In 2006, 2007 and 2008 my efforts to defeat cancer and support the wonderful work of the Lance Armstrong Foundation were focused on the Portland LiveStrong Challenge in which I rode my bicycle and raised funds.

As many of you know, I choose to skip the Challenge in 2009 in order to focus my work as a Local LiveStrong Leader on building a grassroots organization in the Lewiston-Clarkston Valley. Now an active and growing group - http://www.lewisclarklivestrong.org/ - I am once again turning my attention to fundraising via the LiveStrong Challenge. But this time for the grandaddy Challenge - Austin, Texas 2010, home base of the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

AND I NEED YOUR HELP TO REACH MY GOAL!

Consider this:
** 1.4 million Americans are expected to be diagnosed with cancer this year.
**Nearly 1 in 2 men and 1 in 3 women will develop cancer during their lifetime.
**By 2010 (that's NOW!) cancer is likely to replace heart disease as the leading cause of death in the United States. It's already the biggest killer of those under the age 85.

Please contribute to my LiveStrong Challenge Ride and help the Lance Armstrong Foundation continue to provide SurvivorCare, access to screening, educational materials, local grants and investment in research.

http://austin2010.livestrong.org/marciabanta

DEFINING LIVESTRONG

Last night I began reading a lovely small book, "Becoming Myself: Reflections on Growing Up Female" edited by Willa Shalit. Impressive and moving in the generousity of the women sharing stories, the very first story by Maya Angelou spoke directly to my passion fighting with and for people battling cancer; although cancer is nowhere mentioned. What she does include is a wonderful poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay. It is entitled "Conscientious Objector" but it envinces in me a perfect definition of LiveStrong.

I shall die, but

that is all I shall do for Death.

I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;

I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.

He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,

business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.

But I will not hold the bridle

while he cinches the girth.

And he may mount by himself:

I will not give him a leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,

I will not tell him which way the fox ran.

With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where

the black boy hides in the swamp.

I shall die but that is all I shall do for Death;

I am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabouts of my friends

nor of my enemies either.

Though he promise me much,

I will not map him the route to any man's door.

Am I a spy in the land of the living,

that I should deliver men to Death?

Brother, the passwords and the plans of our city

are safe with me; never through me shall you be overcome.

COURAGE

On the front it reads "I'm Dying". On the back it reads "So Are You." And thus another warrior in the battle against some insidious disease announces their awareness that, for them, the end of the fight is near. A combination of spitting into the wind and remaining part of humanity by reminding others that each of us faces the same destiny.

Beyond the wry smile of acknowledgement, I am often struck by the audacity of the display...and all that goes with such self-knowledge.

Cancer has been a frequent intruder in my life. And seldom can a day pass without all of us seeing or hearing stories of those who battle some disease; stories that tug at our hearts or moisten our eyes.

But acknowledgment of the final reality, the loss of options, the sureness of outcome, the awareness of sooner rather than later; that is not a failure of hope, but a true and precious courage.

Benj had breast cancer. When the certainty of death was near, she spent every minute of time, every ounce of energy and every breath of determination to ensure her family was not only with her on the path but taken care of in the future. In public she was composed, thoughtful and organized. She had set a goal that required her to both acknowledge and act. Surely not easy, it was my first brush the exhibition of courage when seeing your death near.

Debbie's cancer was obscenely quick from diagnosis to death. From her hospital bed she completed a quilt for each of her sons, wrote letters and thoughts and fought to keep meaning in her life while facing death. Such acts required awesome strength of will.

Now, as I work with the LiveStrong cancer community, I am privileged to see and know others who defiantly acknowledge the nearness of death but continue to live. Who make painful, but necessary decisions. Who often even seek to provide comfort to the rest of us or guidance on the roads forward.

What else could you call that but courage?

FEEDING THE SOUL

Sometimes all we can do to feed our soul are the actions of everyday living; reaching out and embracing what is possible in our own limited sphere. Today's multiple famines were fed by ordinary acts.

Worried about a friend whose diagnosis should have come yesterday, I tore apart the remains of the garden leaving bare ground prepared but not yet fertile for spring planting. Looking ahead with hope.

Concerned about the impact of the loss of a LiveStrong support group member, I accompanied the group facilitator, my husband, to a memorial celebration filled with both laughter and tears. Coming together for comfort.

