LiveSTRONG!

LIVESTRONG Day
Tuesday, May 13
WEAR YELLOW to honor and/or remember your loved ones.
For more info: www.livestrong.org

BLUE WOMAN IN A RED STATE

Idaho was really a footnote to Super Tuesday. The Democrats were caucusing, but in the reddest state. We made the crawl on the television coverage, but never the patter and certainly never the "critical to success" discussion.

Yet Idaho Democrats came to caucuses in droves, led by Idaho youth and spurred by an incredibly organized Obama campaign. It was big, noisy, constantly changing and a messy challenge to manage. But oh, it was inspiring.

And yet. On a personal level it was one of the toughest political decisions I have ever made.

I like Hillary. I like Barack. Without belaboring policy details, in my opinion either candidate would make a fine president.

At first blush, Hillary seems to be ready made for a boomer, feminist woman. And I deeply, personally would like to vote for a woman president before I die. It may seem a limited dream, but something in that vote would validate all the hard work, tough times and supreme effort put in by those of us who fought for and continue to fight for equality.

Any woman, of any political persuasion, my age or older who denies the passion for that opportunity is lying to you (or to herself).

And yet. I caucused for Obama. Yes, I like him too. Yes, he seems a little more right on my issues. Yes, he has captured the Kennedy Camelot youthful enthusiam; maybe surpassed it. Yes, I believe he will make a great president. Yes, that is also a history making vote.

But too long in politics, the final balance was swayed by one simple factor; his electability. We simply must have regime change. Maybe I'm asking too much. But I don't just want to vote for the first woman presidential candidate. I want to vote for the first woman president.

Women's Voices

One of the best parts of having a wonderful, adult daughter is how much she teaches me each time we are together. Last Friday she reinforced my appreciation of her strength and skill in meeting life as a woman. And in doing so gave me the opportunity to see and marvel first hand at the evolution of the women's movement.

As a young adult I spent time, talent and a bit of temper trying to help craft laws, open minds and win hearts to equality for women; in the family, in the workplace and in the world. I am, justifiably I hope, proud of those efforts. Predictably, the passage of years brought changes to the movement and the larger community.

Sometimes, as the next generations of women made their way, it was easy to lose sight of progress. Easy to question if anyone remembered the fight from which they were now benefiting. Even sometimes easy to lose sight of the fact that what we really fought for was choices - legitimate choices.

Then my daughter took me to a MOPS (Mothers of PreSchoolers) meeting. At first blush it was a breakfast, inspirational or informational guest speaker, sharing, support and problem solving group for mothers of preschool children. Most were not employed outside the home. It seemed a context in which I was unlikely to be considering the impact of votes for women, equal pay for equal work, Title IX and the equal rights amendment.

Yet as I sat watching my heart became so full with pride I felt it would burst. What wonderful, complex, talented women. I was indeed watching the success of the women's movement. These women ran their own show. Direct, self-confident, standing up, organizing and leading they embodied the fruition of every long debate about the place of women in the world. The context in which they moved mountains and created community was theirs to choose. But that choice or any other ultimately pales next to their ability to mold life with a freedom imagined and denied to many previous generations.

Is it perfect? Of course not. Are there still battles to be fought, resistence to master? Of course. Does the fight look like it did when I was young? No, it is not even the same fight everywhere or for all women. But from MOPS to MomsRising, the women are present, they are engaged, their voices are raised and they are strong.

What more could an aging feminist ask?

ALL GROWN UP CHRISTMAS

With some amazement, a great deal of gratitude and not a little sadness, I have just realized that five days shy of my sixtieth birthday I will celebrate my first Christmas which will not include the presence of any children on Christmas Day.

Like many families, the Christmas tradition runs long and deep in ours. I had nearly reached a half century before a Christmas arrived when my parents, my sisters and our respective children were not all together. Not until that year did I become truly aware that our long standing ability to gather on Christmas was rare and privileged. For almost forty years my family came together from near and far to our childhood home. When Mom and Dad moved to my two thousand mile away city, only the location changed. Even the year one sister was recovering from cancer surgery we simply moved the site but not the celebration.

