I sit here in a daze, not sure how life just got turned so upside down. I'm supposed to be in BC right now, visiting family and friends, and most importantly, my Aunt Norma. But she passed away on Tuesday and I am left in shock.
Her cancer diagnosis came in the fall last year. One disadvantage of living so far away from family is feeling left out of the loop when it comes to family news. Aunt Norma did send out occasional emails to let a few people know what was happening, but she was never one to want to much attention focused on herself. So I truly had no idea of just how grave her situation was until just a few weeks ago.
I learned that the cancer had spread to her liver and bones. She was sick before her first treatment even began. The treatment itself just about killed her and she was in and out of the hospital a few times. I decided I wanted to go to BC to visit her, thinking perhaps she still had many months. We debated which month to go and decided I'd travel there on March 22nd. I got a phone call from an uncle on the 17th, suggesting that I might want to come sooner. I was stunned - how could she be this sick already?
From the time I talked to my uncle until I was on the airplane was about 4 hours. Thankfully we were able to change my flights (some penalty, of course) and there was lots of room on my flight, even though it was the end of spring break. I'm amazed how quickly things can happen when the situation calls for it.
I arrived at her hospital room, in the palliative care wing, early on Sunday afternoon. Despite how she was feeling, she seemed pleased to see me and managed a little smile - there was even a little sparkle in her eye, I'm sure. We spent the rest of the day with her and I was able to help her with her lunch and make her comfortable. We managed to have a nice conversation, although it was incredibly difficult for her.
I have lived with regret since my mom passed away many years ago. In my childlike naivete or ignorance, I didn't believe that my mom would die. And there are so many things I should have said to her that I didn't and then she was gone. I would give anything to have that chance again to talk to my mom.
Aunt Norma looked after our family after my mom was gone. With no children of her own, she doted on her nieces and nephews, and especially on my sister and me. She loved us and always made us feel special. And now I had a chance to say thank-you to her and I am so unendingly grateful that I won't have those regrets. I like to think she left earth knowing how loved and appreciated she was by so many people.
We rushed to the hospital on Monday morning with the news that she'd taken a turn for the worse. She never really woke up again. She was constantly surrounded by her family for two days and then when almost everyone had left on Tuesday, she quietly slipped away. No fanfare. Just peace. When she was ready to go. I've always thought her favourite season was spring, and she died on the first day of spring.
The number of people that filled her hospital room those last few days is amazing, but not surprising. She was such a calm and loving presence in the lives of so many and everyone wanted a chance to let her know how special she was.
Even though I didn't get to spend a lot of time with her in person over the last years, we emailed regularly and she always sent wonderful cards in the mail when there was a birthday. She loved to know what was happening in our lives.
I'm thankful that her suffering is over and that she's at peace, but I'm going to miss her terribly.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Gratitude
A few comments I've heard lately regarding my latest posts: things usually happen in 3s...hope this was #3! Also, my sister-in-law thinks I just may be making this stuff up! I wish I was making this stuff up, but I'm really not that creative or imaginative. Truth is stranger than fiction, right?
So. I guess this is #3, which puts the other stuff into serious perspective.
Yesterday after supper, I sent the younger two kids out to play. It was about 14 degrees outside - beautiful late winter weather. Our house is just off a street that is a closed circle (the one we used to live on), with very little traffic. The kids are free to run, bike or scooter around the block. We regularly go over safety rules and they are pretty careful to abide by them.
They'd already been outside for about half an hour when they came back. I said they could go around the block a few more times. Logan left the scooter behind and ran behind Taya on her bike. Less than 10 minutes later, Logan was back in the house, saying, "Mommy. You have to come. The tire on Taya's bike is all bent."
So I followed him down the street while he explained that Taya had bumped into a truck. I was puzzled when I found her on the sidewalk with her bike, alone. She was sobbing her poor little heart out, because her bike was wrecked. The front tire was completely bent, the pedals were stuck and the rest of the bike completely un-rideable. She showed me where her lip was bleeding, but otherwise, she seemed unhurt.
Apparently, while riding around the corner next to the sidewalk, a pick-up truck had come towards her. She must have panicked that the truck was too close, but she didn't want to hit the sidewalk and crash, and so she somehow bumped into the truck. I suppose that's a nice way of saying that she was hit by the truck. I have no earthly understanding how her bike is so seriously damaged, and she is so ok.
The kids told me that the man had gotten out of the truck and asked her if she was ok, to which she responded that she was. He asked her where she lived, she mentioned she was just on the next street, and then... that's it. He was gone by the time I got there minutes later. A grown man (grey hair and facial hair, perhaps in his 50s, according to the kids and driving a black pick-up truck - not someone we know from the neighborhood) drove his truck away from the scene where he just hit a 7 year old girl on her bike, leaving her alone while her little brother ran to get his mommy.
