I'm Just Sayin'

Washington D.C. is probably not Emerald City, but this campaign of 2012 is feeling a lot like the Yellow Brick Road.

I recently signed on as a volunteer for the Elisabeth Motsinger for Congress campaign, and joined a small but steadfast band of down-to-earth dreamers who are determined that North Carolina will be represented by a woman who shares our values: equal access to affordable healthcare; opportunities for quality public education; a growing economy in a thriving natural environment; protecting human rights and ending discrimination in all its forms.

I will not cast myself as Dorothy, and I dare not assign roles to my colleagues on the campaign trail. But I will say this: unlike L. Frank Baum’s beloved characters in The Wizard of Oz, we already know that we have everything we need. We need not search for Scarecrow’s brain, because our candidate has the intelligence she needs to make the right decisions for North Carolina. Tin Man’s heart? Got it. Elisabeth Motsinger has shown remarkable compassion through her work as a physician’s assistant, her service on the School Board, and her activism on social and environmental issues. Courage? Forget about it, Cowardly Lion. When the local paper endorsed her opponent in the primary, Elisabeth replied, “I would like to thank the Winston-Salem Journal for noticing that I am an activist for liberal causes. My actions are firmly grounded in my moral vision and I make no apologies for standing fast.” The campaign staff was spitting nails, but our candidate showed us back bone and calm, reasoned courage of conviction.

And Dorothy’s fervent desire to find her way home? Elisabeth has the vision to restore the American dream. “I believe in real prosperity for real people,” she says. “America should be the land of opportunity for everyone. Our society can make sure that the generations that follow us inherit an America where dreams can still be achieved.”

In the Wizard of Oz, the Good Witch Glinda told Dorothy that she only had to believe to find her way home. Elizabeth Motsinger believes in America, and I believe in Elisabeth. And we all know who is the Wicked Witch of the West.

Just sayin.

The Komen Foundation is engaged in the doo-doo dance. You know, when you step in a pile of dog poop and then you scuff around trying to get the crap off your shoes. It ain’t pretty. It’s almost impossible to do it gracefully. And if you do manage to clean your shoes, you’re still left with a pile of shit in your yard.

That’s what I thought when I studied today’s statement, in which Komen supposedly reversed its decision to de-fund Planned Parenthood, and apologized for casting doubt on its commitment.

When I first read the statement, I felt triumphant. The angry and indignant outcry from hundreds of thousands of former Komen supporters had been heard! But then I read it again, and got a whiff of something stinky. After reading it several times, and mulling it over for a few hours, I’ve come to the conclusion that Komen still has poop on its shoes, and it might never get its yard cleaned up.

Today’s statement was very carefully worded to make me feel like I’d won. And, feeling warm and fuzzy with victory, I’d be more likely to forgive and forget. And in the spirit of forgiveness, perhaps I would reconsider my vow to de-fund Komen. After all, they changed their minds, so shouldn’t I change mine? Shouldn’t we all just get back to the business at hand – protecting women’s health?

In reality, the statement didn’t offer much. It said Komen would “continue to fund existing grants, including those of Planned Parenthood …” But they never said they would take money away from Planned Parenthood, just that they would not approve future grants. Stinky.

In today’s statement, Komen also pledged to “preserve their eligibility to apply for future grants.” Well, of course anyone can apply for a grant, but that doesn’t mean Komen would actually consider the application. Smelly.

And while Komen has repeatedly denied that its decision to de-fund Planned Parenthood was political, today’s statement clearly pointed the political finger at those who cried foul. “We urge everyone who has participated in this conversation across the country over the last few days to help us move past this issue. We do not want our mission marred or affected by politics - anyone's politics.” We weren’t playing politics with women’s health, but if you don’t return to the fold, your politics is getting in the way of our mission. Reeking.

Perhaps I am being too harsh. Maybe I am too bitter to see this objectively. Could be. But I won’t apologize for that. It’s too personal. The betrayal is still too fresh. And Komen has a long way to go to restore my faith and regain my trust. And in the meantime, I have found alternatives in my personal fight against breast cancer.

