Banta Blog: Marcia's Meandering Mind

Oh Joy! Ode to Swedish Pancakes

2011-02-10T16:48:00.000-08:00

I was born and raised in the Midwestern town of Rockford, Illinois. It was heavily, overwhelmingly Swedish. And while I've not a drop of Swedish blood, my taste buds were inevitably influenced; primarily by Swedish pancakes. Granted, frequent family trips to places like the Swedish Pancake House and Stockholm Inn have a lot to do with my love of Swedish pancakes. Like many comfort foods, they transport me back to happy times in the arms of a loving family.

So why, you might ask, has it taken me decades to learn to cook this delightful treat? The short answer is that they aren't terribly easy or intuitive. Plus, despite being a pretty good and often adventurous cook, the risk of failure where it really mattered to me was intimidating. Years and thousands of miles away from my Swedish hometown, living in a small, rural western town and relegated to seeking out iHop on business trips, I often bought Swedish pancake mix only to toss it later when it became clear that the expiration date preceded the birth of several neighborhood children.

When I turned fifty, my resolution was to learn and participate in at least one, major new skill or activity each year for the rest of my life. Still, more than a decade later, Swedish pancakes had not even made the list. Well, it hovered at the bottom for a while, but then there was that one huge failed attempt.

About a year ago I decided this was it and bought a Swedish plätt pan. Surely the right equipment would make this a success. Swedish pancake batter is extremely thin, doesn't bubble like traditional batter, requires high pan heat as well as exquisite timing and a great spatula to turn. I have never seen such a mess of mistimed, both underdone and burned slop in my life. Yuck! The pan went into the cupboard for over a year.

Last week it made a brief appearance, but the batter was old, the heat high enough to start the butter in the pan on fire and set off our smoke alarm and the final results were underdone - but a bit closer to actual pancakes than the ball of batter I tossed the year before. While neither my husband (nor the cats - who clearly do not like loud smoke alarm noises) were terribly impressed, I was encouraged.

So today, my resolve firmly in place, new batter in the cupboard and a few clues as to what not to do, I made Swedish pancakes. Real, edible if not yet perfect Swedish pancakes. While I have a long way to go, this morning's Swedish pancakes can be considered a success. Evenly done (mostly), unripped from turning, pansized and round (again, mostly), properly thin they lacked only the traditional lingonberies. Repetition may even be possible! Maybe even from a scratch recipe rather than a box mix!

Best of all, while I was eating Dad, Mom, Melanie and Michele were right there in the room with me.

Facts, Truth and Opinion

2011-01-13T21:33:00.000-08:00

"I have one major rule: everybody is right. More specifically, everybody including me has some important pieces of the truth, and all of those pieces have to be honored, cherished and included in a more gracious, spacious and compassionate embrace" ~Ken Wilber

Truths, based upon facts, leading to opinions, make our conversations a lively and learning experience. Passion, based on respect, leading to understanding, make our families and communities a brightly colored kaleidoscope of efforts for the common good.

When did we forget that facts matter?

A whole industry has grown up to check our public speech, making sure our truths are based on facts. An industry we should be ashamed is necessary. Where is our built-in monitor for speaking clearly either facts or opinion; not confusing one for the other? When did we lose concern for the reverberations of our speech; for the impact of our words on others, in favor of our adamant grasping at the right to say what we want, when we want, as loudly as we want? How have we forgotten to listen?

Rotary, one of our time-honored service groups, has a simple and straightforward Four-Way Test:

"Of the things we think, say or do
Is it the TRUTH?
Is it FAIR to all concerned?
Will it build GOODWILL and BETTER FRIENDSHIPS?
Will it be BENEFICIAL to all concerned?"

Perhaps it is time, not just for every Rotarian, but every American to take up these principles and judge ourselves, our thoughts, our actions and surely our words by their light.

OPEN LETTER TO CONGRESS - SAVE THIS DATE: JANUARY 17TH

2011-01-09T12:44:00.000-08:00

Dear Congress,

The horrifying event in Arizona presents a challenge and a choice to you; not just all of you, but each and every one of you. Will you choose to continue the great American history of democracy or will you follow TSA, fleeing shoes and underwear toward fear? Will you cower from your own constituents or will you say "Not in Our America"?

Will you be any less brave in fighting for and carrying out our American means of governing than our men and women fighting exactly the same rule of fear and lawlessness in the Middle East? Or the citizens of those countries whom we ask to risk much for a philosophy of government?

Thank you for the pause to respect and reflect. But then it is time to rise up, without party or prejudice, without thought for personal or political gain, without endless planning and plotting and dare to do what Congresswoman Giffords demonstrated. Congress and constituents must converse, debate and interact face to face for our democracy to survive.

If we preach democracy abroad, we must be willing to demonstrate it fully at home. The list of Americans, who at considerably more risk than that faced by a Congress in a comfortable world and capable of mustering reasonable security resources, is long and illustrious - starting with the likes of George Washington or Patrick Henry.

How will our generation of leaders measure up?

I propose that on January 17th (a date with it's own illustrious history of bravery) every Congressperson hold a 'Congress on Your Corner' in their own District.

Let us say to those who would have America ruled by firepower rather than persuasion, by passion unbridled rather than passion assembling, by force and fear rather than courage and conferring: Not In Our America.

And yes, I know it is easy to ask for others to be brave in the face of danger, however limited. Yes, I know prudent precautions may stretch already reduced law enforcement resources. Yes, I know moving 535 individuals in one direction is currently proving arduous.

However, I'm betting on you and on us. If you come, we will too.

Sincerely,
Marcia Illian Banta
One American Citizen

HOLIDAY HEART

2010-12-08T22:51:00.000-08:00

For Dad, our Christmases held all the magic, the opportunity and the pleasure he missed as a child of the Depression. The tree was front and center, presents were many, stacked high; gifts of the heart and traditions like giant candy canes, Andes candies and Lifesaver Storybooks for each child, fudge for me, cherry cordials for Mom. He could make a million presents out of small nothings. And there was nothing he liked better than playing Santa on Christmas morning as we - one at a time - opened presents, ate cinnamon rolls and smelled the turkey cooking.

Although he has been gone now for fifteen years, Christmas is such a cherished time for me that in sixty-two years I have never missed being home for the holiday.

But I'm having trouble finding my holiday heart this Christmas.

A few short weeks ago an old acquaintance lost his miserably brief encounter with glioblastoma. And among our LiveStrong family, one has this month gone into hospice, one will be leaving us as I write, for one we have moved the Christmas gifts to this weekend and three are in that awful "suspect I am about to need hospice" place.

Elizabeth Edwards, Aretha Franklin, Ron Santo...this week alone.

My head knows I should grieve and then return to the fight with renewed determination. My head knows that allowing cancer to destroy even more of life than it already has gives it power it should not have. My head knows that honoring those who lived with cancer and are gone means living without quiting. My head knows that withdrawing from my life dishonors those who had no choice. My head knows that failure to use my rage and despair to change the course of this insidious disease is failing to dignify the long and painful journey of others.

My heart knows sorrow, grief, anger, bitterness and wrath - the violence of which pushes holiday spirits aside.

A still, small voice of reason reminds me that as the children glow with awe and anticipation, as quiet comfort is shared by family and friends, as the season's songs echo sweet refrains, as hope for a finer future arises; weariness will recede leaving room for the holiday spirit to once more inhabit my heart.