He didn't knock on a neighbor's door to ask for help. He didn't use his phone to call 911 or have Taya call me. He didn't wait for her little brother to return with his mom. He left. It was blatantly obvious that her bike was in no condition to be ridden, but he left. Can you understand this? Can you think of one possible reason why an adult, having just narrowly missed running over a girl and then wrecking her bike, would leave? I'm at a loss.
Taya was inconsolable as we carried her bike home. I promised her we'd either fix it or buy her a new one. At that point, I would have promised her a pony, anything. We checked out her lip, which was bleeding and fat, but otherwise ok. She said she'd had to spit some dirt out of her mouth, so she must have hit her mouth on the ground - she wasn't sure. She has no scrape marks on her face or hands, and I can only picture an angel cushioning her fall.
I phoned the police and soon we had a constable at our house, going over the whole situation. She was kind and helpful, but told us there really wasn't much we could do. She too was baffled that the man had left, but she went around the neighborhood afterwards, checking things out. Because the street is closed, there's very little traffic, and very little traffic that doesn't live on the street. However, we're not sure who this guy is or where he came from.
Once Taya settled down about her bike, both she and Logan told me and the officer as much as they could and I was amazed at how brave they both were. I was thankful that Logan had remained calm, so I didn't have to panic when I went to find her. I was so proud of him for helping his sister. Taya was very concerned about calling the police - she didn't want the man to get in trouble. She said, "But he didn't drive over my legs." Thank God for that.
We're trying to teach our kids to take responsibility for our actions, even when something bad happens accidentally. It's not easy, and it may cost us, but it's always the right thing to do. I have no desire to press charges on the truck driver, but I do hope that his conscience makes him do the right thing. He missed his first opportunity, but he can still do something about it.
Taya is anxious to get back on her bike. In fact, her daddy took her out this evening to pick out a new one, and I'm confident that she'll be zipping around the block as soon as she can. I am amazed at her ability to cope with what happened - it's us adults who become paralyzed with the fear of what could have been. I think of a few seconds or a few inches in a different direction, and a horribly different outcome.
I'm trying to stay brave and calm on the outside for the kids, but inside I'm still shaking. I am unendingly grateful that our sweet Taya is safe.
So. I guess this is #3, which puts the other stuff into serious perspective.
Yesterday after supper, I sent the younger two kids out to play. It was about 14 degrees outside - beautiful late winter weather. Our house is just off a street that is a closed circle (the one we used to live on), with very little traffic. The kids are free to run, bike or scooter around the block. We regularly go over safety rules and they are pretty careful to abide by them.
They'd already been outside for about half an hour when they came back. I said they could go around the block a few more times. Logan left the scooter behind and ran behind Taya on her bike. Less than 10 minutes later, Logan was back in the house, saying, "Mommy. You have to come. The tire on Taya's bike is all bent."
So I followed him down the street while he explained that Taya had bumped into a truck. I was puzzled when I found her on the sidewalk with her bike, alone. She was sobbing her poor little heart out, because her bike was wrecked. The front tire was completely bent, the pedals were stuck and the rest of the bike completely un-rideable. She showed me where her lip was bleeding, but otherwise, she seemed unhurt.
Apparently, while riding around the corner next to the sidewalk, a pick-up truck had come towards her. She must have panicked that the truck was too close, but she didn't want to hit the sidewalk and crash, and so she somehow bumped into the truck. I suppose that's a nice way of saying that she was hit by the truck. I have no earthly understanding how her bike is so seriously damaged, and she is so ok.
The kids told me that the man had gotten out of the truck and asked her if she was ok, to which she responded that she was. He asked her where she lived, she mentioned she was just on the next street, and then... that's it. He was gone by the time I got there minutes later. A grown man (grey hair and facial hair, perhaps in his 50s, according to the kids and driving a black pick-up truck - not someone we know from the neighborhood) drove his truck away from the scene where he just hit a 7 year old girl on her bike, leaving her alone while her little brother ran to get his mommy.
He didn't knock on a neighbor's door to ask for help. He didn't use his phone to call 911 or have Taya call me. He didn't wait for her little brother to return with his mom. He left. It was blatantly obvious that her bike was in no condition to be ridden, but he left. Can you understand this? Can you think of one possible reason why an adult, having just narrowly missed running over a girl and then wrecking her bike, would leave? I'm at a loss.
Taya was inconsolable as we carried her bike home. I promised her we'd either fix it or buy her a new one. At that point, I would have promised her a pony, anything. We checked out her lip, which was bleeding and fat, but otherwise ok. She said she'd had to spit some dirt out of her mouth, so she must have hit her mouth on the ground - she wasn't sure. She has no scrape marks on her face or hands, and I can only picture an angel cushioning her fall.
