Pink party!

Posted: October 8, 2011 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: cancer battle, champagne, mycobacterium, pink party, post-mastectomy infection, postaday2011, psychological effects of breast cancer, survivor | 8 Comments

The only thing missing from this party was my cancer.

HA!

It was a great party (especially since the cancer — and its nasty friend mycobacterium — were nowhere to be found). Last year I had one foot in the grave and had a very small party to thank my friends who’d helped me in ways large and small through the most difficult experience I’d endured. The ways in which they helped were as varied as they are: a math teacher, a PE teacher, a realtor, a crude oil buyer, a builder’s sales & marketing guru, a former hair stylist, a psychotherapist, a transplant nurse, a budding photographer, an HVAC business owner, a surgeon-wrangler, and several kick-ass SAHMs.

1st annual Pink Party! girls

This year, the infection is gone, the antibiotics are history, and the party is on, baby! The rules were the same this year: wear pink, eat, and drink. And celebrate life. Really celebrate life.

Last year, I felt pretty rotten, and wasn’t much in a party mood. It had been a long, miserable summer, and the misery dragged into the fall (or what passes for fall in south Texas). Who would have thought that facing cancer and having a bilateral mastectomy would be the “easy” part compared to the post-surgery infection? Now I know that the battlefield is treacherous, and the presence and comfort of good friends go a long way.

Things were certainly much brighter this year.

I’d had a bad week, though, leading up to this year’s Pink Party. A really bad week. The last few days were emotionally charged, big time. Drama on the tennis court, histrionics from a stranger blogger, and mean girls at play in my social circle sucked up more time and energy than I realized. Factor in an early-dismissal day from school on Thursday, and this party girl was running behind schedule.

Frazzled and scrambling (and more than a little pissed off at all the drama), I got my party prep done by the skin of my teeth. A custom piece of artwork rolled out the pink carpet for my guests (thanks, David!).

The well-dressed flamingo started happy hour before the guests donned my door.

Some pink bling for the front door, and the entrance is all set.

Don’t forget to read the plant tag!

Having a party gave me the motivation I needed to revive my sagging, heat-stroked flowerpots, too. We need some mulch, but there was no time for that. Get the plants in the pots and move on. The ladies will be here soon! I’m oh so grateful to my superstar gardener. Thank you, Eduardo!

Flowers on the outside, flowers on the inside.

Pink gerbera daisies and blush baby carnations on the kitchen table…

…and pink roses on the side table. Halloween decor mingled with all things pink is kinda weird, but the eyeball candle reminded me of the mycobacterium that disrupted my life so mightily and completely last year, and it provided a nice dose of reality to my pink plans.

Macy added the chalkboard sign…

…and Christy provided the other sign. Love it!True, so true! Pink’s not about Komen at my house, it’s about the party!

Once the feather boa goes up on the chandelier, it’s time to start the party!

And a close-up of the Hope angle floating just under the boa.

Her message was echoed by the sign on top of the fridge.

Another boas and some sparkly butterflies over the kitchen table.The paper lanterns were new this year. Next year, we’ll light them.

I’m just sick that I didn’t take any pictures of the food this year. Once my girls started arriving and the drinks started flowing, I completely forgot. Let’s rewind to last year’s food and pretend.

The menu was pretty similar this year: mostly pink foods. Salad with roasted beets, peel & eat shrimp, smoked salmon with capers, hot crab dip, strawberries & raspberries, and pink-ribbon sugar cookies with pink frosting. Oh, and the Corn Thing. Can’t have a party without the Corn Thing. It’s not pink, but it’s on the menu anyway.

The corn thing (in the mostly empty dish) is always the first thing to go.

The other thing I completely forgot to do this year was give a toast. I wrote a few words about each party guest and had planned to tap my glass to shush the scintillating conversations and deliver the toast. Completely forgot.

Could this have had something to do with it?

Maybe.

A little.

We had a most excellent bartender.