Engaged in a search for a way to wrap up the day with optimism, we watch Pete Seeger's 90th birthday celebration from Madison Square Garden agog at the talent and fierce dedication to freedom, justice and equality. Joining voices because we are all one.

Feeding the cat of a friend hours away enduring chemo, tweeting what I hope to be encouraging words to other survivors fighting and hurting, sharing the wonder of the sound of wind and rain as night moves in and the weather changes.

Taking a deep breath of wonder and peace at the end of the day.

Small kernels to feed the soul.

TED KENNEDY...LIVESTRONG

Each death is like a rock chip flung into the armour of cancer survivors. You know exactly where it came from, but it's a hurtful surprise anyway. Ted Kennedy represented many hopes for many people over the years. And his valiant fight against cancer, both the disease and the health care system in which it occurred, was fierce and loud as well as quiet and compassionate. Ted, Bruce, Larry, Benj, Debbie, Rhonda, Charlie, Jackson. Too many. Too many to come.

The numbers are a stark reality. Today, 33,000 people around the world will be diagnosed with cancer. By 2010 cancer will be the leading cause of death worldwide. By 2020 more than 10 million people will die from cancer every year. By 2050, 27 million new cases and more than 17 million deaths.

Currently, every day in the United States, more than 1500 people die of cancer. 1 in 2 men and 1 in 3 women in the US will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime.

Yet hope lives. Ted Kennedy said in 1980, "For all those whose cares have been our concern, the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die."

In 2008, Kennedy had not given up, renewing his and our determination once more when he said, "The work begins anew. The hope rises again. And the dream lives on."

It is worth noting that Kennedy always paired "hope" with "work".

So beyond our grief, Kennedy's death is a renewed call to action. For each cancer survivor, for every friend and family member, it's immediate and personal. It is a safe bet that each of you out there has been touched.

What are you waiting for? What world will you live in? What world will your children and grandchildren inherit?

Visit http://www.livestrongaction.org/. Join the 1,337,385 (and counting) people around the world uniting to fight for a world without cancer. Right now.

Dream. Hope. Work.

PALIN & PELOSI

What are women to learn from the two most prominent women in politics in 2009?

First there are the contrasts: Palin is old school, sweetheart queen, barely educated, appeal to the emotions and cry if you don't get your own way. Pelosi is smart, savvy, pay your dues, play with the big boys and best them at their own game.

Both strategies come in for huge criticism from the opposing camp; especially the men. Palin never makes it into the big boys club and suffers the casual derision that masquerades as a pedestal while never being taken completely seriously. Pelosi is respected and even feared as a player but never accorded human female status and suffers the awed but equally derisive admiration of skill but "I wouldn't want to have her as a mother/wife."

And what does the striking similarity - careful, impeccable dressing - say?

While I am sure that there are friends and family who know the multidimensional women Palin and Pelosi, most of the world sees the one dimensional reflection in the face of the powerful and the media.

Perhaps those reflections are accurate. But it is more likely that they are partly true, partly false and wholly a product of our continuing inability to move women, especially public women, into the human race with all its variety of roles, looks, opinions and relationships.

What can we learn from the two most prominent women in politics in 2009? That the fight for equality is far from won.

The Secret Life of Bees

I read and loved Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees when it first was published in 2001. At the time it seemed one more lovely, insightful book on my long list of 'I really liked that book and wish everyone would read it'.

Last night I watched the movie. In a rare deviation from my deep infatuation with the printed word, the movie is a giant step beyond the book. For a movie where I already knew the ending and which is at its heart not truly a mystery story, it was an edge of the seat viewing from beginning to end.

There is much in the story of any life and more in these lives than some others. But the telling never winced from that which was hard or true. There was pain, anguish, anger and confusion. There was also love, companionship, respect and joy.

Looking back, one other fact distinguished the movie from the book. President Obama.

Somehow Obama's election between the reading of the book and the watching of the movie caused a subtle shift from a 'they' to 'we' story. I can't quite put my finger on the exact cause and moment of this feeling. And part of me suspects I wouldn't care for the answer and what it implies about my previous "unbiased" state of mind. But truly for me the book was "their" story and the movie was "our" story. Maybe sometimes we don't recognize the more illusive forms of exclusion until we see and touch its opposite.

I am grateful for a good read, a spectacular performance and a world in which we all can grow and change. Each of our stories should be told as well as The Secret Life of Bees.

Losing a Child

In the textbook of life, if one can learn grief, empathizing without (thankfully) truly understanding, then today was one more heartbreaking and terrifying lesson.