I phoned the police and soon we had a constable at our house, going over the whole situation. She was kind and helpful, but told us there really wasn't much we could do. She too was baffled that the man had left, but she went around the neighborhood afterwards, checking things out. Because the street is closed, there's very little traffic, and very little traffic that doesn't live on the street. However, we're not sure who this guy is or where he came from.
Once Taya settled down about her bike, both she and Logan told me and the officer as much as they could and I was amazed at how brave they both were. I was thankful that Logan had remained calm, so I didn't have to panic when I went to find her. I was so proud of him for helping his sister. Taya was very concerned about calling the police - she didn't want the man to get in trouble. She said, "But he didn't drive over my legs." Thank God for that.
We're trying to teach our kids to take responsibility for our actions, even when something bad happens accidentally. It's not easy, and it may cost us, but it's always the right thing to do. I have no desire to press charges on the truck driver, but I do hope that his conscience makes him do the right thing. He missed his first opportunity, but he can still do something about it.
Taya is anxious to get back on her bike. In fact, her daddy took her out this evening to pick out a new one, and I'm confident that she'll be zipping around the block as soon as she can. I am amazed at her ability to cope with what happened - it's us adults who become paralyzed with the fear of what could have been. I think of a few seconds or a few inches in a different direction, and a horribly different outcome.
I'm trying to stay brave and calm on the outside for the kids, but inside I'm still shaking. I am unendingly grateful that our sweet Taya is safe.
Monday, March 5, 2012
The Saga Ends, and then Continues...
On Saturday morning, we woke up ("waking" used loosely, as I'm not sure I was actually sleeping), looked out the window, and our fence was missing. Perhaps missing isn't quite accurate. One half of the fence was lying down on the sidewalk, and the other half was leaning on our grass, almost in the pool. There were numerous shingles strewn across the yard, front and back, and our bbq cover was swimming in the pool.
If you haven't already read my previous post, do so now, as it should give you some context. I was quite looking forward to Saturday morning. After a crazy week at our house, by 3pm on Friday, everything was just about back to normal. We had our beautiful new, scratch-free floor in place, all the cupboards and cabinets were back where they were supposed to be, and the house was clean and dust-free. Time to breathe a nice sigh of relief and relish in the fact that we could be a chaos-free zone again, relatively speaking of course.
And then, some crazy weather system moved into Burlington and area (likely the same system that was wreaking havoc in the form of tornadoes in the US) and howled so fiercely all night that it was next to impossible to sleep (except if you're one of my kids, who can sleep through just about anything). I lay in bed wondering how the roof wasn't blowing off the house (in fact, only parts of the roof were blowing off, but I didn't know that yet), but feeling so secure and cosy in my bed. The light of day revealed what had happened to our fence, and thus the fun began again, just different this time.
We're quite a sight to see in the neighborhood - cars slow down considerably as they go by, and many stop and gawk. Now everyone knows exactly what our yard looks like! Perhaps I should charge a small fee to stop and stare, with all proceeds going directly towards our fence-replacement project.
So, pretty soon we'll have not only a new floor, but also a new roof and a new fence. Exciting times. As my sister-in-law mentioned, it's almost like a movie script, although much more bizarre, I think.
On a completely different note, I just found out that I got accepted to school for September! I'm really excited and terrified. I'll be taking the Corporate Communications after-degree certificate at Sheridan College in Oakville. It'll be two semesters plus one internship of craziness, but I think I'm going to love being a student again.
Keeping my fingers crossed for calmer, less eventful days to come...
If you haven't already read my previous post, do so now, as it should give you some context. I was quite looking forward to Saturday morning. After a crazy week at our house, by 3pm on Friday, everything was just about back to normal. We had our beautiful new, scratch-free floor in place, all the cupboards and cabinets were back where they were supposed to be, and the house was clean and dust-free. Time to breathe a nice sigh of relief and relish in the fact that we could be a chaos-free zone again, relatively speaking of course.
And then, some crazy weather system moved into Burlington and area (likely the same system that was wreaking havoc in the form of tornadoes in the US) and howled so fiercely all night that it was next to impossible to sleep (except if you're one of my kids, who can sleep through just about anything). I lay in bed wondering how the roof wasn't blowing off the house (in fact, only parts of the roof were blowing off, but I didn't know that yet), but feeling so secure and cosy in my bed. The light of day revealed what had happened to our fence, and thus the fun began again, just different this time.