Maybe not yet, but surely.

2 TXT or not 2 TXT?

2010-05-26T15:35:00.000-07:00

Despite being at ease with most new technology and social networking, I've never really "gotten" texting. And just when it appears I have good use for texting, it turns out that not only are my fingers crooked, but I have to locate my glasses in order to see the letters.

Part of the Bye-Bye Birdie phone generation where we lost facial cues, I love to write, so email - even with its loss of vocal cues - was a natural extension of my conversations. And I'll admit I find the challenge of being concise but meaningful on Twitter or Facebook an intriguing exercise in connectivity. Yet texting always seemed to remove even more cues without adequate replacement. Oh, occasionally when my plane had landed and I refused to be one of those people who share their most intimate thoughts or travel plans with 200 others, I might painstakingly text "my plane has landed meet you at baggage".

But there were always those old, arthritic fingers. And while I'd mastered the easy, occasional LOL, IMHO or :-), translating texting when you don't know either of the languages can be daunting. So it was longhand (longword?) for me.

Then there were those who sent hundreds of text messages a day, sometimes while sitting side-by-side with the recipient. (Don't even get me started on texting while driving, you don't have either the time or the ear protection.) Does anyone really have that many urgent comments in one day? Is the exchange of competing texts really "conversation" or simultaneous soapboxes? And what can be made of the seventeen year old, straight A student who, when asked why she was constantly texting instead of picking up the phone or talking face-to-face, replied that she was uncomfortable with the "silences" of conversation. Really?

The last two days have caused me to rethink my reluctance to text. With my Mother in the emergency room, subsequently admitted to the hospital and with family anywhere from 300 to 2000 miles away, phoning was a luxury for when I had substantial news. For all the rest (resting comfortably, still having tests, being admitted, doctor not here until noon) texting private information in the midst of a noisy, chaotic and distinctly impersonal setting worked remarkably well.

Now if I could just reliably find my glasses.

PAST >>> TITLE IX >>> FUTURE >>> ?

2010-03-23T17:19:00.000-07:00

For one hour this morning I looked into the past and the future and marveled at both.

In 1972 I was a young adult, teaching school and pretty sure the world needed changing. A single Mom with a daughter, I was a firm feminist - a title I am still proud to claim today. Much of that world is now so out of date as to seem weird and unbelievable to women today. I never wore pants to school. In fact, the big issue for female teachers in 1972 was whether we might be allowed to wear nice, matching pantsuits instead of dresses in which to teach. (The results were mixed for many more years.) And we were still paid on a different and lesser pay scale.

Then there was sports. The oldest of three girls, competitive sports weren't discouraged; they just didn't exist in our universe. Because we were encouraged to be active, be outdoors, be educated and think for ourselves, I quite sure had any of us wanted to participate in sports we would have been supported. But it is a measure of the prevailing social beliefs and norms that the seed was never even planted.

I was well into adulthood before the movie "A League of Their Own" taught me that my hometown had female sports heroes. But like other outliers - Babe Didrikson Zaharius, Iowa six-on-six half court basketball, the many, many valiant women PE teachers etc. - they are admired in retrospect.

By 1972 I may still not have seen myself in sports, but I most assuredly saw the discrimination. Like many teachers, I was dragooned into coaching a girl's JV volleyball team; a position for which I was eminently unqualified but earnest. My friend, the female varsity coach, had plenty to share about the state of women's sports.

Then Title IX passed Congress.

Like all such legislation, the next years were spent working out the actual rules under which the legislation would proceed. Already a passionate leader in women's issues, I became part of the State of Illinois Task Force which drafted and submitted recommendations for the final rules.

I don't remember the myriad issues involved in the minutia of rule making that lasted for several years. Someday I'll pull out the files again and wonder at the details.

But I remember the fire, the feelings and the hope.

We wanted the next generation of girls to play sports. We wanted them to get equal chances at equipment, facility time, quality coaching, fair scheduling and crowds of eager spectators; watching not because they were girls, but because they were good.

The rules took effect. Life moved on. I moved across the country to a new job; organizing and advocating for other causes. My daughter played some sports, grew up, became her own style of feminist, woman and mother. All my grandchildren play sports.

Then today, courtesy of Dr. Heather Van Mullem and Lewis Clark State College, I had the opportunity to both review the past and visit the future of Title IX. In a burst of "I wonder what ever happened..." I attended a public presentation on Title IX, the current status of women in sports administration and coaching.

In a room where the others were (way) post-Title IX babies, I listened with pleasure at the huge strides made and listened philosophically to the the road not yet traversed. Millions of girls now play sports and have opportunities of which my generation only dreamed. A truly WOW moment.

Yes, there still is a glass ceiling into administration and coaching. Yes, the sports/business model (in my opinion an anti-education model for all student athletes) seems to have absorbed women's sports. Yes, the vast majority of colleges still don't really meet all the Title IX requirements. Yes, the impact on minor sports - men's and women's - was an unanticipated downside of the big three major sports unrestrained consumption of resources.

Yet...

I can see a future in which women who have played sports want their daughters to have the same opportunities; in which women who work in sports continue to press for equality and the shattering of the glass ceiling; in which women like Heather care enough about both sport and women in sport to focus on what good has come and what good needs yet to happen.

And I am confident that while perfection is always out of reach, progress in never-ending.

2009-12-30T05:46:00.000-08:00

In 2006, 2007 and 2008 my efforts to defeat cancer and support the wonderful work of the Lance Armstrong Foundation were focused on the Portland LiveStrong Challenge in which I rode my bicycle and raised funds.

As many of you know, I choose to skip the Challenge in 2009 in order to focus my work as a Local LiveStrong Leader on building a grassroots organization in the Lewiston-Clarkston Valley. Now an active and growing group - http://www.lewisclarklivestrong.org/ - I am once again turning my attention to fundraising via the LiveStrong Challenge. But this time for the grandaddy Challenge - Austin, Texas 2010, home base of the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

AND I NEED YOUR HELP TO REACH MY GOAL!

Consider this:
** 1.4 million Americans are expected to be diagnosed with cancer this year.
**Nearly 1 in 2 men and 1 in 3 women will develop cancer during their lifetime.
**By 2010 (that's NOW!) cancer is likely to replace heart disease as the leading cause of death in the United States. It's already the biggest killer of those under the age 85.

Please contribute to my LiveStrong Challenge Ride and help the Lance Armstrong Foundation continue to provide SurvivorCare, access to screening, educational materials, local grants and investment in research.

http://austin2010.livestrong.org/marciabanta

DEFINING LIVESTRONG

2009-12-16T12:10:00.000-08:00

Last night I began reading a lovely small book, "Becoming Myself: Reflections on Growing Up Female" edited by Willa Shalit. Impressive and moving in the generousity of the women sharing stories, the very first story by Maya Angelou spoke directly to my passion fighting with and for people battling cancer; although cancer is nowhere mentioned. What she does include is a wonderful poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay. It is entitled "Conscientious Objector" but it envinces in me a perfect definition of LiveStrong.

I shall die, but

that is all I shall do for Death.

I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;

I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.

He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,

business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.

But I will not hold the bridle

while he cinches the girth.

And he may mount by himself:

I will not give him a leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,

I will not tell him which way the fox ran.

With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where

the black boy hides in the swamp.

I shall die but that is all I shall do for Death;

I am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabouts of my friends

nor of my enemies either.

