Positively Positive

One of the major unpleasantries of finding out you have cancer (besides the obvious!)  is the task of informing all of your friends and family.  In my case, since my lymphoma is low grade and slow moving, I usually began with something like, "First off, I feel completely fine, and I'm not going to die.  Secondly, I have cancer."  What usually followed was an open mouthed, wide-eyed gasp, then a plethora of questions.  I'd work very hard to put my loved ones at ease, and answer all inquiries as honestly and openly as I could.  


Usually, after all of the fears regarding my condition and the tests I was undergoing were laid to rest, a different form of questioning would begin.  "How did you first notice something was wrong?"  "Why did you decide to go to the doctor?"  I'd answer, knowing the reason for this particular interrogation was for their own benefit.  They were saying to themselves, "Have I ever noticed lumps in MY neck?"  or "Should I be going to my doctor for a thorough check-up?"  


I understood completely.  Cancer is scary.  Before my diagnosis, whenever I would hear of a celebrity or friend of a friend who had been stricken with the disease, I'd immediately look for a reason.  "Well, he was a pretty heavy smoker," or "Her diet was really terrible, she didn't take very good care of herself."  I'd justify their illness, placing my OWN healthy lifestyle on a different level, assured that this would never happen to ME, because I took CARE of myself.  Now I realize how ridiculous I was being, but there it is!

So imagine my reaction when I revealed my "cancer news" to one of my coworkers as we sat in our dressing room and prepared for the first show of the day.  She reacted much the same as the others, and began with the questions.  Then, she said something no one before ever had:  "Well, you know, if you had had a more positive attitude, you could've nipped this thing in the bud, right from the start."


Two things immediately popped into my head (after my initial anger began to subside):  
1.  I am one of the most positive people I know, and 
2.  Did she just have the audacity to accuse me of causing my own illness because I didn't SMILE enough to her liking?  


It's been over three years since that conversation in the dressing room, and I must admit, it still gets to me a little bit!  But it's made me think quite a bit about positive attitudes, and how many of us believe it affects our health.  I'm going to give you my own opinion today.  It won't be popular, I assure you, but I hope you'll stick with me and hear me out!  Here goes...


Positive thinking has nothing to do with preventing or curing illness. 


Wow!  Did that ever feel good to get off my chest!  Now, let me explain why I came to this conclusion:

First off, let me say that I'm a HUGE fan of a positive attitude.  I DESPISE  sullen sad sacs who seem to find great joy in telling you of all the things wrong in their life, preferring to sort of baste in their own misery rather than do something about it.  I try very, very hard, on a daily basis to look on the bright side, to count my blessings and focus on the GOOD in people.  


I also think my positive attitude has served me well as I accept that cancer will be with me for the rest of my life.  I don't sit around moping, dwelling on the fact that I have these tumors in my body.  I focus on the fact that they are lazy and low grade, and that I am currently extremely healthy and hardy.  When I go to my doctor's appointments, CT scans, and other various testing facilities, I remain upbeat.  I joke with the nurses, simply turn my head and ignore the pain that emerges when the needle goes into my arm, and thank the staff for taking care of me as I leave.  I KNOW this has helped my overall outlook about this disease I've acquired.  But will all of this CURE me?  Absolutely not, in my opinion.


May I provide a few examples to back up my claim?

Patrick Swayze:  I was an enormous fan of Mr. Swayze during the Dirty Dancing/Ghost years.  Being somewhat of a dancer, I always admired his talent and the way he made dancing cool (even for guys!).  I think what I admired about him more, however, was his dedication to his sweet wife, Lisa.  They had been high school sweethearts, married ridiculously young, and despite his eventual rise to fame and the knowledge that he could have any young new starlett of his choosing, he still talked about how much he adored his wife.  


When Patrick was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few years back, things looked very bleak, indeed.  To everyone, that is, except him.  He took on a new TV series, appeared on cancer fundraising telethons, and told Barbara Walters, in an exclusive interview, that he was going to FIGHT this cancer, and he was going to WIN!  Now THAT'S positive, ladies and gentlemen!  But Patrick didn't win.  He gave it all he had, smiled till the end, and finally passed away this year, his sweet wife at his side.

