little cooperative spirit that it brought back into the mix. Goodwill and acts of charity are a healthy side effect of living in a snow pummeled city neighborhood whose survival is dependent upon on-street parking. Cooperation is essential. Take for example the neighbor and his son who helped me shovel out my little blue Hyndaui that had been reburied by a snow plow. After observing me uselessly and repetively reverse, charge forward and repeat the process. They could have turned their backs and pretended not to see. They instead nodded at each other and prepared to cross the street, shovels in hand. I smiled and was readily thanking them even before they crossed over.

"I'm Leah...and I am stuck," I said, laughing through an introduction.

"I'm Al...and this is my son Jamani," Al said shaking my hand firmly.

They sized up the problem...then dug with me. It was a few minutes of strategizing...and then some elbow grease with our shovels. I'm happy though to say Smurfette (that's my car) rolled out of that little white pit quite nicely with the help of these angels in disguise.

And now I'll have a new set of neighbors to wave to as I pass by on walks.

I bemoan snow...I sometimes grumble all too often.

Life is good...you just have to appreciate the unexpected bonuses of even the most frustrating inconveniences.

Z is for Zach

2010-01-18T19:25:00.005-05:00

The passage of one calendar year is but a blink it seems. So much has passed in that time and so many things have happened since the world lost Zach DeRidder. And truly... it was the world's loss.

One of the ways we can know the entire measure of our lives is if we inspire others to soldier on and have them carry your spirit with them. That is exactly what I feel. Your friendship changed me.

Getting that bike signed by Lance, your hero, was the best day for you, so you said then. I look at this picture and am reminded of that day that I remember so vividly. But so many "best days" followed and you celebrated them despite knowing the numbers remaining were few.

I carry so many happy memories of you...because, in spite of all that you endured you lived well. You carried life (and the fullness that comes from living it well) miles ahead of the pain.

Thank you Zach for showing me so many things and allowing me to slow down and speed up all at the same time. Your lesson...cherish life. What a teacher you were.

I miss you, my friend.

For you Jessica

2010-01-02T22:33:00.006-05:00

One might say that teardrops can't bring back a loved one. Yet somehow I think giving voice to the memories you treasure of them can keep them forever alive in your heart. On intuition I believe this is the case of Jessica.

I learned today that the same fashion-minded girl who just two short weeks ago reveled in outdoing me in an ugly sweater contest is gone. She died late last night...and took a piece of my heart with her.

Jessica was a special light among our TLC group, she could dazzle you with her smile...and charm with her simple, blunt humor. She was uniquely straightforward. One would never wonder what she was thinking because it escaped her lips the moment the thought fluttered into her mind. Unfailing honesty, that was Jess.

Many people called her "Sassy" (including me) because that adjective certainly captured her vivaciousness and characteristic spunk. Cancer forced her, like many, to leave behind some mythology that all too often accompanies youth. Such harsh reality was an extraordinary weight for such a 15 year old to be burdened by...but her spunk remained.

It's Jessica that's drawn me back here...because as I sit here tapping out an entry into my my oft' neglected blog the only thought in my head is of Jess. She left in the dawn of a new year she had not even a glimpse of, and with us all wishing for just one thing... a chance for more time.

Jessica was a mover and a shaker, a young woman of action. She liked to dance and she like to move fast. Waiting around patiently wasn't her style. And so naturally when cancer clipped her wings and slowed her down her frustration was clear...and achingly justified. Walls built up...but they were only made to come down.

Rays of light began to dip in and slowly trickle through her wall of protection. She began to let in new friends that lightened her load, eased her into laughter and allowed her the gift of shared experience. Her smiles became more abundant. Her wisecracks were rapid fire. It was obvious she had stolen all of our hearts. Indeed she has made off with them and if that means that she can carry some of our love with her...beyond these earthly boundaries... than perhaps we can be ever grateful for what she took, with our most sincere permission.

I will never forget you Jess... Your memory lives. That etching has been made and not time, nor circumstance can erase it. Any time I dance the Cha Cha Slide and I misstep I will remember your laugh...it will echo in my ears and run straight to my heart.

Wow! I've missed you blog

2009-10-14T18:51:00.014-04:00

So...here it is October and I realize that I've had a very unintended hiatus from the world of blogging. It wasn't for lack of productivity...precisely the opposite. This past summer
ranks among the busiest ones of my life. Biggest of all milestones...my sister got married (and five other friends). It was a summer of weddings. But besides the requisite travel time and cluster of booked Saturdays...my summer was spent working on projects for Melissa's Living Legacy.
It's hard to recount all the amazing things that transpired in this past action-packed summer...but the energy has carried straight through to the fall.