Though he promise me much,

I will not map him the route to any man's door.

Am I a spy in the land of the living,

that I should deliver men to Death?

Brother, the passwords and the plans of our city

are safe with me; never through me shall you be overcome.

COURAGE

2009-11-08T13:21:00.000-08:00

On the front it reads "I'm Dying". On the back it reads "So Are You." And thus another warrior in the battle against some insidious disease announces their awareness that, for them, the end of the fight is near. A combination of spitting into the wind and remaining part of humanity by reminding others that each of us faces the same destiny.

Beyond the wry smile of acknowledgement, I am often struck by the audacity of the display...and all that goes with such self-knowledge.

Cancer has been a frequent intruder in my life. And seldom can a day pass without all of us seeing or hearing stories of those who battle some disease; stories that tug at our hearts or moisten our eyes.

But acknowledgment of the final reality, the loss of options, the sureness of outcome, the awareness of sooner rather than later; that is not a failure of hope, but a true and precious courage.

Benj had breast cancer. When the certainty of death was near, she spent every minute of time, every ounce of energy and every breath of determination to ensure her family was not only with her on the path but taken care of in the future. In public she was composed, thoughtful and organized. She had set a goal that required her to both acknowledge and act. Surely not easy, it was my first brush the exhibition of courage when seeing your death near.

Debbie's cancer was obscenely quick from diagnosis to death. From her hospital bed she completed a quilt for each of her sons, wrote letters and thoughts and fought to keep meaning in her life while facing death. Such acts required awesome strength of will.

Now, as I work with the LiveStrong cancer community, I am privileged to see and know others who defiantly acknowledge the nearness of death but continue to live. Who make painful, but necessary decisions. Who often even seek to provide comfort to the rest of us or guidance on the roads forward.

What else could you call that but courage?

FEEDING THE SOUL

2009-10-17T20:40:00.000-07:00

Sometimes all we can do to feed our soul are the actions of everyday living; reaching out and embracing what is possible in our own limited sphere. Today's multiple famines were fed by ordinary acts.

Worried about a friend whose diagnosis should have come yesterday, I tore apart the remains of the garden leaving bare ground prepared but not yet fertile for spring planting. Looking ahead with hope.

Concerned about the impact of the loss of a LiveStrong support group member, I accompanied the group facilitator, my husband, to a memorial celebration filled with both laughter and tears. Coming together for comfort.

Engaged in a search for a way to wrap up the day with optimism, we watch Pete Seeger's 90th birthday celebration from Madison Square Garden agog at the talent and fierce dedication to freedom, justice and equality. Joining voices because we are all one.

Feeding the cat of a friend hours away enduring chemo, tweeting what I hope to be encouraging words to other survivors fighting and hurting, sharing the wonder of the sound of wind and rain as night moves in and the weather changes.

Taking a deep breath of wonder and peace at the end of the day.

Small kernels to feed the soul.

TED KENNEDY...LIVESTRONG

2009-08-26T10:39:00.000-07:00

Each death is like a rock chip flung into the armour of cancer survivors. You know exactly where it came from, but it's a hurtful surprise anyway. Ted Kennedy represented many hopes for many people over the years. And his valiant fight against cancer, both the disease and the health care system in which it occurred, was fierce and loud as well as quiet and compassionate. Ted, Bruce, Larry, Benj, Debbie, Rhonda, Charlie, Jackson. Too many. Too many to come.

The numbers are a stark reality. Today, 33,000 people around the world will be diagnosed with cancer. By 2010 cancer will be the leading cause of death worldwide. By 2020 more than 10 million people will die from cancer every year. By 2050, 27 million new cases and more than 17 million deaths.

Currently, every day in the United States, more than 1500 people die of cancer. 1 in 2 men and 1 in 3 women in the US will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime.

Yet hope lives. Ted Kennedy said in 1980, "For all those whose cares have been our concern, the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die."

In 2008, Kennedy had not given up, renewing his and our determination once more when he said, "The work begins anew. The hope rises again. And the dream lives on."

It is worth noting that Kennedy always paired "hope" with "work".

So beyond our grief, Kennedy's death is a renewed call to action. For each cancer survivor, for every friend and family member, it's immediate and personal. It is a safe bet that each of you out there has been touched.

What are you waiting for? What world will you live in? What world will your children and grandchildren inherit?

Visit http://www.livestrongaction.org/. Join the 1,337,385 (and counting) people around the world uniting to fight for a world without cancer. Right now.

Dream. Hope. Work.

PALIN & PELOSI

2009-07-05T13:25:00.000-07:00

What are women to learn from the two most prominent women in politics in 2009?

First there are the contrasts: Palin is old school, sweetheart queen, barely educated, appeal to the emotions and cry if you don't get your own way. Pelosi is smart, savvy, pay your dues, play with the big boys and best them at their own game.

Both strategies come in for huge criticism from the opposing camp; especially the men. Palin never makes it into the big boys club and suffers the casual derision that masquerades as a pedestal while never being taken completely seriously. Pelosi is respected and even feared as a player but never accorded human female status and suffers the awed but equally derisive admiration of skill but "I wouldn't want to have her as a mother/wife."

And what does the striking similarity - careful, impeccable dressing - say?

While I am sure that there are friends and family who know the multidimensional women Palin and Pelosi, most of the world sees the one dimensional reflection in the face of the powerful and the media.

Perhaps those reflections are accurate. But it is more likely that they are partly true, partly false and wholly a product of our continuing inability to move women, especially public women, into the human race with all its variety of roles, looks, opinions and relationships.

What can we learn from the two most prominent women in politics in 2009? That the fight for equality is far from won.

The Secret Life of Bees

2009-04-14T16:03:00.000-07:00

I read and loved Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees when it first was published in 2001. At the time it seemed one more lovely, insightful book on my long list of 'I really liked that book and wish everyone would read it'.

Last night I watched the movie. In a rare deviation from my deep infatuation with the printed word, the movie is a giant step beyond the book. For a movie where I already knew the ending and which is at its heart not truly a mystery story, it was an edge of the seat viewing from beginning to end.

There is much in the story of any life and more in these lives than some others. But the telling never winced from that which was hard or true. There was pain, anguish, anger and confusion. There was also love, companionship, respect and joy.

Looking back, one other fact distinguished the movie from the book. President Obama.

Somehow Obama's election between the reading of the book and the watching of the movie caused a subtle shift from a 'they' to 'we' story. I can't quite put my finger on the exact cause and moment of this feeling. And part of me suspects I wouldn't care for the answer and what it implies about my previous "unbiased" state of mind. But truly for me the book was "their" story and the movie was "our" story. Maybe sometimes we don't recognize the more illusive forms of exclusion until we see and touch its opposite.

I am grateful for a good read, a spectacular performance and a world in which we all can grow and change. Each of our stories should be told as well as The Secret Life of Bees.

Losing a Child

2009-04-13T19:54:00.000-07:00

In the textbook of life, if one can learn grief, empathizing without (thankfully) truly understanding, then today was one more heartbreaking and terrifying lesson.

Jamie was 34 and his mother is my friend. Not that it matters, but death came in a car accident.

The news stunned me into silence. The funeral leaves me staring at the pictures of my own child and grandchildren with both gratitude and fear; fear which is always, has always been present, but fear usually buried beneath daily life.