Jamie was 34 and his mother is my friend. Not that it matters, but death came in a car accident.

The news stunned me into silence. The funeral leaves me staring at the pictures of my own child and grandchildren with both gratitude and fear; fear which is always, has always been present, but fear usually buried beneath daily life.

My helpless words never breach the shell and while my shoulder absorbs the tears it cannot restore. Mother, Father, wife, two very small children whose lives are forever altered. My imagining encompasses a mere speck of the reality. To me, a child lost seems the most hideous of bereavements.

Even the strongest life is fragile.

A ROOM FULL OF WISDOM

One of the great joys of my retirement was being asked to join a Book Club - something a job with uncertain and long hours made such a regular commitment difficult. And I do so love to read. Every day. It is a love I come by from a family of readers. No book given to Mom, a sister, a husband or a daughter goes unread and then unpassed to all the others. We even have a system of post-it designations for ownership and who has read each book thus far. Our own private library system.

But a Book Club is special; a group for whom the express purpose is to read, reflect and discuss a common book; a group that brings, shares and mingles its various backgrounds, life experiences and points of view into one thoughtful, vigorous and sometimes hilarious discussion.

My good fortune was being asked into a long standing group of women of high intelligence, considerable passion and a wide variety of worldly wisdom and involvement. We are never "just" discussing a book, but the ideas and life that the book expresses for each of us.

The deeper we roam through and the further afield we roam from book specifics, the more I appreciate the insights and experiences of each woman; women who reach out to others, who welcome new people, who believe that expanding and including are healthy yet value the foundations of an ongoing discourse. And each month I am struck anew at the sheer mass of wisdom that resides in these women. Truly, a room full of wisdom.

AIG...Postscript

OK...we are all angry. It has been a good week to raise our voices, proclaim our disgust and make suggestions that go beyond recoup and verge on revenge.

There. Do you feel better now?

Will anything we, the President or the Congress does to recover these funds help the economy recover, establish one new job, save our monetary system, send stocks soaring?

No? Well then, how about moving on the the real stuff. It is not that the anger wasn't deserved. It was. It's not that the perpetrators of this shameful episode shouldn't know what the public thinks. They should. And it is not even that appropriate, considered steps shouldn't be taken in response (Note that response may or may not include recovery.) They should.

But we have bigger fish to fry. Anger over the economy channeled at a convenient, but incorrect target won't get a job, a home, a family or a life back. Instead it will be a distraction working to slow or prevent true recovery. Or to hide the real dilemmas and the real culprits.

Get real. Move on.

MISSING THE POINT WITH AIG

Who among us is worth a multi-million dollar bonus? Even the justifiable public anger seems to have its face turned in the wrong direction. And shameless greed, while accurate to a large degree, still misses the moral target.

No one is talking here of robbing multi-millionaire Peter, who earned it, to pay street bum Paul, who did no work.

No one is talking here of equal pay for all work, regardless of effort.

No, what we have here is a system so out of whack, so filled with individual greed, so focused on personal gain even at the expense of the hand that feeds you that its workers can no longer distinguish right from wrong; because "that's how the system works."

Or currently, doesn't work. Contrary to common wisdom, it is not the presence of taxpayer dollars which makes this system and its minions wrong. It is just plain, old fashioned wrong.

I am tempted to remind one and all of every time management said during contract negotiations that they could not pay a living wage, provide insurance or allow sick leave because to do so would bankrupt the company. But the current company robbery makes unions look like wimps.

The more potent question we all should be asking is "what is work worth"?

All too often this discussion devolves into comparisons of doctors, daycare, teachers, emergency services - those who directly enhance or save lives versus sales, tradesmen, factory workers, municipal workers - those who keep our lives clean and filled with the material things we both need and want. (My vote goes to Mothers for the highest paid job on earth.)

Such a false premise for dialog can only lead down dead end paths. And one such dead end path is the belief of an individual employee that doing his or her job well should be monetarily rewarded beyond the remuneration set for that job.

For example, what about all those AIG employees who did not receive a bonus? Are we to infer that they did not do their job? That they are about to be fired for failure to perform? Of course not. It is likely they received fair pay for the job they were expected to do and did well.

One irony with AIG is that even they agree that the people who received bonuses are not the only people who could have done the jobs for which bonuses were paid.

