Angels In Unexpected Places

Amidst chemotherapy, good intentions can—just—like—THAT! … disolve. My chemo journey has been blessed. My 1st two rounds weren’t bad. Nausea? None. Indigestion—Prilosec handles it. Fatigue? As long as I was careful, not bad. Other side effects were irksome but less so each day forward.

I’ve had 3 of 6 expected treatments, and let's face it, chemo is cumulative. As a doctor said, it’s necessary poison. In my type of Lymphoma, it usually kicks it fast into remission but getting there's no cake-walk, and “poison” collects. In the last few days, I felt punk from that collected yuck, enough to make it the most un-fun so far.



I was at my desk when the doorbell rang. Outside I found a box with a sweet arrangement of Halloween-decorated cookies sent by Susan, one of two ChemoAngels sent to me by this fantastic organization. Then, when I went to the post office, I found another box, a collection of Cheryl’s Cookies, sent by Jeff Wayne. Jeff's a very funny and kind man, a professional comedian, and we met when he organized a joint speaking engagement last year with Hollywood Congress of Republicans. An hour or so later, I received yet another sweet, a wonderful note from my other ChemoAngel, Connie.

How is it that all this came together when I really needed something to lift my spirits? Spirits. The “angel factor.”

The afternoon found me at the oncologist's office for a blood test. The day before, the name of a girl with whom I’d gone to elementary and high school came to me unbidden. I’d not thought of her in YEARS. Moons ago there was talk of a high school reunion, with mention that Susie Kasai had passed away. In the doctor's office, a nurse called a name before me … “Ms. Kasai?”

Later when I was in the same room with her, I asked this woman if she knew Susie.

“Susie was my sister.” Okay, now, YOU explain.

We talked awhile before I asked what took Susie’s life—breast cancer. Thankfully, Susie’s sister doesn’t have cancer. Through her—and Susie—I was comforted. Susie, a small, brave lady, with children and lots of family love, had fought her battle for years … in that very same chemo room! Susie’s sister spoke of the positives in Susie’s life. Even though the illness took her breath, Susie had won, with great helpings of humor and the folks who loved her … her own angels. I'm sure Susie was there as I spoke with her sister.

Why otherwise would I've thought of someone after so many years—and then run into her sister in my oncologist’s office?

By the way … Susie’s sister’s name? Angel. I ain’t kiddin’ ya. And Susie's middle name? One she shared with me—Joy.

Thanks to all the angels in unexpected places! Each of you make a less-than-fun time in my life so very blessed.

Healthy Today in Every Way … Thank You, Lord Jesus

When you’re faced with the reality of your mortality, it’s not unusual for priorities to shift and facts to clarify. What I’ve learned since hearing of my lymphoma diagnosis is, for me, it’s not so much the fact that mortality triggers uncomfortable thoughts … it’s what’s between now and then that gets the mind going wild.

That is, if I let it, and I’ve chosen—chosen—to not go that route. Instead, I’m in the present, taking care of what needs to be taken care of, doing so joyfully and gratefully. What other way is there to live LIFE?

Which brings me to my blog title. It’s been my affirmation since I first found out about this current challenge. It came with no pre-thought, no urgings from anyone. It was there that night as my head hit the pillow, with all sorts of thoughts running through. This affirmation made so much sense. Why?

Three reasons:

1. “Healthy today….” Today is always today. No matter what day it’s spoken or written, it is today.
2. “Every way….” All sorts of health—mental and physical, as well as relationships and work and pleasure.
3. Giving gratitude where it should be given … for me, that goes to my Lord, Jesus.

With this affirmation simply handed to me by Divine Guidance I’ve used it daily, every day, written and spoken. When the news is hard—the affirmation is there. When each individual event has been faced—the affirmation is there. And when times are really good—the affirmation is there.

But has it done anything but offer warm fuzzies? Since I don’t believe in coincidence … yes. When I went in for the first chemo treatment, my oncologist explained things again. Then he looked me in the eye and said, “You’re young and you’re healthy. You’ll get through this fine.”

The evening after the first chemo was administered, my blood pressure rose. It wasn’t horrible but not knowing what was okay, and what should be reported, we called the oncologist on-call doctor number. My personal oncologist had said in that earlier meeting that records were computerized for the practice and available to all doctors 24/7. Whichever doc was on-call at any given time need only call up my name to speak directly to my needs.

The on-call doctor called back quickly. After he reviewed my records and symptoms, he advised that what was happening wasn’t unusual. I thanked him and said we could all go to bed now. He responded, “You’re young and you’re healthy. You’ll get through this fine.”

Though he and my oncologist are part of the same practice, I seriously doubt they practice their lines. I’m not all that “young” but I s’pose in comparison to a great number of their patients, since I'm 54--and, of course, famous ... I qualify.

So call it what you’d like … I call it, again, Divine Guidance. Or actually, not “again,” but ongoing. That word, “healthy,” continues to pop up in conversation, as it popped up in my head from the get-go. And since this sort of challenge is affected heartily by one’s emotional state in addition to the physical, I’m going with, “Healthy Today in EVERY way … thank you, Lord Jesus.”