My helpless words never breach the shell and while my shoulder absorbs the tears it cannot restore. Mother, Father, wife, two very small children whose lives are forever altered. My imagining encompasses a mere speck of the reality. To me, a child lost seems the most hideous of bereavements.

Even the strongest life is fragile.

A ROOM FULL OF WISDOM

2009-04-01T19:48:00.000-07:00

One of the great joys of my retirement was being asked to join a Book Club - something a job with uncertain and long hours made such a regular commitment difficult. And I do so love to read. Every day. It is a love I come by from a family of readers. No book given to Mom, a sister, a husband or a daughter goes unread and then unpassed to all the others. We even have a system of post-it designations for ownership and who has read each book thus far. Our own private library system.

But a Book Club is special; a group for whom the express purpose is to read, reflect and discuss a common book; a group that brings, shares and mingles its various backgrounds, life experiences and points of view into one thoughtful, vigorous and sometimes hilarious discussion.

My good fortune was being asked into a long standing group of women of high intelligence, considerable passion and a wide variety of worldly wisdom and involvement. We are never "just" discussing a book, but the ideas and life that the book expresses for each of us.

The deeper we roam through and the further afield we roam from book specifics, the more I appreciate the insights and experiences of each woman; women who reach out to others, who welcome new people, who believe that expanding and including are healthy yet value the foundations of an ongoing discourse. And each month I am struck anew at the sheer mass of wisdom that resides in these women. Truly, a room full of wisdom.

AIG...Postscript

2009-03-20T19:57:00.000-07:00

OK...we are all angry. It has been a good week to raise our voices, proclaim our disgust and make suggestions that go beyond recoup and verge on revenge.

There. Do you feel better now?

Will anything we, the President or the Congress does to recover these funds help the economy recover, establish one new job, save our monetary system, send stocks soaring?

No? Well then, how about moving on the the real stuff. It is not that the anger wasn't deserved. It was. It's not that the perpetrators of this shameful episode shouldn't know what the public thinks. They should. And it is not even that appropriate, considered steps shouldn't be taken in response (Note that response may or may not include recovery.) They should.

But we have bigger fish to fry. Anger over the economy channeled at a convenient, but incorrect target won't get a job, a home, a family or a life back. Instead it will be a distraction working to slow or prevent true recovery. Or to hide the real dilemmas and the real culprits.

Get real. Move on.

MISSING THE POINT WITH AIG

2009-03-18T19:52:00.000-07:00

Who among us is worth a multi-million dollar bonus? Even the justifiable public anger seems to have its face turned in the wrong direction. And shameless greed, while accurate to a large degree, still misses the moral target.

No one is talking here of robbing multi-millionaire Peter, who earned it, to pay street bum Paul, who did no work.

No one is talking here of equal pay for all work, regardless of effort.

No, what we have here is a system so out of whack, so filled with individual greed, so focused on personal gain even at the expense of the hand that feeds you that its workers can no longer distinguish right from wrong; because "that's how the system works."

Or currently, doesn't work. Contrary to common wisdom, it is not the presence of taxpayer dollars which makes this system and its minions wrong. It is just plain, old fashioned wrong.

I am tempted to remind one and all of every time management said during contract negotiations that they could not pay a living wage, provide insurance or allow sick leave because to do so would bankrupt the company. But the current company robbery makes unions look like wimps.

The more potent question we all should be asking is "what is work worth"?

All too often this discussion devolves into comparisons of doctors, daycare, teachers, emergency services - those who directly enhance or save lives versus sales, tradesmen, factory workers, municipal workers - those who keep our lives clean and filled with the material things we both need and want. (My vote goes to Mothers for the highest paid job on earth.)

Such a false premise for dialog can only lead down dead end paths. And one such dead end path is the belief of an individual employee that doing his or her job well should be monetarily rewarded beyond the remuneration set for that job.

For example, what about all those AIG employees who did not receive a bonus? Are we to infer that they did not do their job? That they are about to be fired for failure to perform? Of course not. It is likely they received fair pay for the job they were expected to do and did well.

One irony with AIG is that even they agree that the people who received bonuses are not the only people who could have done the jobs for which bonuses were paid.

So...they did their jobs, probably quite well, and they got paid well for doing those jobs. But bonuses not tied to the well-being of the company for whom all this was supposedly done? Bonuses, based on a single year, not the long haul for the company, lead to a whole lot of freelance "I must get mine and the rest of the world be screwed" attitude.

Still, who are these people so bereft of a moral compass; so blind and deaf to the larger world in which they are a mere disposable piece? Are they a portend or a symptom of what we all have become?

And when will the United States build a country and an economy in which all are paid on how well you do your job and not on which job creates wealth for a select few.

WATCHING HOUSE

2009-03-07T10:17:00.000-08:00

Dr. Gregory House isn't much of a role model either as a doctor or a human being. Not on my list of 'be sure to watch' - or more commonly, record and watch - still I found myself sitting glazed and unmoving in front of House reruns several times in the last few weeks.

I like the show in the same weird 'slowing for an accident' way I suspect is a large part of viewing CSI or NCIS. (Did texting come first or the other way around?)

There is this draw to those shows, and my personal favorite Cold Case, that goes beyond the story line and pulls me in via the group dynamics. It is the interplay of the ensemble that intrigues. Teamwork is represented in all its lively exchange, building on each other, agreeing, disagreeing, good feelings, bad feelings, sharing, withholding and successful glory. Our politics might be better if more politicians watched television.

Yet, House relies more on it's leader and the group doesn't quite make the teamwork definition with House in control. No, House appeals on a much more personal level. Any one of us who has had even the slightest illness, encountered the medical system or just worried about our health couldn't fail to recognize what House means to a patient. It's not his bedside manner you want in your life. You might want to punch him in the nose, but the next time you need a doctor you want one that is as persistent and as brilliant and successful as House.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part 5: Final Thoughts

2009-03-01T19:50:00.000-08:00

Airline flights around the country dotted my professional life. My favorite parts of each flight were the ascent and descent where the lives of those below played out in streets and buildings and homes that could be seen from above. My mind whirled furiously as I tried to imagine not only what people below were doing, but why the landscape told me their stories.

Fields, farms, row homes, mansions, rural, industrial, suburb, city, lush, dry, busy, silent, gravel or paved; each landscape begat the people therein. And within each landscape were individuals, families, friends and strangers - past and present - acting upon one another to shape their lives.

For me, travel by any mode of transportation brings not only personal pleasure, but expanded knowledge. Knowledge of our global condition, both shared and unique. It's hard not to become a cheerleader for how much more we understand if we see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears and touch with our own hands the varieties of our world. The fanciest computer, photos or video can never really fully match being there.

And knowledge becomes understanding, concern, compassion and a willingness to act on behalf of others as well as ourselves.

Sadly, despite global expansion, less travel may be one more consequence of our collective failure to resolve the environmental issues upon which travel depends; bound further by the current economic crisis.

Perhaps not, but it is up to us. Each generation must now only share what it knows of the world, but make it possible for future generations to discover their own reality in our rapidly changing world.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part 4: Rhyolite & Manzanar

2009-03-01T18:30:00.000-08:00

While Death Valley presented more than adequate opportunities for exploration, two forays out of the park, one east and one west, served as highlights for our vacation. Both sites flourished for only a few years, but each served very different purposes in intent, emotion and the impression left on our national psyche.