Ok, girls, here ya go:

Amy H: you have led by example and taught me how to give from the heart, and to give what people truly need. You always seem to know just the right thing to say, like the dog whisperer, only for people. No one can wrangle Dr S like you!

Amy P: the abundance of food you delivered to my doorstep sustained both my body and my soul. Knowing that a good meal was right around the corner was such a relief, and it allowed my addled brain to focus on things like wounds and puss. Your nursing expertise was a huge help as well, and I’m grateful for the late-night house calls.

Christy: you went from “my babysitter’s mom” to “my friend” in one giant leap. You walk the walk and are the epitome of “it’s just what you do” and are the one person who cusses as much as I do. I appreciate so much your unflinching honesty and your endless compassion, to people and animals. My life is so much better with you in it.

Claudine: Through your diagnosis, I have come to understand the overwhelming desire to try and ease the patient’s burden. I’m honored to be in the trenches with you.

Jenny: you’re the trail-blazer and my mentor in all things survivor. You lifted me up each time you sent me a card and each time you reminded me that “this is temporary.” You have provided a stellar example of how to live a rich and full life after cancer. Can’t wait to be celebrating my 12 years of survivorship, like you, my friend! And many more.

Jill: you have a knack for making all the right gestures and for making all the right things happen. Whether sharing a meal or raising a glass, time spent with you is always a rich reward.

Julie: my wacky friend, I love knowing that no joke is too raunchy, no comment too catty to utter in front of you. What freedom to be exactly who I am — the good, bad and the ugly — with you and know that you love me just for being Nancy K.

Laura: no one else can talk me into giving up so many hugs. Each time you took time out of your insanely busy schedule to check on me, I was reminded of what a loyal and special friend you are. And a special thanks for all the electronic medical advice you provide…whether via text or email, I know you’ll send me the right answer.

Mary: you make it seem so simple to give freely and unconditionally, and every time I’ve asked you for something, you’ve not only said yes, but you’ve agreed with a huge heart. To know that you have my back, whether for carpool or child-care, is such a comfort.

Melanie: you reached out and seized upon my hair emergency. Offering to take care of my hair at home while I was healing is something I’ll never forget. By figuring out exactly what I needed, you taught me that accepting help from others isn’t just ok, it’s pretty great and mutually beneficial.

Melissa: When we first met, when P and H were in kindergarten, I knew I wanted to be your friend. Your wit and style were (and still are) so appealing, and I enjoy every minute I spend with you. You’re a pretty kick-ass lizard-sitter, too!

Michelle: My champagne sister! What a beautiful thing to find someone who is always looking for a reason to pop that cork. Not only do I love drinking bubbly with you, I also really like to stand next to you. Dynamite truly does come in small packages, my friend.

Nicole: your carefree spirit reminds me how vital it is to enjoy life and to not sweat the small stuff. My type-A self basks in your laissez-faire attitude and I aspire to live life with gusto, just like you.

Sharon: your visits were always perfectly timed: just when I needed a pick-me-up, you would appear on my doorstep. I’ve learned a lot from you, in Chinatown and on the tennis court.

Staci: from Day 1, you kept me grounded. I knew that if I needed to go off the rails, you’d get me back on track and charm everyone we met along the way. You taught me how to grease the wheels and to take time to talk, really talk, to the people who come into our lives. And somehow, all these years later, you & I always have something to talk about.

Yvonne: as my in-house counsel, you remind me regularly that it’s ok to feel what I feel and think what I think. You bring a calming presence to my calamitous life, and your good sense and fun-loving ways always make me smile. Just when I am feeling adrift, you call saying “I miss you!” and that makes my heart happy.

I’m already looking forward to the 3rd annual Pink Party, and I’m smiling really big at the idea of us still gathering every year in October when we’re old and grey. Hopefully by then, breast cancer will be a thing of the past — but the party will go on!