We're quite a sight to see in the neighborhood - cars slow down considerably as they go by, and many stop and gawk. Now everyone knows exactly what our yard looks like! Perhaps I should charge a small fee to stop and stare, with all proceeds going directly towards our fence-replacement project.
So, pretty soon we'll have not only a new floor, but also a new roof and a new fence. Exciting times. As my sister-in-law mentioned, it's almost like a movie script, although much more bizarre, I think.
On a completely different note, I just found out that I got accepted to school for September! I'm really excited and terrified. I'll be taking the Corporate Communications after-degree certificate at Sheridan College in Oakville. It'll be two semesters plus one internship of craziness, but I think I'm going to love being a student again.
Keeping my fingers crossed for calmer, less eventful days to come...
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Through Gritted Teeth
Today I came home from picking up the kids at school and my floor was missing. Yes, my floor. In exchange for my missing floor, I was left with a thick layer of dust on every flat (and not-so-flat, read: grapes and bananas) surface.
I wasn't surprised to find my floor missing, but I was surprised (which you could interpret: stunned, irritated, flabbergasted) to see the dust. Now, I'm not a professional floor remover, but shouldn't a rule of the trade be to cover things before you're about to create such a mess? Especially electronics such as TVs, DVD players, etc.?
Let me go back to the beginning of the story for a bit. When we moved into this house in June of last year, we decided to have the salmon-coloured, blackened-grouted tile removed from our entire main floor. Not really our thing. The idea was to have this work done before we moved all our stuff into the house, as we had some overlap with possession dates. A smart move indeed, as it was a disgusting, noisy, dusty, ridiculous process. However, we were very happy with the results of our new hardwood.
Fast forward now to October, when Connor shouts up from the basement one relaxing Sunday afternoon, "Why is the ceiling (and wall and floor and couch) all wet? Why is there water coming out of the ceiling?" It turns out that a nail had been hammered into a pipe behind the bathroom on the main floor (likely when the hardwood was put in in June) and that pipe had decided to burst that particular morning while we were out at church. Really, no rhyme or reason to it.
Many frustrating phone calls and service people and weeks later, we finally have the basement all fixed up. (For a little extra fun, while the wall was exposed in the basement, we discovered an unrelated crack in the foundation, which we subsequently had fixed.) There's all new laminate, drywall, paint, and the door to the bathroom even closes! (no thanks to the guy who decided to reattach the door but not bother to make sure it closed.) Progress is being made.
Finally, it's time to replace the area on the main floor outside the bathroom with some new hardwood, where the wood had buckled. (Just remembered - I forgot to tell you about the 3 industrial fans we had sucking up every last bit of moisture in the floor and walls and our skin for 4 days back in October. Imagine a 747 and all its friends taking off from your powder room for 4 days straight - somehow we stayed sane!) The flooring guys come in with all their gear and are ready to get to work, but wait. The wood they've just laid out DOESN'T MATCH the rest of the floor. It's going to look ridiculous to have it patched up with non-matching wood.
Ok, so now's it's 6 weeks (or 6 years, I don't know anymore) later, which brings us to yesterday and a constant parade of different people through the house, packing up boxes - did I forget to tell you that at the same time we had the hardwood floors put in, we also had some extra pantry cabinets and an island put in to give us some extra space?, well these now have to be completely emptied, dismantled and removed, so they can rip out the wood underneath - taking off the baseboards and generally getting the house ready for the floors to be removed. When I left my house yesterday for work, I said to the very friendly, chatty, sketchy-looking guy who was removing my baseboards, "Be sure to lock up when you leave." Which he did.
Today, while I was out, yet more mystery people were in my house, removing the boards and not covering anything up while leaving thick layers of dust on virtually everything. Yes, my bananas, my grapes, my wedding photo album. Nothing was left out.
So where does this leave me? Well, the work should be done by Friday, for starters. We should be tired of take-out pizza by then. I'm counting on another parade of people to come back, this time to replace my island and pantry, then unpack all the boxes into the cupboards and drawers, and hopefully do a bang-up job of removing the dust. I've always hated dusting (it's the last job I tend to get to), so my nemesis has come to haunt me.
I'm trying to find some lessons to be learned through all this. I'm thinking of something along the lines of the-more-stuff-you-have-the-more-that-can-go-wrong. That's not really going to help me much at this point.
And so, I smile through gritted (and gritty - there's a lot of dust in the air) teeth and say, "Thank goodness for house insurance!"
I wasn't surprised to find my floor missing, but I was surprised (which you could interpret: stunned, irritated, flabbergasted) to see the dust. Now, I'm not a professional floor remover, but shouldn't a rule of the trade be to cover things before you're about to create such a mess? Especially electronics such as TVs, DVD players, etc.?