Just a few miles past Death Valley's eastern boundary, delineated by the California/Nevada border, lies the ghost town of Rhyolite, Nevada. Springing to life at the beginning of the twentieth century it was spawned of mines, gold and hope - perhaps foolish, perhaps not - of a better life in a new territory. No small town, Rhyolite boasted nearly 10,000 people in its heyday. In addition to the usual train depot, churches, stores, saloons and lodging houses, Rhyolite had 8 doctors, 2 dentists, a stock exchange and an opera. The largest ghost town in the Death Valley area, many ruins remain and it is easy to imagine the vitality, ambition and faith in the future which was present for a few short years.

Stark contrast lies outside the western boundary of Death Valley; over the Panamint mountains and into Owens Valley. Manzanar Japanese War Relocation Center, active from 1942-1945, opened as a National Historical Site only in 2004. The former Assembly Hall and School for the camp houses the beautifully done displays and is one of few buildings still standing. Except for a guard tower. Its brief and painful life speaks of fear, angiush and national shame yet also resilience.

Serendipitously, last fall my book club read Farewell to Manzanar, an early and moving account of one family forced into the internment camp. Words from the book rose into clear pictures among the hardscrabble, dusty and now vacant landscape. From any angle, the guard tower is a startling reminder that no person inside, mostly American citizens, was here by choice. The graveyard, also the site of a lovely memorial, stands as concrete permanence in opposition to the windswept desolation alternately revealing and hiding the scars of a national mistake.

A visit to Manzanar leaves a lasting impression of sadness and despair, not merely for the internees, but for our country. Perhaps its very existence as an official national site provides the glimmer of hope and the path ahead for learning from the past.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part 3 Death Valley - The Pictures

2009-02-27T22:57:00.001-08:00

Scotty's Castle

Mosaic Canyon

Zabriskie Point

Devil's Golf Course

Natural Bridge

Badwater

Sea Level ABOVE Badwater :-)

Titus Canyon
Titus Canyon
Artist's Drive
Artist's Drive
US!

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part 3 Death Valley

2009-02-27T20:14:00.000-08:00

As we flowed down the precipitous but winding, smooth corners into the valley I made rapid mental adjustments in my expectations for Death Valley. My mind's eye always saw Death Valley much as the Bonneville Salt Flats...long, flat and salt pan. Who knew? The reality is quite different.

Death Valley is the largest National Park in the in the contiguous United States at 3.3 million acres with the well known low point, Badwater, 282 feet below sea level, but bounded on the west by Telescope Peak at 11,049 feet and formed not by water but by sinking bedrock between two parallel mountain ranges, the Amargosa and the Panamints.

By the time we reached our motel in mid-park we had passed mountains, sage and dunes while gazing across the valley at snow covered mountain tops. Rain had been falling for much of two weeks and would continue to fall for one more day, making planning each day's activities a challenge of reading the morning park report to see what roads had been reopened after the inevitable wash outs and flooding that occur when rain and desert roads co-mingle.

And Death Valley is a motoring park with one North-South road and one East-West road and a handful of short gravel roads (trails) to points of interest. Four-wheel drive is recommended for off the two main roads.

Scotty's Castle became our first adventure on a day where rain continued to fall. Imagine this: a desolate, huge, climate challenged valley with a castle, yes a castle, at the north end. The full story of this castle is a tale in true western fashion, full of gold, mines, lies, investors and a wealthy but really private engineer and his wife. Suffice it to say here that Scotty neither built nor owned the castle. Filled with antiques and worldwide decor, it is a charming, comfortable, expansive and exotic wonder.

As the weather (and the roads) cleared we were able to hike Mosaic Canyon encountering only narrow crevices, rock scrambles and dry falls. A shorter hike at Natural Bridge provided a canyon hike with a great arch. Each showcased different canyon geology and highlighted the distinct varieties found in the park.

Zabriskie Point, a traditional park turnout area with far-reaching views of the Badwater end of the valley and the very aptly named Golden Canyon is a photographers dream. Dropping back into the valley, Devil's Golf Course is a walk through gnarled crystalline salt spires. Yes, they're sharp!

And then it is down to the bottom. Badwater, where you look 282 feet up the cliff at the sign designating the sea level, is a sheet of white and the lowest point in North America. With a winter-only briny pond at the edge, the sight of all that salt is a high blood pressure nightmare.

Saving the best for last, we hiked Titus Canyon one morning followed by the Artist's Drive that afternoon. Titus Canyon can actually be driven from east to west...when the road hasn't washed out from rain. Lest I mislead you, it is a canyon; a deep, narrow, twisty canyon and suitable at its best only for high clearance vehicles. The day we hiked the lower end only a really talented off-road motorcyclist might have made the washed out sections. A spectacular canyon with a huge variety of rock, Titus is a geologists playroom and entirely different than Mosaic.

On the other hand, Artist's Drive is the segment of the park most likely to provoke an intake of breath and unintelligible sounds of visual pleasure. On a wildly plunging and rising, curving one-way road the hills and ravines reveal a spectrum of colors: bright and inescapable pink, green, blue, purple, red, brown, black and golden.

It is impossible in Death Valley not to vividly imagine the pioneers who passed through this tough and unforgiving landscape. Purely by chance my reading while on this trip was a book about Wallace Stegner and the American West. Focused on areas that surround but do not intersect Death Valley, it nevertheless gave both ample context and much food for thought as our glances roamed this vast space. To be in Death Valley a person feels much like a flea on King Kong; an invisible annoyance but one which in great numbers could cause great harm.

There is a profound silence that slowly envelopes the valley as dusk rolls across the valley, tumbling out of the mountains in the west, creeping along the valley floor and over the dunes and rising again in triumph up the eastern peaks. Yet, it was the cloak of night which presented the the most striking awareness of human presence as several nights the loud, low flyovers of military aircraft from China Lake and Nellis roared repeatedly across the sky.

I have been too long among the pine and cedar to feel strong attraction for this curious and fascinating landscape. Yet Death Valley calls to be seen at least once even by those not passionate about desert expanse.

Coming Soon...Part 4, a remarkable side trip out the western edge of Death Valley to Manzanar National Historic Site (WWII Japanese Internment Camp).

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part 2: Nevada

2009-02-25T20:44:00.000-08:00

So, in this multi-part Death Valley trip report let's take care of day 2, 3 and 9 right now. These were our days driving through Nevada. I rather pride myself on finding any place I visit interesting; looking for the unique and noteworthy and seeing its value.

But...Nevada, sigh.

First, there is the landscape. You might remember from previous posts that I am a fan of trees. Real trees. Big flowing and majestic trees. Nevada has, well, sage. And while I find the Joshua trees a welcome relief from the endless flats and clearly unique, even their repetition does not a forest make.

The few distant mountains do not make up for the unceasingly straight road with its signs advertising 24 hour liquor, 24 hour casinos and 24 hour, ahem, ladies of the night 'ranches'.

With its nude landscape filled with military installations, munitions depots, undersea training(!) and flight zones it is easy to see how Nevada's big empty (but not really) spaces could lend itself to tales of alien landings.

Perhaps I could learn to admire if never truly like the landscape, but it is indoors where Nevada sends me running for cover. I didn't actually see this, but I'm pretty sure there are gaming machines in the restrooms because they are certainly in every other nook and cranny of any building that has an entry door.