Elizabeth Edwards:  Do we really need to go into what a strong, positive lady SHE is?  My goodness, this woman went through and survived her teenage son dying in a car accident, a cheating husband who fathered an illegitimate child, and  learning on the day of her husband's losing the election for vice president that she had breast cancer.  Where the rest of us would have been reduced to a pile of soggy, limp tears with just HALF of those tragedies, Elizabeth persevered.  She campaigned for health care, wrote two books about her life, hoping to encourage others, opened a furniture business, and raised three children in the process.  


It appeared she was beating her cancer until recently when she learned it had spread to her liver, and there was nothing more to do.  She had hoped to live eight more years, so she could see her youngest child graduate from high school.  She lasted only a few more days.  

Randy Pausch:  I just love this man!  If you looked under "Positive Attitude" in the dictionary, surely Randy's picture would be the first to appear.  He was a college professor at Carnegie Mellon University and author of the awesome best seller, "The Last Lecture."  Although he taught computer science, he was mainly known for his inspirational lectures.  He was all about taking chances, going after the thing you really wanted but most feared, and grasping life with both hands.  His energy and attitude were infectious.


Then Randy was stricken with pancreatic cancer.  Although he was determined to fight the disease with everything he had, he knew that his time could be limited, and made every effort to live each remaining day to the fullest.  His lectures reflected that.  He died in 2008 of complications from his cancer.  


You would be insulting all three of these amazing human beings if you even suggested that their attitudes had anything to do with their diseases.  They were awesome, thriving, positive people, and they passed away anyway.  It was, I believe, their time.  Nothing more.

I know what you're thinking right now.  "Geez, Joan, what a DOWNER!  Don't you think you're being incredibly pessimistic by saying all of this?  Saying that there's no hope, even if you have a good attitude?"


I wouldn't blame you if you thought that way, but I'm here to tell you I believe it's just the opposite.  Because when I finally realized that my attitude had nothing to do with my cure, I began to RELAX.  When I was laying on the table and the nurse was drilling into my hip bone to extract a bone fragment to test, and I thought to myself, "MAN, this really SUCKS," I knew I wasn't dooming myself to certain death.  


I was so relieved to finally have permission to be afraid, to sometimes hate the process, and not worry about it affecting my health.  


Will I continue to smile and crack jokes with the hospital staff, and sing "Tell Me Something Good" to my oncologist as he enters with the results of my most recent CT scan?  Absolutely.  But if I'm having a bad day and the ugly lumps on my neck are visible and terribly frightening,  I will allow myself to cry.  And I won't worry that I'm committing suicide by doing it.  


I've probably made a few of you angry today.  I want you to know that I understand, and I completely respect your opinion if you disagree.  But maybe there's someone out there that is going through what I did, with an illness of their own.  Someone who keeps smiling through the pain and fear, and still continues to get bad news, so they're beating themselves up that they're somehow not being positive ENOUGH.  I want you to know I release you.  You're doing everything right, and you'll get through this, just relax.  


And if someone ever has the nerve to accuse you of causing your illness because of your attitude, do what I do.  Smile, flip your hair, walk away, and tell them, "Have a nice day."


Thanks for Reading!

Mane Issue

One hundred years ago, when I was in my twenties, I used to look at old women (you know, those in their 40's and 50's) and feel pity for them, for just one reason.  So many of them seemed to have followed along with the hair trends of the times for awhile, keeping up with the popular hairstyles.  Then, they hit an era and just stopped trying.   They just appeared to quit, from my young perspective.

They kept up with the beehives of the sixties and the hippie, straight, middle-parts of the seventies.  But when the big, full, teased-bang look of the the eighties hit, they gave up.  Back they went to their set-and-bonnet-dryer look, comfortable once again, uncaring that they were committing the most egregious of fashion faux pas. I'd gaze upon these poor, clueless women, shaking my big haired, Madonna-bowed head in quiet disdain.

But I've been thinking a lot about those comfortable "old" ladies recently.  They'd really get a kick out of me now, I'm sure.  Because I'm there.  I realized this a few days ago.  Here's what happened:

Unlike my older counterparts, I've done pretty well with keeping up, if I do say so myself.  My hair is thick and naturally curly, and although the Dorothy Hamill short bob of the early seventies was a complete disaster, the Farrah Fawcett "feathered" look was quite achievable. I bought a set of hot rollers that became my new best friends.  I got ridiculously fast at rolling my hair every morning, and it was definitely worth the effort, in my sixteen year old mind.  I thought I looked AWESOME!