Friends & Chemo Angels

It’s the eve of my port placement … which will be implanted just below my right collarbone to facilitate the chemotherapy that begins Tuesday, September 7, 2010—great way to celebrate Labor Day, eh?! Some serious labor goin’ on here. While this won’t be what I’d consider fun, I must say that since I now have an idea of what’s involved, and know there really is no way around the obvious, I want to get the show on the road. Waiting has never been my strong suit and oftentimes, the wait is at least as bad, if not worse, than the actuality. At least once it gets started, the initial experience will be behind me, and the reality will be known.

I’ve reviewed all the offered names for my port, and I have to say my absolute favorite is Betty. All of them were spectacular but, as when we’re naming a baby, or a book, or anything that remains close to us—out of endearment or necessity—there has to be one that comes out on top. Betty was offered up by Lisa Renee Brown Spangler (click off the "Twitter" sign-in that shows when you go to her blog & the blog immediately comes up). Lisa's reasoning for that name? “Betty … as in Betty get well quick....” Since that’s my exact sentiment, I’m going with it.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to post, and utilize those loverly brain cells of yours in my favor. I do appreciate it. Please keep those prayers, good thought and good vibes a’comin’ in. Prayer chain additions are welcome.

Maybe next time ‘round we can write a community story about how Chemo Superhero CHOP-R has made mincemeat of the big, bad yucky cells that have noooo chance against all the good, decent people I’m meeting along this journey’s path … and the medicine of modern man that is, literally, a Godsend. Read "Asha's Diary," from a child's point-of-view, a child fighting leukemia.

I want to add—I’ve just located what appears to be a fantastic site created in support of chemo patients. Chemo Angels exists for the sole purpose to support folks who are going through chemo. Each person selected to be a part of the program is assigned her very own “Chemo Angel,” someone who checks in regularly to offer good words, prayers, thoughts … and simply be there.

So if you have a bit of extra time you can offer to be someone’s angel … check out the Chemo Angels site. I am pledging here-and-now to pay it forward as soon as I have been declared free and clear. Lovely, lovely idea!

Hurricane Katrina: New Orleans Ain't a 3rd World Country

Today marks the 5th anniversary of the havoc wreaked on New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina. There have been recent retrospects on TV, radio, and in print, and any number of commentaries put out on about how the area's recovering well from that devastation.

Indeed, it is recovering. The people of New Orleans are no strangers to hardships and particularly those brought on by weather conditions. Hurricanes have come and gone there since being founded in 1718 … and almost definitely even before that. The people of all nationalities and colors who settled that area, and ever since, have come to know their weather and geography in all its intimacy, figuring out how best to survive amidst the concerns created by living in an area below sea level.



So why is it that for well over 200 years, a location prone to such weather conditions has survived and thrived, despite what nature would repeatedly throw her way?

Then, suddenly, in a fit of fury, in an age where humankind had made leaps and bounds in technology and better living conditions … that same major American city is nearly annihilated by one powerful hurricane. How could this have happened? Homes that had stood for generations disappeared in seconds, never to be seen again. Entire neighborhoods were washed away. Many of the people in those neighborhoods had absolutely no chance from the first whisper of danger.



I’m not writing this to go into all the various reasons why this happened. Let it suffice to say that history has fairly well proven it wasn’t really Mother Nature which nailed The Big Easy. It was a man-facilitated disaster and, as such, must be a man-facilitated recovery. It's a recovery which, to this day, is still in process—slowly inching upward. And while, as many of those retrospects have indicated, New Orleans is coming alive again, there is so much more still to do.

I challenge anyone who cares deeply about others on this planet to look in their own backyard when they want to help. If you haven’t seen the Katrina-ravaged area with your own eyes, you cannot imagine how much work there is still yet to do. You cannot possibly imagine how drastically like a Third World country much of the New Orleans area still appears. You have no way of understanding, without seeing it yourself, the continuing blight being fought every day, still, in a city that has survived, and thrived, for well over 200 years, despite all that Mother Nature has sent her way.

The photos in this album are of the area in and around the Lower Ninth ward of New Orleans, taken about two-and-a-half years ago. Even then, it was over three years later. Just think about it—New Orleans, Louisiana is not part of a Third World Country … this is part of your country.

What's The Name of That Port?

I’m getting a port this week. There are many sorts of ports … ships dock at a port; one can drink a port wine; computers have ports to connect to other devices; a port is the left side of a ship—and who-knows-what-else. But none of these will be the sort of port I will acquire.

There's this port--ooooh, it's Monaco:



Or this port--as in computer:



Or even this port--as in wine:





****************************************

But, noooo, Linda has to be different. I am getting what is more technically called a portacath … or, as mentioned—yep, a port.

Now, what does one do with a port, you ask? I know you asked because I could hear you. Well, in the last few weeks I’ve been dealt some challenging news, as I’ve indicated in a few other blog posts. My port will facilitate the solution to these challenges--my battle to rid the ol' bod of lymphoma.



A port is a device implanted in the upper chest, just below the left collar bone, which then connects to the veins. This system is now more-often-than-not used in place of repeated sticks in the veins to administer chemotherapy. As it was explained to me, that continual use of the veins can compromise them, even cause a blow-out of sorts if the veins aren’t strong enough for repeated use. This creates its own set of issues, not even considering the problems which would arise in relation to the chemotherapy and the chemo’s planned course of action to rid the body of the bad cells.

But Frederick Memorial Hospital--right here in my own backyard, I might add, the same hospital where I am having my port put in place--explains it so much better than I have. The port description is at the bottom of the page, and an entire description of the chemo process is given for anyone who really wants to know.

