Westboro Baptist Church Needs to Turn, Turn, Turn Away from Elizabeth Edwards' Funeral

Two things are making me sick today: one is a gastrointestinal bug and the other is even crappier. WRAL is reporting that the Westboro Baptist Chuch (based in Kansas) is planning a protest at the funeral of Elizabeth Edwards in Raleigh on Saturday.

These protesters would do well to listen to their acoustic memories, which have evidently short-circuited on the “do unto others” sound track. If that is the case, here is a song, based on Bible verse, for this misguided group.

To everything (turn, turn, turn)/ There is a season (turn, turn, turn)/ And a time to every purpose under heaven/ A time to build up, a time to break down/ A time to dance, a time to mourn/ A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together.

-Pete Seeger, "Turn! Turn! Turn!"

Give us our time to mourn, Westboro! Turn out of Raleigh!

Snow Was Falling Like Moravian Stars

Snow was falling like Moravian stars the day my son suggested we visit Old Salem. When we arrived we crossed a covered bridge and stepped back in time.  The bridge transported us to the eighteenth century.


The Moravians settled in North Carolina in the middle of the eighteenth century on land known as the Wachovia tract. Their religion, the first Protestant denomination, was founded by a Catholic, Czech priest who was burnt at the stake for heresy. The Moravian Church is still in existence today in the United States. At Old Salem, the church sits north of the square.


Farther down Main Street we came across the campus of Salem College for women. Perhaps you’re more familiar with Moravian College in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. The Moravians believed that education was essential for salvation. The day of our visit, children were rolling snowmen on the green while a trombone choir performed. The Moravians are credited with bringing classical European music to America.

Needing to warm up, we stepped inside the Winkler Bakery for some sugar bread. Serving sweet buns during a church service (the lovefeast) is one of the Moravian traditions.

In every gift shop, we came across the Moravian star, with its twenty-six points, a symbol of Advent.

Outside, snow continued to fall until it turned purple.



We walked along Main Street in the cold. That's my husband in the yellow jacket, strolling past the Single Brothers' House. Wreaths decked doors with diagonal designs. I turned to wave at the camera.


We saw homes that could have inspired the likes of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” and “Up on the Housetop.” Our thoughts turned toward getting back home before the interstate froze.




The day ended with contemplation of the motto of the Moravian Church: "In essentials, unity; in nonessentials, liberty; and in all things, love."

MAM at the Improv Slam

The weekend after Thanksgiving I found myself at Dirty South Improv getting an acoustic memory workout. The two improv teams, in their attempt to take home the gold, called on the audience for backup, putting all of us in memory boot camp.

Why so much work?
Audience participation. It's a staple of the improv slam. At one point we all participated in something I'm going to call My Acoustic Memory Shuffle.

An acoustic memory shuffle?
Right. The red team left the stage while the black team asked the audience to list favorite movie lines and favorite song lyrics. And please note, the 7:30 show was an all ages show, and as DSI promised, the show was fit for everyone from the 5-year-old to the grandparent. And that made things even more challenging. More about that shortly.

What movie line did you contribute?
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Was it hard to keep the suggestions clean for the family?
Yes, as you can see, my potty mouth got into my acoustic memory with the “d” word.

What movie line did your 10-year-old like the most?
“Dobby is free.”

Which song lyric didn’t make sense?
De Doo Doo Doo De Da Da Da

What did they do with the lines that the audience suggested?
The black team wrote each line on a strip of paper and then scattered the strips on the stage before calling the other team back to the stage.

Then what happened to the acoustic memories?
The red team came back on stage, and there was a request for the audience to name a place where people get things done. A child shouted out, “the office," but it was pointed out that people really don’t get much done at the office. Someone else hollered out “grocery store,” and the three members of the red team immediately started to improvise dialogue and mime actions of shoppers in the grocery store. As the scene progressed, it became apparent they were portraying two old farts with a grandson in tow.

Once the scene was established for the audience, they started inserting the lines from the songs and movies into the dialogue by cueing up a statement, such as, “And then he said to me…” and then stooping over, picking up a piece of paper, and reading the line to finish the sentence.

But was it funny?
Yes, it was hilarious. Uh, maybe you had to be there. And you can go, but you have to come to Carrboro, North Carolina, to see Improv Slam played Dirty South Improv style.