I have discovered Forsyth Medical Center Foundation. Donations to this organization can be earmarked for breast cancer screening and treatment at Forsyth Medical Center facilities for uninsured women in nine North Carolina counties. Through its Women’s Council, the foundation addresses a variety of women’s health issues, and it sponsors a mobile mammogram unit to provide on-the-spot screenings in remote and underserved areas. Donors can even request their gift be used specifically by WomanWise, the breast and cervical cancer prevention program administered by Forsyth County Department of Public Health, which has provided me with free mammograms for the past three years that I have been uninsured.

Each and every penny donated to the foundation goes directly to patient care, and there are volunteer opportunities for those with more time than money. For more information go to http://www.forsythmedicalcenter.org/ and click “ways to give.”

I’ve also been reacquainted with the Breast Cancer Research Foundation. Since 1936, BCRF has provided critical funding for research at leading medical centers worldwide, including Harvard, Yale, Duke, Johns Hopkins, the Mayo Clinic, Washington University in St. Louis, Stanford, UCLA, Oxford, and the University of London. More than 90 cents of every dollar donated goes directly to breast cancer research and awareness programs. For more information, see http://www.bcrfcure.org/index.html.

There is also the National Breast Cancer Foundation, created by a breast cancer survivor to promote early detection through screening, and to provide free mammograms to women in need. NBCF is highly rated as a charitable organization and has an impressive list of corporate and celebrity partners. See http://www.nationalbreastcancer.org/default.aspx.

Information about these organizations is provided as a resource, and is not an endorsement. Haven’t we all learned to do our homework? I am sure there are many worthy organizations that are dedicated to breast cancer awareness and prevention and are working to find a cure. I hope to pass along information as I find it, and I encourage my allies in this fight to share their information with me as well.

The Breast Cancer Research Foundation estimates that in the U.S. a woman dies of breast cancer roughly every 13 minutes. That means that more than 300 women have died in America while the Komen Foundation played politics with their lives.

That stinks. I’m just sayin.

I’ve had an emotional day. Scratch that. Ten days.

On January 23 I heard the words I’ve dreaded for so long …”your recent mammogram showed an irregularity…” My heart fell into my stomach, and then my stomach hit the floor. I have a sister who died of breast cancer. I have another sister who survived it. My mother died of brain cancer. One of my brothers just finished treatment for prostate cancer. Yeah, I feel vulnerable.

I’ve pretty much gone about my business for the past week and a half. I told only a few people. I continued to work my three jobs. I gathered up my talismans (a rosary crucifix that my high school friend and pseudo-cousin Michael gave me the night before I left for college and he left for Army basic training, a jade dragon given to me by a grateful immigrant parent for helping her daughter get settled into college half a continent away from home, and the guardian angel prayer card that I placed at my sister’s bedside when she was dying). And I came home from work and fell apart every night. I don’t mention all of this so you will feel sorry for me. I want you to know how deeply personal this is.

So today was the day I went for additional mammography screening. And it was also the day we learned that Komen for the Cure was cutting off funding for Planned Parenthood. Actually I heard about it last night on Facebook. I’m grateful for the distraction. Feelings of hurt, disappointment, sadness and betrayal were a welcome change from worry. Yeah, that’s the kind of week it’s been.

Not to draw this out any longer: I am fine. Today’s more detailed tests showed nothing irregular. Imagine my relief. Imagine my exhaustion. Imagine my gratitude and anger. It’s been a roller coaster kind of day.

A bit of self-disclosure. When my state job was eliminated in 2008, I lost my health insurance. My last several mammograms have been paid for by a local program called Woman Wise, which receives some of its funding from the Komen foundation. That’s not easy to admit, but it is easier to live with because I have been an ardent supporter of Komen. I’ve participated in its Race for the Cure events for several years, in three states. I coordinated a benefit event for Komen, and raised enough to fund several mammograms for uninsured women like me. I bought yogurt with pink lids and went online to register my purchases so Komen would get credit. I bought all kinds of “pink” products to support Komen, both financially and emotionally.

