jennethink

NATURAL CONSEQUENCES

Gravy
My head is full of gravy
Of cement
There’s a mariachi band in my sinuses
I don’t like mariachi bands

When I don’t feel well, I can get testy.  Shocking, I know.

The Kid is cleaning her room.  She’s been at it for 2 days.  I’m not exaggerating.  Of course, 7/8 of that time has been spent acting out High School Musical and Hairspray.  Who wouldn’t?  who wants to clean the room when you can host a dance-off in the attic.   I finally took the CD player away.  We’ve made much more progress since.

I’m not big on issuing ultimatums.  I could give you a number of names of people who could vouch for this.  It never really works – not as a girlfriend or a friend or a wife or co-worker … and definitely not as a parent.  I mean, you may win the battle but the war rages on.  And after all, this isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon.  I wonder how many more clichés I can work in here.

Instead, I like to practice natural consequences.  I sort of let situations play out and then uphold the natural extension of the decisions that were made.  I feel strongly about it since I encounter a shocking number of adults who seem to not understand this basic life principal.  So if, for example, a certain 8 year old decides to play instead of cleaning her room, that’s fine.  However, when it comes time to do something fun – like go shopping or to the zoo – if the room isn’t clean, well …

It’s hard though.  I’d so much rather be out playing today.  It’s a decent day.  I’d rather be riding bikes or playing on the jungle gym or going on a nature walk.  There is a HUGE part of me that is like THIS close to yelling up the stairs, “okay! That’s fine!  Let’s get out of here!”  There’s a part of me that just wants to let the whole clean your room thing slide… just this once.  Even though I know better.  Even though it’s been proven to me time and again that she does better with structure and follow through.  I just want to play. 

But I guess being a good step-mom is the natural consequence of my decision a few years ago to marry The Kid’s dad.

Funny how that works.

EVERYONE DESERVES A LIFETIME

The Twin Cities Breast Cancer 3-Day was this past weekend.  More than 2500 men and women walked 60 miles over the course of 3 days.  They trained for months.  They each raised at least $2,200 that will go to breast cancer research, education and community outreach programs.  More than 400 men and women volunteered to be a part of the crew that helped these walkers do what they needed to do.  You can imagine, with an event like this (and the 11 others held around the country this fall) how many cool things happen.  How impressive it can be to see 2500 men and women camp out over the weekend.  How amazing it is to see a magic city (a.k.a “Camp”) go up in just a few hours – complete with hot showers, hot meals and wireless web access.  If you’re my brother-in-law (or really any boy) you’d get such a charge out of seeing the haulers that take the equipment, stage and sound system from city to city.  You’d be amazed by the medical team set up.  You’d be shocked by the organization and the attention to detail and the methods used to keep people who are walking in 90 degree heat hydrated for 20 miles a day.  This weekend, in the Twin Cities, all of these things were overshadowed in my mind.  Not one of those things sticks out in my head.  What does stick out is a couch.

A burgundy, oversized couch.

Jody fought breast cancer for 4 years.  For a while, things looked good.  then, as so often happens, things looked not so good.  Last June, Jody lost her fight.

A couple of months later, Jody’s husband asked some relatives for some help in moving the couch from their house.  I can only imagine Jody spent a lot of time on that couch.  I can only think that when her husband, Dave, walked by that couch every day a heavy yank pulled on his heart. I can only guess it was a part of the healing to remove Jody’s couch.

On the way to take the couch to Jody’s niece – who was in college – family and friends stopped to cheer on the walkers in the 2006 Twin Cities Breast Cancer 3-Day.  Some of Jody’s family members had already planned on walking – and they decided it was more important than ever in those days just after she passed to do something. I’m not sure how it happened – it was explained to me by family members but I just may get some details wrong – but at some point in cheering on those walkers, they decided to pull the couch from the van.  A place for walkers to rest.  “Come sit!” they would call. And walkers would.  Walkers would laugh and crash on the couch.  They’d take a load off.  They’d giggle at a couch in the middle of nowhere.  They’d sigh.  They’d exhale.  They’d rest.  They would rest on Jody’s couch.