Blogging is the last thing I should be doing right now…

Posted: October 7, 2011 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: body art, Kat Von D, Maria Pace-Wynters, mixed media art, original art, postaday2011 | 10 Comments

But in between tennis drill and the next chore on the list, I stopped by the mailbox. Haven’t been all week, and the box was crammed full. There’s the usual overload of flyers and junk mail, then a box from Amazon containing the book Payton has been waiting for, and way in the back of the box, a lovely surprise for me.

I love getting surprises in the mail.

I’m especially in love with the “Air Mail” sticker. Something about that “Par avion” seems so exotic and speaks of faraway lands interspersing with the everyday aspects of my home life.

Even the return address sticker is beautiful and exotic.The package was so pretty I waited a while to open it. And y’all know I hate waiting.

The “Petit Paquet” label was so cute and charming that it deserved its own photo. Thank you, Maria, for such a lovely surprise in my mailbox.

After a sufficient waiting period (5 minutes or so, which is a long time for someone as impatient as me), I tore into the package. What a cute little box I found inside.

I would have been perfectly happy to have a “build your own rocking rabbit” but what was inside the cute little box was even better.

It’s the artwork I ordered from Maria Pace-Wynters.

Oh. My.

It’s even more beautiful in person, and her blogsite blows me away every time I look at it.

I had to just stand there and stare at the cellophane-wrapped pieces for a minute.

And then I tore into them.

Couldn’t get them open fast enough, so I could behold their beauty and revel in the explosion of color.

I came across Maria’s artwork randomly, as I searched google images for an adornment for this post, a while back.

I promptly fell in love with her art. The colors. The composition. The little girls. The foliage. The dreamy quality. I could go on and on, but I’m gonna let the art speak for itself.

The smile on this little girl’s face is such a good antidote to the doldrums, the bad days, the things that go bump in the night. I sure wish I’d been gazing upon that face Wednesday after my terrible, horrible, really bad, no-good day (more on that later, once the stink of that day is fully gone and I can write about it without cussing too much).

Macy picked this one out, for her new room. Well, it’s the same room but we are going to re-do it. Give it a makeover because she refers to it as her nursery. Now that she’s all grown up and doesn’t need lilac walls and a lime-green ceiling, she’s trending toward a bolder wall color, like the vibrant blue of the birds in this pieces. She also really loved the “body art” (yes, she used that term, and she knows who Kat Von D is, so I’m scared, really scared). Nothing against Kat or the inked population, just seems a little freaky for my girl to be so well-versed at such a young age.

I really did have every intention of putting this print on Macy’s wall, once we lose the baby paint and get the big-girl stuff on, but then I noticed how lovely it looks against the goldenrod paint of my dining room.

Oh, and it looks even better against the fireweed paint in my kitchen.

Come to think of it, they all look great in the kitchen.

I love how the girl’s red hair is set off by the red paint.

Oh, hers too!

But wait, they look pretty great against the olive green of my office, too.

I think I’m gonna need some more artwork.

RIP, Steve

Posted: October 6, 2011 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: cancer fatigue | Tags: Apple, cancer sucks, commencement speech, iPad, iphone, iPod, losing loved ones to cancer, postaday2011, Steve Jobs | 9 Comments

The world has suffered a huge loss today. Not because he was famous, or rich, or any of those externalities. But because he was a game-changer. Steve Jobs set out to change the world, and he did just that. In ways big and small, he did just that.

Not only did he bring to the general public some of the most useful products of my generation (iPhone, iPod, etc), he encouraged a nation of people to be better. At whatever they do. He gave commencement addresses that inspired me, and I’ve never been in his audience. Speaking at Stanford to the class of 2005, he said:

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.”

And don’t sit still — he wasn’t a fan of resting on one’s laurels (and if anyone could have rested, it would be him). But that shows just how special he was, that he wasn’t satisfied with having done enough, he wanted to do more. On the news one night in May 2006 he said, “I think if you do something and it turns out pretty good, then you should go do something else wonderful, not dwell on it for too long. Just figure out what’s next.”