Let me go back to the beginning of the story for a bit. When we moved into this house in June of last year, we decided to have the salmon-coloured, blackened-grouted tile removed from our entire main floor. Not really our thing. The idea was to have this work done before we moved all our stuff into the house, as we had some overlap with possession dates. A smart move indeed, as it was a disgusting, noisy, dusty, ridiculous process. However, we were very happy with the results of our new hardwood.
Fast forward now to October, when Connor shouts up from the basement one relaxing Sunday afternoon, "Why is the ceiling (and wall and floor and couch) all wet? Why is there water coming out of the ceiling?" It turns out that a nail had been hammered into a pipe behind the bathroom on the main floor (likely when the hardwood was put in in June) and that pipe had decided to burst that particular morning while we were out at church. Really, no rhyme or reason to it.
Many frustrating phone calls and service people and weeks later, we finally have the basement all fixed up. (For a little extra fun, while the wall was exposed in the basement, we discovered an unrelated crack in the foundation, which we subsequently had fixed.) There's all new laminate, drywall, paint, and the door to the bathroom even closes! (no thanks to the guy who decided to reattach the door but not bother to make sure it closed.) Progress is being made.
Finally, it's time to replace the area on the main floor outside the bathroom with some new hardwood, where the wood had buckled. (Just remembered - I forgot to tell you about the 3 industrial fans we had sucking up every last bit of moisture in the floor and walls and our skin for 4 days back in October. Imagine a 747 and all its friends taking off from your powder room for 4 days straight - somehow we stayed sane!) The flooring guys come in with all their gear and are ready to get to work, but wait. The wood they've just laid out DOESN'T MATCH the rest of the floor. It's going to look ridiculous to have it patched up with non-matching wood.
Ok, so now's it's 6 weeks (or 6 years, I don't know anymore) later, which brings us to yesterday and a constant parade of different people through the house, packing up boxes - did I forget to tell you that at the same time we had the hardwood floors put in, we also had some extra pantry cabinets and an island put in to give us some extra space?, well these now have to be completely emptied, dismantled and removed, so they can rip out the wood underneath - taking off the baseboards and generally getting the house ready for the floors to be removed. When I left my house yesterday for work, I said to the very friendly, chatty, sketchy-looking guy who was removing my baseboards, "Be sure to lock up when you leave." Which he did.
Today, while I was out, yet more mystery people were in my house, removing the boards and not covering anything up while leaving thick layers of dust on virtually everything. Yes, my bananas, my grapes, my wedding photo album. Nothing was left out.
So where does this leave me? Well, the work should be done by Friday, for starters. We should be tired of take-out pizza by then. I'm counting on another parade of people to come back, this time to replace my island and pantry, then unpack all the boxes into the cupboards and drawers, and hopefully do a bang-up job of removing the dust. I've always hated dusting (it's the last job I tend to get to), so my nemesis has come to haunt me.
I'm trying to find some lessons to be learned through all this. I'm thinking of something along the lines of the-more-stuff-you-have-the-more-that-can-go-wrong. That's not really going to help me much at this point.
And so, I smile through gritted (and gritty - there's a lot of dust in the air) teeth and say, "Thank goodness for house insurance!"
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Bingo
I learned a new language yesterday - Bingo. My previous experience with Bingo included fun family nights at the kids' school and it was all very simple. But with terms such as Accumulator, Double Action Progressive, Catch the Star Bonus Progressive and Toonie Pot Plus, I felt like I'd stepped into another world.
Our kids' swim club is one of many organizations that hosts a bingo event every week. This happens at the local bingo club, which has been a staple in our city for many years. As soon as you enter the building, you feel like you've entered another dimension and another era. The bingo hall hosts approximately 40 sessions every single week, where people come and play bingo for a few hours, morning, noon, afternoon, evening and night. Endless options. Countless tables and chairs are lined up facing the stage where a rather morose looking woman calls the games and balls.
It's a huge business - people drop money for cards with no hesitation and it's serious business for them. In the few hours I was there, there weren't many smiles to be seen, or laughs to be heard. The term "fun and games" does not apply here - this may be a game they're playing but I'm quite sure they're not playing for fun.
There is a sort of desperation in their eyes - maybe today will be the day they "win big." How much does a person have to spend before they win big? What if they never win big? It is so easy to see how this becomes an addiction. It really is not a happy place.
And the irony floors me. All the money raised from the bingos goes towards over 40 different charities/organizations/clubs in the area. I raise funds and rack up volunteer hours by helping out. It's great that so many organizations can support themselves and their members this way. But at what cost? I'd be lying if I said the bingo players didn't fall into a certain stereotype. Of course, there were a few who seemed out of place, but the vast majority were a very lonely and desperate-looking lot, and they are the ones reducing the fees at my childrens' swim club. It's not even a social activity - most people arrived and sat alone.
