I'm so thankful our family comes from hearty stock

I still have vivid memories of the night Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, the moment 30 years ago today that she came out of her anesthesia after her mastectomy, sitting with her at chemo, and repeatedly watching her take off her wig and remove her prosthetic after chemo so she could collapse into the sleep she needed to keep up the fight. But more importantly, I remember how she wouldn't let breast cancer control her life. I have even fonder memories of her traveling to DC--one of her favorite cities--with us, unflinchingly bearing the slight orange tint of a chemo patient. Of her volunteering for Reach to Recovery, a program that paired breast cancer survivors with new breast cancer patients to answer questions and act as survivor role models and give hope where often there didn't seem to be any. Of the pink-clothed and pink-fooded and the pink-everythinged celebration we had with family and friends to celebrate her 20-year survival milestone. And most importantly, I remember how we all chose to laugh instead of cry at the situation. It turns out that prosthetic breasts can be very funny, especially when they're used as a giant nose on a drawing of a face, when they make uncontrollable farting sounds against sweaty skin on a hot day, and especially when they're put away for the night on a stack of hotel towels, only to fly across the room and SPLAT! against the wall when the top towel is unknowingly pulled off the pile in semi-darkness. We're lucky as a family to have all of this--and to still have Mom with us as a living example for everyone that breast cancer CAN be beaten.

Look out at the water

We just finished up a lovely picnic in a charming rough-hewn pavilion in historic Bever Park as a thank-you to a group of First Lutheran members who volunteer at the Higley Care Center. And by “lovely” I mean “HOLY SHIT IT’S RAINING SO VIOLENTLY WE’RE ALL GONNA DROWN AND FLOAT AWAY AND MEET OUR WATERY DEMISE IN A FILTHY RAIN-GORGED SEWER but it’s still lovely.”

The deluge was so catastrophic that a drowned-rat jogger ducked into the far end of our pavilion as we were setting up, and my dad—being my dad—immediately went over to him to offer him some coffee, which he accepted so I poured him a cup and handed it to him and OH MY GOD YOUR EYES AND YOUR ATHLETIC CHEST VACUUM-SEALED IN YOUR DRENCHED T-SHIRT WHAT’S YOUR NAME OH IT’S BEN SHY GIGGLE DON’T EMBARRASS YOURSELF JAKE SO HOW FAR ARE YOU RUNNING TODAY BEN THREE MILES WHAT A COINCIDENCE THREE IS MY FAVORITE NUMBER IT’S ONE MORE THAN YOUR TWO ATHLETIC PECS YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE WE HAVE IN COMMON BEN IT’S THE DISTRACTING FACT THAT NEITHER OF US HAS A WEDDING RING WHAT AN INTERESTING COINCIDENCE SO HAVE SOME MORE AWKWARD FLIRTING I MEAN HAVE SOME MORE COFFEE WELL DARN THE RAIN IS LETTING UP AND I SEE YOU’RE ABOUT TO CONTINUE YOUR RUN COME ON BACK FOR SOME MORE AWKWARD FLIRTING I MEAN COME ON BACK FOR SOME BREAKFAST BYE BEN I’LL MISS YOU WHY AM I YELLING OH RIGHT BECAUSE YELLING IS THE OPPOSITE OF NOT-AWKWARD FLIRTING WELL DARN YOU’RE GONE.

Oh—and this tree could totally play Dot in Sunday in the Park with George:

FUN FARM FACT!

When a corn seed gets planted but doesn’t grow into a stalk of corn with his other little corn-seed buddies and instead waits to grow into a stalk of corn the next summer when the farmer has rotated into planting soybeans, he’s called VOLUNTEER CORN.

#TheMoreYouKnow (sparklystar!)

And so it's here:

the dawn of my eternal darkness ... the wrinkles in my time ... the hips that creak and the ears that hair and the jowls that droop and go dry ... the show tunes that go flat and the exclamation points that reproduce unchecked and the blush of eternal youth that circles precariously toward the drain ...

It's the month of my 50th birthday.

And here's what I want for my birthday present: Nothing. Less than nothing, actually; I'd really love to have some impartial eyes help me go through the mountains of stuff I have and decide what all I should give to someone who needs it more than I do.

