Speaking as the daughter of a breast cancer survivor, I know that I am not the only woman watching the current debate regarding women's health with growing concern. Less than a century ago, there truly was no specialized health care for women. All of the medical research was done on men. We have come a long way in the screening and care of women's health concerns. Now I feel like congress and some medical professionals want to turn back the hands of time.
Breast cancer screening, pap smears, and other "women centered" health tests do save lives. I know more than a handful of people in my age group (early 40's) who have caught their cancer early thanks to these invaluable tools. I can see the writing on the wall when it comes to coverage. Those "great minds" in charge of our well-being will determine that women only need these tests every few years or so and insurance companies will use that as an excuse to curtail assessment for women and cut it further. I believe that all of these cuts are motivated purely by an effort to save money. Most cancer experts that I have heard interviewed do not agree with these changes. When I look at this issue, I see those that are for the archaic changes to women's health care are the same ones that can save money when it comes to denying women coverage.
It has only been within the last few decades that women in general have had the knowledge and coverage to get these life-saving tests. Yes, women's health care certainly seems to moving back into the middle ages and more women are not going to be able to get treatment and die as a result of it and we will have the government of "change" to thank.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Why Hurry Christmas?
It's that time of year again, Halloween is barely over, Thanksgiving isn't even here, and the decorations and Christmas music are in full force all over town. Why does Thanksgiving have to be rushed every year? Can't we take even a moment in our hurried and harried society to pause and give thanks? This year, as with every other, it seems as though Thanksgiving is a mere stopping place, a touch point really, on the way to the full scale mania of materialism at Christmas.
As I went about my errands today, I tried to stop my ears against the Christmas songs blaring in all of the stores, I tried to ignore the shelves upon shelves of Christmas decorations and advertising for Christmas gifts, and I even attempted to shut out Christmas items that were already ON SALE! How's that for effort? I do hate to hurry Thanksgiving. I love Halloween, all of that candy and no relatives, and I love Christmas-just not so soon. I will continue to "shut out" the Christmas frenzy and not get wrapped up in it the best that I can until Thanksgiving weekend is over. It is going to be awfully hard to do though if I go out in public at all.
As I went about my errands today, I tried to stop my ears against the Christmas songs blaring in all of the stores, I tried to ignore the shelves upon shelves of Christmas decorations and advertising for Christmas gifts, and I even attempted to shut out Christmas items that were already ON SALE! How's that for effort? I do hate to hurry Thanksgiving. I love Halloween, all of that candy and no relatives, and I love Christmas-just not so soon. I will continue to "shut out" the Christmas frenzy and not get wrapped up in it the best that I can until Thanksgiving weekend is over. It is going to be awfully hard to do though if I go out in public at all.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Seasons of Garden by, Myself
The tattered garden next door
reminds me of a bum
sleeping on the street of dreams.
A luxurious garden, it once was
telling seasons in blooms of color
following the careful tending of soil.
This time last year, the garden was blousy
until the owners had to vacate
leaving the perennials unattended.
Fall faded leaves flutter down
gently into piles of broken pottery
and moss-covered ground.
The once worm-burrowed earth
is now hard on the surface, like clay
newly fired, blackened in the kiln.
So the eyesore grows
from grandeur to humbleness
to shame in the blink of a season.
Living gardens require care,
attention, and constancy like a
beautiful bird preening before a mirror.
Will this garden know what it is
to live again with renewed youth?
I gather not, it remains forsaken.
A skeletal reminder of
what happens when dreams, once full
begin to run on empty.
@2009
reminds me of a bum
sleeping on the street of dreams.
A luxurious garden, it once was
telling seasons in blooms of color
following the careful tending of soil.
This time last year, the garden was blousy
until the owners had to vacate
leaving the perennials unattended.
Fall faded leaves flutter down
gently into piles of broken pottery
and moss-covered ground.
The once worm-burrowed earth
is now hard on the surface, like clay
newly fired, blackened in the kiln.
So the eyesore grows
from grandeur to humbleness
to shame in the blink of a season.
Living gardens require care,
attention, and constancy like a
beautiful bird preening before a mirror.
Will this garden know what it is
to live again with renewed youth?
I gather not, it remains forsaken.
A skeletal reminder of
what happens when dreams, once full
begin to run on empty.