No more.

If you have spent the day under a rock, perhaps you are not aware that Komen for the Cure has chosen to de-fund Planned Parenthood, because Planned Parenthood spends a miniscule amount of its resources on abortion. Yeah, the organization founded on a promise to end death by cancer has turned its back on an organization that provides life-saving cancer screenings, to prove that it is “pro-life.”

I feel betrayed. I feel angry. I feel sad. And I am a writer. When I feel, I write.

I wrote an email to the executive director of the local Komen affiliate. Another bit of self-disclosure: I once applied for a job there, as an event planner. That’s how much I supported Komen. I wanted to give them my time, in addition to my money and my sweat. So I’ve met this woman, and I respect and admire her. Today in my email I told her I could no longer support her organization, and I vowed to contact her corporate sponsors to withdraw my support from them. To her credit, she responded very promptly. She’s in crisis-control mode, like hundreds of her counterparts across the country, a dance thrust upon them by a national executive who apparently has chosen politics over women’s health. I know nothing of the local executive’s political leanings, but I have no doubt of her commitment to the cause. I would not be in her shoes for any amount of money.

She wanted me to know that currently in our area, Planned Parenthood is not funded by Komen, because Planned Parenthood did not apply for a Komen grant. And she sent me an impressive list of 16 regional organizations and projects that are funded by Komen. She informed me that 75 percent of funds raised locally remain in the area to provide live-saving services for local women like me.

I admire all of that. I do. But I cannot accept that one red cent of my hard-earned money, or one drop of my sweat, goes to support the national organization that caved to political pressure from “pro-lifers” who demonstrate no respect for MY life, or the lives of hundreds of thousands of uninsured women.

So I’m on a mission. My mission is to inform anyone who will listen that Komen is not the only game in town when it comes to breast cancer awareness and prevention. There are other organizations that fund mammograms for uninsured and low-income women. There are other efforts that promote breast health awareness. Subsequent posts will list them. I will also identify Komen corporate sponsors in case you want to join me in voicing your disapproval.

If you choose to continue supporting Komen, I respect that. I am sure the foundation will continue to benefit some women. But as long as Komen continues its hateful and destructive policy regarding Planned Parenthood, I will continue to speak out against them in any way I can.

Like the founder of Komen, I made a promise to my dying sister.

I’m creating a home gym in my basement. Ok, that might be a slight exaggeration. My “gym” consists of a TV, DVD player, three workout DVDs, some hand weights, a figure-8 band, rug, yoga mat, and a stack of golf towels. I am accepting donations of equipment, if anyone is ready to get rid of their clothes rack, I mean, treadmill or exercise bike.

For those of you who might be considering setting up your own basement exercise room, I thought I would share my experience. You might want to hold your applause until you’ve read this entire post, I mean, in case you do read this entire post.

If you are considering setting up an exercise room in your basement, and you have cats, your first step must be to ask their permission. Chances are, they consider the basement their private domain, and they have been very generous in allowing you access to do laundry, store your stuff, and scoop the crap out of their litter boxes. My cats responded thusly:

• Chloe said it was fine, as she never goes to basement except to use the you-know-what. She is my girly girl, a real southern lady, and would never discuss bathroom habits.
• Fannie said yes, provided I do not interrupt her own basement workout routine, which includes a warm-up nap on the table by the window, scratching the old upholstered chair, a nap on the back of the old upholstered chair, a quick trip upstairs for a sip of water and to see if there is anything new and interesting in the food bowl, a visit to the crapper (Fannie tells it like it is) and finally back to the table by the window for a cool-down nap. I promised not to interfere with any of that.
• Sophie said ok as long as I realized she might occasionally leave me a hair ball offering on the rug. She thinks I actually LIKE her gifts, and she is quite generous. Apparently, “Dammit, Sophie, not again!” translates to “Darling Sophie! Thank you so much!” in catspeak.