Can I try this at home?
Yes, please do. It would be the perfect entertainment for family gatherings during that next set of holidays that starts in December. All you need is a pencil, some paper, two teams of three people and some other random family members to make line suggestions, laugh or boo. And acoustic memories. Of course, you need lots of acoustic memories.


De doo doo doo, de da da da/ Is all I want to say to you
-Sting

Sufferin 'til Suffrage

Hey y’all, pull down your levers! It’s time to vote.

Last week my 5th grader memorized the amendments to the Constitution. I had to plead the 5th when he asked me to explain the 9th. But I’ll never forget the 19th amendment, oh no.

Saturday mornings I’d wake up and bake cinnamon rolls from a tin can and eat them while I watched cartoons in the den. Schoolhouse Rock infiltrated the mix of Scooby Doo and Lidsville. Remember "Sufferin 'til Suffrage"? You know the 19th amendment “struck down that restrictive rule.” That lyric refers to the turn of the 19th century, when women who had the right to vote in certain states lost that right. The 19th amendment ensured women would not be denied the right to vote on account of their sex. My grandmothers Elizabeth and Rose were able to vote when they reached the age of majority, but not their mothers, Lucille and Flora, respectively.

Voting rights used to vary from state to state. My current state of residence was the last state to remove the restriction that voters had to own property. That change occurred in 1856. Even in our times, it was not until 1971 that the 26th amendment established that in all states the legal voting age would be 18. So my sister was able to vote in ’74 when she was 19. She’d been waiting, too; I still remember the McGovern poster in her bedroom in ’72.

Here’s more to read on the history of voting rights, but you might want to save this reading material until after you vote—I don’t want to impinge on your voting time!

Disclaimer: There was a time that I was so turned off by politics that I was an independent, not because I wanted to remain impartial, but because I thought I was above it all that way. Now I’m affiliated with a party, and I’m humbled by my right to vote. I see it as part of my duty to model good citizenship for my children, and as a tribute to the people who came before me to ensure my right to vote.

No literacy test, no poll tax. I’m voting. Because I can.

And now we pull down on the lever/
Cast our ballots and we endeavor/
To improve our country, state, county, town, and school.
"Sufferin 'til Suffrage" Schoolhouse Rock

Backfield in Motion

There’s an old rivalry in Louisville, Kentucky, that goes back further than Papa John's to the early days of KFC. Each fall two Louisville high school football powerhouses square off in front of a crowd of around 40,000.

If Trinity is winning the game, you can here the crowd chanting, “We will, we will ROCK you.” In the fourth quarter if St. X is winning, you can hear the crowd singing, “Nah, nah, nah, nah/Nah, nah, nah, nah/Hey, hey-ay/Goodbye.”

I attended those games from 1969 until 1982, first as a child sitting on her dad’s shoulders, last as a cheerleader standing on her partner’s shoulders. And you can add this game to the long list of things I miss about my hometown.

Last night a little nostalgia came over me as I took my son to see the Friday night lights in the 2751-oh zip code.

The library lights at Carrbor-Oh High shone like a beacon, but on closer inspection, the library was empty.

Even the principals were out of their offices. And in Carrbor-oh, Principal Batten is cool enough to wear a purple velvet jacket to the game.

I ran into one of my babies who’s in Raleigh at college this year.

But no one was drinking beer. Somebody tell me if I’m wrong: I think they sold beer at the St.X-Trinity game in the 80’s. Not that I had any.

Carrbor-oh was 5-0 going into this game, and it's the talk of the town that this team has beaten the others in town in its first five years in existence.

This morning I can’t get the soul song “Backfield in Motion” off my mind. It hit the charts before “Starting All Over Again.” This Soul Train video of the latter song showcases the talent of the cousins from Mississippi. Their moves remind me of those of the backup singers in the Kentucky band The Trendells that I used to go see at a bar in Lexington when I was in med school.

How did we get from football to soul?

Backfield in motion, yeah/
I’m gonna have to penalize you/
Backfield in motion, baby/
You know that’s against the rules
“Backfield in Motion”
-Mel and Tim

Girls on Film

The ad shows a woman, spade in hand, dressed for a morning in her flower garden. On closer inspection, “she” is a lifelike sculpture. On her lapel, a pink ribbon for breast cancer awareness makes it clear how she met her untimely death.

I find the ad while flipping through a magazine in the waiting room in the radiology suite, where I have had a mammogram, have been told it is abnormal, and have been left to wait for a radiologist to consult with me.

