Many of us will have the day off from work.
Many of us will be surrounded by family and friends.
Many of us will share an abundance of food.
Many of us will gather in the comfort and warmth of our homes.
Many of us will lift up our thankfulness for all that is good in our lives.
Some of us will not.
Some of us must work, perhaps a second job.
Some of us are without a job.
Some of us will be alone.
Some of us will spend the holiday without a departed loved one for the first time.
Some of us are unjustly incarcerated.
Some of us won’t have enough or anything to eat.
Some of us will look for shelter in the outdoors with only a blanket for warmth.
Some of us will lift up thankfulness for a simple gift that many of us take for granted—a blanket, a scrap of food.
This Thanksgiving, as we lift up our thankfulness, we might also ask that our hearts be filled with givingness.
A givingness that smiles and provides rest for the weary.
A givingness that offers company to the lonely.
A givingness that provides a shoulder to catch the tears of the grieving.
A givingness that seeks justice for the injustices.
A givingness that feeds the bellies and nourishes the souls of the hungry.
A givingness that provides shelter for those who have none.
A givingness that offers warmth and security to the cold and frightened.
A givingness that produces more thankfulness that produces more givingness.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Cancer Sucks!
Those of you who have known me since 2008 or before are aware of my past participation in the Breast Cancer 3-Day with my friend, Kathy--in Kansas City in 2006, Seattle in 2007 and the Twin Cities in 2008. (I probably asked you for money.) During that time, we produced a periodic newsletter to share our training and fundraising progress as well as information about breast cancer.
In most issues we had a feature called "Profile in Courage" which was about someone who was fighting breast cancer, or who had survived it or who had lost their life to this $%$#ing disease. These articles were often contributed by people we know about someone they loved. In at least three cases, the person who was featured was fighting the disease and has since lost the battle. I'm sad to say, tonight I learned of a fourth.
Karen passed away on Friday. I didn't know her well. In fact, I didn't know her at all until we featured her in our newsletter in May of 2006. Her daughter and niece submitted the article. She was a co-worker of Kathy's. She was one of our biggest supporters. She volunteered with us at Starlight to help us raise money. She was at our vendor party last fall to support Kathy and Kathi in the Phoenix walk (I retired). She read every newsletter and, I found out last year, shared them with her daughter and family.
She was a strong woman, a loving mother, and a doting grandmother. Below is her Profile in Courage.
(Contributed by her daughter, Amanda Dey and her niece, Shelly Ballesteros)
Breast cancer awareness has always been part of our family - our maternal grandmother had a bilateral radical mastectomy long before either one of us can remember. Her victory over breast cancer provided proof to her daughters (and granddaughters) that being diagnosed with breast cancer was not a death sentence. For the females of the family that meant monthly breast self-exams and regular mammograms.
My mother (and aunt), Karen McCommas, was no exception. She performed her self-exams and had regular mammograms until we moved from Texas to Kansas in November 2005. I had given birth just before the move and as always, my mother was there to help. Instead of finding a job immediately she took care of my newborn for six months. She then began her job search— after temp jobs, leaving a permanent job, and then waiting for insurance to kick in at her current employment, it had been around two years since her last mammogram.
In August 2006 she discovered a lump on the side of her left breast. The biopsy results came back positive for breast cancer. By September 2006 she had a left mastectomy with a second surgery to retrieve lymph nodes that were missed during the original surgery. The lymph nodes showed almost complete replacement of normal cells with cancer cells so the treatment plan was an aggressive one.
Every two weeks she received chemotherapy and then would give herself injections every day for 10 days following treatment. She scheduled her treatments for Fridays so she could rest over the weekend and return to work on Monday. Even after sleepless nights and all the side effects of the chemo she still went to work every day. She is still going through Radiation treatment which should be finished by May.
Throughout it all, Karen has maintained that positive and bubbly attitude we know and love her for. She has never complained, never let being diagnosed or going through the various treatments get her down or prevent her from living her life. Karen is an amazing woman, full of courage and an enormous amount of strength.
Having breast cancer has never prevented Karen from the joys of being a wonderful Nana to my very active 2 ½ year old. She has been the epitome of strength – reminding us all that no matter what life gives you, you can overcome any obstacle.
