Change I can believe in

I've never met an extremist that
I didn't distrust

Remember the last line of The Who song, "Won't get fooled again"? It's one of the biggest political statements ever made in a song, as far as I'm concerned. And a great reminder that pride does goeth before the fall.

"Meet the new boss; same as the old boss."

I might be a bit of a Pollyanna and I admit that. I have this crazy idea that political and social change can happen without violence and rage. Would it have happened in Egypt without the loss of life and military intervention? In a history wrought with war and political oppression, probably not.

However, I would like to think that the US is different. It took a war for the US to become its own country. It was a war for independence from a country whose interest was purely financial.

And it took another war to keep the country together. Though the Civil War was also fueled by financial interests, the government fought to keep the country whole.

When I listen to the Tea Partiers say that they are like the founding fathers, I shake my head. If the founding fathers were here today, they would disagree with groups who use their words to dismantle the very infrastructure they fought so hard to create. Jefferson's slave-owning notwithstanding, the founding fathers were much more liberal for their times than the Tea Partiers are in today's times.

During angry town hall meetings that allow citizens to listen to and talk with US representatives, I am always amused by the way the radical right uses these opportunities to talk (or rather, yell) more than listen. A professor of mine said once, "No one ever learned anything by talking." And that is so true.

What is so scary about listening when you disagree with someone? Is it fear that your opinion might be changed? Is changing your opinion based on fact or thoughtful discourse a bad thing?

The most volatile people on the planet are those whose opinions are cast in stone. Do they view consistency of opinion as a strength? Emerson said: "The other terror that scares us from self-trust is our consistency; a reverence for our past act or word, because the eyes of others have no other data for computing our orbit than our past acts, and we are loath to disappoint them."

Personally, I reserve the right to change my opinion on a strongly-held belief every day. I have been reasoned out of a stance but only through thoughtful discussion. Never with rage. Once the volume rises, I stop listening.

That volume works sometimes as we witnessed recently in Egypt. Their government was (and will likely be) based upon controlling the masses more than instituting civil and human rights. For me, the jury is still out on the type of change the protesters will end up with. I would like to think of my own country as an environment that welcomes change provided it is achieved with civility and democracy.

If the Tea Partiers have their way, I worry about the loss of civility and reason. I don't want to live in a country that makes its decisions and drives change through rage, closed minds, closed ears, and revisionist history.

I guess I always look at change with an eye on the slippery slope of political movements and how power changes what might have started as a noble vision.

Are we about to meet that "new boss" with the Tea Party movement? And, more importantly, is anyone in that movement paying attention to history?

Spring starts with Spring Training

With Spring Training around the corner, I've been thinking about my beloved Red Sox a lot. My first published column ran in the Lowell Sun on October 31st, 2007 -- a day or two after the Sox won the 2007 World Series. It isn't in their online archives so I share it here. GO SOX!

Okay, I admit it. I once thought that Red Sox fans were as clueless as the game they love.

I grew up with a football coach for a grandfather, so that sport was in my DNA. My ideal athlete was the quarterback, connecting with a receiver under real threat of death. To me, other sports seemed like games, and I thought baseball players were wimps. In football, they don't let a broken neck slow them down, yet baseball players are out for eight games with a “muscle pull”. I thought the game moved at the pace of underwater square dancing, its only excitement easily encapsulated in 30 seconds’ worth of highlights on the news.

My poor family and friends had to endure my rolling eyes every time they talked about the Sox. Then there were my usual snide comments about baseball being a game about who could wear the most gold chains and still hit a ball. They persisted and preached but to no avail.

Then it happened. My husband was watching the game where Clay Buchholz was going for a no-hitter while I was reading the paper. I looked up occasionally to hear what all the cheering was about and asked a couple of questions about baseball stats before returning to my paper. The next night this kid Jacoby Ellsbury hit a ball out of the park and I thought, hmmm, there’s that game again. I guess I could watch just a few plays. That won’t mean I’m a baseball fan. It’s just curiosity.

Something clicked and I started watching every game. In no time I went from being a naysayer to trying to convert other non-baseball fans with the same sort of fanaticism normally reserved for ex-smokers. I realized that jumping off the couch to scream “No, not Gagne!” is no different from fourth and goal when you’re yelling at the quarterback to pass.

I still think that football is the greatest sport of all time. But after watching Josh Beckett for the last two months, I now realize what amazing athletes baseball players are. Could Tom Brady throw a football 97 mph? If he did, could anyone catch it? And could those two skills converge almost every play of the game?