Is it just me, or does society go about things in very unusual ways? Why should I benefit from the addictions of others? Perhaps I have a sense of naivete about this whole situation, but I had never seen its hard reality before. Thoughts to ponder from the bingo hall...
Our kids' swim club is one of many organizations that hosts a bingo event every week. This happens at the local bingo club, which has been a staple in our city for many years. As soon as you enter the building, you feel like you've entered another dimension and another era. The bingo hall hosts approximately 40 sessions every single week, where people come and play bingo for a few hours, morning, noon, afternoon, evening and night. Endless options. Countless tables and chairs are lined up facing the stage where a rather morose looking woman calls the games and balls.
It's a huge business - people drop money for cards with no hesitation and it's serious business for them. In the few hours I was there, there weren't many smiles to be seen, or laughs to be heard. The term "fun and games" does not apply here - this may be a game they're playing but I'm quite sure they're not playing for fun.
There is a sort of desperation in their eyes - maybe today will be the day they "win big." How much does a person have to spend before they win big? What if they never win big? It is so easy to see how this becomes an addiction. It really is not a happy place.
And the irony floors me. All the money raised from the bingos goes towards over 40 different charities/organizations/clubs in the area. I raise funds and rack up volunteer hours by helping out. It's great that so many organizations can support themselves and their members this way. But at what cost? I'd be lying if I said the bingo players didn't fall into a certain stereotype. Of course, there were a few who seemed out of place, but the vast majority were a very lonely and desperate-looking lot, and they are the ones reducing the fees at my childrens' swim club. It's not even a social activity - most people arrived and sat alone.
Is it just me, or does society go about things in very unusual ways? Why should I benefit from the addictions of others? Perhaps I have a sense of naivete about this whole situation, but I had never seen its hard reality before. Thoughts to ponder from the bingo hall...
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Pink Ribbons, Inc.
There's a movie coming out this month called Pink Ribbons, Inc. Perhaps you've seen the trailer, and if not, you should. Here's the link: Pink Ribbons, Inc. - movie trailer - NaturalNews.tv. I'm curious to know what your thoughts are. It talks about the commercialization of the pink ribbon, exposing it as a sham. I'm sure the movie will be controversial, but I'm also sure it's going to hit home with a lot of people.
Most of you probably have your own "pet issues", those issues that make you want to get on your soap box and shout! I have a few of my own: when I see a vehicle not using its indicator when turning or changing lanes, when I see adults smoking around children and this whole issue of "let's see how much money we can raise so we can put an end to breast (or other) cancer". I've struggled with this issue for a long time. Having a very personal connection to this wretched disease gives me a vested interest, I suppose you could say. (My mom passed away from breast cancer when I was 13, and her sister, my aunt, is a 15+ year survivor of the same disease).
I, too, have been caught up in "pink fever." I've donated to charity runs, bought the pink hats and pink ribbons and pink pins, as well as a myriad of other products with the pink ribbon symbol proudly displayed, promising to donate to a cure. It's difficult to avoid these items every where you go - the grocery store selling everything from mushrooms to toilet paper to orange juice with the symbol. The trailer for the movie mentions that a specific foundation has raised over a billion dollars since its inception to try to find a cure. How many more billions until we find the elusive cure?
I just can't understand how we haven't found the cure with all that money. If finding a cure was simply a matter of just raising more money, couldn't we have come up with enough money by now, somehow? I want to know how this money is making a difference - is the "cure" just around the corner? Is the cure finding a magic drug that will instantly cure the disease as soon as it's diagnosed? Is it yet another invasive and debilitating treatment with countless side effects - treatments that render you sicker than the disease appears to? Have we as a society accepted this disease as a "natural" sickness that a certain percentage of women is destined to have?
I want to know why we so rarely hear of preventing breast cancer. The dictionary says that a cure is healing or being healed, a remedy, or a medical treatment. Maybe it's time we start talking about raising money to find a prevention. A cure suggests waiting until the disease manifests, then getting rid of it. Shouldn't our money be better spent trying to figure out how to avoid getting the disease in the first place? I don't want to take away from the fact that many, many women have been cured of breast cancer - obviously there are treatments and medicines that do work. But wouldn't our health care system be better served by seeking prevention instead of a cure?
As pretty as that pink mixer might look on your kitchen counter, is the money being donated from its purchase actually going to save a life, or is it merely padding the deep pockets of a company? Like the trailer says, how can a company with carcinogens in its ingredient list put a pink ribbon on their package? This is outrageous to me. Hypocrisy, even. I'm hoping this movie will answer a lot of these questions, because I believe it's time to start looking at this issue from a completely different perspective.