In most issues we had a feature called "Profile in Courage" which was about someone who was fighting breast cancer, or who had survived it or who had lost their life to this $%$#ing disease. These articles were often contributed by people we know about someone they loved. In at least three cases, the person who was featured was fighting the disease and has since lost the battle. I'm sad to say, tonight I learned of a fourth.
Karen passed away on Friday. I didn't know her well. In fact, I didn't know her at all until we featured her in our newsletter in May of 2006. Her daughter and niece submitted the article. She was a co-worker of Kathy's. She was one of our biggest supporters. She volunteered with us at Starlight to help us raise money. She was at our vendor party last fall to support Kathy and Kathi in the Phoenix walk (I retired). She read every newsletter and, I found out last year, shared them with her daughter and family.
She was a strong woman, a loving mother, and a doting grandmother. Below is her Profile in Courage.
Profile in Courage—Karen McCommas
(Contributed by her daughter, Amanda Dey and her niece, Shelly Ballesteros)
Breast cancer awareness has always been part of our family - our maternal grandmother had a bilateral radical mastectomy long before either one of us can remember. Her victory over breast cancer provided proof to her daughters (and granddaughters) that being diagnosed with breast cancer was not a death sentence. For the females of the family that meant monthly breast self-exams and regular mammograms.My mother (and aunt), Karen McCommas, was no exception. She performed her self-exams and had regular mammograms until we moved from Texas to Kansas in November 2005. I had given birth just before the move and as always, my mother was there to help. Instead of finding a job immediately she took care of my newborn for six months. She then began her job search— after temp jobs, leaving a permanent job, and then waiting for insurance to kick in at her current employment, it had been around two years since her last mammogram.
In August 2006 she discovered a lump on the side of her left breast. The biopsy results came back positive for breast cancer. By September 2006 she had a left mastectomy with a second surgery to retrieve lymph nodes that were missed during the original surgery. The lymph nodes showed almost complete replacement of normal cells with cancer cells so the treatment plan was an aggressive one.
Every two weeks she received chemotherapy and then would give herself injections every day for 10 days following treatment. She scheduled her treatments for Fridays so she could rest over the weekend and return to work on Monday. Even after sleepless nights and all the side effects of the chemo she still went to work every day. She is still going through Radiation treatment which should be finished by May.
Throughout it all, Karen has maintained that positive and bubbly attitude we know and love her for. She has never complained, never let being diagnosed or going through the various treatments get her down or prevent her from living her life. Karen is an amazing woman, full of courage and an enormous amount of strength.
Having breast cancer has never prevented Karen from the joys of being a wonderful Nana to my very active 2 ½ year old. She has been the epitome of strength – reminding us all that no matter what life gives you, you can overcome any obstacle.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The Waiting Game
I'm not good at waiting. Whether it be waiting for the pizza delivery person to arrive or waiting for water to boil, I'm just not patient. But, I'm especially not good at waiting for medical tests.
On September 17 I had my annual screening mammogram. On September 20 I got a call from the breast center letting me know they saw a "density" on my right breast. They explained it's probably nothing and could be anything, but they wanted me to come in for a diagnostic mammogram and an ultrasound. I scheduled the next available appointment, which was September 30.
I woke up on September 21 and realized there was no way someone as anti-waiting as I am was going to make it until September 30 without driving myself bonkers. I understood it was almost certainly nothing, but sometimes you want more than "almost." Especially if you've watched your sister go through breast cancer treatments. So, at 8:00 am I called the breast center to see if there was any chance I could get an earlier appointment. They told me to come in at 9:00 that day. Peachy!
I was glad to hear them say that I would have some sort of an answer right then. Yay! No waiting! I had the diagnostic mammogram first. In case you're wondering, the experience is pretty much like a screening mammogram except they compress it more and they focus on a specific area. When they looked at the pictures, the density wasn't as clearly defined, but the doctor advised that I go ahead and get the ultrasound just to be sure.
On the way to the ultrasound, the gal who escorted me asked if I had been called back before. I hadn't. After all my previous mammograms I had gotten a letter in the mail saying that everything was A-OK, come back in a year. I was a little annoyed that they went off script this year by calling me. She said, "you're probably freaking out, then." I said I wasn't (much) and that I kept reminding myself that it was probably nothing. She told me to keep reminding myself that, because it usually is nothing.