Step two in establishing a basement gym will probably include moving some junk . In my case, it was necessary to break down and discard the cardboard boxes from my new lighting fixtures, load the old lighting fixtures into the car for a trip to the Habitat for Humanity ReStore, and relocate the unused cat scratching toys that I already relocated from the living room.

The third step is optional, but highly recommended: give the floor a quick sweep. Unless of course, you want to inhale cat hair and dust as you work out.

Next, resurrect the dinosaur television that you carted down there after buying a sleek flat-screen last year. Procure a DVD player. For me, this required a trip to my least favorite place in all of creation. You got it, Walmart. Ok, I could have gone to Kmart, but I had to get my prescriptions filled anyway, and unfortunately you really can’t beat the Walmart pharmacy prices. While at Walmart, if you are very fortunate, you might be treated to a complimentary pearl of wisdom, courtesy of a friendly Walmart employee. The nuclear physicist I encountered yesterday educated me on oranges. “You can tell them are navel oranges cuz they got ‘em a navel right thar.” Honestly, I didn’t even have to pay for that insight!

And here is my own pearl of wisdom regarding DVD players. The $100 unit comes with batteries for the remote control, and has a life expectancy of about a year. The $30 unit does not come with batteries, and the life expectancy is about a year. Those are some expensive batteries, huh? Hey, no charge for that nugget of technical knowledge. Aren’t you glad you kept reading?

In establishing a basement gym, you must consider your heating and air conditioning needs. My basement has neither, so I got out the emergency space heater that I bought last year when my heat pump died and couldn’t be replaced for three days. And I think I can manage to be drying a load of clothes in the adjacent laundry room, which should help. I also have a room air conditioner (Okay, Thelma has a room air conditioner which I borrowed a few years ago, when my heat pump first started showing its age. It’s still in my basement, and she hasn’t asked for it back, soooo ….) But wait, by the time I need an air conditioner, I will be trim and svelt and running the streets for my work out! Optimism burns calories, you know.

You should also consider your flooring situation. Since my partially-finished basement has a totally unfinished concrete floor, I bought a cheap area rug (WalMart again) and added the yoga mat I bought for fitness boot camp a while back. That meant digging it out of the closet under the stairs, where I store all the stuff I don’t want to subject to cats’ claws, random acts of litter box rejection, and hair ball offerings.

Okay! Now for the equipment. I have a rainbow of hand weights: red three-pounders, blue five-pounders, and purple eight-pounders. Perhaps soon I will invest in some ten-pounders. Green, I think. I also have a figure-eight band and corresponding yoga/pilates DVD. This is the DVD with the hot mama (according to my brother) on a platform at the beach, the sight and sound of crashing waves in the background, along with a tinkling of wind chimes. Very zen. Very good stretching sequence and core workout.

I have two additional DVDs in my collection. One came with the 17 Day Diet Book, and is what prompted this whole adventure. It has four 17-minute aerobic work outs -- one for general conditioning, and others which target abs, buns and arms. I got through the general workout and the abs workout just fine. Then I tried the aerobic workout for buns, and that resulted in a painful blow to one of my coffee table cubes (it was painful to both my shin and the cube) and a necessary straightening of every piece of framed art in the living room. I knew something had to give and decided to move my workout to the indestructible basement.

My final DVD is what I call the Pimps and Hos workout. I found it last year in the clearance bin at TJ Maxx and decided it was worth $3. I don’t know when I have gotten so much entertainment for three bucks! This workout is led by a man who would seem to be more at home on a used-car lot, or in a Cadillac cruising the seedier side of town. His back up dancers are a rainbow of sleazy, spangly-dressed, pockmarked “ladies” who all look like they just climbed out of the backseat of said Cadillac, and who all seem to be staring continuously at his gluteus maximus! I must have laughed off a few hundred calories with this jewel!