Particularly, the past seven weeks have been a true journey...in every sense of the word.
It started off with Lauren sharing an idea...that this year's Journeys (the annual dinner and fundraiser) feature performances from the teens.
What followed was a long and winding endeavor as the teens of TLC (Teens Living With Cancer---aka the support network of Melissa's Living Legacy) began an artistic journey into their own stories. When Lauren first approached us with the idea...none of us could have known how much soul searching was going to take place. None of us could have known how much stronger the bonds within the group and beyond were going to become.

Weeks of brainstorming, sharing sessions, edits, revisions and rehearsals followed. Creativity blossomed and there was a lot of fun sprinkled in. As they crafted and created their stories...it became so much more than storytelling...it became an expression of their deepest selves. By working with literary, theatrical and audio visual professionals who had donated their time, the teens each developed a piece of about 3 minutes in length to be performed in front of a live audience. Together as an ensemble production it will debut in a program called Our Journey So Far. Fittingly it will be the highlight of this Saturday's JOURNEYS, the annual dinner and benefit for Melissa's Living Legacy.
I am truly and honestly honored to have had the chance to not only see this beautiful program come together, week by week, story by story...but am also a part of the process myself. I was persuaded to come outside of the role of advisor and cheerleader to these teens and share my story too.

I haven't the words to really sum up all that I have learned, not only from this project, but from so many other things we've worked on with these teens. I watch these teens and they amaze me...they are stepping slowly outside the battle with cancer...and giving others something. Their honesty, their intensity and their perseverance lifts them so far beyond their years. They are traits that have not been acquired easily, or without sacrifice.

At times this process led me to think back to the years I spent as a teenager...chronically ill, having been denied the advantages of normal teenage life. Forces beyond my control pushed me out of a world of blissful normal into a harsher reality. I couldn't help but think back to that...
I hand't been diagnosed with cancer yet then...but the feelings all lead me to think of that time. The teen years are hard enough on a healthy teen.

Wise beyond your years...this is uttered often and applied to a myriad of situations...but unless you've faced serious illness in a pivotal time like adolescence...its hard to really wrap your head around this old expression.

These teens have an understanding and a grasp on something mostly unseen and undetected by peers around them. Nothing seems simple anymore. Wisdom like this has a price...but can be truly priceless when its lessons are passed on. Imagine if that rare understanding could be communicated and shared? That is exactly the excitement of what's about to happen Saturday.

As teenagers who will be sharing the intimacy of their own journeys...I see the power that they possess. Perhaps they see it in themselves, the capacity they have to teach others. Cancer itself is a horrific illness...but in all its ugliness beneath it lies beauty. And it rests with the hearts and minds and spirits of those who fight it.

With every voice...each one magnificently unique...each journey not like any another...they are beautiful. I have been given a rare gift to join these wise souls. As they take their places and as I join them on stage I'm going to be reminded that I am so lucky and so blessed to know the other side of illness...the part where I have to glance back at my path and how far I've come, so I can continue to help others rebuild.

They upstaged the Fray tonight!

2009-06-18T00:40:00.014-04:00

I lay here in bed literally too amped up from the most amazing night that I just can't sleep...not until I write this down. Tonight Lauren, myself and a survivor and her sister from Teens Living with Cancer were at the Jack's Mannequin and Fray concert at Darien Lake...
We were invited backstage to meet Andrew McMahon and hear our very own private mini concert with ten winners of a contest during the soundcheck. We actually didn't win the contest...but the irony is that JoJo and Margi had been trying desperately to win those radio tickets to no avail. They had no idea that in the meantime I was working on getting TLC this special treat through a series of six degrees of separation network.

I could tell you every last detail...but I am just too tired right now. However, suffice it to say that Andrew is one of the most giving and big hearted people I've had the chance to meet. He himself is a cancer survivor and spent more time with our group than he may have even been allotted. He has a deep committment to give back...and that is clear in not only his music but his good works through it. He not only talked to each of us individually and eagerly listened to find out what TLC was all about, but recorded a touching personal video message to one of our kids who is very sick right now. I heart Andrew McMahon...