Then came the glorious 80's.  I was in college when the "Big Hair" fashion hit.  People, my hair was BORN for this style!  Getting ready in the morning took about seven seconds.  I'd simply turn my head upside down, crank the blow dryer to "high," and blast my hair until it was one big, majestic "poof."  Then, I'd flip it back, throw on a headband (large Madonna bow attached), sweep my bangs off to the side, and, TA-DA... DONE!  I REALLY loved the 80's!

So, there I was, having a grand old time in the era of big hair, when THIS happened:

Jennifer FREAKING Aniston!!  Curse her and her thin, straight, straight hair!!  I tried, folks, I really tried!  I bought a flat iron, applied straightening shampoo and conditioner, and read article after article on "How to obtain Jen's sexy, sleek look!"  Usually, it was a disaster! Occasionally, I'd find the right combination of product and styling tool, and achieve the flat look.  But soon the humidity would take over, and my curls would begin to form, refusing to be silenced!!

It was a hard time for me, let me tell you!  Even my former spiralled comrades were jumping ship and sporting the new flat style.  Gloria Estefan and Nicole Kidman, once big, curly-haired goddesses, now looked like THIS:

And THIS:

Et tu, ladies?  It became abundantly clear, I was standing on a sinking ship!  So I smoothed my hair as best I could, and managed to make it through that dark time, or as I refer to it: "The Sleek Years."

Then, one GLORIOUS day, the curls began to emerge again!  Celebrities were showing up at awards ceremonies with cascading, twirly locks.  I was elated!   Recently, I'd go to my hairdresser and simply say, "I'd like a good, layered cut to accentuate my curls," and watch as they snipped and shaped my mane.  The result was always a little disappointing, though, I must say. They'd style my hair kinda messy, and the curls would always be dangling over my face and eyes.  "Weird that I can't get a good cut these days," I said to myself.

So, I arrived a few days ago at my color/cut appointment determined to leave looking like a curly goddess.  I spent SEVERAL minutes describing EXACTLY what I wanted to my stylist, and she smiled and said we could DEFINITELY achieve the look I was requesting.  She left to mix my color, and I sat back, content that my message had FINALLY been received!

She colored, cut, then began the styling process.  She attached a diffuser to her blow dryer, then, turned me around away from the mirror.  She tugged and pinched at my locks, happily humming away.  Soon, the other stylists were walking by, exclaiming things like, "Wow, that looks GREAT!" and "You have beautiful hair!" and "That's EXACTLY how I'd want my hair to look if it was curly!"

WOW!!  I began making plans to call Alan, he was going to need to take me out on the town to show off my amazing new style!  I couldn't WAIT for her to turn me around to view this piece of artwork for myself.  Then, she did.  And, there, staring back in the mirror at me, was THIS:

Yep.

So, dear old ladies of my twenties, I owe you an enormous apology.  Because I am now YOU.  I left that hair salon, went home, washed my hair, applied mousse and styling gel, threw my head upside down, blew it dry, inserted the largest Madonna-bowed head band I could find, cranked-up some Wham! on my stereo, and danced around my living room in wild abandon.  Because as far as me and my hair are concerned, it's 1984, Baby!!

Thanks for Reading!!

Plenty To Be Thankful For

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends!!  I've been saving this clip especially for this day, I'm so excited to share it with you!

This one's from the movie, Holiday Inn, starring Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire.  The film features the amazing music of Irving Berlin.  In fact, it was this movie that premiered Berlin's classic, "White Christmas."  Can you imagine sitting in a movie theater and hearing that song sung by Bing for the FIRST time?  Heavenly!

But I've chosen another song from the movie for today, the one that appears in the Thanksgiving segment.  It's called "Plenty to be Thankful For," and I just love it, particularly when it's sung the incomparable Bing.

The artist who compiled this video uses several clips from the movie, along with photos of Bing's brother, Bob Crosby and his big band.  Apparently, Bob's orchestra performed the accompaniment for this number, so he's given his due praise as well!