@2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Carpenters - Rainy Days and Mondays (Australia 1971)
We had both a rainy day and a Monday here in Seattle, but I wasn't down.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
I Wish You Enough
I never really thought that I'd spend as much time in airports as I do. I don't know why. I always wanted to be famous and that would mean lots of travel. But I'm not famous, yet I do see more than my share of airports. I love them and I hate them. I love them because of the people I get to watch. But they are also the same reason why I hate airports. It all comes down to "hello" and "goodbye.
I must have mentioned this a few times while writing my stories for you. I have great difficulties with saying goodbye. Even as I write this I am experiencing that pounding sensation in my heart. If I am watching such a scene in a movie I am affected so much that I need to sit up and take a few deep breaths. So when faced with a challenge in my life I have been known to go to our local airport and watch people say goodbye. I figure nothing that is happening to me at the time could be as bad as having to say goodbye.
Watching people cling to each other, crying, and holding each other in that last embrace makes me appreciate what I have even more. Seeing them finally pull apart, extending their arms until the tips of their fingers are the last to let go, is an image that stays forefront in my mind throughout the day.
On one of my recent business trips, when I arrived at the counter to check in, the woman said, "How are you today?" I replied, "I am missing my wife already and I haven't even said goodbye."She then looked at my ticket and began to ask, "How long will you...Oh, my God. You will only be gone three days!" We all laughed. My problem was I still had to say goodbye. But I learn from goodbye moments, too.
Recently I overheard a father and daughter in their last moments together. They had announced her departure and standing near the security gate, they hugged and he said, "I love you. I wish you enough." She in turn said, "Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Daddy."They kissed and she left.
He walked over toward the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, "Did you ever say goodbye to someone knowing it would be forever?" "Yes, I have," I replied. Saying that brought back memories I had of expressing my love and appreciation for all my Dad had done for me. Recognizing that his days were limited, I took the time to tell him face to face how much he meant to me. So I knew what this man experiencing.
"Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever goodbye?" I asked."I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is, the next trip back would be for my funeral," he said.
"When you were saying goodbye I heard you say, "I wish you enough." May I ask what that means?"He began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone." He paused for a moment and looking up as if trying to remember it in detail, he smiled even more. "When we said 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them," he continued and then turning toward me he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.
* I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
* I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
* I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
* I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
* I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
* I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
* I wish enough hello's to get you through the final goodbye.
He then began to sob and walked away.
My friends, I wish you enough!
--- Copyright © 2001 Bob Parks
I must have mentioned this a few times while writing my stories for you. I have great difficulties with saying goodbye. Even as I write this I am experiencing that pounding sensation in my heart. If I am watching such a scene in a movie I am affected so much that I need to sit up and take a few deep breaths. So when faced with a challenge in my life I have been known to go to our local airport and watch people say goodbye. I figure nothing that is happening to me at the time could be as bad as having to say goodbye.
Watching people cling to each other, crying, and holding each other in that last embrace makes me appreciate what I have even more. Seeing them finally pull apart, extending their arms until the tips of their fingers are the last to let go, is an image that stays forefront in my mind throughout the day.
On one of my recent business trips, when I arrived at the counter to check in, the woman said, "How are you today?" I replied, "I am missing my wife already and I haven't even said goodbye."She then looked at my ticket and began to ask, "How long will you...Oh, my God. You will only be gone three days!" We all laughed. My problem was I still had to say goodbye. But I learn from goodbye moments, too.
Recently I overheard a father and daughter in their last moments together. They had announced her departure and standing near the security gate, they hugged and he said, "I love you. I wish you enough." She in turn said, "Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Daddy."They kissed and she left.
He walked over toward the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, "Did you ever say goodbye to someone knowing it would be forever?" "Yes, I have," I replied. Saying that brought back memories I had of expressing my love and appreciation for all my Dad had done for me. Recognizing that his days were limited, I took the time to tell him face to face how much he meant to me. So I knew what this man experiencing.
"Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever goodbye?" I asked."I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is, the next trip back would be for my funeral," he said.
"When you were saying goodbye I heard you say, "I wish you enough." May I ask what that means?"He began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone." He paused for a moment and looking up as if trying to remember it in detail, he smiled even more. "When we said 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them," he continued and then turning toward me he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.
* I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
* I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
* I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
* I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
* I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
* I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
* I wish enough hello's to get you through the final goodbye.
He then began to sob and walked away.
My friends, I wish you enough!