Sadly, there is no “what’s next” for Jobs, but his legacy will live on.

To say that he was a visionary seems trite, insufficient, but it’s true. I love that he knew what the public wanted, in terms of Apple products, so well but wasn’t cocky or full of self-importance. This quote in BusinessWeek in May 1998 sums it up: “It’s really hard to design products by focus groups. A lot of times, people don’t know what they want until you show it to them.” True, so true. If someone had described the iPhone to me before I had one in my hand, I wouldn’t have gotten it.

I’m not a gadget-y person. I don’t like stopping long enough to learn how to use something but prefer to dive in and figure it out as I go about my busy day. I’m not a reader of manuals, but that’s the beauty of the Apple products, and of Jobs’s insight into product design: you don’t have to figure it out because the device figures it out for you. Jobs truly understood how to show us what we want and need, without it being about him, about Apple, about financial success. He seemed to really care about doing great things. Way back in 1993, when I was a newlywed without a cell phone, an iPod, or an iPad, Jobs told the Wall Street Journal: “Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn’t matter to me … Going to bed at night saying we’ve done something wonderful … that’s what matters to me.”

My most favorite thing about Steve Jobs was his attitude toward the innovators all around us. You don’t have to be CEO of one of the most successful companies in the world to be an innovator and affect change in your life, and Jobs spread that message far and wide. I happen to live with a 9-year-old who follows the Jobs model. While I admit I’ve often thought if she were more like other little girls, it sure would make my life easier, but that’s short-sighted and temporary. Yes, buying a Disney Princess costume would be much easier than figuring out how to bring Domo to life, but that’s not her. And I’m glad. Just like it’s not her to choose a “normal” job to research and present to her class in a career day speech. While the other kids see themselves becoming nurses, MLB players, dancers, and electrical engineers, my little innovator chose the lead singer for KISS. In all seriousness. It never even occurred to her that this is wacky or unusual or “out there” because that’s how she rolls. She wasn’t looking for giggles or shock value; in fact, she probably wouldn’t care if others thought it weird or unusual or shocking that she wants to be the lead singer for KISS. She can’t sing, but that doesn’t stop her from thinking this way. It was hard to keep a straight face as she practiced her speech in her jammies the night before delivering it, as I marveled at her “outside of the box” self.

I think Steve Jobs would have approved. I think he and my girl would have liked each other. I can see them hanging out, talking about crazy stuff like a tiny device that can hold all your music, so you can listen anywhere as you do whatever you want. Like a home computer with a processor half the size of a shoebox but with plenty of computing power. Like a computer application that allows you to make and edit home movies good enough to be shown on the big screen. Like a fully functioning personal computer you can carry in your pocket. Like a Japanese anime character costume that weighed 20 pounds, was covered in industrial-strength carpet, and induced heat strokes in small trick-or-treaters but was so kick-ass, so rockin that it inspired people to hand out extra candy, to give a big handful of the good stuff as a means of awarding extra credit for creativity.

Sadly, my girl will never meet Steve Jobs. Not because he’s rich & famous and we’re ordinary people. Not because he lives all the way across the country. But because he’s dead. Because cancer stole him from us at age 56. I’m so sick of cancer. I’m sick of it in my own life and those of my friends in the blogosphere. I’m sick of it in the lives of the rich & famous whose deaths from it become magnified on TV, on the Web, and in magazines. I’m sick of it in my own family, where it stole my sweet mama and two of my favorite aunts (happy birthday, Thea Sophia; you may be gone but I still remember October 6th. Miss you).

And Steve Jobs, I miss you too. Thanks for changing my world, and for making it ok for people like my little girl to be different. May she follow your lead and change the world in her own way. I will share your quote about the crazy ones with her as she grows up and (hopefully) remains a square peg. RIP, Steve.

“Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes…the ones who see things differently — they’re not fond of rules. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can’t do is ignore them because they change things. They push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.”

businessinsider.com

Marquee madness

Posted: October 5, 2011 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: embarrassing spelling errors, gringo's stafford, postaday2011 | 14 Comments

I was having lunch with the girls and could barely concentrate on the conversation. I’d chosen a seat that looked straight out the window, in direct line of the restaurant’s marquee. Big whoop, right? You read the marquee in 3/4ths of a second and your brain moves right back to the conversation.

Uh, not so much.

Not for me.

See, I used to be an editor. My eyes are specially trained to spot mistakes — in type, on marquees, in people. I can’t turn it off; it’s like my superpower except not as useful as being able to say, leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Once I find a mistake, I’m like a dog with a bone. It bugs me –a lot–if the mistake goes uncorrected.

Of course I had to tell the waiter, and he looked at me like, “So?” To say that he was unconcerned with the marquee containing a spelling mistake would be quite the understatement.

So I did what I had to do — called in the manager.

He was a teeny bit more concerned than the waiter, but only because he wanted me to shut up and leave him alone. Clearly. But I told him that it was bad press to have a marquee mistake, and that it connoted sloppiness that just might permeate his entire operation. His ears pricked up a bit at that, but I’m not sure if it was the message or the overload of syllables that got his attention.

He tried to tell me that they were out of “E’s” and I told him that’s no excuse. Flip over a 3 to create one. Or, even better, delete the “D” and the question mark and go from an interrogative to a declarative sentence.

I ended the grammar lesson by telling him to get the ladder, man!

And he did.

Guess this guy drew the short straw and has to climb the ladder. Or maybe he won and gets to get out of the greasy kitchen and breathe some fresh air. While the boss man breathes down his neck, that is.

He’s on a very important mission (but he probably doesn’t know it). Actually, it’s a double mission: correct the error and shut the bossy lady up.

What’s next, boss?

Boss man has the offending “D” in his hand, so now ladder boy needs to lose the question mark.

And away it goes….

All done and back to the greasy kitchen. School’s out.

That’s SO much better!

This may get me in trouble

Posted: October 4, 2011 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: baseball, breast cancer | Tags: Austin eateries, best friends, cancer battle, Fenway Park, losing a parent to cancer, Nomar Garciaparra, PICC line, postaday2011, Salisbury Beach | 11 Comments

I’ll probably get in trouble for this. Or at least be on the receiving end of a cacophony of “You shouldn’t have done that” and “Did you have to?” and “That really wasn’t necessary.” But that’s ok; I rather like living my life on the edge. I’ve been known to stir the pot, to not let sleeping dogs lie, and to eschew the leaving of well enough alone.

So here I go.

This post is all about Ed.

He’s going to hate it.

See, Ed is not one for calling a lot of attention to himself. Or any attention, really. But sometimes, like ripping off a Band-Aid, it’s gotta be done.

He deserves it. It’s his birthday, so today it will be all about him.

Ed’s been our best family friend for a long, long time. In fact, it’s been so long, he’s dropped the “friend” and moved right on into “family.” Sometimes family has nothing to do with blood and genes and trees, and everything to do with the contents of one’s hearts and the meshing of like-minded souls. Assuming souls have minds, that is. I don’t think they operate on auto-pilot, do they?

I met Ed while toiling away in the publishing biz many moons ago in Austin. He and Trevor were in grad school at UT (Hook ‘Em!) at the same time, but we didn’t know each other during school; he was reading thick, musty books in the history department while Trevor built up his brain and hung with the geek squad in the computer science world. I hate to think of the years we wasted not knowing each other during that time, but our livers certainly breathe a sigh of relief. There was a fair bit of drinking going on in those days (as opposed to now, when kids’ schedules, middle age, and the threat of recurring cancer tempers my tippling). We did make up for some lost time, though, once we met; happy hours at Trudy’s with multiple Mexican Martinis and extra olives, watermelon margaritas at Maneul’s on South Congress, beers on the roof deck at Waterloo Ice House; and the infamous wine tasting club run by our resident oenophile Anthony King. I hope I never forget the carefree youthful nights spent lifting a glass, enjoying our youth & freedom. None of us will ever forget Trevor puking in the rose bushes at one of the Hess brothers’ houses, then coming back for more. Good times.