I'd love to know what your thoughts on this subject are. I don't judge if you've purchased or donated to pink ribbon causes, because I've done it too. Is it time to stop? To demand that our donations are spent differently??
Talk to me...
Most of you probably have your own "pet issues", those issues that make you want to get on your soap box and shout! I have a few of my own: when I see a vehicle not using its indicator when turning or changing lanes, when I see adults smoking around children and this whole issue of "let's see how much money we can raise so we can put an end to breast (or other) cancer". I've struggled with this issue for a long time. Having a very personal connection to this wretched disease gives me a vested interest, I suppose you could say. (My mom passed away from breast cancer when I was 13, and her sister, my aunt, is a 15+ year survivor of the same disease).
I, too, have been caught up in "pink fever." I've donated to charity runs, bought the pink hats and pink ribbons and pink pins, as well as a myriad of other products with the pink ribbon symbol proudly displayed, promising to donate to a cure. It's difficult to avoid these items every where you go - the grocery store selling everything from mushrooms to toilet paper to orange juice with the symbol. The trailer for the movie mentions that a specific foundation has raised over a billion dollars since its inception to try to find a cure. How many more billions until we find the elusive cure?
I just can't understand how we haven't found the cure with all that money. If finding a cure was simply a matter of just raising more money, couldn't we have come up with enough money by now, somehow? I want to know how this money is making a difference - is the "cure" just around the corner? Is the cure finding a magic drug that will instantly cure the disease as soon as it's diagnosed? Is it yet another invasive and debilitating treatment with countless side effects - treatments that render you sicker than the disease appears to? Have we as a society accepted this disease as a "natural" sickness that a certain percentage of women is destined to have?
I want to know why we so rarely hear of preventing breast cancer. The dictionary says that a cure is healing or being healed, a remedy, or a medical treatment. Maybe it's time we start talking about raising money to find a prevention. A cure suggests waiting until the disease manifests, then getting rid of it. Shouldn't our money be better spent trying to figure out how to avoid getting the disease in the first place? I don't want to take away from the fact that many, many women have been cured of breast cancer - obviously there are treatments and medicines that do work. But wouldn't our health care system be better served by seeking prevention instead of a cure?
As pretty as that pink mixer might look on your kitchen counter, is the money being donated from its purchase actually going to save a life, or is it merely padding the deep pockets of a company? Like the trailer says, how can a company with carcinogens in its ingredient list put a pink ribbon on their package? This is outrageous to me. Hypocrisy, even. I'm hoping this movie will answer a lot of these questions, because I believe it's time to start looking at this issue from a completely different perspective.
I'd love to know what your thoughts on this subject are. I don't judge if you've purchased or donated to pink ribbon causes, because I've done it too. Is it time to stop? To demand that our donations are spent differently??
Talk to me...
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Of New Years Resolutions & Valentine's Day
I refuse to make New Years Resolutions anymore. For me, they are an invitation to fail and I don't choose to invite failure into my life. (Disclaimer: I don't think Resolutions are bad for everyone, so go ahead and keep making yours!) In years past, I've happily committed my resolutions to paper, utterly determined that in the next 365 days, I am going to make these resolutions happen, gritted teeth notwithstanding. Never once do I look at these resolutions again to gauge how I'm doing. I don't suddenly blow the dust off the list in July and ask myself if I've succeeded.
Recently I unearthed an old journal that I used to write in as a teenager. I use the term "write" loosely, as I've never been much of a journaler, despite the fact the I love to write. There were a few scattered pages throughout the book with writing on them, mostly lists and such. But I came across a list of New Year's Resolutions, written in the early '90s, that stretched down the whole page. I apparently felt the need that year to make some serious changes in my life, although I can't really remember my life being all that bad. My list contained dozens of ideas of how I was going to improve my life that year. Eat better. Exercise more. Be nicer to people. Make more friends. Be more patient. The list goes on. All wonderful ideas, but I did I ever look back, even once, to see if I was accomplishing those things? Uh, no. Aren't goal supposed to be specific and measurable?
That may have been the last year I made New Years Resolutions, or at least ones that I bothered to write down. I've never been one to do these things just because everyone else is doing them. In fact, I'm much more likely not to do these things, because everyone else is doing them!
Which leads me to a couple of thoughts on Valentine's Day. I won't be asking for expensive jewelery or a dozen long-stemmed red roses or even a box of chocolates, and I likely won't be getting them either. Nor do I feel the need to inundate my kiddos with even more candy and chocolate than they'll already be getting. Am I sounding like a scrooge yet? I actually like the idea of giving (and receiving) unexpected gifts or cards. There is so much more meaning attached to something that is not expected or required.