For us to see him perform with such vigor and energy...and the light behind it all...
At several points in the evening he jumped and pounded his (well, someone's) piano, threw his legs over to and fro over it---feet hammering the keys, he flipped, spun, shook what his Mama gave him and continued to confuse his piano with a dancefloor. It's a wonder Steinway doesn't grit their teeth when watching youtube. He is at least an aspiring acrobat...and few in that audience could imagine this was the same young man fighting for his life just four years ago. This is the same person who was told a transplant of his sister's stem cells was probably his only shot to beat the big C. Thankfully, it worked. Lauren said it best tonight "perhaps only someone who has been there... can truly understand how amazing what he is doing up there is"...as he whirled around the stage like a man on fire--on fire and happy to be alive. So I am tired now...but I will leave you the pictures to tell the rest of the story.
Thank you Andrew....if you find your way to reading this...thank you for your love and thank you for giving back to the cancer community...
Thanks also to the tour manager, Aaron...Ellie and Steve at Aware Music and of course to 100.5 the Drive's fabulous Julie who made sure to capture precious moments for us on both video and snapshots. Despite the downpour and the cold...it was a very special night I won't soon forget.

Oh...and the Fray was awesome too...phenomenal... but Andrew...you...you are a cancer survivin' rock star!

Without further ado...the Lil Wayne story

2009-06-13T16:27:00.008-04:00

There are times in one's life where simply re-telling of a story can not match up to the supreme oddity of a moment. In such cases, one can only reply that you had to be there.
And frankly, for the two eye-witnesses who were there with me...they can comment and help back me up.

So...Las Vegas is a crazy place. Larger than life. Things happen in an instant and people go there for that very purpose. I'm sure the idea of finding a strange random weird celebrity encounter is not uncommon. But I'm still scratching my head about this one. Regardless, I've been telling this story so often that I am getting tired of recounting...truly. So I leave this story here for you---its on the internet...and perhaps will live a life of its own now.

Because of the nature of Hollywood...and the expansiveness of the internet I must be careful. I must of course put up a disclaimer---that the person in question may or may NOT have been Lil Wayne. The events that happened may have very well been simply a case of mistaken identity and one must read this blog with that in mind...Lil Wayne is already involved in legal action in Rochester and I don't want to add to his list.

So here goes...

I was sitting on a rock ledge/ wall thing outside a casino with my friends Jeff and Araceli. Our friends had just bounded off for the bathrooms while we waited tired and basically worn out from another energetic night out in fabulous Las Vegas.

Then it happened. A red hat coming out of the casino caught my eye. A red hat attached to a short statured African American young man...who appeared to be Lil' Wayne. I gasped. Jeff at the same time was having the same reaction, but I was the far more obvious gawker. Without thinking my pointy finger shot up. I aimed it right in his direction. Let's just say, usual Leah style...I did not act casual.

Below is an actor's rendering of the expression on my face at the time of his appearance.
So anyway...the person who in that instant appeared to be the Wayner himself...was strolling in the middle of two companions, two very large male companions in normal street clothes. Aracelli was a little farther off so I couldn't see her reaction. It was then, at that very moment, when the man in question...looked at my pointing finger aiming in his direction.

A whimsical smile came across his face. Who knows what he was thinking.

But he approached me...and stopped short. He was probably about 15 feet away where he stopped. Then he asked me if I had three things in quick succession...none of which I understood fully. However I heard what I thought was the word Twister being one of the items.

Without fully understanding I said No.

Jeff would later tell me asked me if I had a twista, a zigzag or a bluntwrap.
It is my firm understanding that he surely was barking up the wrong tree by asking this unassuming Upstate New York cardigan and comfy sock wearing teacher assistant.

He shook his head and started back on his path. End of game right? Not hardly.

As the young man and his duo of large companions nearly disappeared from view...I began to regret thinking to myself 'was this all of the strange encounter I was going to have with this person who may or may not have been Lil Wayne?" No No no...we don't end bizarre things unfinished.

So instead I shouted back...into the night, not knowing whether my words would fall unanswered.
Seeing as how he had mentioned what I thought was my favorite childhood game I decided to indulge this crazy moment.
"No...but I have silly putty, " I called.

In an instant he doubled back to where I sat. I couldn't gage either Jeff or Araceli's reactions as this bizarre exchange continued into part deux. After questioning this offer...Silly Putty... he came back with four words that I will always laugh about.

"Can you smoke it?"

To which I replied something akin to...
"No...you press it on comics..." He shook his head again...and in an instant he was gone.

After he disappeared with his companions Jeff, Araceli and I proceeded to freak out from the encounter which lasted probably all of 40-50 seconds in duration.

Jeff, who was right next to me and had had the best view as I mouthed off ignorantly to the Wayner, insisted that yes, this was Lil Wayne...and we were not imagining things. We began to lose it, laughing hysterically and shouting...I looked around for other witnesses, but there seemed to be no one who had stopped to see. It was a lull, almost a wrinkle in time...even if there were onlookers no one had taken note. It seemed impossible.