But back to work…Ed wrote and I edited. His hair was long back then (mine was too), and he labored over every word, every sentence, every TEKS standard (see how far we go back — long before the TAKS and now the STAR state standardized tests for public schools). I learned real quick that he was smart. Really smart. And he really cared about his work. He had such a high standard for himself that sometimes, just once in a while and not really very often (!), he made me wait for his work. I really don’t like waiting.

See, there was a progression to creation of a textbook, and we were both cogs in the wheel. Schedules were made, which we had to follow. Deadlines were enforced, because if our book wasn’t ready to go to print–back in the day before e-books and widespread Internet use — another publisher would get our spot and the book would be delayed. And we would all be fired. So I learned pretty quick with Ed that some tough love was necessary. I schooled him in the “good enough is good enough” principle that editors must embrace in order to keep the line moving. Oh, how that boy labored over every word, every sentence, every standard. There were days when I was a hair’s breath away from snatching the copy right out of his hands so that I could get my red pen all over it and keep the line moving.

It’s probably no surprise that Ed left publishing and took a rather circuitous route to teaching. A heart-wrenching detour to care for an ailing parent, work for an educational non-profit that trained teachers, a foray into self-employment in the handyman biz, a little time off to determine the color of his parachute (tricky when you’re a little bit color-blind), and finally, he was home.

Ed has a job that not many people would take on: he teaches kids who’ve been sent to the alternative school. Reasons for being sent there vary from fighting to drug use to crimes both petty and serious. The classes are small in number but large in ramifications. Several years ago, when Ed was contemplating whether to enter the teaching profession, I told him that he would be the kind of teacher who made a difference in kids’ lives. It sounds hokey but it’s true: he’s the sort of teacher who kids will remember always, and they’ll look back and say, “Man, Mr C really cared.” It’s true, and he does. He guides kids that a lot of people would cast aside as lost causes. He listens and becomes the sole person who cares. It’s no surprise to me that kids who pass through his class come back to visit, bring him a homemade Christmas treat, and mail him an invitation to their graduation ceremonies.

Those kids are not the only people who benefit from Ed’s unique brand of caring. After enduring the rigors and heartache of watching his dad die of pancreatic cancer, he became my sherpa when my mom got sick. I’ll always remember him telling me that if I thought it was bad now, it was gonna get worse. A lot worse. He was right. It was awful.

My mom knew Ed well, and when she moved in with me after retiring and moving away from Houston, it was Ed — not me — who she wanted as her caregiver for the icky parts of her cancer battle. She wanted him to sit through the class at MD Anderson on how to care for a PICC line, not me. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was trying to shield me from the routine horrors that make up a cancer patient’s life. When she was too frail and weak to step into my deep bathtub, it was Ed she asked for help. She would rather have had him see her in that state, to spare me from the eternal impression of being able to count each rib in her battle-weary, wasted body. It was Ed who she requested, not me. He made many food runs in the maddening game of “What can we get her to eat?” only to see her take 2 bites and be done. So much for that. But he never got frustrated, he never pressured her to eat. It was Ed who bore the brunt of the fallout from her radiated bowels. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

It takes a special kind of person to volunteer for such service, but that’s just the kind of person he is. My mom knew it, and so do I. Ed’s the kind of guy who sets up the ladder and willingly allows grafitti in his garage. No project is too big, no mess too messy.

He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t freak when a little kid pukes on his brand-new couch, which Macy (right) did just after this photo was taken at Ed’s house in DC.

He’s the kind of guy who gives a little kid his watch to wear while patience runs short and naptime runs on by during sight-seeing in DC. He knows how to make a little kid feel like the most important person in the world.