So … I get my very own port in my very own body on Thursday. It’ll be in-and-out surgery at the hospital, done by my now-trusted general surgeon who removed for biopsy the biggest and baddest nasty lymph node to-date. I also want to add that my now-much-trusted oncologist is at the helm of all these processes. These are words and processes and types of doctors I never would've expected to be a part of my natural conversation ... but life's an ongoing adventure, isn't it?

I'm told that some folks name their ports, since they do for a time become a part of their body, and the overall process to good health. After all, something like that should be considered, and treated like, a real friend, don’t you think? And most of us are close to, and even intimate with, our friends. We don’t usually call our friends, “Hey, you,” or, in this case, “That port in me.”

No, I do think I should name my port. What do you think? How about a Name-A-Port contest ... just cuz? Got any good ideas? Many of you know me well enough to be aware of my quirky, off-beat sense of humor. Any thoughts on good port names?

Only one major qualifier here from my end on this naming thing … MY port will be a girl. End of discussion….

Our Shared Heart of Human Nature

The news says everyone’s out to get us; not a soul thinks outside their world. I’m here to say that’s not true. When you face difficulties, people show their true colors. There’s a vein of compassion and kindness which moves to the forefront, coming alive without volition. It can’t be stopped. This mindset has its own will arising from the heart of human nature, a heart we all share.

To illustrate, I ask you to visit my
Facebook page. Folks I know intimately, know casually in person, and folks I know only through the Internet … all give hope, compassion, and freely offer prayers of good will and hearty health because they care. Maybe they realize that what’s ongoing in my life could happen to anyone and that speaks to that universal human heart … making the depth of how wonderful these people are no less real and awe-inspiring.



My husband and I visited a son, Kevin, daughter-in-law, Elise, and granddaughter, Brooklynne in California two days after receiving my initial medical news. We considered cancelling but doctors assured us we should go. Neither of us shared our news ‘til a few days before we left to return home. I told Elise and she spoke with Kevin that evening. The next day, we went to a wonderful spot in the California mountains—petting zoo, pony rides, lunch overlooking scenery only God could create—picture-perfect.

Going home, driving down the mountain, we passed a museum in an estate-like setting. Kevin was curious and pulled in. He urged me inside with him; Brooklynne wanted to come along. Turned out, this was the Edward-Dean Museum & Gardens.

He didn’t know I collect glass and love antiquities, so we were surprised to find the museum housed art glass and antiques. As we prepared for a tour through rooms brimming with antiques, he and I admired a beautiful dark blue crystal-cut decanter set with four glasses. Kevin casually asked its price and upon discovering it was a steal, just-as-casually asked the caretaker to wrap it as we toured. I assumed he was buying Elise a present, and we went on our way. Included was a collection of art glass paperweights.



Before we left, Kevin paid for the decanter set, and we returned into the bright California sunshine. I asked, “Is Elise getting a lovely surprise?” but he didn’t answer. While climbing into the backseat, I went to close the door and he handed me the packages … he’d bought them for me.

Another example—I met Sue Ketcham via the 'net and now call her a friend. She and I’ve engaged through, "A Maverick Life: The Jack Kelly Story," the biography I’m writing on actor, Jack Kelly. When I learned I faced a challenging health issue, I didn’t want to leave the Jack Kelly group without direction for any time. Right now, a publication date will be different than prior to this news, and I asked Sue if she’d co-anchor the group.



As soon as she knew my situation, she asked, “What’s your favorite color?” I didn’t answer; with so much coming my way, it didn’t really register. Today, I opened my mailbox to find a package from her. Inside was a beautiful piece of knit work in a lovely shade of turquoise. Included was a legend telling me it was a prayer shawl, created “with love,” every stitch “knitted with prayer” by Cutchogue United Methodist Church.

These instances did for me what the medical news has not yet accomplished—I cried. A lot. And while there’s fear and frustration, there’s so much gratitude for God’s giving heart, that beautiful heart of human nature through which He shines for each of us. If I didn’t cry, I wouldn’t be human, and if I weren’t human, I would be unable to share in those lovely instances of God’s love.

Thank you to everyone. Everyone!

Step Out In Faith--Then Remove Your Bra

Lord, when that thought came into my brain years ago about becoming famous—at 54—this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. While there isn’t anything necessarily famous about my sit-chee-a-shun … I’ll make it so by virtue of how I handle it. And you’ll be there with me, every step of the way. I really, really believe that.

I’ve been diagnosed with diffuse large cell lymphoma, and that’s the last time I’ll use that word here. I won’t mention the “C” word. Wallowing, moaning & groaning will get me no-where. NOwhere. It’s 2010; advances in medicine are vast. Cures are common and in most cases, expected. I’ve had a week full of tests, and I stand to have a week or so more before that other “C” word—chemotherapy—becomes a regular part of my world.

I prefer to put my brain power and energy into the positive. Life continues. I’m gonna grow a set of cohones the likes of which many have never seen … not a pretty picture, but picture it, anywho. Give yourself a good giggle.

Here’s what I’ve learned. Take serious notes. YOU may need this advice.

1. All who keeping saying you need to stop and smell the roses—fercryinoutloud, stop talking. Do it.

2. If you’ve wanted to do something for a long time but say you don’t have time … trust me, you have time. If you continue with that useless litany, shame on you. It wasn’t that important after all.