Then there’s the psychology of baseball. The daunting stare of Dice-K to a nervous batter just before he swings at the night air. Or a fastball that’s hit out of the park that the pitcher never thought anyone could touch. If that’s not like playing head games with your opponent on fourth and goal, I don’t know what is.

So there I was, staying up way too late at night to watch the World Series. I was wrong about baseball and can’t wait to tell old friends that I have seen the light. I think how wonderful it is that I don’t have to go without sports for seven months after the Super Bowl. And there’s another plus. Family members who complain that they never know what to give me now have a plethora of ideas. Let’s see. Do I want Pedroia’s or Beckett’s Red Sox jersey for Christmas? How about a bobblehead Manny for my car? Irish jig lessons?

Birthdays and Boston cream pie

Today's my birthday. Most people my age are already dreading the next number. As if dread makes getting older easier.

A friend said once, "The only option to growing old is dying young. And I like that option a whole lot less." To which I add, "Any day with cake is a good day." My favorite cake (if you can call it that) is Boston cream pie and my husband has one in the refrigerator just waiting for an after-dinner seranade of "Happy Birthday to you."

I wanted to be a grown up since I was about 8 years old. Couldn't wait to be part of every conversation because I was old enough to hear it all. When I was in my 20s I longed for my independence.

There is still something special about having my own kitchen where only my husband and I know what's hidden behind each cabinet door. I love standing on my deck in the summer and looking out at our wooded property knowing that this is our own private piece of the planet.

The 50th danceathon

When I turned 50 two years ago, I threw myself a huge dance party and invited a zillion people. It was a simple affair -- pretzels on the table and enough birthday cake to feed an army. I danced to every single song for four hours. I couldn't even get out of bed the next day because I was so achy. 

A lot of my friends who turned 50 that year mostly hid from the number. Some had small gatherings but I believe I was the only one with a blowout party. 

I felt like celebrating life with my loved ones and used my birthday as an excuse. The DJ played all of my favorite music that I find myself dancing to in the driver's seat. I don't believe I've ever had that much fun -- except for maybe my wedding day. And I was able to have so many special people there in one place. Introducing people and seeing them chat is the best part of a big party. We talk about our friends and families to others but they rarely get a chance to meet. What a treat it was for me to see folks mingle.

My mom turned 80 last week and we had the greatest celebration. It was "just" the immediate family but it was a special event at her favorite restaurant. With last August's cancer diagnosis we didn't think she'd be with us for her 80th. So there was an abundance of joy that overflowed and created a special evening. After my brother made a toast, my mom raised her glass again and said, "Here's to 81!".

Mom and I obviously share the same attitude about age. Every year is a gift. And every birthday is a reason to celebrate being here.

And let's not forget that Boston cream pie in the refrigerator.

Is it possible to communicate too much?

The Springer Rescue group which does most
of its communicating over the internet.

There are times that I'm a bit of a social reactionary. I like to have some peace and quiet and miss the Westford I moved to 13 years ago. Even though the area around my property hasn't changed, the traffic on my street has certainly increased. I also miss simple things like the sound of a rake and a push mower, and the slow hissing of steam radiators on a blustery night.

When I poke around consignment shops, I see reminders of a simpler time--rotary phones that needed half as many numbers dialed to connect but took twice as long to dial; typewriters with well-worn keys and a broken carriage return; Super 8 film projectors that made a hypnotic clack-clack-clack sound as the family watched home movies projected on the wall with the lights turned off.

We replaced those clunky old devices with slick, mostly-quiet electronic masterpieces. We lost the familiar and replaced it with something better--speed. I spend a fair amount of time with teens because of the youth group I co-lead and also my "aging" niece and nephews. I'm hip to all the new gadgets and use a lot of them.

Some of my friends and family members roll their eyes when I check my email from my phone, some even roll their eyes when I talk about email. Those folks say that the world has gotten too complicated and we can only communicate over the airwaves now.

Okay. I can live with some of that. I can sometimes use my phone to get lost in my own world. When I'm waiting for an appointment, I play with my phone instead of chatting up the person next to me. I can see that, at times, I reach out less to strangers.

However, I also have to consider the other side of the coin. Because of email and social networking apps, I find that I have more friends and connect with them more frequently.

I'm not a talking-on-the-phone person. Most of my friends know that. If you want to connect with me and it's not an emergency, use the computer. I like that I can correspond when it's convenient and use language that is maybe more carefully chosen than it would be if I'm rushing out the door. I get together with people quite a bit but almost always arrange that over email.