On the ultrasound they spotted a small nodule. I saw it on the screen, but I didn't ask the technician any questions about it. She escorted me in silence back to the breast center. I tend to crack jokes when I'm nervous (or any time I get a chance, really) so when we walked past an exam room that had a treadmill in it, I said, "At least none of my tests today involved a treadmill." She laughed.
Back at the breast center, the radiologist confirmed the presence of a "suspicious abnormality." A biopsy was recommended and my doctor's office would be calling me about that. She asked if I had questions. I was sure I should have about a dozen, but I asked none. She said if I came up with any, I could ask the nurse when she called or I could call them. She handed me a pamphlet about breast biopsies and I headed out the door. The gal who escorted me to the ultrasound spotted me in the hall and asked, "well, did it go alright?" I didn't know how to answer. I smiled, "yes, it went fine, thanks."
Yes, it went fine. At this point, I still realized it was probably nothing. 80% of all breast biopsies are benign. Yay! But, please God, make me one of the 80%, thanks!
I had to wait a whole day to get the official order from my doctor to schedule the biopsy. Of course, I wanted to schedule it for the next moment possible, and they were happy to oblige...except the next moment possible was October 4. Twelve long days away. Seriously? OK. This non-waiter was going to have to learn some patience. Like now!
I spent the next few days reminding myself that it was probably nothing and that even on the off chance it was something, it was pretty small, thus nothing to worry about. Early in the waiting period, I was about 96-97% sure it was nothing. But, by about day 6, that grew to about 99.99999999%. But the waiting was still getting on my nerves.
A week before the biopsy, a nurse from the breast center called to walk me through the procedure. It went something like this. "You will be getting an ultrasound guided core needle biopsy. They'll find the lump again on the ultrasound and the doctor will mark where she wants to enter your breast. They will numb you with lidocaine. The doctor will make a small cut where she will enter with the instrument. The instrument has a core needle, or hollowed out needle on the end and she will use it to collect samples. It will make a clicking sound when she collects a sample. She'll deposit the sample in a container and then go back in to collect a total of 3-6 samples. When she is done, she will insert a titanium marker so that we can watch that spot on future mammograms. We'll apply pressure for 10 minutes to stop the bleeding. We'll cover with steri-strips. Then, we'll take you in for a mammogram so we can get a new baseline for your right breast. Bring a supportive bra that you can sleep in because you'll need to wear it for 24 hours. Any questions?"
I don't remember what questions I actually asked, but the one that was reverberating in my brain was, "Really? You're going to give me another mammogram after all of that?"
Anyway, the day of the procedure finally arrived. I was told to arrive 45 minutes early, so I did. I'm not sure why that was necessary unless they wanted me to get really familiar with their waiting room. Luckily a friend had come along so the wait went quickly.
They called me back on time and had me change into the lovely short smock thing they provide. Then, I had to wait for the ultrasound tech. More waiting. But, it wasn't a long wait. She took me back to the room and explained that they suspected it might be a papilloma, which is benign, but would probably need to be removed. But, there was a chance it was nothing at all. That sounded good to me. It sounded like worst-case scenario is that it's benign and needs to be removed.
She went on to describe what would happen during the procedure and it was pretty much as described a week earlier by the nurse. Pretty much. When she got to the part about the needle, she said, "Oh, and we have this new instrument we're going to use today. You'll be the first one we've used it on. Instead of having to go in multiple times to collect samples, this instrument collects multiple samples on one insertion. We've never used it on a human before, but we've used it on a fake breast with peas."
Really? Really.
I'm all for the latest gadgets and gizmos when we're talking computers or ways to make my tv-watching experience better. But, do I really want to be the first person whose breast they've used an "instrument" on? Well, OK. Even better, a representative from the company who makes this fine instrument was there and wanted to observe so I had an extra person in the room.
The procedure was pretty much painless. (Even the post-biopsy mammogram was pretty pain-free.) When they injected the lidocaine, they could tell by the way the lump behaved that it is probably just fibrocystic changes or something...not a papilloma. But, they'll test the tissue to be sure. Waiting on those results as we speak. As they inserted the titanium marker they assured me it wouldn't set off the metal detectors at the airport. I asked if I could at least brag to my friends that I have a titanium breast. They said I could. Be jealous. (It's a tiny little ribbon shaped marker.)
