I did not want to admit defeat; I refused to give up until the last minute. But the truth of the matter is I have no LIVESTRONG™ Day venue. My last back-up turned me down today. I’m very disappointed, but several very wise women have pointed out that LIVESTRONG™ Day is not just one day. And I intend to try and manifest that idea.

Moreover, I encourage you to observe LIVESTRONG™ Day on your own. Wear yellow. Visit someone having cancer treatments to give them comfort and encouragement. Honour the memory of someone who succumbed to this wretched disease. Celebrate the life of someone who has made it through treatment.

AND, last but not least:

PLEASE go get some sweeties at Vicky Fletcher’s Cookies for a Cure Bake Sale.

• WHERE: In Front of The Orem Wal-Mart SuperCenter, 1355 S SANDHILL RD, Orem, Utah.
• WHEN: Tuesday, May 13, 2008 from 11:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.

This one’s for especially for
Grandma Lee and Uncle Ralph.

I’m so grateful that your surgery went well, today, Uncle Ralph. And though I know it’s frightening for her, I’m glad that Grandma finally gets to go home on Friday.

After a lifetime of contusions, bruises, rashes, scratches, cuts, abrasions, sprains, bumps and boo-boo’s, I’ve actually BROKEN SOMETHING. Yup, I have an oblique fracture of the fifth meta-tarsal. If the X-rays would scan, I’d show you (yes, I had copies made – ‘CAUSE HOW COOL). And what’s more, the physician, who was an expert in sports medicine, who just happened to be doing his one night of the week at the InstaCare, called me a “Stud.”

I think perhaps that should be a synonym for “Really Stupid.” In the first place, this injury occurred last Tuesday evening, right before I went in to teach my Tuesday night musical theatre class at the Barlow Arts Conservatory. I will talk about the Conservatory soon at which time I will praise and commend it at length. And I may even mention my upcoming guest appearance in the Annual Super-Duper Barlow Arts Conservatory recital in which I will be playing Miss Hannigan.

Anyhoo, I had donned my ballet slippers, as one wears dance shoes on the expensive dance floor; it’s the respectful thing to do. Besides, it places me in ridiculous Amazonian contrast to the wee tiny ballerinas in their pink slippers and matching ensembles. From the tiled lobby to the dance floor there is a difference of an inch or two between which there is a lovely sloped threshold. It was upon this threshold that, during a moment of “warm-up” – OKAY – horseplay, I fancied that I’d toss a lil’ jeté into my day. At this point I – and beware of this fancy medical vernacular – royally smushed my foot to bits (pronated it to pieces?). It wasn’t one of my weak ankles, as usual (which is why I own more than one ankle brace). It was my left foot itself.

The best part is that I just started that class and walked on my foot for at least half the time. I somehow managed to avoid the most strikingly painful moves. But when I removed my slipper (which ended up acting like a compressive device of sorts) I knew I’d done a doozy. I worked in health care long enough to learn my “R.I.C.E.” – Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation – so I iced, rested and elevated for a couple of days, limped on the thing to tour some potential short course venues, and then rested it some more… And OHHH the cool and migrating bruises.

Today, I taught my Monday musical theatre class in a grandly gimpy fashion. Then the ballet Moms scared me. They regaled me with tales of injuries of dancers who thought their breaks were just sprains, and then weeks later… Long story short (yes, too late as usual), I decided that I’d best get my foot checked out, especially since I am only insured until June 1st. Therefore, after x-rays and examination, I was deemed a stud for walking on a substantial break for almost a week. And were I an actual DANCER who had any excuse to be doing fancy-schmancy moves, I could take great comfort in the fact that this is one of the most common “dance” injuries. But I’m there as the VOCAL expert. So just call me Stupid Super Stud in my “Walking Boot.” Oh – and Clinton and Stacy would NOT approve of this footwear (particularly the fact that I own clunky enough shoes to match the height and chunkiness of the medical boot. Oh well.