To those who say that the internet is impersonal and takes us away from making meaningful connections, I say, "Try it."

Thanks to social networking sites, I have connected with long-lost friends and rekindled friendships that would have been gone forever otherwise. I've gotten closer to cousins that I would only see at weddings and funerals. I can see pictures of friends and family who live out of state and feel like I'm there.

I have also formed friendships because of email. For example, over four years ago, I sent an email to a local political analyst whose work I always admired. That email turned into a friendship that has seen us reach out to each other at times of great sadness, tease each other about our idiosyncrasies, and meet up at a concert of a favorite band. He has been a mentor and supporter of my writing since I first began my publishing journey. We have met in person only twice but that doesn't change the fact that we call each other "friend."

If I had to guess, I would have to say that those people would not be in my life now had there been no internet. My circle of treasured humans has expanded. And anytime I need a laugh or a pick-me-up, I look back at old emails they've sent to me just as I would a letter I saved. The difference is, there are more emails than there would have been letters.

Every generation has its form of communication. Before the computer, there was the telephone. Before the telephone, there was the mail. Before the mail, there were smoke signals.

I'd like to think that we improve our communication as we evolve. Our ways to communicate have expanded even though our civility in communication hasn't always followed. But that's a blog post for another day. And you can find it right here, on the internet.

Dog gone love

In remembrance of Alex who we sent to the bridge one year ago today, I share the column I wrote that was published in the Boston Globe Magazine on 4/11/2010.

We made the decision to put our beloved springer spaniel Alex to sleep on a Wednesday. It was a decision we knew we had to make at some point, and that Wednesday morning it became clear it was time. My husband, Ron, and I process grief differently. He reacts immediately with tears and retreats to a quiet space in his inner self. I, on the other hand, go into what-needs-to-be-done mode.

Alex was our first foster dog when I volunteered for a local springer rescue group, and we failed Fostering 101 horribly, or, rather, fortunately: We kept him. Alex bonded with our younger rescued springer spaniel as if they had been friends in another life. They were good for each other. Alex was the calming, reassuring peer that Brittany needed. She was the anxious one, always afraid she would be ditched again. But Brit had much to give Alex as well. Alex came from a home where he was the only dog of an elderly owner with no time to exercise him. Brit loves to play, and after just one day together, I found them bouncing around the living room in a joyous dance with a stuffed animal in their mouths.

They saw each other through some tough times in their eight years together - a lifetime for some dogs. Other foster dogs came and went; various health issues arose for both of them. Each time, the healthier one would comfort the other with snuggles and kisses. Ron and I always exchanged knowing smiles during these times. Alex and Brit were soul mates.

So when Alex's health started the long, slow decline, our thoughts often turned to how Brit would handle the loss. We had taken in an older cocker spaniel in the past two years when her owner, our friend, had passed away. But as sweet as she is, Shawna didn't bond with Alex and Brit the way they had with each other.

On that Wednesday, Ron and I asked our vet when she could come to the house to put Alex, then 15 years old, to sleep. She could either come that day or Friday. Since he was not in pain or in crisis, and we needed time to say goodbye, we decided on Friday.

The next two days were both horrible and wonderful. Ron and I took turns being "the strong one," and I tried to focus on making Alex's last days happy. Ron's grief was almost overwhelming at times as he struggled to cope with the reality that he would lose his friend. They had a special relationship that I had only begun to understand in those last two days. I started to see similarities in their character that I hadn't noticed before.

Ron and I met at a time in our lives when we were both convinced that we would be alone forever. He was the quiet, loyal, bighearted oldest son who was both dependable and sensitive. I was an outgoing middle child who always worried about pleasing others and thought she had to be perfect to be loved. We were both easily hurt because we expected so much of ourselves and, by extension, others. So relationships never seemed to work. Until we met each other on a blind date. We had both sworn off these fix-ups because they always ended in disaster. But for some reason we allowed ourselves to be talked into it by a mutual friend.

Ron was different from the others. He was kind and sweet. A calming presence in my life who embraced me and all the anxiety that came with me. Eventually, a funny thing happened - my anxiety disappeared. I was accepted and safe now. And Ron? Well, Ron let his guard down and even started fast-dancing. One day he asked me to show him some moves so we could dance together.

Years later, when I asked him if we could adopt a rescued dog, he said yes. And when I asked him a year after that if we could take in a foster dog, he said yes. Having dogs was an emotional release for Ron that I hadn't seen until that Friday.

