Time Off -

I'm going to take this month off in honor of those women who are dealing with breast cancer, who have won - in living and in death, by being strong, being weak, being tough, being sensitive, being true, faking it until they made it, and walking their days with their heads held high, or low, because they kept and keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

See you in November. 


(PS - I imagine several of you will lose track of me with that month of no posts. I want to thank you for your readership - you've been a great audience for venting, teaching, and learning.)

It's that Time of Year - Pinktober -

Here we go again - pink ribbons EVERYWHERE, posters and billboards and ads reminding women to have their mammograms in abundance. I even say a pickup truck decal, in pink, today saying, "Save Second Base." Seriously? That's all breasts are good for - for a partner (or #metoo) to feel them up?

And what I want to say is this;

I survived breast cancer, and I am reminded, every. single. day. that I went through surgeries, 8 chemo treatments, 33 radiation treatments, numerous days of sick leave, numerous days of low blood counts, numerous times of hydration, numerous days of NOT being able to spend time with family, friends, and numerous days of no teaching. And that was all in a 9 month period.

And since my treatments finished on April 18, 2013? Time, effort, energy, focused concentration to heal - numerous days spent just freakin' getting better. And what did I lose - I've relayed that in this blog over the years; suffice it to say, that just now are my losses and gains beginning to even out.

Yet - what about those women who lost their "boobies," "ta-ta's," "2nd bases"? And what about those women who lost their lives because of these "titties"? Or even those women who aren't in remission, or who are, but know damn well their cancer will some day, some how, be back in their lives, or that even the words pink, cancer, boob-bees, sends them into an anxiety attack, and rightfully so?

Is "My other boob about killed me," really worth joking about? Does making light of the women whose other boob did or will kill them really funny? Valid? Worthwhile? When was the last time you saw a t-shirt or a bumper sticker or a billboard on I-15 say, "Where are those family gems now?" "I lost my gonads but have my life." "Don't squeeze those balls too hard." "Save the bat and balls," or anything that in a pink-free, cancer-free world may be seen as crass and not publishable?

Would you want your life, your disease to be a commercial? Are breasts a commodity that can be bought and sold during October? Has corporate America exploited cancer for monetary gain - played on the emotions of losing a body part? And the donation percentage made to breast cancer organizations is often so miniscule as to even make this a laughable gesture (last year I saw, in the "reduced" section of a craft store, pink beads, with "A percentage of this sale will be donated to a breast cancer organization," stamp, reduced by nearly 90%). Big donation, hey!

Why does Breast Cancer Awareness Month (and beyond) get more media play than any other cancer? Sexy? Value? Monetization? Multi-gender buy-in? Perhaps valuing the woman is more important than valuing her body parts - just sayin'.

If you want to make a difference, rather than buying some cute pink thing/tool/shirt/socks in the store, donate to Living Beyond Breast Cancer or the American Breast Cancer Foundation. And - just an FYI, breast cancer research benefits all other cancers, so the funding, regardless of cancer you feel is over-looked or un-important, does benefit from breast cancer research.

And, in case you were wondering, I've written about Pinktober over and over and over again, and the links are below (pics disappeared, don't know why). Happy October!

Cancer Does Not Discriminate -

A young woman I know died last week from cancer that began in her breasts, went to her brain, landed in her lungs, and she was dead within 9 months of diagnosis. She left behind a devoted husband and 2 year old child; they had been married less than 5 years. They were a beautiful family, obviously in love, and they had just moved in to a new home.

Today I spent time with a woman my age, whose husband has been dying of cancer for more than 8 years. His miraculous remission was taken away from him a few weeks ago, when his tumor reappeared, choking off his liver, kidneys, gallbladder, and intestines. This woman has been his primary caregiver for all of these years, defining herself through his cancer and related illnesses that needed nearly 100% of her time. She has no idea who she is, who she wants to be, or even how to begin thinking about this, yet she has been preparing for this time for so very long.

On Thursday I had the opportunity to visit with a young mother just finishing her last treatment of chemo, and preparing for her 30+ rounds of radiation. She's scared; not of the treatments, but of "what's next." Her life has been so wrapped up in the false security of cancer treatments, that she's lost sight of the world around her, and yet she's so anxious to get back into that world that her anxiety is controlling her. And she can't go back to who she was, and tomorrow is filled with the fear of the unknown.

Damn - cancer sucks, and it is no discriminator of age, stage, gender, livelihood.

The young mother who died last week? And who knew her days were quickly coming to an end? She wrote her obituary, and these were her closing words:

"...but it occurred to me that this life is about the fight for immortality, not for mortality."

Cancer Sucks

Prayer - This I Believe -

Every autumn children in our church congregation gather to "perform" during our worship service. This year their theme is "I am a Child of God."

In this era of social media and social shaming and blaming and the frenzy to point fingers and look for the suspicious, I am grateful for what I know - yes, know. And that is, my Heavenly Parents listen to me, and they answer my pleadings. And while the media and the vocal minority may say Mother is missing, equality is missing, women are shamed and men are blamed, and faulting the Other, and there is so much pain and poverty and hurt and depression, I count.