Anyway, I think the pictures are terrific, including those of Bing's pretty love interest in the movie, Marjorie Reynolds.  Is it just me, or does she remind you a little of Katherine Heigl in these photos?  See what you think!

I'll warn you before you listen, though, this tune is CATCHY!  I DARE you not to be humming it while you enjoy your turkey and mashed potatoes today!!  Enjoy!

Special Delivery!

I'm not someone who could ever be accused of having OCD.  Dirt doesn't bother me in the least, dust collects on my furniture for weeks before I finally break down, pull out the Pledge, and get to work.

I must confess, though, that there is one area in which I can become tremendously obsessed:    Christmas cards!

Each year, I take excruciating care choosing the perfect cards, stationery on which we'll print our yearly letter (yeah, I'm one of THOSE people who writes an "update" letter!), and return address labels.  I even make sure the stamps are festive!  Most years, I've even subjected poor Alan and Trixie to donning our Christmas finery, setting the timer on our camera, and  taking a photo, which I also include in the envelope!

After I've acquired all the supplies, I hit "shuffle" on the Ipod Christmas playlist, then sit down to write a personal note in each card.  It's usually just a few lines, telling my friends and family how much I miss them, and wishing them a happy holiday season.  It takes a while, I have a long list of names.  But I honestly enjoy it, because it makes me think of each one of my cherished loved ones as I hand write their names and the names of their children on the inside of each one.

Here's where the OCD comes in:  I make sure I have ALL of this done and in the mail the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Why?  Because that means my Christmas card will arrive in the mailboxes of my friends and family on the day after Thanksgiving, the FIRST official day of the Christmas season! Seriously, I NEVER miss!  And my loved ones know it, too!  One year, we decided to save money and skip the card sending.  Just about EVERY card I received that season said something like,  "We didn't get your card the day after Thanksgiving!  Are you guys OK?" Like I said, it's a sickness!

I guess I put so much effort into my cards each year because I enjoy RECEIVING them so much.  I LOVE the beautiful wintery scenes on the front, and the enclosed pictures of growing children in pretty velvet dresses and small bow ties!  I LOVE the enclosed letters, telling me what everyone's accomplished over the year, and the plans for the year ahead.

Which leads me to a small pet peeve I've had for a while.  Would you mind if I rant for a moment?  Have you ever gotten that card in the mail that has the family's names already printed on them?  They look beautiful, no doubt. But I've received so many that have no handwriting in them at all, not even our names listed at the top.  This means the card went directly from the box to the envelope.  The envelope, by the way, has a computer printed stick-on label with my address on the front.  This means the sender of this card thought of me for exactly two seconds, when they peeled the label off the sheet and placed it on the envelope.

I know most people are MUCH busier than me during the Christmas season.  I don't have children's school holiday programs to attend, or dozens of family members coming to my home for Christmas dinner.  I really do understand that sometimes, pre-printed cards and peel-and-stick labels are all some can manage.  But I genuinely believe that it's a waste of a stamp.

Christmas cards, in my opinion, are supposed to say, "Hey!  I was thinking of you!  Maybe I don't get to communicate with you all year, but I wanted you to know that I love you, I cherish your friendship, and I want you and your family to have a merry, merry Christmas!"  When you stick an address label on an envelope and enclose an impersonal, pre-printed card, you're saying, "Hey, at least I put forth an effort."

What do YOU think?  Am I being ridiculously old fashioned?  Do YOU still send holiday cards each year? How do YOU do it?  I'd love to hear your opinion!  Well, I've got to run.  Those envelopes don't address themselves, you know...

Thanks for Reading!!

Working Proud

Right or wrong, my Dad often judged a man by his work ethic.  If you worked like a dog, weren't afraid of getting your hands dirty, and never watched the clock, Dad had a very high opinion of you, indeed.

In fact, when I reunited with my high school sweetheart, Alan, ten years after we graduated, Dad was not pleased.  He was remembering the smart-alecky, black concert t-shirt wearing, long hair sporting seventeen year old that I had dated a decade before.  I wasn't concerned, however, because I knew JUST what to do to change Dad's mind about Alan.