When you are waiting for the radiologist to tell you just how abnormal your mammogram looks, the last thing you want to do is see a reminder of breast cancer’s toll. But what should you be doing while you are waiting in radiology during your annual screening?

Mammograms have a regular part of my health care since I was 25. Because my mother was diagnosed with premenopausal breast cancer, I started getting screenings earlier than the average woman, who usually begins screening at age 40.

I practiced diagnostic surgical pathology at the world’s largest medical center and saw many breast biopsies under my microscope every day. Although I still dread my mammogram, I have become more savvy about how I mentally prepare for the screening.

Taking all kinds of potential problems into consideration, I have come up with a list of action points to minimize the stress of scheduling and getting a mammogram. My suggestions are based on a decade of mammograms at three academic centers in large metropolitan areas.

• Understand your insurance company’s policies regarding reimbursement for a mammogram. Last year the radiologist suggested I have an ultrasound on the same day as the mammogram. I complied. When the explanation of benefits arrived in the mail, I was surprised to find out that the insurance company did not pay for the mammogram because a second service was billed on the same day.

• Schedule your mammogram for the first two weeks of your menstrual cycle when your breasts are less tender. The compression during the exam will be less uncomfortable that way.


• When you call to make the appointment, get the mailing address in case you need to send any previous mammograms in advance of your appointment. Find out the exact physical location of the building and ask where to park.


• Consider telling a trusted friend when you are going to have your appointment, but think twice about asking a friend to go with you. When I am mustering courage, sometimes talking stresses me out, and I would feel obligated to talk to my friend. See if a friend can help you with child transportation duties if necessary.

• Plan a fun activity to follow the mammogram, but make sure it is one with a flexible start time since you won’t be able to control how much time your visit to the radiology department will take. Whether or not you receive immediate feedback on your films, it is nice to celebrate that the exam is out of the way.

• The night before the mammogram, pack your insurance card into your purse and review your breast health history, including all procedures and screening exams. You will be filling out a history sheet in the office before your mammogram. Also, check your calendar and write down your LMP—you will be asked for it. Having this information on hand will keep you from feeling ill-prepared while completing the necessary paperwork.

• Don’t wear deodorant; do wear separates. Pack your deodorant into your purse the night before your appointment--this way you won’t reach for it out of habit the morning of your mammogram, and it will be in your possession when you get dressed after the appointment. Deodorant can cause aberrant spots on the X-ray. If you accidentally apply deodorant the morning of your exam, don’t sweat it: The radiology suite will have moist towelettes for you to use. During the mammogram you will be asked to undress from the waist up. If you wear separates, you may be less cold during the procedure. Wear a top that won’t wrinkle after it has been folded into a plastic bag and left there for an hour. This way you’ll look fabulous for your post-appointment activity.


• Eat breakfast before your mammogram. Even if you are scheduled for an eight o’clock appointment and think you’ll be at the bagel shop by nine o’clock, eat at home. You never know what delays could occur or what additional tests could be performed over the course of the morning. Stress plus an empty stomach is a sure recipe for unease.

• Be very careful when you walk through the parking lot. Stay aware of your surroundings and don’t allow yourself to slip into a mood of anxious unawareness. If you have an early morning appointment, the parking lot for patients may be used by employees who are speeding into the lot to find a spot. Look for crosswalks and don’t assume cars will stop for you.

• Take a portable music player. I say this for two reasons. You will make yourself unavailable for chit chat with well-meaning people whose story may only make you more anxious. Secondly, you will be able to drown out the audio of the TV in the waiting room that may be blaring a talk show dialogue about cancer, a faltering economy, or anything else that could zap your positive attitude.

• Take your own reading material that you have selected based on its low likelihood of stressing you out. Books that you already read but would like to revisit are excellent choices.

• When you leave the mammography suite, be certain that you completely understand when you are supposed to return to the clinic for your next appointment. Mark that date on your calendar as soon as you return home and call to schedule that appointment two months in advance.

I hope you share this information. The idea is to get more “girls on film.”

My day in the radiology suite ended with an ultrasound that showed benign changes; I left and took myself to lunch.

"And she wonders how she ever got here as she goes under again."
"Girls on Film" Duran Duran

Questions 67 and 68

“Was your hair that red Friday night?”