3. Everything has a shelf life. Deal with it.



4. The idea that we should tell those we love how we feel ain’t just words. Go for it, every chance you get.

5. Laugh, laugh, laugh. Laugh you’re a** off, at everything. How can this be a bad idea?

6. Have faith. Believe. You are what you think. My God told me that, and God’s right. Always.



7. Life changes in an instant—in small ways or humongous ways. Be prepared and be flexible.

8. Learn from everything. Everything.

9. Prepare to be famous. For something. It’s coming your way.



10. Take your bra off as soon as you get in the house … an important “feel-good” moment.


I will not entertain negativity. I’ve no misconceptions of a walk in the park … but I’ll act as if I’m not only walking in the park, but stopping to smell those loverly flowers along the way. I’m enjoying the sunshine, and the Sonshine, and thankful for every blessed God-given moment. I am what I believe.

YOU are what you believe. Let’s be famous together … and tell the world about it. Find the highest mountain, have faith, start laughing—and make sure you always take your bra off ASAP for comfort.

Medical Insurance ... & An Official Named "No One"

We live in a world where there’s a card for everything ... just about absotively everything. If you go to the grocery store, there’s a card to give you a discount. If you go to the drug store, there’s a card there, also, to offer a discount. There are even special discount cards at department stores.



The concept of medical insurance has similarities. If you have insurance, you get a discount, presumably, on services rendered. One of the most obvious differences is that you pay for groceries & drug store items & even clothing store items at time of purchase. There’s a price tag attached, you read that tag, & know—yea or nay—whether you’re willing &/or able at the time to spend that amount of money. Medical insurance, on the other hand, is a paid-ahead-of-time cost which, in turn, allows you to partake of services most often without opening your pocketbook at the time of those services.

What's quirky here is that there may be additional charges attached to those medical services, even though you already pay to partake of them. You don’t usually have any clue, however, what additional costs will be until AFTER the fact ... & at that point, you’re powerless to say yea or nay because you’ve already utilized what you’re paying for, so you’re expected to pay.

Is everyone following me? I surely hope not because I’m having a real hard time knowing where I’m going, nonetheless having a bunch of folks going there with me.

Here's an installment from the, “I can’t believe this” department—I scheduled lab tests my doctor prescribed, tests expected to explain a certain concern. Mind you, my husband & I have what he calls “the Cadillac plan.” If it ain’t paid for already, it’s probably not needed. This particular test is 90%covered with insurance ... not bad, unless the test happens to cost an extraordinary amount.

I thought it wise to get a general idea of how much I might pay out of pocket. I had to get pre-authorization from another company for insurance to pay as much as they pay. I was told I’d need “procedural codes” to get the costs of, well, of the procedures. Easier said than done. No one seemed to know procedural codes, even though everyone was able to book me, & charge me, for the procedures. Finally I found someone with the details. Then I had to find out who could take those codes & translate them into monetary amounts. Who could do that?



My doctor’s office didn’t know. They didn’t have the information & suggested I call the insurance company. The insurance company didn’t have the information, but said the service provider would have it. The service provider said, no, they didn’t keep that data, but the insurance company would have it.

What?! I had to explain, with forced patience, that I’d been given the run-around more than a few times already, & SOMEONE had to have these costs. After all, Someone would ultimately know what to charge when all was said and done, wouldn’t they? Finally a woman in the Financial Office—the Financial Office, mind you!—transferred me to someone else in the Financial Office because she “couldn’t give me that information” because ... well, because she couldn’t.

I was handed to Rosalyn, to be exact. Rosalyn, though a perfectly delightful lady, seemed at first to know even less than anyone else to whom I’d spoken thus far. She continually stressed that if I didn’t have insurance, she could tell me exactly what the procedure would cost. However, she didn’t have costs for the procedure if I, the patient, had insurance.

I took a deep breath, frustrated beyond belief, & asked, “Well, who DOES have the cost for those of us with insurance?”

“No One,” she answered.

“No One? NO ONE?!” No One has the cost for a procedure for which Someone will charge me ... & therefore, that Someone will obviously have the cost in hand to be able to write my bill? Does this make any flippin' sense? Are you still with me?!

I finally got Rosalyn to give me costs for folks without insurance so I’d at least have a ballpark idea of what I was getting my wallet into—or, more accurately, what I’d be taking out of my wallet. Rosalyn then said, laughing—by this time, we could do nothing but laugh at this ridiculous conversation—that the prices she quoted did not include radiology fees. Those were separate.

Well, of COURSE they were.

And did Rosalyn have those numbers? No, she’d have to transfer me to Radiology Precertification. Since that was where I had started all this, I declined the transfer.

So let’s go back to the card-for-everything concept. Cards give us discounts—somewhat like insurance—but we usually know the cost of a product or service before buying it, don’t we? And even if we don’t, there’s always Someone that can give us an answer, so we know whether or not we can afford to buy.

I mean, do we see a new dress & just take it ... to be billed later? If we do ... who knows what our new dress costs?

Apparently—NO ONE….

I’ll probably be charged more BECAUSE I have insurance. When there’s talk of health care costs, apparently NO ONE is smart enough.

I’m famous at 54, dadgoneit, and I demand to talk to this individual named, “No One.”