I wrote Dad a letter and told him I understood his concern, but that he needed to know about all the things that Alan had accomplished since we last saw him.  Then I wrote about Alan's four years in the Marine Corps, followed by the four years that he worked a full time job as a waiter so he could pay his way and attend college, full time, at the same time.  I mentioned that he worked so hard, he didn't have to take out any student loans.   He made the money that was needed each semester in pure sweat by busting his hump.  Guess what?  Dad was convinced.  He welcomed Alan into his home, and eventually walked me down the aisle to meet him on our wedding day!

But there was another area of the job that Dad always talked about:  pride in your work.  He taught us that any job we were performing, no matter how big or small, should be done with an enormous amount of care and pride.  He led by example in this area.  In the summers when school was out, he had a carpentry business doing remodeling work.  He did it all, kitchen cabinets, back decks, even hand crafted frames for paintings.  His small business ad in our local paper simply displayed his name and phone number, along with one quote:  "No Job Too Small."

His clients were often stunned when he'd tell them the date in which he'd begin his work, then actually SHOW UP on that day, ON TIME!  This was unheard of in the construction business.  Except, of course, in my Dad's business.  Because Dad took pride in his work, and it showed.  More than one stranger came up to me at his wake, took my hand, and said, "Your Dad remodeled my kitchen!  He did a terrific job!"  Amazing, right?

That being said, my Dad would have loved my new nail technician, Tommy!  As you know, we've just moved to our new home near Nashville, TN, and that means starting all over with doctors, vets, hair stylists, and of course, nail techs.  I decided to check out the salon closest to our house, especially because it had a huge sign over its front door reading, "New Management!  20% Off All Services!"  When I walked through the entrance, a smiling, short Asian man approached me and shook my hand.

"Hello!"  he chirped, "I'm Tommy!  I'm the new owner of this salon!  What can I do for you?"

I explained that I was new to the area and needed a fill.  He grabbed my hand and looked at my nails, running his thumb over the surface of my index finger.  "Oh, yes!  I'd be happy to!" he said, "I can make these look BEAUTIFUL!  Come, have a seat!"

Still holding my hand, Tommy led me to his work table, pulled out my chair, and walked around to the other side.  But before he sat, he asked, "Would you like something to drink?" He then listed several beverages, including water, soda, and wine.  After I declined, he sat down and got to work.

Tommy asked me a few questions about moving here and how I liked living in Tennessee, and I answered them all.  But I was really curious about this energetic, nice man, so soon I was the one asking questions.  Tommy answered them all, that enormous smile never leaving his face.  He told me he had been a nail tech for over ten years, always working in the shops owned by his cousins and other relatives.  He'd work for one until the business was up and running, then he'd move on to the next one to help with THAT opening.  About two years ago, the opportunity arose to own a shop of his own, and Tommy considered it. But in the end, he said, he felt he still had a lot to learn about running a business, and decided to wait a while longer before taking the big step.

Two years later, when the shop in which we were currently sitting became available, Tommy decreed that it was time, and took the big plunge!  The next thirty minutes were filled with Tommy's exited explanations of all he was planning for his brand new salon (he had only owned it one short week!).

He pointed out the walls he had painted ("That red was too harsh, the light brown is much more relaxing for my customers!"), the new pedicure stations he inserted ("It was more expensive for the glass foot bowls, but they look MUCH nicer!"), and the brand of nail acrylic he insisted on using.  He said it was more costly than the kind the other salons carried, but that it looked nicer on his clients, and would last longer, so that's ALL he was going to use.  Tommy talked and talked, and I began to say a silent prayer as he worked, asking God to bless this awesome man and this business that he clearly cherished so much.

I'll soon be rejoining the work force here in Nashville.  I have a BFA in Musical Theater and am ridiculously unqualified for just about everything but performing onstage. I'll also be looking for a job during the worst period of unemployment in our country's history since the Great Depression.  But as I set out in my business suit and pumps, briefcase in hand,  I'm going to try to remember Dad and Tommy.  I'm going to try to convince my potential employer that if they hire me, they'll be getting someone who will show up on time, will work extremely hard, and will take enormous pride in each aspect of her duties (even if that involves flipping burgers!).

I've been back to Tommy's salon three times since that first day, and on each visit I've noticed that it's always much busier than the time before.  Dad wouldn't have been surprised.  He knows that if you take pride in what you're doing and give it everything you've got, success is sure to follow.  In fact, after that first encounter with Tommy, if you had asked Dad, "Do you think this guy's business will succeed?"  Without hesitation, his reply would have been Classic Dad:  "Is the Pope Catholic?"