He knows how to keep a little kid quiet during a long, boring grad-school graduation ceremony, and he thinks anytime is the right time for a junky snack.

He digs the deepest sand-pit every year at Salisbury Beach every year, even when he’d rather be reading his book, and waves off the old-man critics who pass by and warn of the pit’s collapse and threat of said pit swallowing little kids whole. He knows what he’s doing.

He’s the creator of Halloween costumes too far-out for my brain to imagine.

He knew Maddy, the best dog on Earth. Ever. In the history of dogs. He loved her with his whole heart, and finally gave in to my years-long pestering that he needed a dog of his own. Not once, but twice. And he let my kids name both dogs. Hence, a female chocolate lab named Snoopy, and a wily basenji-mix named Sugar.

We have Ed to thank for the Red Sox fever that exists in our lives. A native Mass-hole, Ed is a Sox fan for life, and he taught Payton the joys and heartbreak that is Red Sox nation. When Payton was four years old, at his first trip to Fenway, Ed showed his devious side when he made Pay think that Nomar Garciaparra hit a foul ball right into Payton’s lap. Eight years later, I think Pay still believes it really happened.

When Macy came along, a new bond was forged, and the strength of that bond sometimes startles and always amazes me. Mrs Dally, Macy’s first-grade teacher, told me in confidence one day that I might want to be careful because Macy told the class, during an exercise about friends, that her best friend is a 42-year-old man. In the case of anyone but Ed, this might raise a few eyebrows. But spend two minutes with him and you get it. In third grade, Macy filled out the “getting to know you” questionnaire from the teacher on the first day of school. For the question about her best friend’s favorite activity, Macy wrote: landscaping. Those two are tight.

Happy birthday, Ed. May the day be as fantastic, wonderful, and all-out-awesome as you are.

NFL goes pink

Posted: October 3, 2011 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: breast cancer awareness, NFL A Crucial Catch, NFL goes pink, pinktober, postaday2011, Roger Goodell | 8 Comments

I got this letter from NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell. Not sure what gave him the idea that I’m a football fan, but I won’t fault him too much since he’s trying to do a good thing. Maybe he didn’t get the memo that my heart belongs to the Red Sox (my broken heart, that is). Maybe he did get the memo that I have a big mouth and write a little blog about all things breast cancer. Or maybe it was just a mass mailing that coincidentally landed in my mailbox just as I’m sorting through conflicting feelings about the pinkwashing that occurs every October.

Despite my previous grumpiness about all things pink in the month of October, I must admit I rather like seeing the football players wearing a dash of pink. Not because I think it’s going to change the world or find a cure for this damned disease, but because I enjoy the incongruity of a gigantic linebacker who could crush someone like me between his fingers wearing pink.

I could be super cheesy and say that if one woman decides to go for a mammogram because she saw Tom Brady wearing hot pink gloves, and if that one woman discovers breast cancer that would have otherwise stealthily grown into something that would kill her, then the NFL campaign is a success.

I will say that I’m glad the NFL campaign is about taking specific action to protect yourself from this dreaded disease, instead of trying to use the pink ribbon to sell a product. That sits much better with me. Nothing like a pink-ribbon-bedecked can of dog food to say let’s wipe out breast cancer.

On to Mr Goodell’s letter:

To NFL Fans:

On behalf of the National Football League, please join us in supporting the NFL’s “A Crucial Catch” campaign in October for National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. This is the third season in which NFL teams, coaches, officials and players will wear pink in recognition of the fight against breast cancer.

Just about everyone knows someone who has been affected by breast cancer. That is why the NFL is proud to join thousands of others committed to fighting this terrible disease.

Throughout October, all NFL teams will celebrate survivors, visit patients at hospitals and turn their stadiums pink to show our enduring support. Alongside our partners at the American Cancer Society, we will emphasize the importance of prevention by encouraging all women over the age of 40 to get a yearly mammogram. We know that annual screenings can, and do, save lives.