Robert Taylor vs Robert Taylor

Technorati Tags: This is Robert Taylor

 

Technorati Tags: And this is Robert Taylor

It's late on a Friday night & I've just finished an entertaining comparison on who might play Robert Taylor on a discussion board at: Robert Taylor Movie Star.

I just had to show everyone the Robert Taylor of today, as opposed to THE oh-so-famous Robert Taylor of classic movie fame. What if ... what if there WERE a movie being made of his life, based, of course, on my book, "Reluctant Witness: Robert Taylor, Hollywood, & Communism?" What if?

Who do YOU think should play the young Bob? Just look at these photos. Add the widow's peak to the young Robert Taylor--and, truthfully, the young man's name IS Robert Taylor. He has similar coloring, dark hair, piercing eyes (we'd have to do blue contacts, but that's no big deal) ... and he IS an actor.

So think about it. It's a fun exercise.

Happy weekend, folks. I'm Famous at 54 because I wrote Reluctant Witness: Robert Taylor, Hollywood, & Communism, a book on one of Hollywood's most handsome actors of all times ... & it was a blessing to me to be able to do so.

Robert Taylor here, the young one, he's famous because--1. He's an actor; 2. He has a resemblance to that OTHER Robert Taylor; 3. He lives with the same name as one of Hollywood's most handsome actors of all times; and 3. He could just possibly pull off playing THE MAN himself.

If you saw him in person, you'd surely know what I mean....

It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Francis Scott Key lives in a neighborhood right down the road apiece from mine. Let me amend that. He resides in this nearby neighborhood … well, yes, I can say he resides there. I looked up the word, and it does say, “To be inherently present,” so knowing that Francis Scott Key is inherently present in every inch of his current—and permanent—neighborhood, he does reside there. In fact, there’s a grand statue of him, welcoming you to his home, as soon as you enter the gated community called Mt. Olivet.



Lots of individuals reside in this peaceful, attractive, well-kept neighborhood nestled in between the city’s minor league baseball park—named, appropriately, Francis Scott Key Stadium; with the team, of course, called the Keys—and on its other side … another neighborhood, not as old, not as stately, but still with many locals to call it home.



Francis Scott Key is famous because he incited a passion in the masses. We could all learn a lesson from him. He was in the midst of a country in battle, a civilian, when he heard that a friend had been taken prisoner by the British as they invaded Washington in 1814. Key was determined to do what he could to help. No less than the President of the United States agreed to allow him to be a part of the solution, and Key was placed upon a frigate called, appropriately, The Surprise, in the Baltimore Harbor. Fort McHenry
was visible and Key’s emotions overtook him. An attorney and burgeoning writer, he penned, “The Star Spangled Banner” and the rest, as the story always goes … is history.

And history is what you find when you roam the streets of Frederick, Maryland. Francis Scott Key wasn’t born in this town, but he was born nearby, in a more rural area called, again appropriately, Keymar. Yet it is here, in town, where so very much of his lasting legacy still resides.

Indeed, this city is his neighborhood, yet his closest neighbors are folks in the
Mt. Olivet Cemetery who have not necessarily received the fanfare which followed him into eternity.



For example, we have Minnie C. Dukehart, born on March 28, 1860—can you imagine?!—and died January 5, 1906. Minnie was on this earth for 46 years. In 1870, she lived in Baltimore with her parents and her brother, Eugene. Her dad was a railroad conductor. In 1900, just six years before she passed away, she lived on Fayette Street in Baltimore. Her dad had died, and she was still with her mother and brother. It appears Minnie never married, never had children, so how did she end up in Frederick?

Everyone has a story to tell, and everyone is famous because of their story.

Then there was Merle B. Bantz. Merle was born 1859, and in 1870, he lived with his parents—his mother kept the home fires burning while his dad was a well-to-do tanner. He had two siblings, he worked as a clerk in a local store, and the family had a “domestic,” which means, indeed, they were doing well enough to have live-in help. Merle moved to Winchester, Virginia at eighteen, and became a noted shoe salesman, well-respected in his field. His mother continued to live in Frederick and it’s likely that since his family home was here, this is why he was buried here when he died of spinal meningitis on March 14, 1899.



And guess what? I didn’t know it ‘til I did a very nominal amount of research, but Merle was related to Minnie. It appears they were cousins.

So it is that Minnie is famous at 150, Merle is famous at 151 … and I’m famous at 54. We’re all famous. We all have stories to tell—whether we make a permanent, well-publicized mark, like Francis Scott Key, or we make a quiet yet still important mark, like shoe salesman, Merle Bantz. I encourage everyone to tell their stories, to tell the stories of their family, and to tell any and every story that peaks their interest. As Thomas Carlyle was known to have said, and I never stop repeating, “History is the essence of innumerable biographies.” We need to record every last little bit of it whenever we have the chance.

Be famous … tell your story. Write it here, in fact, in the comments section. I’d love to read about you, about your family, about those people who inspire you. Why? Because we’re all famous. Really, we are.

Winners--BOTH of Them

I sit here watching American Idol. I find myself every season trying to justify why I’m so intrigued with this show, and I’ve finally decided that I don’t want to have to justify it anymore … I like it because I like it. Period. Just because I’m more than old enough to be the mother of anyone who might find themselves in that top spot, why is that a reason I should hide in the corner when I say one or the other is my “favorite?”

So it is that tonight there are two 24-year olds standing on the precipice of stardom. In fact, the truth is that both of them have already won. The history of American Idol shows that oftentimes the runner-up flies when the winner simply slides.