Thanks for Reading!!

Happy Halloween!

Don't you just love this time of year? Time for hot apple cider, The Great Pumpkin on TV, pumpkin spice lattes, and my very favorite: cute, costumed children ringing my doorbell and demanding candy!  LOVE IT!!

Now I have a new reason to love Halloween!  You may remember that in an earlier entry, I posted a video made by the acapella singing group "The Blanks," featured on the TV show, "Scrubs."  They're my friends from college, and I just couldn't be more proud of them!

Well, my awesome, talented friends have just released a new video, just in time for Halloween!  It's wonderfully silly, just like them!  Grab some apple cider, sit down, push "play," and enjoy!!

Dad's Key to Joy

Every June, at the conclusion of the school year, my Dad and several of his fellow teacher buddies would load their cars with fishing poles, burgers, buns, beer (Pepsi for Dad), and flannel shirts. They'd hitch up their boats and caravan for ten hours, through Erie, Pennsylvania and Buffalo, New York, over the Peace Bridge to a small marina located on the Key River in Ontario, Canada.

There they'd park their cars, jump in their boats and ride seven more miles down the bendy, gorgeous waterway to a small cabin owned by one of the teachers, Mr. Barrett. They'd spend a week fishing, eating, singing oldies around the kitchen table, fishing, laughing, pulling pranks on each other, and fishing some more.  It was a wonderful tradition, and one they kept up for several years.  They even made t-shirts emblazoned with their self-appointed name:  The June Crew.

Dad anticipated that week all year long, and always returned home from the trip relaxed and happy.  Mr. Barrett was generous enough to invite our entire family up to the cabin each August, so we got a chance to see this magical place for ourselves.  We have many, many happy memories of fishing and swimming along the rocky shore of that glorious Key River, and I'll never forget them.  But deep down, I think I always knew that Dad had MUCH more fun when he was there with The June Crew at the close of every school year.

So you can imagine my delight when my sister Laura sent each of her siblings a DVD last week, copied from a video she found when going through Dad's things.  It was titled "June Crew.  June 8th, 1990."  I popped in the disc and held my breath as the image of happy, smiling men loading their boat at the Key River Marina appeared.  I recognized them all immediately as my Dad's dear friends and fellow educators.

Two things became apparent immediately.  The first was you never saw my Dad.  He was constantly behind the camera, talking to whomever he was taping at the time. The second was that you could hear my Dad's voice distinctly, and I've never heard him sound so happy.  He laughed constantly, even appearing to giggle in some places.

It's important to remind you here that my father was a constant worrier. From the days of his youth when he was forced to pick up the slack for his alcoholic father, to his adult years raising his own large family, Dad fretted about EVERYTHING.  He worried about money and about the safety and purity of his children.   He was constantly imagining he "smelled smoke" in the house and kept all the doors locked at all times, even though we lived in the middle of nowhere on a quiet cul de sac.  He was always, always tense.  Except for that one week in June.

As he followed the men loading their boats and mugging for the camera, the anticipation in Dad's voice is unmistakable.  He asks them dumb, silly questions, like, "Are we gonna catch a lot of fish on this trip?"  When the inevitable reply was, "You betcha!" he'd laugh and yell back, "Atta boy!"

As I watched the DVD from start to finish, wiping a tear away at some particularly sweet moments, a thought occurred to me.  I don't know if I've ever been as happy as my Dad sounded on that tape.  I've been in some great places with gorgeous scenery, with awesome company, but I'm not sure if my voice has ever sounded as exuberant and giddy as Dad's did as he rode on his friend's boat down that Key River.  I'm so grateful he had that week every year.

How about you?  Do you have a place that makes you deliriously joyful?  Do you have a yearly gathering with friends or family that you anticipate, and never disappoints?  Oh, I hope so!  Everyone, at some point, should sound like Dad did on that tape.  It's my wish for you today.  I hope you find a place that you can share with the people you love the most in this world.  A place that makes you relax and smile, but also invigorates and inspires you!

If you've already found that place, will you tell me about it now? I'd LOVE to hear about it! And as always,

Thanks for Reading!!