Now imagine my friends returning from the loo, only to hear this story fresh from its occurence.
They asked us why we hadn't pulled out a camera, asked for an autograph---something in the form of proof.

But after kicking myself for not doing any of these things I've come to the conclusion that this story is just meant to be another one of those mythical encounters...that will live in legend. You can believe it or not...you can ask "was it really Lil Wayne'? But it matters not. The point is that somewhere someone out there is wondering about the weirdo girl he ran into in Vegas who offered him some Silly Putty to smoke and that weirdo girl...that girl is me.

Please note if a song hits airwaves containing silly putty as a lyric...I will have made my forray into the annals of music history.

OMG was amazing

2009-06-07T19:53:00.020-04:00

OMG! I forgot, rather I didn't have time to post about the OMG Young Adult Cancer Summit.

Recapping: this was probably the craziest most insane way to pack everything possible into one weekend I have EVER had in my LIFE. And in 2 wks I'm going to be moving so go figure...
Slow down? Ha...not likely.

BTW...Happy belated National Cancer Survivors Day.

I didn't get to Syracuse till way later than I planned Friday. I will spare you all the minute details of the car adventure...I killed my battery by leaving my lights on...my car died. Challenges challenges. As you might know already, due to a slight error my sister's family bridal shower was arranged on the same day/same time as the OMG Syracuse. Most of you who know me know that OMG was 8 months of planning-- for those on the committee especially Dan, Carrie, Matthew and I it was almost like like planning a wedding. With last year under our belt, we had learned a lot but still...8 months.

Anyway---needless to say, you can imagine the tough choice I had between OMG and my sister's other shower. Pick one? NO--way. Leah decided to do both.

When I swung just in time into the Palace Theatre everyone was already there and things were in full swing. I was able to ever so briefly chat with Erin Zammett Ruddy, our guest speaker and super cool Glamour Magazine rock star. But I was really sad that in my rushing across town mode we didn't get to talk more. I was frazzled and late and really would have done better with down time prior. Erin, if you're reading this I hope we will cross paths again very soon.

Alright, so here is the deal about the second annual OMG Young Adult Cancer Summit.
It was amazing. Okay, so already the thunder was stolen...NYC had BNL performing. How do you compete with that? But what transpired in Syracuse NY was something wholly amazing, something pallpable...smaller in scale, but from where I stood it was an intimate sense of community that stretched beyond town, city, and county lines.

New Yorkers have always been categorized by the city of Manhattan. It is plausable that the great state of New York is seen by many outsiders as purely of an outcrop of Manhattan. Not so. Upstate--I've been asked to define---to specify. But the diverse communities and the various stretches between town to town, city to city are a community that was tied together yesterday. There were young survivors from Syracuse, Rochester (most of us), Buffalo, Ithaca, Corning, Albany. Sure most NYC survivors could hop on the subway...but there were people who travelled 2, 3, 4, 5 hours to attend. And Aaron Spicer from Ohio wins a special award for a 6 hour journey he made with great delight (and sacrifice).

Watching people look around the room and see (perhaps for the first time) others their own age walking the very same journey-- connecting and relating. On so many levels it was empowering beyond any coherent definition.

My energy could not equal my enthusiasm. This day--this weekend-- filled my heart!

Erin told us her inspiring story of surviving to be a MOM against all possible odds. Erin IS a pioneer. GO Erin!
I tried to upload the video I have of part of her speech but I experienced technical failure. I will get that up as soon as I figure out what went wrong. Sorry!

Then at the end of the Summit an amazing band, THE ACTION cranked up the ska...trumpet blaring, people unwinding, drinking, mingling, eating the delicious appetizers. Perhaps to some it seemed like a big party. It was.
YOU HAD TO BE THERE...

But because you weren't-- I'm gonna just give you the images...and hope you'll understand...somewhat.

THE ACTION
with i[2]y YALC Pres. and most dedicated Summit traveller, Ohio's Aaron Spicer
With Stupid Cancer Guru Matthew Zachary ( who appears to be my Siamese twin? ha ha)
Three amazing brain cancer survivors show who got busy living
With Thomas Waters... St. Bonaventure student, survivor and advocate extraordinaire! The T-shirt pic. Minus quite a few...but a smattering of the gang... After some shenanigans and complicated logistics...15 of us grabbed dinner!
I'll say it again...life is like a sandwich...
enjoy the big bites!

Vegas Part Deux

2009-05-30T17:11:00.024-04:00

Okay so that was a test...and you responded...and I laughed because who does that?--- "Everyone comment me?"?? Pppllease! As they would have said to me in the 1980s ---gag me with a spoon...
...so I will not ask anyone to do that again unless it is entirely for a good cause. Promise.