Thanks to the passion of NFL fans, we have the collective strength as a league to connect with millions of people and make a positive difference. Please support the American Cancer Society’s programs to help people stay well, get well, and find a cure. We can fight back against a disease that has taken far too much from too many for too long.

There are several ways you can participate in “A Crucial Catch.” Visit nfl.com/pink for the resources and tools you can use to get involved.

An annual screening saves lives. Let’s spread the word.

Sincerely,
Roger Goodell

The best photo

Posted: October 2, 2011 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: breast cancer awareness month, cancer patients, Houston Chronicle, Houston Race for the Cure, postaday2011, psychological effects of breast cancer | 2 Comments

I posted tons of photos in yesterday’s post from the Race for the Cure. Many of them were touching, some were funny, a bunch of them were moving, and a few were even tear-inducing. My head is still full of the sights & sounds of the event, and frankly I didn’t expect it to affect me as deeply as it did. I’m still processing the swirling emotions involved in participating in the race as a survivor. Maybe I will sort these feelings out, and maybe I won’t.

One photo I did not post, however, demands to be seen. It was in the Houston paper this morning, and my race buddy texted it to me before I saw it myself. I’ve been thinking about it all day — through 5 sets of tennis & beers at the club, during my shower, while I started laundry, and as I absent-mindedly helped Macy with her career day project for school, then some more as I scrolled through the Chronicle’s online photo gallery of yesterday’s race.

So without further ado, here it is — the best photo from the 2011 Houston Race for the Cure. Photographer Mayra Beltran outdid herself with this shot.

Race for the Cure, Houston style

Posted: October 1, 2011 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Houston, Houston Komen, pink ribbons, postaday2011, Race for the Cure, surviving breast cancer | 12 Comments

My fair city hosts the largest Race for the Cure in the country. Yep, that’s right — everything’s bigger in Texas!! Today’s race was pretty great. They say a picture is worth 1,000 words, so I will simply let the photos speak for themselves.

Pink porta-potties, of course. (My germophobe self did not use them!)

The best hat award goes to this guy….

The Houston Fire Department was out in full force, walking with these cute shirts.

These 4 young boys had boobies on their minds! Their shirts were in loving memory of a woman named Kathy. I’m sure she’s very proud of these guys.

There were lots of signs in celebration of or in memory of someone. Very powerful.

Christy & me at the start of the race. Ready to pound the pavement!

There were several groups sporting mohawks, but this girl won for best hair.

One of the many groups at the race. This one was in honor of Moni, who I’m assuming is a grandma.

One of several little boys in a pink cape. So sweet!

This gal had the best photos for her “In memory of” and “In celebration of” signs. The photo of her mama made me a bit misty-eyed. And the idea of her gene pool made me fear for her.

I’m guessing this group raised a lot of money for the cause.

This t-shirt was so sweet and so heart-felt, and a great example of simplicity at its best: no neon colors, no bling, just a powerful message that brought me up short.

This guy was not walking next to a women, which made me wonder if she was too sick to race. Hopefully she was off in a group of survivor sisters, laughing and celebrating.

One of the many bald girls rocking the race.

Of course this one made me want to bawl.

Best tattoo award goes to this chick. Love the font and the message.

There were lots of long lists — too many, really. I loved this one that mentioned the best 4th grade teacher. How cute is that?

One of the many fancy carriages we saw. By the end of the race, I wanted to ride in one!

Supergirl cape — I want one!

There were lots of guys in pink, but this one in a tutu was one of my favorites.

The “We miss you so much” part of her sign got me, big time.

The balloon archway at the starting line was awesome! Not so great for the environment, but cool.

“Walking to defeat breast cancer” shirts had a beautiful look. Love the font and the flowers.

Lucy E. Payton, I hope you knew how much you are loved! I’m sure your family misses that sweet smile every single day.

Another long list. Love the “me!” at the end.

These shirts in memory of Tina Cullum were sweet. I really like the butterfly, and these shirts prove that you don’t have to have pink to get your point across.