And I just can’t help but smile when I look at
Lee DeWyze. Yes, Crystal Bowersox is an incredible musician. Yes, she’s cute. Yes, she’s a mother. Yes, she’s a woman. And if she takes the #1 spot—good for her. But if Lee is the Big Winner? I’m going to have to quote Ellen DeGeneres on this one, “I couldn’t be prouder if I birthed” him myself.

Why is that? He’s got a quality that can’t be named. He’s a natural, and there’s no other way to pinpoint it. A shy smile. A way about him that doesn’t assume he’s going to be the best … just listen to him, though, and you know he’s got it in him. He doesn’t have to tell you. He doesn’t even have to stand on the stage and act like the king of that stage because what he is already tells you he’s exactly that—and so much more.

So Lee DeWyze, ex-paint store clerk … go for it. I’m Famous at 54 because I recognize it in you, no less than if I were your own mother. And you’re famous because, well, simply because YOU’RE Lee DeWyze. Don’t let anyone intimidate you. Step up to the plate and claim your prize.

Dachshunds and Politicians: It IS the Small Stuff. Smile, Say Thank You

I drive to the post office in downtown Frederick, Maryland most every morning to visit the P.O box I use as a business address. I’m awaiting potentially important paperwork for the completion of my book, A Maverick Life: The Jack Kelly Story. This is the major reason I make this trek from my more suburban spot in Frederick to the downtown area … maybe an entire ten minutes away.



This morning as I drove, I saw a young couple walking two dogs. Not unusual … but the dogs made me smile. They were dachshunds and I can’t help but smile when I see these rolly-polly, low-to-the-ground bundles of energy. I don’t have a dog, haven’t for years, but if I did … it’d be a dachshund. How can I not smile when I see such adorableness? They never seem to walk. They’re always pseudo-galloping, and that doesn’t look easy for an animal with four short, teeny legs to carry a solid bulk of body along every step of the way. Yet they appear delighted with each step. Their ears fly back in the air as they scurry along, and their head—a head too big for the overall size of the body—holds up proudly.



It is impossible for me not smile when I see a dachshund. And if something makes me smile, it’s important. It may be a small thing in the grand scope of life but whatever causes me to smile is crucially important to not only my health but the health of the planet. Why? Because I live on this planet and when I’m smiling, my good health affects the good health of others.

As well as my community. Let’s talk politicians. How many politicians make you smile? Honestly. If you’re anywhere in the Washington, DC area, you're always seeing politicians—national, international, local—and most often, what they do does not elicit a smile. That means that when said politicians do help you crack a smile, they deserve public credit.

I’m not extremely political. I pay attention, speak up at times, and keep an eye out for what may threaten what I see as a positive way of life—not only for me but for others. But let’s face it … politics is subjective. What we support is based on the lives we’ve led, the lives that impact us, and issues that grow closest to our hearts. I don’t vote along party lines. I watch for the small things—office holders who, issue by issue, show me their passion over those things which I also tend to consider important.

That’s why I smiled when I learned County Commissioner Kai Hagen was one of two, in a 3-2 vote, who supported continued funding to the
Frederick Arts Council. Anyone who’s ever been to this quaint, historic town simply must take a drive to understand how crucial the arts are here. Frederick was just named 18 on a list of “Top 25 Small Cities” for the Arts by American Style Magazine. Even after that, three other County Commissioners still voted down funding. This is one of those “small things” on my list which make up my appreciation for who-does-what-for-whom.

I thank Kai Hagen and Jan Gardner for having vision to understand this simple “appeal to the public” principle.

It took my ride through town this morning to make sense of this. To see the most adorable dogs enjoying our small-town beauty … and see its history and art as I passed murals, cityscapes, aqueducts and carefully-planned integration of past and the future—an absolutely artistic effort unto itself … I couldn’t help but appreciate the small things because that’s what makes up life. That makes life worth living. That’s what makes ME smile.

I’m famous at 54 because I can still smile at the small stuff, and fully appreciate its beauty, artistry, and import. What makes you smile? What makes you famous?

Freedom of the Press: I don’t care whether or not Elena Kagan is gay but….

60+ years ago there was unspoken rule—whatever went on behind closed doors in Hollywood wasn’t discussed. It wasn’t that such tidbits wouldn’t sell; those gems would’ve sold lots of newspapers, and glued many an ear to the radio and eyeballs to the TV. How were secrets kept safe? We’re a nosy society. We want to know if we identify, or if we can’t. The press looks for it all, finds it all, tells it all. If you can’t handle it, don’t put yourself in the limelight.

I'm personally not interested in gawking. As a biographer, I don't like to be sensational. I’m often accused of being too soft on the subjects at the end of my pen. Still, I believe that if you want to be in the limelight, you must realize that comes at a price. With the technology available, there’s no hiding. And there’s no reason to hide. If you can’t stand being at the end of the telescope, stay away from the lens.

Today, this cautionary message focuses on Washington. We have a new Supreme Court Justice nominee, a 50-year old single woman. Never married. There are numbers of reasons why a rumor began circulating that she might be gay. Do I care? I don’t. While being a gay woman, if she is a gay woman, will influence her beliefs, that's human nature. I’d hope that a professional common-sense gay woman’s personal beliefs shouldn’t be any more unduly influencing than, say, a divorced heterosexual woman. Or what if she's a heterosexual woman who's had bad male/female relationships and is not interested in doing it all over again? Should that be up for discussion?