That was the first question he asked me, when at 11:55 a.m. Central Time on Labor Day, I came to the front gate to enter the code to let him into my fortress strong.

So we were for all intents and purposes on a blind date because clearly he was blind to my hair color three nights prior when we met at the Duck. But interestingly, I came to find out several weeks after Labor Day, we had been matched as dance partners at the Duck by Therese and her decorator friend, Craig, on the basis of hair color although his reddish highlights were more subdued than my brassy red hair. My Parisian hairdresser, Sebastien, referred to us, his clientele, the female physicians from M.D. Anderson Cancer Center, as his “painted ladies.”

I dismissed his question as one of sincerity and not approbation and invited him in. I pulled him through the corridors pretty quickly, as I recall, trying to avoid the man down the hall that I had canceled the date with for Labor Day. (That was fairly easy because his sister fielded the call when I canceled.)

Inside my unit the next thing I suggested still causes laughter: I invited him to have a quick cup of hot coffee in my kitchen when it was 105 degrees outside. I did not know that he was not accustomed to slamming a cup of Joe like a physician does before heading to the OR. So he politely sipped at hot coffee in spite of not wanting it.

He drove us to River Oaks Theaters in his black Tahoe to see Celestial Clockwork, my choice.

I lost all movie picking privileges very early in the relationship. Since that time we have both returned to IMDb to see there just were no good movie picks for that Labor Day weekend. Just like there are probably no good movie picks for this Labor Day weekend. It is historically not a good movie release week. Try not to start a relationship with a movie date on Labor Day weekend.

In the parking lot of River Oaks Theaters, I noticed that his car had two bumper stickers, Fly Girls and a Darwin fish. I didn’t understand either one.

Questions. He asked a million questions, which he later told me was because he was nervous.

At one point I felt like invoking my grandfather Farmer's line: "You ask the damnedest questions!"

In the Darwin fish car in the movie parking lot, he asked me what nationality my last name was. I told him it was my ex-husband’s last name. That silenced him for a while.

The movie was no sleeper. It grossed 410,000 dollars in the US. Ten of those were ours.

On the way back to my apartment, we passed Randall’s on Westheimer. He asked me if I wanted to go out to eat for dinner. I said I had picked up a few things for dinner.

That was the understatement of the year. Susan had spent her last day in Houston helping me shop two or three stores for this date. But I wasn’t going to mention any of the date prep to him.

You see after I left him in the parking lot of the Duck the Friday prior, I decided and vowed to my best friends that there was no way I would try to find him if he did not call me Sunday as promised. Evidently, the call almost never happened because by the time he looked on his hand for the phone number later that night, he found that most of it had transferred onto the steering wheel of the Tahoe, most likely while the song "Good" by Better Than Ezra played over the car airwaves. (My friend Barrow dated a guy in that band back in Baton Rouge.)

The night after I gave him my number, I spent with my girlfriends at Cezanne, the jazz club above the Black Labrador Pub, listening to an African American woman deliver jazz standards with a “sultry, meet you after midnight voice” (Susan’s words, as told to me in a personal correspondence last week).

The day before the date, Suzanne flew back to Louisville early, and Susan and I hung out, shopping at Whole Foods (the small one that was closer to I-59 in Shepherd Plaza), Whole Earth Provision, Cactus Records and Randall’s. I won’t tell you everything Susan suggested I buy, but I will tell you it was fun.

After the movie, back in my kitchen I had the chicken breasts, Tahini sauce, eggplant, and a salad I prepared of avocado, Kalamata olives and grapefruit.

During this second visit to my kitchen, he noticed the photo of the little girl on the beach at Galveston mock surfing on a piece of driftwood and asked who that was.

“That’s my daughter.”

The questions stopped for a while longer. Then I asked him to do something for me: Grill our dinner on the patio. He had told me he was a volunteer fireman in Austin. I figured he could stand the heat.

We ate at my dining room table with clover cutouts, a hand-me-down from my Hoffmann grandparents’ Germantown kitchen. He pushed the salad around on his plate, not mentioning that he hated olives.

Then we moved to the sofa for more Q and A. Somewhere between questions 67 and 68, we fell asleep. Then we woke at two and he went home.


Can this feeling that we have together/
Oooh, suddenly exist between/
Did this meeting of our minds together/
Oooh, happen just today, some way

“Questions 67 and 68,” Robert Lamm