It was so much fun that the couch haulers decided to pack it up and drive a few miles up the route.  They found another “suitable” spot and yanked the couch out again.  Walkers would come around a corner and yell, “THE COUCH!”  and laugh.  And Jody’s family laughed too.  And I’m sure, somewhere, Jody was laughing.

So this year, 2007, the couch was back.  And not just the couch.  This year as walkers sat on Jody’s couch, they had their picture taken.  And then Jody’s family handed them a button.  A button with a picture of Jody smiling and the words, “I sat on Jody’s couch!”

The couch was there Friday.
I saw it many times Saturday.
I was told it was there Sunday.

Everybody loved the couch.  It seemed EVERYONE wore a button with Jody’s face on it.  Jody smiled so beautifully in that picture.  Walkers smiled when they came around a corner and saw the plush couch.  Crew members smiled in camp when they heard the story.  The couch made people happy.

But not me.  The couch broke my heart.  And I can’t even type this without nearly weeping.  And I get angry.  I get angry because Jody should be sitting on Jody’s couch.

Jody’s story is one of hundreds that I hear – I hear them every weekend.  Every story is heart-wrenching and gut turning and every time I am touched.  And no story is more powerful than the next.  No story of a battle lost is more devastating than the one before it and no story of a survivor is more exciting than the one that comes after.  They are all amazing.  But for some reason, Jody’s story took me over the edge.

And I got mad.

And here is where I will get preachy for a while and you must bear with me and listen to what I say here because it could save your life.

Every 3 minutes a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer
Every 13 minutes someone dies from breast cancer
2000 men are diagnosed each year with breast cancer
Millions of men and women are no longer here because of this disease.

Mothers.
Wives.
Sons.
Sisters.
Friends.

There is a 1 in 237 chance you will get in a fatal car accident in your life – which is why you wear your seatbelt… just in case.
66% of the current boomer generation will live to be 90 or older.  And yet, most of you carry life insurance – just in case.
Most of us have smoke detectors in our homes, wear sunscreen during the summer, change the oil in our cars … because we know what can happen if we don’t.

If you are a woman there is a one in 8 chance you will get breast cancer.  One in Eight.  “Just in case” doesn’t even seem sensible to say.  You must take charge of your life, of your breasts.  Feel your tits.  Know them.  Grab them.  Rub them.  Do your self-exam.  And if you are a man, and you have a wife, ask her if she’s doing her checks.  And if she’s not – then YOU do them.  YOU feel her chest. YOU rub them. And feel your own too.

The closest we have to a cure is early detection.  The earlier you find a problem, the better off you are.  My own cancer was discovered at stage 2 (of 4).  That’s one of the reasons I’m here today. 

Around the country this summer and fall thousands of men and women will sacrifice a weekend to walk 60 miles in the hopes they will raise enough awareness and enough money to make a difference.  They will suffer blisters and dehydration and sprained ankles.  They will train and spend time away from their families and take time off of work  and they will walk and cry and suffer and cheer and sweat and walk some more.  They aren’t super-athletes.  They aren’t super-heroes.  They just want women like Jody – and like you - to keep their couches. That’s what they are doing.  The least you can do is feel your front.

Then pat yourself on the back.

Jody deserved a lifetime. 
We all do.

The couch story

WE HAVE NOT WINGS WE CANNOT SOAR; BUT, WE HAVE FEET TO SCALE AND CLIMB, BY SLOW DEGREES, BY MORE AND MORE, THE CLOUDY SUMMITS OF OUR TIME - LONGFELLOW

There are 463 steps to the top of the Duomo in Florence.  These steps are made of stone.  They go round and round – you know, spiral steps.  The big rock walls are dark and dirty from years of people climbing and holding on.  And also from probably throwing up along the way. When you first start up the steps you think it won’t be that far.  Just a short 400 or so steps.  Then along about step 20 when the burning in your thighs sets your pants on fire you rethink the whole situation. 

And then you keep climbing.

Mostly because there is a line of about a gazillion people behind you and if you stop and try to go down .. well, let’s just say you can learn a lot of Italian in a short amount of time.  And not the kind they teach in school.  At least not any school I went to.