Our love is not defined by the size of the gift I receive on Valentine's Day, but rather by expressions of love throughout the year. And there are many. So, honey, thanks for saving your money on over-priced roses which will just wilt anyway, and save it for something special some other time. I'm thinking tuition in a few months might be a good way to spend that money...
I can remember one Valentine's Day clearly - it was the first one while Stefan and I were dating. I didn't have a lot of experience with buying gifts for V Day, but I was pretty sure that was something you were supposed to do while dating. So off to the card store I went (at least I'd have a card if nothing else). While there I happened upon the shelf of stuffed animals, and at that moment, I somehow determined that one of these animals would make a perfect V Day gift for my boyfriend. I settled on a pale green stuffed frog with a pink mouth, hands and feet. Perfect. There were several sizes of the same frog, so, being the frugal girl I was, I bought neither the biggest nor smallest one. I'm quite sure it cost me $17, but I knew it would be money well spent.
I don't think I expected Stefan to jump up and down with excitement, or to conjure an emotional tear when I gave him his gift, and he didn't (although a little excitement might have been nice). I can't tell you what went through his head, but I remember thinking, when it was too late to retract the gift, that mayyyybe this was a bit of an unusual gift, and WHAT WAS I THINKING?!
Fast forward a few years -the frog is still with us, languishing in a box or cupboard somewhere, all but forgotten. We've just heartlessly taken away our two year old son's soother and he's not too happy. Somehow, we remember Daddy's frog, and well, the rest is history. Freddy the Frog remains the most precious and loved possession of our ten year old. He (the frog, not the boy) has been sown back together numerous times, and he's missing a little fur, but he's one of my best purchases ever - money well spent indeed!
Recently I unearthed an old journal that I used to write in as a teenager. I use the term "write" loosely, as I've never been much of a journaler, despite the fact the I love to write. There were a few scattered pages throughout the book with writing on them, mostly lists and such. But I came across a list of New Year's Resolutions, written in the early '90s, that stretched down the whole page. I apparently felt the need that year to make some serious changes in my life, although I can't really remember my life being all that bad. My list contained dozens of ideas of how I was going to improve my life that year. Eat better. Exercise more. Be nicer to people. Make more friends. Be more patient. The list goes on. All wonderful ideas, but I did I ever look back, even once, to see if I was accomplishing those things? Uh, no. Aren't goal supposed to be specific and measurable?
That may have been the last year I made New Years Resolutions, or at least ones that I bothered to write down. I've never been one to do these things just because everyone else is doing them. In fact, I'm much more likely not to do these things, because everyone else is doing them!
Which leads me to a couple of thoughts on Valentine's Day. I won't be asking for expensive jewelery or a dozen long-stemmed red roses or even a box of chocolates, and I likely won't be getting them either. Nor do I feel the need to inundate my kiddos with even more candy and chocolate than they'll already be getting. Am I sounding like a scrooge yet? I actually like the idea of giving (and receiving) unexpected gifts or cards. There is so much more meaning attached to something that is not expected or required.
Our love is not defined by the size of the gift I receive on Valentine's Day, but rather by expressions of love throughout the year. And there are many. So, honey, thanks for saving your money on over-priced roses which will just wilt anyway, and save it for something special some other time. I'm thinking tuition in a few months might be a good way to spend that money...
I can remember one Valentine's Day clearly - it was the first one while Stefan and I were dating. I didn't have a lot of experience with buying gifts for V Day, but I was pretty sure that was something you were supposed to do while dating. So off to the card store I went (at least I'd have a card if nothing else). While there I happened upon the shelf of stuffed animals, and at that moment, I somehow determined that one of these animals would make a perfect V Day gift for my boyfriend. I settled on a pale green stuffed frog with a pink mouth, hands and feet. Perfect. There were several sizes of the same frog, so, being the frugal girl I was, I bought neither the biggest nor smallest one. I'm quite sure it cost me $17, but I knew it would be money well spent.
I don't think I expected Stefan to jump up and down with excitement, or to conjure an emotional tear when I gave him his gift, and he didn't (although a little excitement might have been nice). I can't tell you what went through his head, but I remember thinking, when it was too late to retract the gift, that mayyyybe this was a bit of an unusual gift, and WHAT WAS I THINKING?!
Fast forward a few years -the frog is still with us, languishing in a box or cupboard somewhere, all but forgotten. We've just heartlessly taken away our two year old son's soother and he's not too happy. Somehow, we remember Daddy's frog, and well, the rest is history. Freddy the Frog remains the most precious and loved possession of our ten year old. He (the frog, not the boy) has been sown back together numerous times, and he's missing a little fur, but he's one of my best purchases ever - money well spent indeed!
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