Over the years we had lots of guests, related and not, delivered cheer and gifts to those less fortunate and tried hard to honor the spirit of the season. Through good fortune and hardship we always had the family holiday and the season itself seemed to wrap us in a blanket of invincibility to an inevitable growth and subsequent geographical drift of family.

Holding us together was my Father, the genuine Santa Claus. Product of the Great Depression and seasoned in World War II, Christmas was the way in which he expressed his abounding delight and love, first for his family and then for his American Dream world. And while his generosity lasted all year round, Christmas provided the excuse to gift friends and family in abundance.

His most important gifts taught us that it was the thought that counted, that little things mattered and that traditions could be built around the simplest of gifts. Three delighted little girls became three grown sisters who still gift each other one large candy cane, one box of Andes Candies, one Lifesavers Stories box; who wrap in multiple layers, who's trees are piled with wrapped - but not always neatly - gifts of love. On Christmas morning gifts are opened individually, in rotating order so that each may be properly considered and applauded (oohs and ahs here, please) by recipient and onlooker alike. We were still young children when the pleasure of giving...thinking of, devising, planning, wrapping, making, finding the perfect gift...surpassed the pleasure of gifts received.

And so, around my half century mark, the flow of life began to change. One sister and her family could not make it home. My father died. My daughter married and had two families to honor. Christmas traditions remained, but the tides of change moved more swiftly now.

The single constant, I have belatedly realized, was the presence of children; mine, my sister's, my grandchildren. This year, the whims of time have conspired to leave my child and grandchildren as well as my sister, niece and nephew thousands of miles away.

And I'll admit this make me pretty blue. I still believe. Believe that Christmas should be seen through the eyes of a child, that hugging a child is the best Christmas breakfast, that adult wonder never quite matches that of a child, that quiet is not the proper atmosphere for Christmas morning, that Christmas can be special but is incomplete without a child present.

I also believe that life changes, that times are what they are, that one must never waste the present no matter what your circumstances, that quiet holidays are likely in the future, that love and children and Christmas can reach across the miles even when your heart is aching to touch. I believe in every word of "I'll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams."

Father's handmade, six foot Christmas star hangs on my home, our lights will twinkle and our tree will bend but not break loaded with all our child-made or family heirloom ornaments. My 2007 Christmas family, six adults, will wake Christmas morning with true holiday spirit; then with love and warmth for those present or absent, honor tradition, rejoice in the present and begin claiming the future.

HOW WILL I DIE?

Not to be morbid, but I really believe it is normal to think about dying as we get older. And in thirty days, like many other Boomers, I hit the Big 60.

Now, I've always been in the "it's better than the alternative" camp about aging. Thirty and Forty went by without a twinge. I hinted at (and got) a surprise 50th birthday party because I felt I had earned every one of those years. But I'll have to admit that something about the '60' has me a little more wary. It's one thing to be starting down the closing slope at 50. The second half of my allotted century I forthrightly proclaimed. It is quite another to be already part way down a very slippery slope of uncertain length.

My husband Al hit sixty a few years ago - with long thoughts and a long face. I was cautious, but wasn't very charitable. It's just another ten years I reasoned. We all end up in the same place I reasoned. No one controls our time left I reasoned. Eventually, it did dawn on me that I had to go there too - and that reason had little to do with it..

So let's just say the thought of dying is no longer foreign to my meandering mind.

And then a TV ad about surviving breast cancer and dying while dancing with joy sent me careening down a whole new thought path about death and dying.

I want to die with someone I love; my husband Al, my daughter Stephanie, Jackson, Dylan and Karly my grandchildren, my sisters, my cats Samson and Lily.

I want to be hugging, snuggling, laughing, singing, dancing, bicycling, skiing, snowshoeing, reading, eating popcorn and drinking hot chocolate, playing catch, listening to the trees, watching deer, hearing birdsong, staring into a campfire, awestruck by lightening and thunder, making love by moonlight.

No, I don't believe I have control over how I die.

But I know that I will never die in any one of the many ways I wish if I am not doing those things in life.

So now, for me, thinking about how I will die begins with thinking about how I will live. Doing.

Lewiston Library Foundation: GoodSearch.com & GoodShop.com

The current City of Lewiston(Idaho) Public Library is a small building that used to be a hardware store and which shares one wall with a bar.