I studied the Duomo in college art appreciation class.  Back then the thought of actually going to Florence and climbing those steps to the top was as unformed and foggy in my head as the thought of actually reading ahead in my text books prior to the lectures.  I knew it was possible – knew that people did it – thought that one day, I might do it to but then again wasn’t I just in the middle of something else more important right now?  Like ordering a pizza?

But when we got to Florence and I laid eyes on the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore it was a done deal.  I was climbing to the top.

There’s not much room on those 468 steps but at one point I was moving fast enough to pass an 80-something year old man.  I worried a bit about him.  I sure hoped he’d make it to the top.  I paused briefly, smiled and said, Everything okay? as I went by.  He said it was and I continued up and up, feeling quite good about myself for passing someone, even if he was an octogenarian.

Not too long after that, I felt a presence behind me.  The octogenarian passed me.  Turns out he was just tying his shoe.

About halfway up – about the 200 and some-th step you are treated to a spectacular view of the inside of the dome.  A small balcony circles the inside of the cupola and from here you get a up close view of interior paintings.  I once knew so much about this.  Knew the painter(s) and the subject.  Knew when and how long.  I knew themes and backstory and such. 

Unfortunately all that left my head – probably and 10 minutes after I was tested on it so I was left with just tiny bits of knowledge.  A swiss cheese of information.  It didn’t matter though as the art is breathtaking. Well, it would have been breathtaking if I’d actually had any breath left.  When you walk from the stairs out onto the balcony there is a cruel sign that reads “SILENCE PLEASE”.  Seriously?  Silence?  I am nearly having a coronary.  I may be able to keep my wheezing to a low groan but silence just isn’t going to happen.

After my heartbeat returned to the triple digits, we continued up. And up.  And then up some more.  The stairs got narrower and steeper and truly I only kept climbing because I had no other option.  It was dark and dank and tight and as I’m getting squeezed tighter and tighter I’m just hoping at some point I’ll shoot out the top and feel a sense of release.  Sort of the way a pimple feels I guess.

Every now and then I would gather enough breath to ask Carrie behind me if she thought the view was going to be worth it.  She never answered me.  This could be because I wasn’t actually speaking out loud or it could be because she’d passed out somewhere along the way.  Regardless, I didn’t stop to find out.  If I was hallucinating and not actually speaking out loud I wanted to at least get to a point where I could be airlifted off the top to the nearest infirmary and if she was passed out well, there wasn’t a lot I could do for her anyway.  Let the passed out care for the passed out … I’m on a mission.

When we reached the top it took a moment for it all to sink in.  I stood for a while with my back against the dome and just relaxed, let my legs stop shaking and tried to regulate my breathing.  I took my moment.  I took it all in. It was somewhat crowded up there – believe it or not – and I overheard many many people say in many many languages “ooooh” and “aaaaahhh”.   And I saw them snap picture after picture.   And I heard over and over again “worth it!  it was so worth it!”  and “this view!” and “I’m so glad we did this!” and such.  And I guess I agree, the view was amazing.  Yes.  It was.  It was amazing. 

But …

it wasn’t THAT amazing.  I mean, it was nice.  But it wasn’t like the most amazing view ever.  And in saying that, I sort of feel like the one mom who says having a kid isn’t worth the pain of childbirth.  In that moment I kind of felt like everyone was just saying it was worth it because otherwise they felt pretty D-U-M-Bizzle for building up a suitcase full of lactic acid in their legs.  And I wasn’t going to argue with them but in my book, the view wasn’t really worth the climb. 

I’ve always found it intriguing that when asked, George Mallory commented that he climbed Mount Everest because it was there.  He didn’t say, I climbed it for the view.  I personally have never been to the top of Mount Everest, maybe the view isn’t all that spectacular.  But I’d think it probably is.  Regardless, that’s not why he climbed it.  Mallory aside, it does seem like most of us do things … achieve things … set out to accomplish for the reward, for the “thing at the end”  for the view.  I even worked for a company once that had a motto:  The view is worth the climb.  And that’s not a bad motto, not a bad philosophy.  I just don’t agree.  I don’t think that’s the reason to climb.