So...they did their jobs, probably quite well, and they got paid well for doing those jobs. But bonuses not tied to the well-being of the company for whom all this was supposedly done? Bonuses, based on a single year, not the long haul for the company, lead to a whole lot of freelance "I must get mine and the rest of the world be screwed" attitude.

Still, who are these people so bereft of a moral compass; so blind and deaf to the larger world in which they are a mere disposable piece? Are they a portend or a symptom of what we all have become?

And when will the United States build a country and an economy in which all are paid on how well you do your job and not on which job creates wealth for a select few.

WATCHING HOUSE

Dr. Gregory House isn't much of a role model either as a doctor or a human being. Not on my list of 'be sure to watch' - or more commonly, record and watch - still I found myself sitting glazed and unmoving in front of House reruns several times in the last few weeks.

I like the show in the same weird 'slowing for an accident' way I suspect is a large part of viewing CSI or NCIS. (Did texting come first or the other way around?)

There is this draw to those shows, and my personal favorite Cold Case, that goes beyond the story line and pulls me in via the group dynamics. It is the interplay of the ensemble that intrigues. Teamwork is represented in all its lively exchange, building on each other, agreeing, disagreeing, good feelings, bad feelings, sharing, withholding and successful glory. Our politics might be better if more politicians watched television.

Yet, House relies more on it's leader and the group doesn't quite make the teamwork definition with House in control. No, House appeals on a much more personal level. Any one of us who has had even the slightest illness, encountered the medical system or just worried about our health couldn't fail to recognize what House means to a patient. It's not his bedside manner you want in your life. You might want to punch him in the nose, but the next time you need a doctor you want one that is as persistent and as brilliant and successful as House.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part 5: Final Thoughts

Airline flights around the country dotted my professional life. My favorite parts of each flight were the ascent and descent where the lives of those below played out in streets and buildings and homes that could be seen from above. My mind whirled furiously as I tried to imagine not only what people below were doing, but why the landscape told me their stories.

Fields, farms, row homes, mansions, rural, industrial, suburb, city, lush, dry, busy, silent, gravel or paved; each landscape begat the people therein. And within each landscape were individuals, families, friends and strangers - past and present - acting upon one another to shape their lives.

For me, travel by any mode of transportation brings not only personal pleasure, but expanded knowledge. Knowledge of our global condition, both shared and unique. It's hard not to become a cheerleader for how much more we understand if we see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears and touch with our own hands the varieties of our world. The fanciest computer, photos or video can never really fully match being there.

And knowledge becomes understanding, concern, compassion and a willingness to act on behalf of others as well as ourselves.

Sadly, despite global expansion, less travel may be one more consequence of our collective failure to resolve the environmental issues upon which travel depends; bound further by the current economic crisis.

Perhaps not, but it is up to us. Each generation must now only share what it knows of the world, but make it possible for future generations to discover their own reality in our rapidly changing world.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part 4: Rhyolite & Manzanar

While Death Valley presented more than adequate opportunities for exploration, two forays out of the park, one east and one west, served as highlights for our vacation. Both sites flourished for only a few years, but each served very different purposes in intent, emotion and the impression left on our national psyche.

Just a few miles past Death Valley's eastern boundary, delineated by the California/Nevada border, lies the ghost town of Rhyolite, Nevada. Springing to life at the beginning of the twentieth century it was spawned of mines, gold and hope - perhaps foolish, perhaps not - of a better life in a new territory. No small town, Rhyolite boasted nearly 10,000 people in its heyday. In addition to the usual train depot, churches, stores, saloons and lodging houses, Rhyolite had 8 doctors, 2 dentists, a stock exchange and an opera. The largest ghost town in the Death Valley area, many ruins remain and it is easy to imagine the vitality, ambition and faith in the future which was present for a few short years.

Stark contrast lies outside the western boundary of Death Valley; over the Panamint mountains and into Owens Valley. Manzanar Japanese War Relocation Center, active from 1942-1945, opened as a National Historical Site only in 2004. The former Assembly Hall and School for the camp houses the beautifully done displays and is one of few buildings still standing. Except for a guard tower. Its brief and painful life speaks of fear, angiush and national shame yet also resilience.

Serendipitously, last fall my book club read Farewell to Manzanar, an early and moving account of one family forced into the internment camp. Words from the book rose into clear pictures among the hardscrabble, dusty and now vacant landscape. From any angle, the guard tower is a startling reminder that no person inside, mostly American citizens, was here by choice. The graveyard, also the site of a lovely memorial, stands as concrete permanence in opposition to the windswept desolation alternately revealing and hiding the scars of a national mistake.