But we have BIG ideas, dreams and goals.

The City has committed to matching the funds raised by the Lewiston Library Foundation (a 501-c-3) at $200,000 a year for five years in order to build a new library.

And EVERY PENNY HELPS!

Please GOODSEARCH and donate to a worthy cause without spending a cent!

At www.goodsearch.com you just type in Lewiston Library Foundation as the recipient, hit verify and search as you would on any search engine. Each search pays the Library Foundation about $.01.

Better yet, GOODSHOP and make all your holiday (and all year) online purchases by clicking through to the hundreds of online stores (either through GoodSearch or www.GoodShop.com) and a portion of your purchase is donated to the Foundation.

Be a "Do Gooder" and always GoodSearch!

PORTLAND LIVESTRONG CHALLENGE 2007 RIDE REPORT

Amazing. Inspiring. Awesome. Moving. How many superlatives can a person use to describe an event without sounding syrupy? But it’s true, the 2007 Portland LiveStrong Challenge is an event that profoundly inspires and is great fun at the same time.

Hopscotching right over the rather long and tedious drive to Portland, Saturday begins with packet pick-up and a visit to the LiveStrong Village. The first indication that this group cares about and supports each and every participant comes when you are handed the packet. Bells are rung and cheers go up as the entire room celebrates the efforts, and many times the cancer survivorship, of each rider, walker or runner.

In the LiveStrong Village are exhibitors of all types who support the fight against cancer. If a person hasn’t figured it out already, you begin to understand the breadth of the support and the depth of the commitment.

Saturday afternoon, Team IMAGINE has its first face-to-face meeting. With team members from Lewiston, Clarkston, Spokane, Provo and Hawaii their acquaintance with me and deep commitment to the battle against cancer are what they share. Now they get to meet and meld. Already they have made a huge effort in fundraising for the Challenge. Out of 181 teams we end in 12th place in total funds raised and are justifiably proud of the effort of a team with only nine members; the winning team has 229 members, is based in a metropolitan area and has corporate sponsorships. Team IMAGINE…Imagining a world without cancer.

Saturday evening is a pasta dinner for top fundraisers for which I and team member Diana Brown have qualified. At this smaller and more intimate gathering and with spouses in tow, we hear from Lance Armstrong and Alberto Salazar and listen to some of the amazing stories of the people participating in the Challenge; stories of courage and strength from survivors and family of survivors that often bring tears and always bring inspiration.

I am struck by being in a room full of people who are there because they have been touched by this awful disease and determined to fight. Each person in this room understood completely when Lance titled his book It’s Not About The Bike. And each person in the room knows the LiveStrong Challenge is not about the bike/run/walk either.

Sunday finally arrives. The rain starts about 5:00 AM and continues to pour down for the 7:00 AM starting ceremonies. But no one is complaining - for most of the people lined up at the start have faced or had friends and family face much tougher times that don’t end in a few wet hours.

We ride. Seventy miles. The rain does not stop. Team IMAGINE though, dressed for the weather, ALL make the 70 miles and cross the finish line through showers of yellow rose petals. And it turns out that we had fun riding, even in the rain. Go figure.

I ride because I want my grandchildren and their children to hear the word cancer and think only of some half forgotten disease from the olden days. Currently one in three men and one in two women will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime. Not acceptable.

And then, of course, there are the millions of current survivors. A person becomes a survivor the minute they are diagnosed. And for as long as they live, years or decades, they remain survivors. Right now there are more than ten million people living with cancer in the United States. And it is estimated that 1.3 million more will be diagnosed in this year alone. For each of them, the battle against cancer is about much more than a seventy mile bike ride.

Nobody engages in a project like this alone. Team IMAGINE is a very special and dedicated group. My heartfelt thanks to Diana, Michele, Peggy, Tammy, Karen, Vicky, Nikki and Crissy. The Crazy Ladies Cyclists, Twin Rivers Cyclists, friends and family (Especially my husband who cracks the whip when I get lazy and rescues me when I bite off more than I can chew!) have all been wonderfully supportive.

And to the many family, friends and all contributors…you’re the greatest!