Las VEGAS
As I am sitting here trying to recount what we did on what day I am coming into a little blip in my memory bank. So those of you that were there feel free to correct and forgive for any erronerous re-telling or misrepresented dates and times.

On Saturday we all tiptoed into another hotel pool...at the Tropicana Hotel.
Some more fun was had...this time our whole group was able to sun and splash and lie in the shade of giant palm trees (which provide not so much shade)
But I have to say this, I heart palm trees.

What is it about them that makes you feel like you are really on vacation? I mean I could have a vacay at a garbage dump...and if there was a palm tree and a blue sky and I looked up (and plugged my nose) I would feel relaxed.
But I digress...

As usual we applied more SPF per capita than anyone else in a 1,000 yd perimeter. Hey, we're cancer survivors...what DO you expect? While everyone else lathered on the cooking oil and tried to fry their skin to a nice glowing bronzy crisp...our idea of fun (despite popular misconception) is not another biopsy...thank you very much.

Aside from the cute little colorful drinks...there was even more ways to help you spend your hard earned cash wet gambling.

I am not a gambler. I do not profess to be one.
I do not know when to hold them...
I do not know when to fold 'em...
I do not know when to walk away...

but hey, I do know when to run---a big grizzly bear, an armed intruder...a stale fruitcake bearing neighbor... trust me I'd probably know when to run.

But I could not resist the novelty of a swim-up blackjack table. I gave my friend Stefanie $20 to play blackjack so that I could see the process. It was thrilling when we won $5...but the rest we quickly lost. Subsequently the game after us was nearly ended by a rather intoxicated and splashing guy who completely hosed the deck of cards--and incited the wrath of the bikini clad dealer and her equally feisty manager. Good times...yeah...a good time to leave. Quit while you're ahead---and someone's getting yelled at.

Later that Saturday evening ....we had another nice dinner in and prepped for yet another night out on the strip. For our lively crew of Mak-A-Dream alums, getting ready to hit the town is almost as fun as hitting the town itself.

The taxi drop off point was the Hotel NEW YORK NEW YORK...where I wandered with friends from table to table looking for roulette...I just wanted to try but with a $20 minimum and cigar smoking men packed in with no hole for a bystander...I hesitated. I was intimidated. Gamblers are everywhere...serious gamblers...afterall this is the city to draw them.

Don't get me wrong...it's not to say that a dealer won't take the money of a naive Upstate New Yorker...but its the serious high rollers that bar (or at least dissuade) you piling on in.
Then it was on to the club Diablo...which had a roof top bar.

Live music- there was a singer who was doing her best Kelly Clarkson. But our group just ran around the roof like a bunch of kids let off a school fieldtrip bus at Six Flags on a sugar high.

There were scantily clad dancers on the roof and that was great fun for the boys.
But there was fun for the girls too. Namely the cops, who stood around that place with arms folded, looking like extras from Chips...but they cracked a smile when they saw our group.
Perhaps we don't look menacing, it was easy for them to see, I suppose.

They seemed friendly as they laughed openly at my own signature dance...which thankfully (that I know of) no one has on video-- but involves grabbing one leg at the ankle and jerking around convulsively (with some rhythm). That won them over and they uncrossed their arms posed for a photo. That is how you officially know you are a good egg...when cops pose for photos with you. Evidently Stef had the same idea and she happens to be a good egg too. They posed with her as well, but she's a little more legit with her own badge to flip out when necessary.

Robert, Jeff, Ansley and I split off from the crew to make our own entertainment near the Belagio. It was the last water show of the night and we didn't want to miss it. But after the show...we decided to do an impromtu performance near the fountain.... I can't recall which of his songs we sang---but I'm certain we would have made Neil Diamond proud. Had we thought of it we would have tossed down a cap for people to stuff dollar bills into...hey, gotta pay for our $5 water bottles somehow

We met many strangers who were kindred spirits, shall we say...and we had moments. In particular an exciting Bohemian Rhapsody sing-a-long on the escalator into Caesar's Palace that will probably go down in the books. A bunch of partying ladies ahead of us joined us as the rest of the crowded hotel looked on...Thunderbolt of lightning...very very frightening..... Now we do not have this on video either. Ya just had to be there.

And then my moment with the real Guitar Heroes....these performers who just cracked me up. The truth of the matter is these gentlemen were likely college guys who bought matching guitars on an impulse buy...but I can't resist people who can break it down.

A---ha...Hmmm? So I still haven't told the story about the infamous rap artist encounter...well I ran out of time. But I promise I will recount that on the final installment of this blog series...
and you won't have to comment...not unless you really want to...

:)