*In Junior High it is extremely likely that I cracked my tail-bone (dancing in the garage with a bucket – SHUT UP), but one cannot do anything about that, so I never had it verified. I did sit funny for a few years…

LIVESTRONG™ Day 2008 is fast approaching: Tuesday, May 13, 2008. And I must say, I’m a little discouraged and sad. I’m sad because we have a new cancer diagnosis in the family. Granted, that is why I’m involved in this “cause”; we need not only to find cures and help those who cannot survive cancer to die with dignity, but we need to STOP the many diagnoses that would be so easy to prevent. But still, in the back of my mind I guess I still have a small belief that every family has a “cancer quota” and we are FAR BEYOND IT.

I am discouraged, because I had a plan for a LIVESTRONG™ Day 2008 activity that was all about disseminating information and awareness – Cancer Awareness: “Knowledge is Power” – at a hospital in Salt Lake (as well as giving away Wristbands, etc.). I had a positive impression after speaking with the PR director; she just needed to speak with the hematology/oncology big-wigs. They kept me hanging on for almost a month, but I honestly didn’t think they’d turn me down so I hadn’t checked with my possible contingency locations. WRONG. No go.

I called another venue. Again, the public relations person seemed very positive. However, the next day, after consulting with whoever it was who had to be consulted, she sent me an email saying they’d decided it wasn’t “a good fit.” This institution has “cancer” IN THEIR NAME, so I’m a tad baffled.

I’m certainly not “dissing” these places in terms of the quality of their care. I just don’t understand why they aren’t on board with this opportunity. I’m NOT fundraising, as I assumed that would be a problem with not-for-profit entities; I just want to educate and inform people. Also, I want to give people a chance to memorialize someone they’ve lost to cancer, someone who’s fighting cancer, or someone who has had great success with treatment.

Last year in D.C. was so amazing. Granted, I lost a friend and an uncle while I was there. And much, MUCH less importantly I spent that important day with a dead animal appended to the back of my head.

This year, the Lance Armstrong Foundation is closing its doors on LIVESTRONG™ Day. Everyone who works there will be attending one of the more than 500 LOCAL events taking place around the country. I haven’t COMPLETELY lost hope that I’ll find a venue (if you wouldn’t mind a crazy lady sitting in your lobby ANYWHERE – oh WITH her amazing, beautifulest survivor Niephew, Sarah – handing out awareness information and FREE wristbands, please let me know). No matter what, I want to make you aware of at least ONE Utah opportunity (you can go to the LANCE ARMSTRONG FOUNDATION website to look up activities near you):

PLEASE go get some sweeties at Vicky Fletcher’s Cookies for a Cure Bake Sale (she is the LIVESTRONG™ Local Army Leader Utah Valley – she was already doing ALL the hard work but I had to convince her that she might be able to use the title at some point as she’s she’s very, very humble).

• WHERE: In Front of The Orem Wal-Mart SuperCenter, 1355 S SANDHILL RD, Orem, Utah.

• WHEN: Tuesday, May 13, 2008 from 11:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.

I’ll keep you posted as to my progress in terms to finding a venue (which is NOT to say that you should miss out on buying pastries from Vicky Fletcher!).

Just a quick update on Grandma Lee. She had her colon resection yesterday. Following is a brief description (and YES, I say “rectum” at least twice, possibly three or four times – so you can either ignore the paragraph altogether or just suck it up):

The surgery went pretty well. They removed the tumor, which sounded like it was even longer than any of the scan images I’ve seen. They took out the rectal stent (hallelujah). The surgeon was able to connect her intestines/colon to her rectum, but the tissue is fragile, swollen and whatnot (partially because of the radiation) and at one point they found a little fistula in part of her small intestines (which they fixed). Consequently, he did an illiostomy (looping part of the small intestine to keep some of the waste from going through rectum, giving it time to heal better in order to avoid a failure of the connection and a permanent colostomy).