The point isn’t if Elena Kagan is gay, it’s the governmental reaction to that idea. I don’t believe our governing body should direct what is or isn’t put out in the press, or squelch freedom of speech. When the idea that Kagan could be gay was publicized, the United States government, in the form of the White House, strongly “suggested” such things shouldn’t be discussed. Even more, retractions were “encouraged” and media was instructed not to discuss the matter.

I ask—have you heard anything about Kagan’s sexuality from network outlets lately? Again, I don’t care. That sort of thing shouldn’t be part of the political process. But if it becomes the conversation, our government has no right to repress it. This country is founded on freedom of the press and freedom of speech. There’s that saying, paraphrased, “I don’t agree with what you say but I will defend your right to say it.”

No one would care about Elena Kagan, sexuality or otherwise, if she weren’t vying for a position with the highest court in the land. That makes her Famous at 50 … not for her sexuality but because she wants to be publicly influential. As a result, the US government has directed the press on her behalf, making a mockery of the very tenets of law this lady would be required to uphold should she get the seat.

REFERENCES:

Andrew Sullivan

KIAH-TV Houston Maggie Flecknoe

Famous People Plan With Google Calendars

When we go from one year to another, we "turn" such-and-such an age. The “turning” part of my 54 odyssey is done-and-gone. No more turning to be had. I done did that this year. I’ve turned. It’s official, and all that’s left is to have the best-est year ever. That’s what being famous is about, isn’t it? Doing what you do best, enjoying the process, and being in love with every moment?



That’s my plan. Speaking of plans, have you used Google Calendars? I looked for years for a system that would feel natural, that I’d automatically use, that would be right there for me whenever something came up. I had every planner you could possibly imagine—leather, non-leather, large, small, with or without all sorts of nifty planning page ideas to keep me on track … and while they seemed logical, they required me to carry a large, bulky, physical piece of planning equipment wherever I went … and along with my handbag, the added piece didn’t work.

Then came electronics. I carry a phone, and my phone has bells and whistles. It has a calendar and I could add appointments there. It’s with me all the time but it requires me to be extraordinarily technically advanced—at least in my mind—and that wasn’t the ticket, either. Tessie Techno is not my style. It wasn’t natural, and that was the problem. An effective tool for any part of life should be an extension of routine.

I’m at my computer most of the day. When I’m out, I usually have a thin, inexpensive, utilitarian calendar book with me. I don’t use it to write down every single appointment, or everything that needs to be done. I use it as a way to carry a calendar I’ve already printed … from my Google online calendar system. I do jot down appointments in the planner when they come up and I’m away from my computer, only to add them to my Google calendar when I get back to my computer.



Google's system offers color coding for each type of appointment, giving an immediate sense of how much time is spent on whatever task. I add personal and professional tasks, points that need a date for future reference, special happenings, etc. I print out a calendar for each day and appointments/entries are color-coded so I’m aware of the different pockets of importance for that day. Also, being on the computer so much, I pull up my calendar in a window and keep it up all day, adding, changing, rearranging as needed. It shows on the screen as solid color—and I picked what colors I wanted for specific parts of my life—so it has become something I’m used to seeing and recognizing.

Everyone has a system. It’s taken me years to get to where my system works to the point that I’m uncomfortable if I don’t use it to stay on track with all the types of work I do each day, and various commitments. And even when traveling, all I do is pull up my Google calendar on my laptop and—POOF!— it’s in front of me.



Did we EVER accomplish anything before computers? Thanks, Google, for making it easier to be Famous at 54. Every little bit helps! Now, it’s time to finish writing that book, "A Maverick Life: The Jack Kelly Story" on famous Jack Kelly.

Me, The Pill, Anne Baxter, Johnny Maestro, & Uncle Dave: Happy Birthday

Okay, it’s official. In one more year, in many locations, I can request a senior discount … and get it legally. The “Big 54” has settled upon me, and I really don’t feel any the worse for it. In fact, I always remember my ex-mother-in-law’s words about birthdays, “You don’t worry about HAVING them. It’s when you STOP having them that you have to worry.” Okay, dear Kay … I’m with you on that one!

Also realized that I'm older than The Pill. We share a birthday month ... but I have a few extra years on me. And The Pill, well, it doesn't look a day over, maybe, what? 49?! It wasn't yet around when I was just a twinkle in my mother's eye.

Anne Baxter, famous movie star of yesterday, was born on May 7 ... in the 1920s. She was part of the now-infamous film, "The Ten Commandments." Now, that's imposing!

And then there was Johnny Maestro ... of Johnny Maestro and the Brooklyn Bridge. Oh, I listened to THEM when I was growing up, and never did I know he and I had the same birthdate. I even interviewed him once. He was probably tired, had had a long day--and it was not an impressive interview. He said little, and was even a bit curt. Oh well, we all have those days, eh? Johnny has recently passed away, and he's likely singing with the angels.

My Uncle Dave passed away very recently. He was always larger-than-life and I have to admit, I was often just this side of intimidated by him. As he aged, however, I saw his softer side, and truly appreciated his sweetness. There was one thing very specific he and I shared all those years, something no one else in the family shared—our birthdate. Today is also Uncle Dave’s birthday, and I’m sure the angels are singing to him--maybe Johnny Maestro is leading the choir?--right this minute.