So, now all that is left to do is wait for the official word. I am not at all anxious about it, but looking forward to the official news and an end to the waiting.
(Reminder: October is national breast cancer awareness month, so I feel inclined to remind my gal friends that if you are due for your annual mammogram, schedule one soon!)
On September 17 I had my annual screening mammogram. On September 20 I got a call from the breast center letting me know they saw a "density" on my right breast. They explained it's probably nothing and could be anything, but they wanted me to come in for a diagnostic mammogram and an ultrasound. I scheduled the next available appointment, which was September 30.
I woke up on September 21 and realized there was no way someone as anti-waiting as I am was going to make it until September 30 without driving myself bonkers. I understood it was almost certainly nothing, but sometimes you want more than "almost." Especially if you've watched your sister go through breast cancer treatments. So, at 8:00 am I called the breast center to see if there was any chance I could get an earlier appointment. They told me to come in at 9:00 that day. Peachy!
I was glad to hear them say that I would have some sort of an answer right then. Yay! No waiting! I had the diagnostic mammogram first. In case you're wondering, the experience is pretty much like a screening mammogram except they compress it more and they focus on a specific area. When they looked at the pictures, the density wasn't as clearly defined, but the doctor advised that I go ahead and get the ultrasound just to be sure.
On the way to the ultrasound, the gal who escorted me asked if I had been called back before. I hadn't. After all my previous mammograms I had gotten a letter in the mail saying that everything was A-OK, come back in a year. I was a little annoyed that they went off script this year by calling me. She said, "you're probably freaking out, then." I said I wasn't (much) and that I kept reminding myself that it was probably nothing. She told me to keep reminding myself that, because it usually is nothing.
On the ultrasound they spotted a small nodule. I saw it on the screen, but I didn't ask the technician any questions about it. She escorted me in silence back to the breast center. I tend to crack jokes when I'm nervous (or any time I get a chance, really) so when we walked past an exam room that had a treadmill in it, I said, "At least none of my tests today involved a treadmill." She laughed.
Back at the breast center, the radiologist confirmed the presence of a "suspicious abnormality." A biopsy was recommended and my doctor's office would be calling me about that. She asked if I had questions. I was sure I should have about a dozen, but I asked none. She said if I came up with any, I could ask the nurse when she called or I could call them. She handed me a pamphlet about breast biopsies and I headed out the door. The gal who escorted me to the ultrasound spotted me in the hall and asked, "well, did it go alright?" I didn't know how to answer. I smiled, "yes, it went fine, thanks."
Yes, it went fine. At this point, I still realized it was probably nothing. 80% of all breast biopsies are benign. Yay! But, please God, make me one of the 80%, thanks!
I had to wait a whole day to get the official order from my doctor to schedule the biopsy. Of course, I wanted to schedule it for the next moment possible, and they were happy to oblige...except the next moment possible was October 4. Twelve long days away. Seriously? OK. This non-waiter was going to have to learn some patience. Like now!
I spent the next few days reminding myself that it was probably nothing and that even on the off chance it was something, it was pretty small, thus nothing to worry about. Early in the waiting period, I was about 96-97% sure it was nothing. But, by about day 6, that grew to about 99.99999999%. But the waiting was still getting on my nerves.
A week before the biopsy, a nurse from the breast center called to walk me through the procedure. It went something like this. "You will be getting an ultrasound guided core needle biopsy. They'll find the lump again on the ultrasound and the doctor will mark where she wants to enter your breast. They will numb you with lidocaine. The doctor will make a small cut where she will enter with the instrument. The instrument has a core needle, or hollowed out needle on the end and she will use it to collect samples. It will make a clicking sound when she collects a sample. She'll deposit the sample in a container and then go back in to collect a total of 3-6 samples. When she is done, she will insert a titanium marker so that we can watch that spot on future mammograms. We'll apply pressure for 10 minutes to stop the bleeding. We'll cover with steri-strips. Then, we'll take you in for a mammogram so we can get a new baseline for your right breast. Bring a supportive bra that you can sleep in because you'll need to wear it for 24 hours. Any questions?"
I don't remember what questions I actually asked, but the one that was reverberating in my brain was, "Really? You're going to give me another mammogram after all of that?"