She’s in intermediate care now – a step below the Intensive Care Unit – (largely due to her age – she’s 81) so that they can take closer care of her. She’s stable. I think her biggest complaint right now would be dry mouth (she’s going through those little spongy mouth moisteners like there was no tomorrow) because she can’t have anything – not even ice chips – until her bowels make some sort of appropriate “noise.” I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, but I hope it’s musical and happens very soon.

Thanks to everyone for their love and support.

Dear Rit® Dye People:

Pink. Pink? I’m no expert, indeed, but when one dyes several white objects comprised of natural fibers (as per instructions) and adds the cup of salt to the dye mix (as per instructions) and inserts the items into the washing machine “wet and unfolded” (as PER INSTRUCTIONS) and one uses TAN DYE (#16) one expects said items to turn some shade of TAN. Okay, I admit that, uhm, someone may have used a surfeit of said dye, but one still expects a result in the tan colour family.

Rather, I discovered THREE DIFFERENT SHADES of PINK when the garments were examined in the washing machine. Bleach did nothing to diminish this phenomenon. Therein were gentle pink, PINK pink, and some shade of…CORAL.

That is all. Just wondered.

Sincerely,
A Curious Consumer

Perhaps more important things later?

Okay, he didn’t directly cause me to turn on the waterworks, but it is, without question, his fault. It was, after all, an item I found through his “Check It” that precipitated my tears.

As usual, I have some ‘splainin’ to do. Periodically, I visit The Art of Blogging Without Blogging to see Western Dave’s photos – sometimes lovely, sometimes whimsical, sometimes bizarre… Then I take a look at his “Check It” list. The title inspires me, despite my status as “Whitest Woman in the World,” to sing (just in my mind – never fear – only a half-crazy impulse) “Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch CHECK IT OUT! Wha-wha-wha-wha What’s it all about?” Inexcusable, I realize.

Last week or so a tidbit about Mister Rogers caught my eye. Thursday, March 20th would have been Mister Rogers’ eightieth birthday. Western Dave linked to the following announcement about wearing one’s favourite sweater that day. Please watch it; it’s Mr. McFeely after all (and just so you know, HE’S NOT REALLY OLD. I’d rather not admit MY age when I learned about that). Here’s some additional information concerning the event:

In honor of what would have been Mister Rogers’ 80th birthday on March 20, Mr. McFeely — aka David Newell, the public relations director for Family Communications, Inc. (the nonprofit company founded in 1971 by Fred Rogers) — has a special request.

“We’re asking everyone (including members of the media) everywhere (from Pittsburgh to Paris) to wear their favorite sweater on that day,” he asks. “It doesn’t have to have a zipper down the front like the one Mister Rogers wore on the program, it just has to be special to you.”

Sweater Day is part of Pittsburgh’s 250th anniversary celebration and the first-ever “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” Days March 15 — 20.

“We wanted to recognize Fred in a way that would reflect his deep appreciation of what it means to be a caring neighbor,” explains FCI’s Margy Whitmer.

As a result, “‘Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” Days was born as a means of promoting neighborliness throughout Fred Rogers’ own backyard — Southwestern Pennsylvania region.

Throughout WYBMND more than 30 organizations have signed up to participate.

For more information about Sweater Day and “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” Days visit www.misterrogers.org.

This project supported in part by Pittsburgh 250 Community Connections and The Sprout Fund.”

After watching Mr. McFeely, I watched Mister Rogers in couple of videos. The footage of him testifying in front of Congress in 1969 is just amazing. With a gentle spirit but perfect candor – and in less than ten minutes – he prevented a grant for the Corporation of Public Broadcasting from being cut in half. Quintessential Fred Rogers. Kind, honest and compassionate to everyone he encountered.