But what really drops Nevada down to #50 on the "I love this state" list is the SMOKE! Not only is smoking allowed nearly everywhere, but mostly to get to any non-smoking area you must trudge through casino clang and swirling smoke to reach breathable air.

We met some lovely people and ate at least one very nice meal in Nevada, but my ability to see what Nevadans must, and I am sure do, love about their state is lost in a heavy cloud of smoke.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part I: Idaho

2009-02-25T19:47:00.000-08:00

Maybe it is because I grew up far enough west of Chicago to consider riding a train to the city, especially to see the Christmas tree at Marshall Field's, a real treat. Or maybe it was the family trip each fall downstate to see the colors and brunch across the river from the Blackhawk statue. Or even maybe it was the many trips across corn fields to Des Moines where the bulk of our family resided and Mom and Dad called home. Perhaps it was just growing up when the automobile and the highways came of age. Yet then I went to Idaho for a job where our staff 'song' was On The Road Again; where each year I put thousands of miles on my current car and where four-lane was non-existent. So maybe it's just me.

But I love the byways. And the first day of our trip to Death Valley from Lewiston, Idaho only reminded me how much I have come to appreciate the varied terrain of my adopted state.

Not that the trip started in ideal conditions. Towing our trailer for the first time and leaving in winter overcast, we had the good fortune to have the snow hold off until the end of the first day - literally as we pulled into the motel parking lot.

And that small blessing meant three hundred miles of watching forest and mountain, streams, tumbling rivers and steep canyons, high desert hills and sage rush past my window.

And the small towns resurrected a gush of memories. See that small town? I once worked with it's legislative candidate on his campaign. See that small town? We mediated on the next contract for almost twenty-hours one night. And that one? A disciplinary hearing kept me in town for two days. Ah, and that one? We came with in an hour of a strike and I can tell you the motel owner's life history.

Travel gives us landscapes; physical, social and historical.

If only we watch...using more than just our eyes.

Moving On...Dr. Michael Rooney

2009-01-29T15:41:00.000-08:00

Being retired with a new, challenging occupation myself I guess I should look on the retirement of Dr. Michael Rooney, oncologist extraordinaire, and his move to teaching others as a positive transformation. And if he brings his quiet passion to his new work, it will be all that and more.

But I will miss the doctor to whom patients felt such loyalty; the recipients of his warmth and caring treatment in the toughest of fights: cancer.

Yes, I too have heard horror stories of doctors who don't test because you are too young to have cancer, who don't test because you are too old to treat, who dismiss fears as unfounded therefore not worthy of response, who fail to understand either the misery or urgency brought on by a cancer diagnosis. And while believing each tale, I also believe most doctors do or want to provide the best care and in the most supportive manner.

Perhaps, as beloved as he was treating patients, Dr. Rooney will make an even larger mark on patient care by teaching others his calm, thoughtful and unhurried support for the stricken patient struggling to make sense of a diagnosis, to make treatment decisions and all the while wandering the emotional turf of shock, anger and fear.

Curiosity

2009-01-24T20:59:00.000-08:00

Someone should investigate curiosity as the best prevention for diminishing mental capacity as we age. Really.

Al and I are about to visit Death Valley. The choice of destination might surprise those who know me. I am definitely and definitively a tree person. A hardwood forest surrounded the home of my youth. Majestic cedars and pines drown the small town of my working and retirement years. Walking down a wilderness path next to a burbling stream my very breath comes more deeply and my heart is at peace.

So Death Valley came as a bit of a shock even to me. But like almost every place I have had the pleasure of visiting, the more I read the more eager I am to arrive.

I put it down to the pure, unadulterated and untamed curiosity; my companion since forever. I want to know. I want to see. I want to learn.

So, despite no trees, no brooks, no cool breezes I can't wait.

Bring on the "raceway" stones that move great distances without apparent cause. Bring on the play of light on multi-colored stone. Bring on the sand dunes, borax works, ghost towns, Devil's golf course, Badwater Canyon and Devil's Cornfield.

I believe there is something for me everywhere. And I don't believe curiosity killed the cat; I believe it is why a cat has nine lives.

CAPTAIN CURE

2009-01-22T17:13:00.000-08:00

The enemy...cancer.

The battlefield...a young boy named Jack.

The hero...CAPTAIN CURE.

Captain Cure creator, Ty Wakefield, knows all about the enemy cancer. An osteosarcoma survivor who remains in treatment, Ty has drawn the enemy, the battlefield and the hero in comic book terms to help explain to children (and adults) what happens when cancer attacks your body or that of someone you love. From symptoms to treatment and side effects, Captain Cure and his partner MetRex engage in battle against evil cancer.

Chances are beyond good that each of you knows a cancer survivor. And chances are that you and others have questions this comic book can answer.

Check it out! http://www.captaincure.net/

Today The Work Begins

2009-01-21T16:49:00.000-08:00

Today the real work of change begins.

Informed and inspired by my training at the Industrial Areas Foundation (founded by Saul Alinky) I became an organizer. Young and eager, I set out to empower others to right wrongs and build community. It was a glorious, if humbling, career full of Iron Rules (Never do for others what they can do for themselves.) and the hope that we were "the wind beneath your wings" when we encouraged, taught and moved others to action.

So, years later, no less committed, no less hopeful, but infinitely more aware...here is what I know:

Strong winds are hard to sustain, producing a less than steady climb - but a climb nevertheless.

There is no finish line. This is life, not a novel. Individually the only finish line is death. Collectively, we must learn and relearn truths, gain and regain progress, form and reform relationships.

No indiviual effort makes the critical difference, but all efforts are necessary to succeed.

We may become tired, discouraged and convinced of failure - but fortunately we won't all be there at the same time.

Sometimes we will be elated and hopeful beyond reason. That's OK too.

Occassionally, we will think before we act. Mostly that will end well and mostly we will be forgiven.

What we must always do is honor the humanity and the common cause of a diverse people; giving respect and never mistaking discord for destruction, yet hewing to our vision and values.

The work of change does not really begin today, it continues today. But it continues with greater hope, wider recognition and a new generation of believers.

Inauguration...for my Grandchildren

2009-01-20T18:26:00.000-08:00

I return to blogging after a long hiatus while I made my minuscule contribution to today's Presidential Inauguration. And it is with that subject I shall start.

Like millions of others, I was inspired, awed, elated and hopeful as I watched history being made in such dramatic and conclusive fashion. Yes, I hung on every word and image. One great gift of retirement is that a person can experience, at least electronically, the world and it's occasions as they happen. Today was my indulgence in a panoply of moments that hold the hope of a better world for all.

However, I am struck buy a singular thought relative to my age. Having lived through more than one "historical moment" I find that today is different in an important way.

I saw Kennedy, King and Kennedy taken from us. And then, like many younger Americans, I witnessed the horror of 9/11. All these moments in history were ones that fit the "I remember where I was when..." significance. But all the previous memorable historic moments in my lifetime were ones filled with sadness, anger, despair and a loss of faith.

And then there is today. With the possible exception of the moon landing, no other public event in my lifetime has provided the sense of hope, of being on the right path at the right time, of being called on for the best in each of us, of community and peace and justice forthcoming by the sweat of our own brow.

Like many, my life has been filled with private moments of hope and reward, love and laud, glories of the past and gifts of future. Public hope is much harder to come by and takes a common vision made whole by both symbols and action. President Obama today was our symbol. We all must be the action.