Throw in a bottle of water and some towels (I figure this is a good off-season use for the golf towels) and you have a basement work out room. Now all you have to do is drag your sorry ass down the steps. I’m just sayin …

If I don’t find happiness and prosperity in 2011, it will be Julia Child’s fault. Because of Julia, I did not make my Lucky New Year’s Soup this year. I live in the South, where we place great stock in eating black-eyed peas, collard greens and pork on New Year’s Day. A few years ago I developed a recipe for soup that contained all the required ingredients, could be made during halftime of a bowl game, and was lighter than the traditional grease and calorie-laden holiday meal.

But I didn’t make it this year, because of Julia. You see, I picked up a copy of My Life in France by Julia Child and Alex Prud’homme. (Okay, I snagged the book off my brother’s coffee table when I was at his house for Christmas. I think he might have borrowed it from someone else, but I’m not sure I will have the fortitude to return it.) I started thumbing through the book last week, reading a passage here and there, checking out the photographs. And the book inspired me to cook a chicken.

I’ve cooked lots of chicken over the years, mostly breasts charred on the grill, baked with rice, or sautéed and served with pasta. But I had never cooked a whole chicken. I can hear Julia now:

“Tsk, tsk, young lady.” (Yes, I believe Julia would call me young lady. It’s one of the reasons I love her so.)

“There’s nothing like a nice, fat, roasted chicken. You absolutely must cook one immediately.”

Can’t you just hear her wonderfully shrill, nasally chortle? Love, love, love.

So I did it. I roasted my first whole chicken, stuffed with lemon, rosemary, garlic and onions, skin massaged with olive oil, crushed garlic, salt and pepper. It was beautiful. It was fragrant. It was delicious. It was a lot of meat for one person!

So I threw the carcass into a pot of water and made my own stock, which I then turned into roast chicken and wild rice soup. At this point, I swear Julia was looking over my shoulder, humming, sipping sherry and prompting me to add a pinch of this or a drop of that. Oh, the comfort of cooking soup on a cold day! Oh, the anticipation of dipping some good crusty bread, slurping up the savory, salty broth!

It was a happy, day long project. And at the end of the day, I had a big pot (a really big pot) of tasty soup. And it was December 30. Two days before time to cook Lucky New Year’s Soup! I know what you’re thinking. I could have frozen the chicken soup and gone ahead with the New Year’s tradition. But seriously, I never seem to get around to actually eating any of the stuff I freeze, and my freezer space is a little cramped with martini glasses, beer mugs and Edy’s Gourmet Limited Edition Peppermint Ice Cream.

So I have postponed the New Year’s Soup until later this week. Surely, for the love of butter, grits, and Texas Pete hot sauce, the gods of southern superstition will forgive a few days’ lapse. If not, Julia’s got my back. I just know it. Just sayin ...

Lucky New Year’s Soup

3 cups cooked black-eyed peas or yellow-eye beans, drained of cooking liquid
8 slices bacon
2 cups chopped onion
1 large clove garlic, chopped
1 can diced tomatoes with liquid
3 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1 cup water, or more as needed

1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tablespoon cider vinegar
¼ teaspoon allspice
Pinch of dried thyme
Splash of hot sauce, or to taste
3 cups frozen chopped collard greens
Salt and pepper to taste
Small can (single serving size) Spicy Hot V8

Cook bacon in large soup pot. Drain on paper towels and crumble. Reserve 1 tablespoon drippings in pot. Add onions and garlic to soup pot and sauté over medium-low heat until onions are soft, scraping bottom of pan to loosen brown bits. Add next nine ingredients (through collard greens) and increase heat to medium-high heat. Bring to a boil. Add salt, pepper, V8 and beans. Reduce heat to low and simmer until beans are heated through. Add water if necessary to achieve good ratio of broth.

Serve topped with crumbled bacon if desired, accompanied by corn bread.

If beans and bacon are cooked ahead of time, you can assemble the soup during half time and it will be ready to eat by the start of the third quarter.