Some people don’t get it. His genuine and unparalleled sincerity was and is so rare; perhaps that’s why some people just can’t buy it. They should watch this:

Sitting alone in the middle of the night, only part-way through a minute and twenty-five seconds of film, I found tears streaming down my face. This is the section that hit me the hardest:

I’m just so proud of all of you who have grown up with us. And I know how tough it is some days to look with hope and confidence on the months and years ahead. But I would like to tell you what I often told you when you were much younger: I like you just the way you are.

I like you just the way you are.
In memory of Mister Fred McFeely Rogers, 1928 – 2003.

Ha ha ha…

Okay, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAREST FATHER!!! (It was technically yesterday, March 7th.) Wow. It’s the big sixty-five, which, of course, in birthday math, is only ONE. And I like how we’ll always be the same birthday age. One is a lovely age. Too bad it’s the loneliest number.

I’m also thrilled that you’ve decided to “officially” retire at sixty-five, rather than your original plan of seventy (INSANITY). I wish your impetus for making that decision could be different.

I still remember how you loved celebrating my birthday. You would take up all the responsibility of planning everything, even down to calling my closest friends at night, just for them to surprise me as the clock stroke twelve. I remember you reading sites like https://www.bloggymoms.com/are-escape-rooms-safe/ to find about if the escape rooms were safe or not for my 16th birthday and evidently taking my friends and me to one.  Your happiness was indeed the best gift you gave me every year on my birthday.

Mind you, I know the Brigham Young University Professor secret – BYU PROFESSORS DON’T REALLY RETIRE. They take the nice “retirement” present, enjoy the party and the roast, get a kick out of the “Emeritus” title, and keep working as long as humanly possible. I swear there are professors rattling around that campus who are at least two hundred and sixty-five years old. I’m not kidding. It’s a little unnerving – vaguely reminiscent of the walking dead (the well-read walking dead?). I’m quite certain that I added “walking dead” to the caveat section of my list, oh so many years back, that helped me choose to go to the University of Utah.

By the way, you don’t fool me with all your “organizing the garage into a better workshop” twaddle. Nope. Cold turkey is NOT your thing, and even tho you don’t like big parties we will have a special reunion with your favorite tablecloth linens for each of your birthdays but this time there will be a special extra table with a few surprises for you and your friends.

My fondest hope, my Birthday wish for you, is that when the time comes, you will take more time to fish, more time to wind-up the grandkids, more time to scream “WooHoo” at football games on TV, more time for the mountains – maybe even some time to get to some wonderful beaches.

I love you!

Well, t’would be if the whole InterWeb read it, right?

Dearest Monkey Cats,

I can’t tell how sorry I am that I let you down. Literally, because of tears and snot and the pills haven’t kicked in yet. And when they do, I won’t have the ability to articulately tell you how contrite, remorseful, penitent and ashamed I am that I let down those who I wanted to support the most, and I will no doubt wander off the topic (WHAT? ME WANDER OFF THE TOPIC? THE EARTH IS OFF ITS AXIS!!!! DOGS AND CATS – aren’t they cute?) – ah – yes, that’s it – I would start talking about how the earth is REALLY an oblate spheroid and WHY DO I KNOW THAT?? Also, purple sea urchins and their scientific name – WHY DO I REMEMBER THAT????? – it’s Strongylocentrotus purpuratus

So I won’t go into the whys and whats and wherefores. You know them anyway as far as they can be understood. Just know this:

• I’m so PROUD you made it to regionals with the trio and two solos (was it more?); that’s so amazing! And that was in SPITE of anything I did!
• I believe if all is fair in the World (well, it isn’t, but I hope for you and for today it is) that you will make it to State competition most certainly despite me.
• Bless you for being so sweet and kind about my ultimate flake-i-tude. You are such wonderful young ladies (and I get to say that ’cause I’m old). I refrained from saying you are “sweet spirits,” though it’s true.
• Which reminds me, thank you for keeping an old lady vaguely in touch with the popular culture of today! It makes me happy. YOU guys make me happy. I can’t keep up with you, but that comes with being old and decrepit.