LIVESTRONG SUMMIT

2008-08-06T19:47:00.000-07:00

And then came Ohio.

The Second Lance Armstrong Foundation Summit was held at Columbus, Ohio and I was privileged to not only be a return delegate but a member of the Steering Committee. Among the many highlights:
· Hearing Dr. Richard Carmona, 17th Surgeon General of the United States and currently of the Canyon Ranch Institute announce the National Call to Action on Cancer prevention and Survivorship. (http://www.nctacancer.org/)
· Dr. Harold Freeman of the Ralph Lauren Cancer Center in Harlem gave the keynote speech.
· Stephanie Spielman, cancer survivor and spouse of football’s Chris Spielman who put his career on hold to care for Stephanie when she was diagnosed with breast cancer told of their cancer journey and their “Caregiver Award and Celebration”.
And the thousand delegates, all committed to fighting cancer at the grassroots and national levels, underwent many hours of training on the skills needed to build an effective movement for making the fight against cancer a national priority.

For a wonderful summary and lots of great pictures of the Summit visit the LiveStrong Blog at http://www.livestrongblog.org/.

And here is why this is as important to you as it has become important to me.

The numbers remain staggering:

1.4 million Americans are expected to be diagnosed with cancer this year.

Nearly 1 in 2 men and 1 in 3 women will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime.

560,000 Americans are expected to die from cancer this year, or more than 1500 each day…the equivalent of 9/11 every two days.

With the support of the Lance Armstrong Foundation we have begun the Lewiston/Clarkston Valley LiveStrong Army focused on raising public awareness for the need to make cancer a national priority, raising money and initiating projects that address cancer issues and providing services locally that respond to the needs of cancer survivors, family, friends and caregivers here in the Lewiston-Clarkston Valley. One of nearly two hundred local LiveStrong Armies nationwide we have:
· In cooperation with St. Joseph’s Regional Medical Center, begun the first Cancer Support Group open to cancer survivors, caregivers, family and friends regardless of type of cancer. The LiveStrong Cancer Support group meets on the second and fourth Wednesday of every month at SJRMC at 7:00PM.
· In cooperation with the North Idaho Colorectal Cancer Coalition we will be at the Nez Perce County Fair with the Super Colon (yes, a walk through colon complete with polyps).
· We are assisting in the establishment of the Captain Cure Foundation to market Captain Cure Comics for children with cancer and use the funds to meet needs of local cancer patients.
· We will continue to provide speakers, fair and event booths and materials as part of our outreach and education program.
· We hope to provide local medical practitioners with materials to be given at diagnosis which can assist newly diagnosed patients in dealing with the many new issues and feelings they face.
· We are exploring cooperation with Immerman’s Angels to provide direct one-to one contact for the newly diagnosed with survivors by type of cancer, age, location or any other desired variable.

Most importantly, each of you is invited to participate. If you live in the Lewiston-Clarkston Valley, consider joining us the third Thursday of each month at 6:00 PM at the Wells Fargo Bank in downtown Lewiston (9th & Main). And spread the word to family and friends that the fight against cancer needs all of us. If you live out of the Valley, look for a local LiveStrong Group or contact me for information.

2008-07-20T14:30:00.001-07:00

Test for mobile blogging :-).

LiveStrong Challenge...Portland 2008

2008-07-18T18:49:00.000-07:00

June contained numerous family highlights. A long visit from sister Michele and her husband Justin was followed by Stephanie and the grandkids...the most welcome visit a grandma can have. Fun, fast, full of love. And time passes too quickly by far. We then all the trooped to Portland where Michele, Stephanie and I rode bicycles on the 70 mile LiveStrong Challenge in support of the Lance Armstrong Foundation. My third LiveStrong Challenge, 2008 was the most special for the shared experience with sister and daughter. And the grandkids met us at one of the rest stops with signs of support and encouragement.

In a single month an exciting and restoring trip with my husband, family visits, extended time with grandchildren and a shared effort for a good cause...can life be any sweeter?

Red Rock Adventure

2008-07-18T17:08:00.000-07:00

Moab...Canyonlands...Capitol Reef...Escalante...Bryce...Zion - names that ring with stark desert beauty and red rock. Our trip through Southern Utah in May encompassed temperatures in the high 90's to snow. With Al on the Husky, mostly off road, I followed in the truck free to stop, stare and photograph the many wonders through which we passed. Arriving each evening at the motel with adventures to share the motorcycle riders were often dusty and dirty, but always exultant. I always had a camera full of new vistas. And refreshments :-). It was a relaxed and refreshing meander through spectacular country in the company of special friends old and new. Thank-you to Gary and Peggy, Tom, Ken and most especially to Al for a treasured memory.

LiveSTRONG!

2008-05-12T22:06:00.000-07:00

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

BLUE WOMAN IN A RED STATE

2008-02-06T21:05:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Women's Voices

2008-02-03T14:04:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

What more could an aging feminist ask?

ALL GROWN UP CHRISTMAS

2007-12-14T17:21:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HOW WILL I DIE?

2007-11-23T13:15:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lewiston Library Foundation: GoodSearch.com & GoodShop.com

2007-11-20T16:11:00.000-08:00

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

But we have BIG ideas, dreams and goals.

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

And EVERY PENNY HELPS!

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

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

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

Be a "Do Gooder" and always GoodSearch!

PORTLAND LIVESTRONG CHALLENGE 2007 RIDE REPORT

2007-11-13T10:41:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LITTLE LOSSES

2007-11-12T16:05:00.000-08:00

A wise woman once told me that the rule of thumb for fashion - at my age - was that if you had worn it the first time around you should definitely NOT wear it now. Mini-skirts, hip-huggers, platform shoes, peasant blouses, skin tight, belly revealing and so forth.

And if you think you are the exception...you're not.

Well, I was okay with that. Proudly I knew I could, would - was - aging gracefully; combining dignity with just the right amount of dash to keep things interesting. Understanding all too well that my mental picture had stopped aging in my thirties and resolving to live and dress according to the mirror not the internal image.

Even with the occasional blunder, (Damn, that is really a cute dress.) I shopped and wore with a blitheness that ignored the unseen and unsuspected future. Until I retired. And was looking sixty in the eye by a lash.

Even my occasional free-lance jobs, my charity speaking engagements, the occasional nights out can no longer obscure the fact that my fashion choices have narrowed. It's not that I really miss most of them. It is just that I miss the potential they represented.

Sigh...Tall high-heel boots? I look at the ads and simultaneously wonder why I ever wore such monstrosities and also why I miss the excitement of the purchase. Itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny bikinis? Shame on me if I fail to blush. Low rise jeans (hip-huggers reincarnated)? Let's just say my tummy has lost it's suck.

It's the little losses with age that wear on your mind. Knowing that once, you could do or be anything you wanted. Each year knowing that you were making choices; not doing some things that were still possible if you made other choices. Then knowing that choices had been made that ruled out some possibilities.

Eventually, knowing that no matter what choices and changes you might make, some possibilities were gone forever.

I'm grateful the boots and bikinis were once part of my life. While secretly I'm rather glad they're gone, I mourn their passing as my own.

Chocolate-Cherry-Peach-Crumble-Ripple-Chunk-Slow-Whip Ice Cream: A Lament

2007-08-22T20:47:00.000-07:00

The younger generation may get tired of hearing 'when I was a kid' laments, but jeez Louise, could we please have some simple straight forward purchasing opportunities.