It’s not the view that keeps me climbing.  It’s just the climb itself.

Maybe this is just an “it’s the journey, not the destination” post.  Maybe I’m dangerously close to “stop and smell the roses”, I don’t know.  I just know that in my life, I’m not really climbing for the view.  The view is incidental.

I guess what I’m saying is, The climb was worth the climb.

And I’d do it again.

YOU KNOW YOU HAVEN'T POSTED FOR A WHILE WHEN ...

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Jeff Risley suggests you post more often

I MAY NOT HAVE MY LUGGAGE BUT I DO HAVE SOME BAGGAGE

August 6, 2007

3:15 a.m.  – wake up call in Boston
3:20  – alarm goes off in Boston
3:25 – Jenné finally gets up and ready
4:00 – leave hotel
4:27 - hit construction in Boston
4:32 – follow detours and fear for life
4:37 – get back on correct road
4:43 – arrive at car rental return
4:47 – I don’t want to talk about it
5:00 – check in and check bag to Kansas City
5:45 – leave Boston
7:10 – arrive in Washington, change planes
8:45 – flight delayed from Washington – no flight attendant
10:45 – arrive in KC
11:35 – file missing luggage report with US Airways office – told it would be on the next flight at 1:30
2:00 p.m. – call missing baggage number I was given to check on my bag and reached the platte county sherrif’s department
2:02 – get US Airways central office on the phone
2:23 – 10 deep cleansing breaths
3:30 – leave a message with baggage claim.  Remind them I am flying out on Tuesday and will come get the bag if I need to
4:00 – call again am told bag is “lost”
4:07 – talk to central office again since my last call was cut off during holding.  Am told there is nothing that can be done.
6:30 -- meet friend for dinner.  Drink 2 martinis
9:00 – call baggage claim office – mailbox is full and not taking any more messages
9:03 – call central.  Am told bag is lost.  Begin to lose my shizzle.  Explain clearly to “Dan” that although not upset with him, telling me that my bag is lost and that you have no other information is not accepatable.  Demand that he connect me with someone who knows something about my bag. Clarify for “Dan” that I have been extremely patient but now must have an answer.
9:04 --“Dan” puts me on hold.
9:16 – “Dan” comes back and tells me I’ll be called in an hour and if not, to call back.
10:45 – I call back.  Eugene tells me my bag cannot be found (read: is lost) and there is nothing he can do.  I begin my Dan speech explaining that I understand Eugene is ill-equipped by his company and that it is beyond his control however he must figure something out because I am leaving again in less than 24 hours and I must have that bag.  Eugene pees himself.  I ask Eugene what he would do if he were in my place.  Eugene states “I would get very upset.  And then file a complaint.”  Eugene is very honest – you gotta give him that. 
11:20 – after trying the baggage office two more times, I give up and go to bed.  Finally – having been awake for 20 hours.
12:53 a.m. – phone rings – I come out of my coma and try to answer it and drop it on the dog
12:55 – I call back.   It is baggage service.  “I’m calling because there is a note here that you want to come pick up your bag.”  Me: “Yes, do you actually HAVE my bag?”  Them:  “um, well, actually I don’t know, let me look for it……………………………………………………………………………………..Yes! Ms. Fromm we have your bag here.”  Me: “You actually have it?  You have my bag right there???”  Them: “Uh yes. Do you want to come get it? or give it to my delivery guy here”  Me: “What time will the delivery come?”  Them: (discuss discuss discuss) “He says you’ll have it no later than 5 a.m.”  Me (nearly in tears): “Perfect.  That’s perfect.  Thank you so much.”
1:07 a.m. – drift off into a pleasant sleep
5:15 a.m.  – wake up and think about checking for bag.  Decide to stay in bed.
7:35 – get up and check porch.  No bag.
7:36  – search for Ativan
7:37 – call baggage claim office – no answer leave message.
8:33 – call again.  Get someone.  Explain.  He looks and says:  Well, I’m confused because my baggage delivery guy says he never got the bag.  Me:  Are you telling me you don’t have my bag and you don’t know where it is?  Him:  yes ma’am.  That’s what I’m saying.