Anyway, the day of the procedure finally arrived. I was told to arrive 45 minutes early, so I did. I'm not sure why that was necessary unless they wanted me to get really familiar with their waiting room. Luckily a friend had come along so the wait went quickly.
They called me back on time and had me change into the lovely short smock thing they provide. Then, I had to wait for the ultrasound tech. More waiting. But, it wasn't a long wait. She took me back to the room and explained that they suspected it might be a papilloma, which is benign, but would probably need to be removed. But, there was a chance it was nothing at all. That sounded good to me. It sounded like worst-case scenario is that it's benign and needs to be removed.
She went on to describe what would happen during the procedure and it was pretty much as described a week earlier by the nurse. Pretty much. When she got to the part about the needle, she said, "Oh, and we have this new instrument we're going to use today. You'll be the first one we've used it on. Instead of having to go in multiple times to collect samples, this instrument collects multiple samples on one insertion. We've never used it on a human before, but we've used it on a fake breast with peas."
Really? Really.
I'm all for the latest gadgets and gizmos when we're talking computers or ways to make my tv-watching experience better. But, do I really want to be the first person whose breast they've used an "instrument" on? Well, OK. Even better, a representative from the company who makes this fine instrument was there and wanted to observe so I had an extra person in the room.
The procedure was pretty much painless. (Even the post-biopsy mammogram was pretty pain-free.) When they injected the lidocaine, they could tell by the way the lump behaved that it is probably just fibrocystic changes or something...not a papilloma. But, they'll test the tissue to be sure. Waiting on those results as we speak. As they inserted the titanium marker they assured me it wouldn't set off the metal detectors at the airport. I asked if I could at least brag to my friends that I have a titanium breast. They said I could. Be jealous. (It's a tiny little ribbon shaped marker.)
So, now all that is left to do is wait for the official word. I am not at all anxious about it, but looking forward to the official news and an end to the waiting.
(Reminder: October is national breast cancer awareness month, so I feel inclined to remind my gal friends that if you are due for your annual mammogram, schedule one soon!)
Monday, September 6, 2010
Remembering Patsy
She was the woman who brought me into this world.
And, by God, she could take me out of it.
She was a simple woman.
She was a complicated woman.
She laughed often.
She grumbled a little...some days a lot.
She was the woman in the stands at my softball games who, when the ump made a bad call, would stand up and yell, "nuts and bolts, we get screwed." Aw, thanks, Mom.
She was filled with sage advice. "Whatever you do, don't ever get married. Live with someone if you want, but don't get married." Or, "If you don't like someone, call them a sow. A sow is a lot worse than a bitch."
She was the woman who would sit in the yard in her bra and shorts folding clothes. Which wouldn't be a horrible thing since it was the back yard. Except we lived on a corner lot.
She was a woman who would give the shirt off her back to help a friend. (Maybe that's why she sat outside in her bra?)
She was my mom and she is missed.
Patsy Ann Hickerson Riggs
August 20, 1930 - September 6, 2005
And, by God, she could take me out of it.
She was a simple woman.
She was a complicated woman.
She laughed often.
She grumbled a little...some days a lot.
She was the woman in the stands at my softball games who, when the ump made a bad call, would stand up and yell, "nuts and bolts, we get screwed." Aw, thanks, Mom.
She was filled with sage advice. "Whatever you do, don't ever get married. Live with someone if you want, but don't get married." Or, "If you don't like someone, call them a sow. A sow is a lot worse than a bitch."
She was the woman who would sit in the yard in her bra and shorts folding clothes. Which wouldn't be a horrible thing since it was the back yard. Except we lived on a corner lot.
She was a woman who would give the shirt off her back to help a friend. (Maybe that's why she sat outside in her bra?)
She was my mom and she is missed.
Patsy Ann Hickerson Riggs
August 20, 1930 - September 6, 2005
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Goodness, Graciousness
“I was just coming to check on my friend and look what I got,” I heard him say as the van door slid shut just before we pulled away. What he got was a warm meal, some hygiene items and a blanket.
His name was Dave and I encountered him last night on my first venture out in the Uplift van to deliver meals and necessities to the homeless in Kansas City. I was subbing for a friend who does this on a regular basis.