So there you have it. I love you!

Most Fondly and Repentantly,
CHA Kate (well – CAKE)

P.S. No matter what, I think I should get to take credit for the lack of “Adam and Eve” in any performance you ever do. May I take small comfort from that?

P.P.S. Oh – also, despite the stress and whatnot, Nessa, I’ve no doubt that whoever played the Fauré for you did not massacre the certain passages that I do (though I slaughter it WITH a poised demeanor, a certain flair, and – seemingly against all odds – a straight face. I didn’t go to University for NUTHIN’).

Wow.

Evidently that’s a more frightening picture than I had originally thought. I believe I can HEAR people averting their eyes.

Fair enough.

If you know me, you’ve probably heard me say that I’m The Whitest Woman in The World (with the exception of Faith Partee*). I should add that it’s with the exception (WARNING: Over-sharing ahead) of the times that my OLD HORMONES cause flushy-red-face-weirdness. But never mind that. I am, usually, The Whitest Woman in The World (except, though I’ve not seen her in years, I trust, Faith Partee). Ah – but then – look at THIS:

Yes. That’s me. Un-retouched. Okay – I did darken the white spots in my pupils because I think the image is creepy enough. I know, I know, I have rules (self-imposed) about showing my image on my blog that I’ve only broken maybe twice in over five years. Moreover, for going on half a decade I’ve strongly maintained that I did NOT want to memorialize this era in my life in pictures including me at all. And, as many of you know, I hate pictures of myself PERIOD. That is, in part, because I am not photogenic – no I am NOT; any picture with my eyes open is a small miracle in and of itself.

But I’ve given up. Don’t get me wrong – THIS IS NOT OPEN SEASON FOR PICTURES OF KATE. And I can only write this because my Father will not read this. He has no sense of “personal space” whatsoever when it comes to taking pictures.

So what changed my mind? Well, first, I thought – WHO REALLY CARES. Secondly, I saw a surreptitious shot my Father had taken on Christmas morning and I had, I kid you not, a moment of, “Who is that Lady?” before I realized it was ME. And I do think that despite anything and everything, one SHOULD recognize one’s self in a photograph.

But let me back up a little. AH, the magnanimous spirit of the Holiday season. My Dad had a new camera. And though it was three billion times easier to use than his previous expensive model (which he somehow broke), he still didn’t quite get it. On Christmas Even, I believe, I walked into the office and he BEGGED me to let him take a picture. I believe he bandied about the word “festive” regarding my appearance (sheesh). I rolled my eyes and said, “FINE,” and let him go at it, despite the frizzed/smushed, snowed-on hair and whatnot.

Then I saw the picture and wondered if I should be so laissez-faire about my new photography policy. Remember how I’m The Whitest Woman in The World (with the exception of Faith Partee)? Well, if one is to take this picture seriously, I beat Faith Partee hands down.

It’s a miraculous shot, I must say. It erases my eyebrows to some extent AND my under-eye luggage (I can’t complain about that). Any semblance of colour in my lips – gone… Odd contour shadows about the outside of my face… Oh -but I want everyone to know that despite all my flaws, I do NOT have jowls. Rather, my jawline does not extend forward into a logical, strong conclusion. Instead, I have this pointy little chin THAT I AM NOT AFRAID TO USE. Perhaps it’s to match my pointy tongue… (not FORKED – pointy). But my very favourite thing is that my Father has bestowed open me Owen Wilson’s nose. HOW? I couldn’t tell you. In real life, if you must know, my nose resembles a little potato. Yes, my Father is always funniest when he does not intend it.

So there it is. What the hell.

*Faith, if you should, by some miracle, happen to read this, I mean no offense when I say that you are The Whitest Woman in The World. In fact, I would vote you the head of the Flawless Victorian Complexion Society and would be deliriously happy to be a member (with breaks for when I’m oddly flushy).