--- Copyright © 2001 Bob Parks
Friday, November 13, 2009
On Thankfulness...
Some days, when I am not viewing the world in a negative or cynical light and when I haven't had to share the road with too many bad drivers, I look around me and take stock in the little things that I am thankful for. This week I have had cause to give thanks to the powers that be for my healthy children. Sure, they get sick every once in a while, but they are not disabled. Their brains and bodies work and I get to experience being a parent of "normal" children. I once heard a poem about the birth of a typical child being compared to taking a trip to Italy and the birth of disabled one being compared to a trip to Holland, not what was expected, but over time parents are generally able to learn and grow in the beauty of each trip no matter how unplanned.
It has been fifteen years that I have worked with children of varying mental and physical disabilities and every so often there is a family that comes through the door to the office that gets me in some way and that happened this week. This family took a trip to Holland, a drastically unplanned one at that, about four years ago and as these problems are genetically related, it is unlikely that this child will have a sibling. The child is beautiful in his own way. I can see where the eyes of the appraising and often judgemental public may miss his beauty and I feel for these parents. Just about everything that could go wrong with a child has gone wrong with this kid.
What I think about though is the grief that parents of only children who are disabled must have to go through. To never be able to see their child change emotionally, socially, and cognitively from a three-year-old to a six-year-old to a ten-year-old onto the teenage years, then college, and independent adulthood. To know that the development will stop somewhere between one-year to three-years of age I think would be very hard for any parent to do. I watch and marvel and the strength, courage, and happiness that so many of these parents have day in and day out, what a gift, what a challenge.
It has been fifteen years that I have worked with children of varying mental and physical disabilities and every so often there is a family that comes through the door to the office that gets me in some way and that happened this week. This family took a trip to Holland, a drastically unplanned one at that, about four years ago and as these problems are genetically related, it is unlikely that this child will have a sibling. The child is beautiful in his own way. I can see where the eyes of the appraising and often judgemental public may miss his beauty and I feel for these parents. Just about everything that could go wrong with a child has gone wrong with this kid.
What I think about though is the grief that parents of only children who are disabled must have to go through. To never be able to see their child change emotionally, socially, and cognitively from a three-year-old to a six-year-old to a ten-year-old onto the teenage years, then college, and independent adulthood. To know that the development will stop somewhere between one-year to three-years of age I think would be very hard for any parent to do. I watch and marvel and the strength, courage, and happiness that so many of these parents have day in and day out, what a gift, what a challenge.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Twenty-First Century Help
I just got through reading "The Help" by Kathyrn Stockett. It is her first novel. This was a book club pick, but I loved the book and had a difficult time putting it down. Now I am done and find myself missing the characters. Ms. Stockett lives in New York City, but she grew up in Mississippi. Her father's family had a full-time maid like many Southerners of that era. Ms. Stockett grew up close to this maid, who died when Ms. Stockett was 16. Ms. Stockett never got to ask her what being a maid felt like. This is why she wrote the book. The focus is on several characters, but mainly a white woman and two black maids and the daring thing that they conspire to do together in Mississippi in the early 1960's.
Granted, by today's standards, this was a long time ago. But, how has "the help" really changed in this century? Many of the women who perform household and childcare services are not American. They don't have to wear a maid's uniform to be admitted to the "whites only" supermarket, but I can't help but think that the discrimination is still there. Maybe it is more subtle, or maybe I just know nice people. At this time I don't actually know anyone who has help that comes everyday. I wonder if this standard still exist for wealthy Southerners and I wonder if the help is still black, or have they moved on to Latino, Filipino, and Vietnamese household helpers? What is the discriminatory nature of "the help" and the women who employ them in the twenty-first century? Have we come very far when it comes to race relations or have we just switched ethnic backgrounds?
Granted, by today's standards, this was a long time ago. But, how has "the help" really changed in this century? Many of the women who perform household and childcare services are not American. They don't have to wear a maid's uniform to be admitted to the "whites only" supermarket, but I can't help but think that the discrimination is still there. Maybe it is more subtle, or maybe I just know nice people. At this time I don't actually know anyone who has help that comes everyday. I wonder if this standard still exist for wealthy Southerners and I wonder if the help is still black, or have they moved on to Latino, Filipino, and Vietnamese household helpers? What is the discriminatory nature of "the help" and the women who employ them in the twenty-first century? Have we come very far when it comes to race relations or have we just switched ethnic backgrounds?
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