I didn't walk miles to school through the snow and ice. Although since virtually everyone took the city bus to and from school through our high school years, walking home was a treat not a punishment. Kind of like playing hooky.

And I've never begrudged the fact that pants overcame the "dresses and skirt whose hem touched the floor while kneeling" school wear of my generation. In fact, leading the move to pantsuits and then slacks and even jeans was a pleasure in which I indulged with both pride and practicality.

I even used to teach a class called Managing Change.

However, mistaking complexity for progress is driving me into that crazy old woman category.

When was the last time you tried to buy simple ice cream. Vanilla, chocolate or - yum - fudge ripple? If you look on the bottom shelf in the far corner you might spot as close it comes vanilla bean, or double custard vanilla, double dutch chocolate or chocolate, caramel ripple. But you better have good eyes and supple bending power.

Otherwise, it's row upon row of triple, quadruple, quintuple flavor, fruit, nut combos with names that never come close to revealing the contents. Contents may (or may not) be listed in tiny, beyond bifocal print on the wet, leaky edge of the carton.

Of course, you may also choose between, iced, yogurted, churned, slow-churned, hand packed, natural, organic, fat-free, sugar-free and possibly all chemical, although it would be hard to tell the last one from some of the others.

Each holiday adds a new special edition, as if missing the opportunity to expand the combinations might bring about the demise of the industry.

Not to mention the bars, sandwiches, rockets, mini-bars, singles, doubles and a true plethora of sizes, shapes and colors, mostly multi, that constitute the rest of the frozen dessert aisle.

Do folks today really need multiple, high stimulation tastes to enjoy ice cream? Simple, clear flavor and clean quality is all that it takes to please my taste buds. If I ever eat bear claws or moose tracks, I hope I'm winning the Iditarod.

LiveStrong Challenge Portland Oregon 2007

2007-08-16T15:54:00.000-07:00

This is a personal and heartfelt plea...............as the Lance Armstrong Foundation says:

"Unity is Strength, Knowledge is Power, Attitude is Everything."

***************************************************************************

Since retiring, my life has been transformed in many ways. Chief among those transformations is my work with the Lance Armstrong Foundation; combining my passions for bicycling and for fighting and defeating cancer.

After an incredibly inspiring LiveStrong Challenge bicycle/fundraising ride in Portland, Oregon in July of 2006 (70 tough miles on the bike!) I was fortunate to be chosen as a delegate to the first LiveStrong Summit in Austin, Texas last fall. Along with 800 other delegates, all committed to fighting and defeating cancer, I pledged to develop a Personal Action Plan to be implemented upon my return home.

My plan involves presentations to community, school and employee groups; serving on a Colorectal Cancer Coalition locally, developing and staffing exhibition booths and riding once again in the LiveStrong Challenge 2007 in Portland.

The statistics are frightening…Cancer is now the number one killer of Americans under the age of 85. It will take 1500 people – today and every day – from our lives. It will strike more than 40% of the American population. Right now there are more than 10 million people living with cancer in United States, and it is estimated that close to 1.3 million more will be diagnosed this year alone.

And I can guess without fear of being wrong that each of you fits those statistics in some way. We are all touched and tested by cancer.

I am in the final weeks of fundraising for the LiveStrong Challenge and I Need Your Help! Each and every individual contribution regardless of size is both critical to the fight and greatly appreciated.

You may donate online at my personal LiveStrong Challenge webpage:
http://portland07.livestrong.org/marcia_illian_banta
(or go to http://portland07.livestrong.org/ click on Donate and search by Marcia Banta)

FIRE

2007-07-16T20:49:00.000-07:00

Exactly two weeks ago, almost to the minute, Al and I sat at a high mountain lake in the Eagle Cap Wilderness staring into the campfire that accompanies this blog. A tough four mile, 3000 foot pack into Maxwell Lake had left us both weary and exhilarated. And hungry.

After a welcome dinner, we settled into the growing twilight and contemplated the still water, lake ringing cliffs and - the fire. Grateful for its warmth, fascinated by its dance and pulled deeply into its trance, the fire both centered and reflected our experience.

But now, back home and away from the controlled campfire that masqueraded as a friend; fire is scorching lands, forest and buildings within only a few miles of my home. It is fire come into its own, fire uncontrolled by man, fire dictating its own terms.

This fire scratches the throat, waters the eyes, frightens the children forced to flee. In the midst of its destruction are sown the seeds of rebirth, but it is impossible to look that far into the future. Impossible to see around, through or beyond the fact of the flames.

The knowledge of this dual nature resides deep inside my psyche; recognized in its likeness to man.

TRUST

2007-06-27T20:18:00.000-07:00

We ride a BMW 1200GS. Or, more accurately, the rider (driver for you non-motorcyclists) is my husband Al and I am the pillion (again, for the auto folks, passenger). We’ve been riding “two-up” for all our twenty-four year marriage, yet I still find it difficult to describe the pleasures of the back seat adequately.

Many, if not most motorcycle “riders” wouldn’t be caught riding pillion and thus not be in control of the bike. Non-motorcyclists think in terms of risk, exposure and lack of mobility.

I think riding pillion is all about trust.

There are the obvious building blocks. We both ride with helmets, gloves, boots and full, armored suits. The bike is fully serviced pre-ride and then checked every night at our hotel before we clean up and have dinner. And we never, ever drink while riding. Never.

But any two people can – and should - do those things. For riding two-up what you really must have is good communication, because everything that happens on the bike, every move made by either person, affects both rider and pillion and the bike itself. And because the rider has responsibility for both the bike and the pillion, every move must be communicated and coordinated.

But the final decisions on a bike are always made by the rider. This means the pillion gives up complete control while still being responsible to be an alert and actively involved passenger.

So there you are, lots of responsibility and no control.

Like I said it takes trust; trust that your rider is well trained, capable, alert and can handle both the bike and anything that riding the road throws his way. Trust that he is ready, willing, able, even eager to assume the decision making responsibility.

Once you trust your rider, a pillion enjoys the best form of travel: movement through open air, exceptionally wide views of the passing scenery, the clear sounds and rhythm of the road, the close companionship of a single other person.

Mountains become a range rather than a single peak, desert heat has both smell and taste, the sounds of the river run beside you down the highway, birds swoop and dive literally in front of your eyes, sunrises hang before your face and warm your cheeks and you move with each lean of the bike from side to side in rhythm with the road and the beat of the day.

On a motorcycle you do not pass through the scenery, but enter and partake.

Trust has many rewards.

A JUG OF MILK...AND THE CAPACITY FOR RAGE

2007-06-23T22:12:00.000-07:00

My destination is the local store for a jug of milk and the radio is talking to me. It is sunny and the trip is mundane, but the words I hear are all about hundreds of thousands of missing emails, a vice-president who is or isn’t part of the executive branch of our government and a political system that seems caught in it’s own cross hairs. And while I feel the beginning of a surge of irritation at the state of our country’s leadership, a single thought continues to intrude.

How often can I follow one more piece of astonishing malfeasance with true and useful anger or action? What is my – or any other citizen’s - capacity for outrage?

When you have heard yet another news story, read yet another daily/weekly/monthly latest need to know e-newsletter, received yet another forwarded email; is it possible to summon the outrage?

When we reach the limit do we explode in anger, dismay, disillusionment? Are we incensed or incapacitated?

Is there only one answer?

I buy milk.