But if you really want to buy something to commemorate my half century, please do this: Buy something for someone who really needs it.

We're all just one degree away from a kid who can't afford school lunches, a person who needs a mattress pad and fresh sheets to cover a bare mattress, or a family who needs a new refrigerator. So I ask for my 50th birthday that you look around you to find a person or a situation in need of financial help you can provide ... or maybe volunteer help you can offer like babysitting in an emergency or painting a room or taking an ill family member to the doctor ... or maybe professional help you can give pro bono like writing a resume and cover letter or fixing an unreliable car or helping a struggling family organize its finances and set up long-term investments.

You decide if it's something you should buy or do quietly or if perhaps you should discuss it in a way that might inspire other people to follow your lead. No matter what you decide, you'll be giving me and someone I don't even know a truly meaningful way to help me celebrate my 50th birthday. And that means more than I could ever thank you for.

#HowToTurn50

Oh, nothing

Just sitting on a panel of judges draconianly judging the team names and uniforms for two separate middle-school and high-school dodgeball tournaments, and no doubt destroying uncountable spirits, hopes and dreams along the way. I am DRUNK! WITH! POWER!

How’s YOUR pathetically-meaningless-by-comparison Saturday morning?

Grateful

This photo appeared with no context in my Facebook memories this morning and I've been thinking about it all day. And not just because I was what looks to be more or less successfully doing that transparently vain hold-something-in-your-hand-and-turn-slightly-to-show-off-your-guns gay photo-posing thing. It's actually -- and admittedly -- because I think this is a really good picture of my sister and me, but more importantly it's because this picture nicely captures the happiness -- the true, grateful-to-have happiness -- we share both as siblings and as members of our larger family. I love my sister. I love all of us. I love the experiences and the milestones and the journeys and the conversations and the jokes and the secrets and the traditions and even the struggles -- actually, especially the struggles because they tend to be more memorable and clearly more defining -- we've shared and are sharing and will continue to share as we grow and evolve and shape what makes our family our family.

I'm in awe of my sister as a mother, as a volunteer, as a community pillar, as a family anchor and sometimes as a secret shopper for a clueless uncle who never knows what to get the kids for Christmas. I'm in awe of my brother-in-law as father, as a clear-headed impartial observer, as an unsentimental and excessively handy neat freak, as an intellect, as an organic member of our family, and as a friend. I'm in awe of my parents as providers, as survivors, as historians, as sentimentalists, as I-still-don't-have-a-full-comprehension-of-how-widely-influential-they-are-in-all-corners-of-Cedar-Rapids role models, and as fierce, loving protectors of all of us no matter what. And I'm especially in awe of my niece and nephew as they continue to emerge as kind, decent, studied, aware, intelligent, interesting, truly funny young adults.

I know I am mountaintop fortunate to belong to such a close, loving, awe-inspiring family. I know that the good and the bad and even the very bad will -- because they already have -- keep drawing us closer. I know my niece and nephew and I can spend a whole evening repeating the same Stewie quote well past the point of exasperating tedium and still laugh and still totally get each other.

I know I am in a good place.

And I know we are happy.

29 years ago today

I'm so thankful our family comes from hearty stock. I still have vivid memories of the night Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, the moment 29 years ago today that she came out of her anesthesia after her mastectomy, sitting with her as she got her chemo, watching her take off her wig and remove her prosthetic breast after her chemo so she could get the sleep she needed to keep up the fight. But more importantly, I remember how she wouldn't let breast cancer control her life. I have even fonder memories of her traveling to DC -- one of her favorite cities -- with us, and of her smiling in all our pictures with the slight orange tint of a chemo patient. Of her volunteering for Reach to Recovery, a program that paired breast cancer survivors with new breast cancer patients to answer questions and act as survivor role models and give hope where often there is none. And most importantly, I remember how we all chose to laugh instead of cry over the entire situation. It turns out that a prosthetic breast can be very funny, especially when it's used as a giant nose on a drawing of a face, when it makes uncontrollable farting sounds against sweaty skin on a hot day, and most especially -- and this is one of our family's favorite stories -- when it's put away for the night on a stack of hotel towels, only to fly across the room and SPLAT! against the far wall when the top towel is unknowingly pulled off the pile in semi-darkness. 