And he’s sitting there, with that infamous crooked grin of his, an eyebrow cocked, just waiting for the perfect moment to sink a zinger on those unsuspecting angels. Be gentle, Uncle Dave … after all, they ARE angels, and it IS Heaven, so make it PG, will ya?!

Uncle Dave was always famous for that—his crooked grin, cocked eyebrow, and a dry, seat-of-his-pants comment that no expected placed at exactly the perfect moment in conversation. Everyone would then fall off their chair laughing, and he would just continue to grin. He knew what he was doing.



The Pill is famous forever, Anne Baxter's famous for having a hand in the heaviest set of rules of all times, Johnny Maestro is famous for his fantastic voice, I'm “Famous at 54,” and now my Uncle Dave has entered the “Famous Forever Club.”

Happy birthday to all who have May 7 as their special day ... you're famous, too!

Middle Age Clarity: The Brass Ring

Middle age seems to bring clarity to life … and I’m saying “middle age” because, heck, 108 ain’t no big thang in today’s world, is it?! In the Starbucks line this morning to get my hot chocolate, despite the warm weather outside, I had my car radio going, and a local radio station droned on about a contest they’re running in which listeners who put together clues win prizes … big-screen TVs, vacations, the like. The contestant on the phone was whispering to the DJ. The DJ, in turn, wanted to know why.

“I’m at work,” the woman contestant whispered loudly, as if that was an obvious reason to sound rather silly on a local radio show that certainly is heard everywhere in her area … and if her boss, for example, were also listening, said boss would know her voice even as a whisper.

No matter, Whispering Contestant continued on in a hush-hush tone, and the DJ continued on, trying not to laugh but not being successful. DJ asked questions, Whispering Contestant gave answers … and lo and behold, she won the big-screen TV. Congratulations!

Somehow, it all seemed rather sad to me. Whispering Contestant was at work, apparently at a corporate-type job she cared not-that-much about because she wasn’t following rules—she couldn’t have been or else she wouldn’t have had to whisper to make a call to get a consumer-based prize she maybe, or maybe not, could afford to buy because of the salary coming in every week from said job. Yet the job IS important because, well, it pays bills and she obviously wouldn’t have been whispering if she didn’t care about losing said job.

Bottom line, my Moment of Clarity came just before I got to the Starbucks speaker about 11:50 AM EST. Timing’s important because this decision to go get a hot chocolate came in the middle of my workday morning … and I went for it. Period. And I didn’t whisper into the speaker when it was my turn to give my order. Granted, I wasn’t in line to win a big-screen TV—just buy a hot chocolate—but still, I didn’t feel the need to mask the fact that I was doing just that.

So go for it, people. Take a stand. Have your own Moment of Clarity. Be famous … whether you’re 54 or 45, or 108. No whispering, okay? Go for whatever brass ring is at your fingertips and do it with bravery and determination that no one will take it from you if they find out you’re reaching.

Famous at 54

Can you “remember” something … even if you can’t literally recall it happening? Such is my “Famous at 54” idea. Recently I’ve “memory” of waaaay back when, bumbling through my 20s, entering a white house on the roadside to see a psychic. I wasn’t alone. It was on a lark; I didn’t then, and don’t now, frequent psychics. Paying to hear about my future from a stranger looking into a crystal ball … never my style.



Still, my “memory” has me seeing that psychic in that white house on the side of that road. Those days I did a lot of THINKING about being a professional writer. I had 2 young kids, newly-married, and had many dreams but no knowledge how to make them alive. I asked the psychic if I’d become a famous published author and her reply angered me. She said, yes, I'd become a famous published author … when I was 54. My “remembered” response, “I have to wait THAT long?!”

Guess what? Real or imagined, whether or not I went to a psychic in my 20s and got a declaration of my future risen star … I turn 54 this weekend. While “famous” wouldn’t be the word I’d use, I’ve become author of multiple published articles and books, and have a writing career.

Now that I’ve “waited that long,” on the threshold of my advanced age … it’s not that old, and I’m amused at the childishness of my “remembered” response. What did I think? I’d just “POOF!” and be the best thing since, oh, Rosemary Rogers, no effort? I guess that’s what I thought.

I’ve wanted to do a blog for some time. I AM a writer, and in today’s world, how better to share than with a blog? So what’s taken me so long?! I guess it was this revelation that being “famous” is relative. It means what we want, and I believe we’re all famous for something.

Anyone reading this is famous. You … you … and YOU. That’s why “Famous at 54” is being birthed on the cusp of me entering that now-infamous 54th year. I’m famous … for using the word “peachy” all the time … as someone who LOVES Mexican food … as mother of 2 amazing young men whose lives took shape as I watched in total amazement … as friend of 3 other amazing young men who’ve become part of my life by choice … as Gramma Linda to 3 darling grandkids.

And I’m famous at 54 because I love my life.

What are YOU famous for? Celebrate with me. We’re in the Delight of our Days, here to find out what’s around that next corner, who’ll become a part of our lives … and what extraordinary achievement will soon be ours. I hope you’ll be “Famous at 54” even if you're “Famous at 50” or “Famous at 90,” or any age. Take a hop, skip, and jump down this road alongside me, giggle and play … and find the Famous Person inside you.

I’m Famous at 54, and I’m waiting for you! Join me soon, will you?