Why DC Rocks

The darkest days of the year are with us now- hence for whatever reason, religious or otherwise, throughout the centuries, people have produced lights of their own when the sun fails them. Menorahs, Christmas lights, candles and bonfires- the evidence is everywhere in the abundance of parties and food to get us through these dark days.

Eight years ago our annual party had grown to over a hundred people. It was going to be on a Sunday, luminary night in our neighborhood. I was in the grocery store stacking the cart FULL of food. I called home to see if we needed anything else, and that was when I got the word our eight year old daughter had to go to Georgetown hospital. A blood test had come back with an abnormal count.

I abandoned cart.

She was admitted that night, but we were assured she'd be going home the next day...but they kept on doing tests. We called off the party. Finally, fed up with hospital bureaucracy and not even registering the word oncologist in my feeble brain, I was blind sided when this beautiful woman asked me to go down the hall to talk. It wasn't until she suggested I sit down that I had even a clue something was very wrong. Our girl had leukemia-a highly curable form of leukemia- but nevertheless not something I'd imagined happening. Next thing we knew it was years of chemo, hospital stays, and many, many dark days.

But meanwhile all those friends rallied round. Meals started coming in from them and from neighbors- and this went on for many months. The food not only helped ease our routine, but each contribution was a sign that we were not alone.

It's been five years since the treatments ended, and she is cancer free which is truly a miraculous thing. Despite the happy ending, I've never again been able to plan a big party at this time of year. Or even a small one. The best I can do is ask people over at the last minute and hope somebody can show up. Last Sunday night was one of those nights. It was luminary night again, though the high winds postponed the event. A few friends came over anyway and early on in the evening, carollers were out- many of them neighbors. We went out on the porch, and when they finished singing those that knew me came up and hugged me one by one- the same people that helped us get through those dark times so many years ago- bringing light out of the dark again.

So that's what I hope for all of you - that when all this rushing around commercial crap that comes this time of year makes you crazy-that you can step back and find the music and the light. (Well, not THE light- you know what I mean) There are a lot of good things and people and talent in this town-underneath it all. All of that and the Lombardi Center, too. Another reason why DC rocks.

He's Got A Big Mouth

Don Imus is back in the news which strikes a personal chord with me. My son is staying at his ranch this week in New Mexico. Thanks to a neighbor who used to listen to Imus, we found out about the ranch he set up for kids who survived cancer, and now their siblings have a chance to go.

Cancer is an invasive species in more ways than medical. It creeps into your life, raises havoc and fears-and disrupts every damn day. Your friends and family feel the impact. And in the case of children, it's problematic. How do you explain their lives now? The "medicine" that they will have to take for months or even years will make them lose their hair, and sometimes their identity as they drop in and out of school, and the life they once knew. They might lose old friends who can't cope, and gain new ones who won't survive. Those who do make it are our modern miracles, but we can't know what the toll will be- what physical and mental "late effects" will linger.

Don Imus understands this. He started with the usual fund raisers on the air, but he soon became more personally involved. He wanted to do something beyond the dollars, and he came up with the idea of a working ranch to give kids the confidence he felt he gained when he grew up roping and riding on his family's farm. Ten or so kids arrive for a week. They are given a horse to care for and put to work. The Imus family, ranch hands and staff all eat and go through the day with the kids making the place more like a new home than anything else. (When Imus was on the air, he would broadcast from his studio right there in the house.)

My daughter has been twice. She comes back dressed like a true cow girl with the ability to lasso her friends and a huge excitement about where she has been and what she has learned. I know my son, who was six when she was diagnosed and endured three years of being put aside for her and our new baby, will have an amazing experience. He deserves it.

So say what you will about the man, his show, or his politics. There is more to this story than meets the ear on the news. Personally I don't know that much about Don Imus, but I am willing to bet that he is an equal opportunity misanthrope. His foot may be in his mouth, but his heart is in the right place.

An Anniversary of Sorts

You go through life pretty much not expecting the worse- at least I do. I know stuff happens- car accidents, assaults...random horrible tradgedies like little land mines explode without warning, but it wasn't until 1999 that the stuff really hit the fan for me. Just after my good friend, Peter got over grumbling about hitting 40, he was diagnosed with incurable cancer. Two other friends were diagnosed the same year, and then the unthinkable, my eight year old was diagnosed with Leukemia. She is lucky. Three years of chemo-therapy worked for her, and now we only go back to the Lombardi Center for an annual check up.

So back I go down a memory lane I'd just as soon forget, but the clinic there puts any play room to shame. Toys, games, a bank of computers, a VCR and a TV. A great big paper mache tree that goes from floor to ceiling and is constantly being decorated for the season. (Right now there are hand made birdhouses and cranes and paper tissue flowers.) Every holiday and birthday and special occasions are all celebrated. And there are art therapists hanging around- all kinds of art supplies and a kiln. As much joy as possible is produced here to mask the grim yet hopeful business of curing cancer. I didn't know when we started that we were lucky to live only a couple of miles away from this clinic right here in Washington.

So we go in, and the parking guy actually remembers me, and every one falls on us as we haven't been there in quite awhile. My daughter immediately goes to the computer as she always did, and seems to take it all in stride. I sit for a few minutes, then head to the art table where I can't seem to stop churning out stationery with drawing paper, stamps and a glue stick.

No one blinks twice at me sitting in a child's chair. Other kids come in and paint at an easel or another table. I am left alone except for an occasional compliment on my project. I have a hard time talking to anyone there. I can only hope that the sight of my healthy daughter will inspire one of the other parents sitting near by. I hear one mother trying to convince her little boy to leave. We'll be back next Tuesday, she says, you can finish your painting then...Her little boy doesn't want to leave. He wears a little face mask, and he is too young to realize as fun as it is, this is also a hard place to be. And even as my heart goes out to the both of them, I leave the cards that I made on the table. I am grateful that we (fingers crossed) won't be back for another year.