We're lucky as a family to have all of this -- and while we celebrate that my mom is still with us, we will always mourn the loss of the people who aren't.

The very best part of volunteering at the Ronald McDonald House:

You! Get! To! Fill! The! Coke! Machine!

Keeping tabs

My niece and I are in charge of collecting and weighing the pop tabs that come in at a Ronald McDonald House fundraiser/open house today and OH MY GOD they're coming in by the truckload. This is our haul so far and the day is just starting. And now I want 500 Diet Cokes.

New Year's Resolutions

Update my blog at least once every 21 days
Done.

Figure out how to convert my commenting to Blogger
Before Blogger offered a commenting feature, I used a free commenting app called HaloScan, which last year converted to a pay program called Echo. But I get about 5 comments per post, and now Blogger offers free built-in commenting capabilities … so it seems dumb to pay for the feature. Unfortunately, Echo offers NO help in shutting off its commenting app, which seems to have hijacked the DNA of my entire blog. So the five of you who want to comment on this post are just gonna have to hold tight until I can figure everything out. Since Echo has a lock on my commenting link but not on my credit card, you can comment all you want but I can't access your comments to approve them.

Write and mail my epic holiday letter
At this point I have a Word doc that lists all the months in order from 2010. So I’m almost done.

Gain at least two pounds a month in the gym
I started the year around 205, including bad holiday weight. I was 208 this morning, which seems to be good weight. Or at least I’ve-been-very-good-in-the-food-department weight. Then again, it could have been post-intense-workout water weight. But still. 208! Woot!

Outgrow some clothes
I mean in the vain-gymrat way. In December I reached the point where some of my narrow (not skinny—I’m not that delusional) jeans clung to my quads and calves and wouldn’t fall back down to cover my ankles when I stood up. So they’re currently at the bottom of the jeans pile. And my lats (which is vain-gymratspeak for the sides of my back) have gotten so wide (but never wide enough!) that I’ve had to do the douchebag cut (armholes down to the waist) on most of my workout shirts, which were already douchebaggy because I’d cut all the sleeves off.

Stop obsessing about getting bigger in the gym
Kidding!

Give up soda
I haven’t had a Coke Zero (my vice of choice) since January 2. I miss it worse than John McCain misses his integrity, but this attempt to quit comes with a built-in incentive: Drinking soda seems to have become a trigger for migraines and heartburn, and I haven’t had an episode of either since I quit filling myself with delightfully fizzy adventures in processed chemicals. Late last year they (the migraines and heartburn, not the delightfully fizzy chemicals) started kicking in at least twice a month, so I’ll jump on any bandwagon that looks like it could reverse that trend.

Buy some new ChapStick®
I've been reduced to digging out the last dregs from my current tube with my masculinely short fingernails. For the last month. It's probably time to pony up another couple bucks for a fresh tube.

Judge more people
I had jury duty yesterday, so I came this close to sitting in judgment over a whole world of miscreants. Unfortunately, every trial that day settled without going to court. So I was denied my right to pass judgment and send miscreants to the hoosegow. Though it did give me the opportunity to use miscreants and hoosegow in my blog.

Volunteer more
I was so impressed with the way the Center on Halsted GLBT community center went out of its way to help us when we filmed our It Gets Better Project video marathon there last October that I took its volunteer training class so I could give something back to the center in thanks. Unfortunately, all the volunteer opportunities available so far have been during my workday or have required degrees in law or social work ... or have specified that volunteers have legible handwriting. Seriously. And as a man with the handwriting of a drunken toddler, I assume I would be laughed out any note-writing events on behalf of any nonprofit organization with even Sarah Palin standards of capability. But! I’m on the Center on Halsted email list and I keep waiting for something to pop up that I can contribute to. In the mean time, I’ve gotten myself on the marketing committees for two big GLBT events in Chicago: Lambda Legal’s Freedom to Marry event in February and TPAN’s Chicago Takes Off in March. Watch this space for details about both events. They should appear every 21 days.