A visit to Manzanar leaves a lasting impression of sadness and despair, not merely for the internees, but for our country. Perhaps its very existence as an official national site provides the glimmer of hope and the path ahead for learning from the past.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part 3 Death Valley - The Pictures

Scotty's Castle

Mosaic Canyon

Mosaic Canyon

Zabriskie Point

Devil's Golf Course

Devil's Golf Course

Natural Bridge

Badwater

Sea Level ABOVE Badwater :-)

Titus Canyon
Titus Canyon
Artist's Drive
Artist's Drive
US!

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part 3 Death Valley

As we flowed down the precipitous but winding, smooth corners into the valley I made rapid mental adjustments in my expectations for Death Valley. My mind's eye always saw Death Valley much as the Bonneville Salt Flats...long, flat and salt pan. Who knew? The reality is quite different.

Death Valley is the largest National Park in the in the contiguous United States at 3.3 million acres with the well known low point, Badwater, 282 feet below sea level, but bounded on the west by Telescope Peak at 11,049 feet and formed not by water but by sinking bedrock between two parallel mountain ranges, the Amargosa and the Panamints.

By the time we reached our motel in mid-park we had passed mountains, sage and dunes while gazing across the valley at snow covered mountain tops. Rain had been falling for much of two weeks and would continue to fall for one more day, making planning each day's activities a challenge of reading the morning park report to see what roads had been reopened after the inevitable wash outs and flooding that occur when rain and desert roads co-mingle.

And Death Valley is a motoring park with one North-South road and one East-West road and a handful of short gravel roads (trails) to points of interest. Four-wheel drive is recommended for off the two main roads.

Scotty's Castle became our first adventure on a day where rain continued to fall. Imagine this: a desolate, huge, climate challenged valley with a castle, yes a castle, at the north end. The full story of this castle is a tale in true western fashion, full of gold, mines, lies, investors and a wealthy but really private engineer and his wife. Suffice it to say here that Scotty neither built nor owned the castle. Filled with antiques and worldwide decor, it is a charming, comfortable, expansive and exotic wonder.

As the weather (and the roads) cleared we were able to hike Mosaic Canyon encountering only narrow crevices, rock scrambles and dry falls. A shorter hike at Natural Bridge provided a canyon hike with a great arch. Each showcased different canyon geology and highlighted the distinct varieties found in the park.

Zabriskie Point, a traditional park turnout area with far-reaching views of the Badwater end of the valley and the very aptly named Golden Canyon is a photographers dream. Dropping back into the valley, Devil's Golf Course is a walk through gnarled crystalline salt spires. Yes, they're sharp!

And then it is down to the bottom. Badwater, where you look 282 feet up the cliff at the sign designating the sea level, is a sheet of white and the lowest point in North America. With a winter-only briny pond at the edge, the sight of all that salt is a high blood pressure nightmare.

Saving the best for last, we hiked Titus Canyon one morning followed by the Artist's Drive that afternoon. Titus Canyon can actually be driven from east to west...when the road hasn't washed out from rain. Lest I mislead you, it is a canyon; a deep, narrow, twisty canyon and suitable at its best only for high clearance vehicles. The day we hiked the lower end only a really talented off-road motorcyclist might have made the washed out sections. A spectacular canyon with a huge variety of rock, Titus is a geologists playroom and entirely different than Mosaic.

On the other hand, Artist's Drive is the segment of the park most likely to provoke an intake of breath and unintelligible sounds of visual pleasure. On a wildly plunging and rising, curving one-way road the hills and ravines reveal a spectrum of colors: bright and inescapable pink, green, blue, purple, red, brown, black and golden.

It is impossible in Death Valley not to vividly imagine the pioneers who passed through this tough and unforgiving landscape. Purely by chance my reading while on this trip was a book about Wallace Stegner and the American West. Focused on areas that surround but do not intersect Death Valley, it nevertheless gave both ample context and much food for thought as our glances roamed this vast space. To be in Death Valley a person feels much like a flea on King Kong; an invisible annoyance but one which in great numbers could cause great harm.

There is a profound silence that slowly envelopes the valley as dusk rolls across the valley, tumbling out of the mountains in the west, creeping along the valley floor and over the dunes and rising again in triumph up the eastern peaks. Yet, it was the cloak of night which presented the the most striking awareness of human presence as several nights the loud, low flyovers of military aircraft from China Lake and Nellis roared repeatedly across the sky.