At every stop, we found our guests to be gracious and appreciative. “Thank you so much. God bless you.” We often didn’t have what they needed. “That’s, okay,” they’d say. It wasn’t okay for me. At least half of them asked for shirts and we didn’t have any. I have a drawer full of t-shirts at home—about half of which I never wear. It’s time to go through it again.
We met some who were witty and funny. Two, at separate stops, proudly boasted they had the same waist size they had in high school. By and large they looked out for one another. One stop was across the street from some police activity. One of our guests had been over there. He pointed at the others around the van, “They tried to warn me to stay away from there, but I didn’t listen.”
And we met Dave. I don’t know where we were exactly—underneath an overpass somewhere. When we first arrived at this particular stop, we didn’t see anyone. One man came out of the darkness. We served him a plate of pasta with meat sauce and green beans. He came to the side of the van where we offered him hygiene items and other things he might need.
Then, his friend, Dave, came to the van. We served him. He chatted with his friend. He chatted with us. When we asked how he was he said, “Pretty good. I woke up on the right side of the dirt this morning.” As with everyone else, we offered things he might need. Toothpaste? Shampoo? “What I really need,” he said, “is a blessing.”
He asked if we could pray. At his urging, we joined hands and he led us in prayer. I don’t remember all the words, it rhymed and I wondered if it was memorized from childhood. One line was “Thank you for all you have given us today.” Perhaps the reason I don’t remember the rest of the words is because I was struck by that line. I am grateful for all that I have, but I don’t often take time out of my day to say thanks for it. The message at church last Sunday was essentially the less you have the more you tend to appreciate what you do have. That was the case for this man.
When I was asked to volunteer, I had no idea what to expect. In the end, I was just helping out my friend, and look what I got. Thank you, God, for all you have given me today.
His name was Dave and I encountered him last night on my first venture out in the Uplift van to deliver meals and necessities to the homeless in Kansas City. I was subbing for a friend who does this on a regular basis.
At every stop, we found our guests to be gracious and appreciative. “Thank you so much. God bless you.” We often didn’t have what they needed. “That’s, okay,” they’d say. It wasn’t okay for me. At least half of them asked for shirts and we didn’t have any. I have a drawer full of t-shirts at home—about half of which I never wear. It’s time to go through it again.
We met some who were witty and funny. Two, at separate stops, proudly boasted they had the same waist size they had in high school. By and large they looked out for one another. One stop was across the street from some police activity. One of our guests had been over there. He pointed at the others around the van, “They tried to warn me to stay away from there, but I didn’t listen.”
And we met Dave. I don’t know where we were exactly—underneath an overpass somewhere. When we first arrived at this particular stop, we didn’t see anyone. One man came out of the darkness. We served him a plate of pasta with meat sauce and green beans. He came to the side of the van where we offered him hygiene items and other things he might need.
Then, his friend, Dave, came to the van. We served him. He chatted with his friend. He chatted with us. When we asked how he was he said, “Pretty good. I woke up on the right side of the dirt this morning.” As with everyone else, we offered things he might need. Toothpaste? Shampoo? “What I really need,” he said, “is a blessing.”
He asked if we could pray. At his urging, we joined hands and he led us in prayer. I don’t remember all the words, it rhymed and I wondered if it was memorized from childhood. One line was “Thank you for all you have given us today.” Perhaps the reason I don’t remember the rest of the words is because I was struck by that line. I am grateful for all that I have, but I don’t often take time out of my day to say thanks for it. The message at church last Sunday was essentially the less you have the more you tend to appreciate what you do have. That was the case for this man.
When I was asked to volunteer, I had no idea what to expect. In the end, I was just helping out my friend, and look what I got. Thank you, God, for all you have given me today.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
I opened a can of worms. You can guess how it went from there.
So, I was having a “post the blog entry or don’t post the blog entry” debate with myself and essentially said so on Facebook as my status update. A word of advice: don’t do that unless you’re ready for several people to advise you to post it AND you’re actually prepared to post it. I was not prepared or ready on either count.
My initial hesitancy was just that it got a little more personal than I was prepared to share on the worldwide web. I made it a little less personal, but still I’m not sure I’m ready to share it. I let a friend read it and asked for her advice as to whether I should post it. She’s pretty conservative and private so I fully expected her to caution me against posting it. She didn’t. But still, I am reluctant to do so. I told her I’d think about it over the weekend. The weekend passed. I still wasn’t ready. That’s when I posted my status update.