8:35 – Leave house to buy new cosmetics.  I give.

WHEN BLISTERS TURN TO BLISS ...

Thank You, Boston!

It’s been too long since I updated.  There is much to tell you. I hope I can get it all out because most of it is in a ball in my head.

A very pink ball.

Through an awesome turn of events and an amazing process I have recently been named the National Spokesperson for the Breast Cancer 3-Day.  I am blessed.  I am humbled.  I am very excited.

The Breast Cancer 3-Day is a 60 mile walk over the course of three days.  Let me go ahead and say that again.  Participants walk SIXTY MILES in just three days.  It is held in 12 cities this year and every one of them is sure to be over-the-top amazing.  If you’ve participated as a walker or a crew member then you know what I mean – you make friends, you share stories, you hold hands and hearts and all along the way you raise awareness and funds for the breast cancer movement.  And of course, you walk.

You walk
And walk
And walk.

This weekend we kicked off the season in Boston.  More than 1900 walkers started early Friday morning in the Framingham area.  After an opening ceremonies that left me with a lump in my throat the size of a walking shoe we set off through about 7 communities IN 100 DEGREE HEAT and finished at our little home away from home in Canton.  Saturday was more walking, a little less heat and some of the coolest cheering stations around – full of people with candy, power bars, stickers and spray bottles.  Man I loved those spray bottles.  Sunday those walking heroes were treated to beautiful weather, a throng of people cheering them on and a closing ceremonies that honored them, their accomplishments and made me want to box them all up and take them home with me – all 1900 walkers and 350 crew members.

Bob – you made me cry
Yvonne – you strengthened my resolve
Karen – you reminded me that an individual can make a difference
Emily – you made me proud to be a woman
Scott, and the rest of Men With Heart – you redefined what it is to be a man
Lynn and Karen and all of the Wild Women – I can’t wait to see you in Tampa Bay!
Stephanie, Becky, Susan, Sharon, Roger, Barry, Pat …I could go on and on. 

You just cannot believe the weekend. Imagine the world the way you want it – where people are kind to each other, where 1900 people stick around in a tent for karaoke, where you can be yourself, laugh as much as you want, cry if you need to and have your blisters professionally lanced.   Imagine that and you’ve grasped about a tenth of how cool it is.

And I’m the spokesperson.  I mean come on, could I be more blessed? 

My own connection to breast cancer started when I was 15 and my grandmother was diagnosed.  I can remember so clearly going shopping with her for a bra a few months after her single mastectomy.  I was shocked to see the ragged, raised, red path across half her chest and I watched her grimace as she reached behind her to try to latch the ill-fitting bra.  She’d never said a word about her diagnosis or surgery to me but behind closed doors, in that dank JC Penney’s dressing room, she quietly and dejectedly said, “Honey, don’t ever let them take your breasts.”  I don’t know if I can accurately describe that moment.  All I know is that in that moment my grandmother became real to me … I realized she was not just a person but a women.  And it was hard. 

And later, my friend Linda was diagnosed with, treated for and eventually died from breast cancer. 

Sam, of Sam and Julie fame, lost his first wife, Rhonda to breast cancer.  Which means Katherine – my favorite 18 year old – lost her mom when she was nine.

She was nine.

And last year when I was bald and fragile Jen came up to me at church and said “are you going through chemo? Because I’m just starting.”  And that started a friendship – one that continued to grow deeper when Deb – another woman from church was diagnosed with breast cancer too.

And the most shocking thing is, I am not unique.  Almost every person I talk to has a connection to breast cancer and most of us have multiple connections.

So to be able to do something, anything, is more than an honor and privilege, it is a necessity.

I’ll post pictures as I get them.  For now, you can follow these links and get an idea of what these hero in tennies are doing. 

They deserve your attention.

Next up – Chicago August 9 to 11.  And after that is Cleveland.  Cleveland Rocks.

More later …