I have been too long among the pine and cedar to feel strong attraction for this curious and fascinating landscape. Yet Death Valley calls to be seen at least once even by those not passionate about desert expanse.

Coming Soon...Part 4, a remarkable side trip out the western edge of Death Valley to Manzanar National Historic Site (WWII Japanese Internment Camp).

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part 2: Nevada

So, in this multi-part Death Valley trip report let's take care of day 2, 3 and 9 right now. These were our days driving through Nevada. I rather pride myself on finding any place I visit interesting; looking for the unique and noteworthy and seeing its value.

But...Nevada, sigh.

First, there is the landscape. You might remember from previous posts that I am a fan of trees. Real trees. Big flowing and majestic trees. Nevada has, well, sage. And while I find the Joshua trees a welcome relief from the endless flats and clearly unique, even their repetition does not a forest make.

The few distant mountains do not make up for the unceasingly straight road with its signs advertising 24 hour liquor, 24 hour casinos and 24 hour, ahem, ladies of the night 'ranches'.

With its nude landscape filled with military installations, munitions depots, undersea training(!) and flight zones it is easy to see how Nevada's big empty (but not really) spaces could lend itself to tales of alien landings.

Perhaps I could learn to admire if never truly like the landscape, but it is indoors where Nevada sends me running for cover. I didn't actually see this, but I'm pretty sure there are gaming machines in the restrooms because they are certainly in every other nook and cranny of any building that has an entry door.

But what really drops Nevada down to #50 on the "I love this state" list is the SMOKE! Not only is smoking allowed nearly everywhere, but mostly to get to any non-smoking area you must trudge through casino clang and swirling smoke to reach breathable air.

We met some lovely people and ate at least one very nice meal in Nevada, but my ability to see what Nevadans must, and I am sure do, love about their state is lost in a heavy cloud of smoke.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part I: Idaho

Maybe it is because I grew up far enough west of Chicago to consider riding a train to the city, especially to see the Christmas tree at Marshall Field's, a real treat. Or maybe it was the family trip each fall downstate to see the colors and brunch across the river from the Blackhawk statue. Or even maybe it was the many trips across corn fields to Des Moines where the bulk of our family resided and Mom and Dad called home. Perhaps it was just growing up when the automobile and the highways came of age. Yet then I went to Idaho for a job where our staff 'song' was On The Road Again; where each year I put thousands of miles on my current car and where four-lane was non-existent. So maybe it's just me.

But I love the byways. And the first day of our trip to Death Valley from Lewiston, Idaho only reminded me how much I have come to appreciate the varied terrain of my adopted state.

Not that the trip started in ideal conditions. Towing our trailer for the first time and leaving in winter overcast, we had the good fortune to have the snow hold off until the end of the first day - literally as we pulled into the motel parking lot.

And that small blessing meant three hundred miles of watching forest and mountain, streams, tumbling rivers and steep canyons, high desert hills and sage rush past my window.

And the small towns resurrected a gush of memories. See that small town? I once worked with it's legislative candidate on his campaign. See that small town? We mediated on the next contract for almost twenty-hours one night. And that one? A disciplinary hearing kept me in town for two days. Ah, and that one? We came with in an hour of a strike and I can tell you the motel owner's life history.

Travel gives us landscapes; physical, social and historical.

If only we watch...using more than just our eyes.

Moving On...Dr. Michael Rooney

Being retired with a new, challenging occupation myself I guess I should look on the retirement of Dr. Michael Rooney, oncologist extraordinaire, and his move to teaching others as a positive transformation. And if he brings his quiet passion to his new work, it will be all that and more.

But I will miss the doctor to whom patients felt such loyalty; the recipients of his warmth and caring treatment in the toughest of fights: cancer.

Yes, I too have heard horror stories of doctors who don't test because you are too young to have cancer, who don't test because you are too old to treat, who dismiss fears as unfounded therefore not worthy of response, who fail to understand either the misery or urgency brought on by a cancer diagnosis. And while believing each tale, I also believe most doctors do or want to provide the best care and in the most supportive manner.

Perhaps, as beloved as he was treating patients, Dr. Rooney will make an even larger mark on patient care by teaching others his calm, thoughtful and unhurried support for the stricken patient struggling to make sense of a diagnosis, to make treatment decisions and all the while wandering the emotional turf of shock, anger and fear.