That Friday. The day that Brittany said goodbye to the transforming partner in her life. The partner who helped her feel safe and accepted. The partner who calmed her when she was anxious and danced with her when she was filled with joy.

That Friday . . . when I saw for the first time that Alex was meant to be Brittany's partner, like Ron was meant to be mine. Rescued - all four of us.

Landscape-changing terms

State-sponsored gambling has existed for a long time in Massachusetts and other states. It's called "The Lottery". However, extended use of gambling has been a real political football for years in this state. With taxes going higher and few revenue alternatives available, the topic of gambling is continually raised as a new revenue option.

The governor is opposed to gambling mostly because of ethical reasons. He is concerned, as are many others in the state, that if casinos were to be built in the state, the money would be coming from those who can least afford to lose it.

The pro-casino crowd--including leaders in the legislature--argue that people who gamble are already going out of state, so we would simply be keeping the revenue local. And that the state cannot stop gamblers from gambling anyway so why not capitalize on it.

In recent political discussions, I've noticed that the word "gambling" is slowly being replaced by "gaming" by the pro-casino crowd. I assume this is an attempt to change the anti-gambling crowd's negative reaction to what many consider an addiction. I react to this change in terms more in a George Carlin/English major sort of way.

A percentage of the population hates politically-correct phrasing--as witnessed in some viral emails on the subject that are often forwarded to me by conservative friends. Since the right always seems to be the side most upset by attempts to soften language, I find this subtle switch from "gambling" to "gaming" interesting. Why haven't I heard the left complain about the softening of a practice or term they are opposed to?

20 years ago, I started hearing the term "pro-choice" turned against the left as "pro-death." Only occasionally did I hear the term "pro-life" rephrased as "anti-choice" and used against the right.

The left is quick to change terms like "handicapped" to "challenged", and "Indian" to "Native American", yet it seems rare that they object or even recognize the opposite.

The metamorphosis of language is one of the reasons I pursued an English degree. One word can change so much in our collective reasoning and communication. The political spin doctors already know this and it's why some are so successful.

But I'm also interested in watching which groups use language as weapons and which groups use it to create civility. And, ultimately, I'm interested in who eventually wields enough influence to change it permanently.

Hangin' on for the ride

It's been a little while since I've written about my mom. We actually had great news two weeks ago that the second type of chemo agent is working. Her latest CAT scan showed that the tumors are shrinking and the tumor markers in her blood are coming down dramatically.

I was there with my folks when the oncology folks delivered the results. We all but jumped for joy, even the oncologist and the nurse practitioner. I had recently made reservations to celebrate mom's 80th birthday with just her immediate family (as she requested) on Feb. 5th at her favorite restaurant. So now, it will be quite the celebration.

The fact that she even made it to the holidays was a huge gift. Not many people with Stage IV pancreatic cancer live very long after they're diagnosed. She received her diagnosis in August and we were prepared to have just a couple of months left with her.

She says she doesn't "have an ache or a pain", as she puts it. And, when asked how she feels, she says everything is "hunky dory." My mom has always been an amazingly positive woman.

I remember a particularly miserable and long winter years ago when we had record snow in MA. She called me one day in March when I was in a funk and said, "Haven't you noticed that the sun is out longer?" I replied, "Well, ma, I would if I could see over the snow banks!" It was then that I told her she was a "terminal optimist." The glass is half full? No. To her, the glass is overflowing.

There are many times in my life where seeing a half-full glass is hard. By nature, I guess, I'm a realist. But, at the same time, I am also an optimist. I do think it's possible to be both.

I think mom is a realist too. And, even though the words aren't spoken, we both know that this is a reprieve, not a cure. Can people go into spontaneous remission? Sure. Does it happen often? No.

The chemo is doing its job on the cancer, but that doesn't mean she is home free. The chemo creates other conditions that the doctors are, at the moment, treating with supplements but those conditions can become serious. So, we monitor.

Because I'm an optimistic realist, I approach all of this with a sense of hope tinged with caution. Mom's attitude remains upbeat. I can't imagine a time when her outlook will change and I truly think that attitude makes a difference in your physical health.

So, for now, we all hang on to the rollercoaster called "cancer".

When I talked to my dad privately after the CAT scan results were delivered, he said, "But it just means more time." I told him that time is all any of us can ever hope for.

Today is a good day. And today is all we have. Frankly, I wouldn't want it any other way.