I appreciated all the feedback I got, but now, I am even more hesitant to post it because, frankly, it’s really not all that good. I feel like there’s this expectation that it will be this moving piece. It’s not. At all. It was just me rambling, as is usually the case.
Anyway, I’m going to sit on it a while longer. Maybe I’ll post it. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll rewrite it entirely and share it in a new form. One thing I know is that writing it in the first place was healing in a way. Maybe that’s all it needs to be.
My initial hesitancy was just that it got a little more personal than I was prepared to share on the worldwide web. I made it a little less personal, but still I’m not sure I’m ready to share it. I let a friend read it and asked for her advice as to whether I should post it. She’s pretty conservative and private so I fully expected her to caution me against posting it. She didn’t. But still, I am reluctant to do so. I told her I’d think about it over the weekend. The weekend passed. I still wasn’t ready. That’s when I posted my status update.
I appreciated all the feedback I got, but now, I am even more hesitant to post it because, frankly, it’s really not all that good. I feel like there’s this expectation that it will be this moving piece. It’s not. At all. It was just me rambling, as is usually the case.
Anyway, I’m going to sit on it a while longer. Maybe I’ll post it. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll rewrite it entirely and share it in a new form. One thing I know is that writing it in the first place was healing in a way. Maybe that’s all it needs to be.
Going Home
Center, Missouri. Population 644 (at the 2000 census). About 100 miles northwest of St. Louis and about 20 miles southwest of Hannibal. Home.
I’ve been back home a number of times since I moved to the Kansas City area more than 18 years ago. From 2001-2008 I went back about once a month to check in on Mom and/or Dane. Those brief visits didn’t allow for much time to visit with people outside the family or to really connect with the town I called home for 18 years.
Looking for an opportunity for Dane to catch up with old friends, this past weekend I attended what my childhood friend now refers to as “the social event of the season”—Center Park Day. There is apparently some debate about how many years this event has taken place, but it’s been 59-ish years. My aunt recalls the circumstances around how it was begun. I wasn’t around then, I just remember it was a much-anticipated event for the youth of the town. (Adult views were probably more varied.) In my day, it was always held on the first Tuesday after the first Monday in August (election day). It is now held the last Saturday in July.
The Park Day of my youth included hourly cake walks and prize walks, kiddie parades, best decorated bike and trike contests, frog jumping contests, a bingo stand, the penny pitch, a dunking booth, water fights…the list goes on. At lunch time, they would randomly stop a family with out-of-state plates—presumably on vacation—at the four-way stop (yes, THE four-way stop…there is only one) and invite them to join us for lunch. They’d be ushered onto the stage and introduced and given a few gifts like a cooler and a road atlas or something and then they’d get a free meal. I always thought that would be an odd experience for anyone. Can you imagine?
Many aspects of the Park Days of my memory continue today. I watched a little girl carry a frog that was bigger than her forearm and plop him down on at the starting line of the frog jumping contest. I didn’t see the best decorated bicycle contest, but I spotted a bike adorned with streamers and wondered how it fared in the contest. The dunking booth was up and running. Dane won a German chocolate cake in the cake walk. My niece, Hannah, won a bike helmet in the prize walk. I watched from afar as youngsters fired water hoses at the barrel suspended from a line. Somewhere I have a plaque from winning the water fight in nineteen eighty-something.
This year, some of the things I remember were gone, but new things entered the mix including a newlywed game where a boy I once babysat was a contestant. There was a “Center’s Got Talent” competition and a “Minute to Win It” game based on a TV show. This suggests that while Park Day is rooted in tradition it can evolve with the times.
The absolute best thing about Park Day, though, is the people you see. I saw former classmates (from grade school through high school) Wendy, Beverly and Joni. I spotted Wendy with her son and asked, “Is this your little one?” She replied, “Yes,” and then she whispered, “He’s a mean little shit.” It warmed my heart to know she hasn’t changed. Beverly was there with her son selling cold water to raise money for a field trip (or something). Joni, who can proudly claim to have never missed a Park Day in 40 years, was there with her teenage daughter and they were looking forward to entering the look-alike contest. (I didn’t see it and I don’t know who their competition was, but they should have had a good shot at winning.)