Curiosity

Someone should investigate curiosity as the best prevention for diminishing mental capacity as we age. Really.

Al and I are about to visit Death Valley. The choice of destination might surprise those who know me. I am definitely and definitively a tree person. A hardwood forest surrounded the home of my youth. Majestic cedars and pines drown the small town of my working and retirement years. Walking down a wilderness path next to a burbling stream my very breath comes more deeply and my heart is at peace.

So Death Valley came as a bit of a shock even to me. But like almost every place I have had the pleasure of visiting, the more I read the more eager I am to arrive.

I put it down to the pure, unadulterated and untamed curiosity; my companion since forever. I want to know. I want to see. I want to learn.

So, despite no trees, no brooks, no cool breezes I can't wait.

Bring on the "raceway" stones that move great distances without apparent cause. Bring on the play of light on multi-colored stone. Bring on the sand dunes, borax works, ghost towns, Devil's golf course, Badwater Canyon and Devil's Cornfield.

I believe there is something for me everywhere. And I don't believe curiosity killed the cat; I believe it is why a cat has nine lives.

CAPTAIN CURE

The enemy...cancer.

The battlefield...a young boy named Jack.

The hero...CAPTAIN CURE.

Captain Cure creator, Ty Wakefield, knows all about the enemy cancer. An osteosarcoma survivor who remains in treatment, Ty has drawn the enemy, the battlefield and the hero in comic book terms to help explain to children (and adults) what happens when cancer attacks your body or that of someone you love. From symptoms to treatment and side effects, Captain Cure and his partner MetRex engage in battle against evil cancer.

Chances are beyond good that each of you knows a cancer survivor. And chances are that you and others have questions this comic book can answer.

Check it out! http://www.captaincure.net/

Today The Work Begins

Today the real work of change begins.

Informed and inspired by my training at the Industrial Areas Foundation (founded by Saul Alinky) I became an organizer. Young and eager, I set out to empower others to right wrongs and build community. It was a glorious, if humbling, career full of Iron Rules (Never do for others what they can do for themselves.) and the hope that we were "the wind beneath your wings" when we encouraged, taught and moved others to action.

So, years later, no less committed, no less hopeful, but infinitely more aware...here is what I know:

Strong winds are hard to sustain, producing a less than steady climb - but a climb nevertheless.

There is no finish line. This is life, not a novel. Individually the only finish line is death. Collectively, we must learn and relearn truths, gain and regain progress, form and reform relationships.

No indiviual effort makes the critical difference, but all efforts are necessary to succeed.

We may become tired, discouraged and convinced of failure - but fortunately we won't all be there at the same time.

Sometimes we will be elated and hopeful beyond reason. That's OK too.

Occassionally, we will think before we act. Mostly that will end well and mostly we will be forgiven.

What we must always do is honor the humanity and the common cause of a diverse people; giving respect and never mistaking discord for destruction, yet hewing to our vision and values.

The work of change does not really begin today, it continues today. But it continues with greater hope, wider recognition and a new generation of believers.

Inauguration...for my Grandchildren

I return to blogging after a long hiatus while I made my minuscule contribution to today's Presidential Inauguration. And it is with that subject I shall start.

Like millions of others, I was inspired, awed, elated and hopeful as I watched history being made in such dramatic and conclusive fashion. Yes, I hung on every word and image. One great gift of retirement is that a person can experience, at least electronically, the world and it's occasions as they happen. Today was my indulgence in a panoply of moments that hold the hope of a better world for all.

However, I am struck buy a singular thought relative to my age. Having lived through more than one "historical moment" I find that today is different in an important way.

I saw Kennedy, King and Kennedy taken from us. And then, like many younger Americans, I witnessed the horror of 9/11. All these moments in history were ones that fit the "I remember where I was when..." significance. But all the previous memorable historic moments in my lifetime were ones filled with sadness, anger, despair and a loss of faith.

And then there is today. With the possible exception of the moon landing, no other public event in my lifetime has provided the sense of hope, of being on the right path at the right time, of being called on for the best in each of us, of community and peace and justice forthcoming by the sweat of our own brow.

Like many, my life has been filled with private moments of hope and reward, love and laud, glories of the past and gifts of future. Public hope is much harder to come by and takes a common vision made whole by both symbols and action. President Obama today was our symbol. We all must be the action.