I saw former Sunday school teachers, and softball coaches and a history teacher and lunch line ladies. I saw former softball teammates, Amber and Dawn. I saw parents of former classmates and friends—Joann and Charles; Mac and Leona; Bert; Judy; and Nancy. I ran into people who I used to see regularly on Sunday mornings at Olivet Christian Church—Ron and Lisa and Jan. All of these people helped shape my life in some way.
I tend to think of Kansas City (or Overland Park or whatever) as home now, but it’s no Center. I think the thing I like most about where I work and where I go to church (both of which have about the same number of members/employees as Center has residents) is the sense of community I feel at each of those places. It’s the sense of community that I first experienced in that little town that is but a speck on the map in northeast Missouri.
I’ve been back home a number of times since I moved to the Kansas City area more than 18 years ago. From 2001-2008 I went back about once a month to check in on Mom and/or Dane. Those brief visits didn’t allow for much time to visit with people outside the family or to really connect with the town I called home for 18 years.
Looking for an opportunity for Dane to catch up with old friends, this past weekend I attended what my childhood friend now refers to as “the social event of the season”—Center Park Day. There is apparently some debate about how many years this event has taken place, but it’s been 59-ish years. My aunt recalls the circumstances around how it was begun. I wasn’t around then, I just remember it was a much-anticipated event for the youth of the town. (Adult views were probably more varied.) In my day, it was always held on the first Tuesday after the first Monday in August (election day). It is now held the last Saturday in July.
The Park Day of my youth included hourly cake walks and prize walks, kiddie parades, best decorated bike and trike contests, frog jumping contests, a bingo stand, the penny pitch, a dunking booth, water fights…the list goes on. At lunch time, they would randomly stop a family with out-of-state plates—presumably on vacation—at the four-way stop (yes, THE four-way stop…there is only one) and invite them to join us for lunch. They’d be ushered onto the stage and introduced and given a few gifts like a cooler and a road atlas or something and then they’d get a free meal. I always thought that would be an odd experience for anyone. Can you imagine?
Many aspects of the Park Days of my memory continue today. I watched a little girl carry a frog that was bigger than her forearm and plop him down on at the starting line of the frog jumping contest. I didn’t see the best decorated bicycle contest, but I spotted a bike adorned with streamers and wondered how it fared in the contest. The dunking booth was up and running. Dane won a German chocolate cake in the cake walk. My niece, Hannah, won a bike helmet in the prize walk. I watched from afar as youngsters fired water hoses at the barrel suspended from a line. Somewhere I have a plaque from winning the water fight in nineteen eighty-something.
This year, some of the things I remember were gone, but new things entered the mix including a newlywed game where a boy I once babysat was a contestant. There was a “Center’s Got Talent” competition and a “Minute to Win It” game based on a TV show. This suggests that while Park Day is rooted in tradition it can evolve with the times.
The absolute best thing about Park Day, though, is the people you see. I saw former classmates (from grade school through high school) Wendy, Beverly and Joni. I spotted Wendy with her son and asked, “Is this your little one?” She replied, “Yes,” and then she whispered, “He’s a mean little shit.” It warmed my heart to know she hasn’t changed. Beverly was there with her son selling cold water to raise money for a field trip (or something). Joni, who can proudly claim to have never missed a Park Day in 40 years, was there with her teenage daughter and they were looking forward to entering the look-alike contest. (I didn’t see it and I don’t know who their competition was, but they should have had a good shot at winning.)
I saw former Sunday school teachers, and softball coaches and a history teacher and lunch line ladies. I saw former softball teammates, Amber and Dawn. I saw parents of former classmates and friends—Joann and Charles; Mac and Leona; Bert; Judy; and Nancy. I ran into people who I used to see regularly on Sunday mornings at Olivet Christian Church—Ron and Lisa and Jan. All of these people helped shape my life in some way.
I tend to think of Kansas City (or Overland Park or whatever) as home now, but it’s no Center. I think the thing I like most about where I work and where I go to church (both of which have about the same number of members/employees as Center has residents) is the sense of community I feel at each of those places. It’s the sense of community that I first experienced in that little town that is but a speck on the map in northeast Missouri.
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