There have been so many times I've sang this song: "A Child's Prayer," to myself, to comfort, guide, reinforce, and plead for help. When I've doubted, when I've hurt - emotionally, physically, intellectually, when I am empty beyond words and hopeless beyond measure, these words bring me comfort. Prayer works for me; and wherever my prayers land - earthly or heavenly, they are received, listened to, and returned to me.

And in #MeToo, as the male teachers (there are men and women teachers, but this was sung only by the men) stood to sing along with the Primary children two weeks ago, goosebumps came.These teachers/fathers were singing this as their promise to the children, as well as their Heavenly Parent's promise. I know they are good men, they want the best for their children, and they will do anything to protect them - yours and mine, as well as just be good men - who for all that is bashed about them, are kind, want the best, and strive to be their best.

Lyrics:

Sung by children: 

1. 1. Heavenly Father, are you really there?
   And do you hear and answer ev’ry child’s prayer?
   Some say that heaven is far away,
   But I feel it close around me as I pray.
   Heavenly Father, I remember now
   Something that Jesus told disciples long ago:
   “Suffer the children to come to me.”
   Father, in prayer I’m coming now to thee.
2. Sung by adults:
3. 2. Pray, he is there;
   Speak, he is list’ning.
   You are his child;
   His love now surrounds you.
   He hears your prayer;
   He loves the children.
   Of such is the kingdom, the kingdom of heav’n.     

1. 
   

   
   

Design Mom - Abortion -

This piece:

I'm a mother of six, and a Mormon. I have a good understanding of arguments surrounding abortion, religious and otherwise. I’ve been listening to men grandstand about women’s reproductive rights, and I’m convinced men actually have zero interest in stopping abortion. Here’s why…

If you want to stop abortion, you need to prevent unwanted pregnancies. And men are 100% responsible for unwanted pregnancies. No for real, they are. Perhaps you are thinking: IT TAKES TWO! And yes, it does take two for _intentional_ pregnancies.

But ALL unwanted pregnancies are caused by the irresponsible ejaculations of men. Period. Don’t believe me? Let me walk you through it. Let’s start with this: women can only get pregnant about 2 days each month. And that’s for a limited number of years.

That makes 24 days a year a women might get pregnant. But men can _cause_ pregnancy 365 days a year. In fact, if you’re a man who ejaculates multiple times a day, you could cause multiple pregnancies daily. In theory a man could cause 1000+ unwanted pregnancies in just one year.

And though their sperm gets crappier as they age, men can cause unwanted pregnancies from puberty till death. So just starting with basic biology + the calendar it’s easy to see men are the issue here.

Go to the blog to finish reading, and don't forget to read the 600+ comments. 

With Gratitude to Barre Toelken -

I was recently made aware that my folklore hero is on hospice care in Logan, Utah. We age, I know, yet I am saddened to see one of the greats reach toward his next adventure. Several of us were encouraged to send him a letter, and I know whether Barre hears my writings, read by a daughter, or not, writing this has been cathartic. And I limited my words, but could have continued my list for quite some time.

Here goes -

Dear Barre,

I am saddened to hear that your health is failing. I am grateful for the lessons you've taught me over the years - through classes and lectures as well as through the ways you have lived your life. Let me share, if you may.


1. Organize well and expect the best. The Fife Conferences were amazing opportunities for me to learn and grow and associate with folklorists of the highest caliber. And they came to USU because you invited them and because they were invited. And the lectures were intellectually stimulating and entertaining. I never felt like my time was wasted or my dollar ill-spent.

2. You can entertain and teach at the same time. Your sharp lessons and wit kept me listening and staying present, just because I didn't want to miss out on one thing you had to say. I knew I could hang my hat on your every word, and I embraced every moment I had to do so.

3. There is such a thing as long-distance education. Barre, two of my saddest times as a student were learning that you would no longer be teaching and that you would no longer be on my thesis committee. I looked forward to spending a few moments with you and learning about my abilities through your perspective. However - learning from those whom you taught as well as reading your writings gave me some of the education I would have received from you. Thank you.

4. Music is the international tongue. How many folklorists are musicians? Oh I envy you bunch! And the quality of musicianship that comes from each of you just overwhelmed me. I remember the first time I heard you sing - it was at a Fife Conference. You reached for your guitar and began playing and then singing, a sea-shanty - I think it was Roll the Old Chariot. I was mesmerized. I closed my eyes, and I was in the Northeast on a cold windy day, smelling the salt air, and listening to a bunch of burly sailors singing, with you leading them. Your voice did me in, and I looked forward to hearing you sing. My last experience was a couple of years ago at the Utah Folklore Society open house held in your home. There was a music circle, and you led the group in some amazing tunes. My daughter was with me, and she was spell-bound. I was so jealous of those who were able to learn these songs from you.

5. Lastly, but I could go on and on - you taught me, "So What," as one of the most valuable questions a folklorist could ask! And this made sense, and I've taught it to my more than 1000 folklore students over the years (and given you credit). So What - what is the value, what does it mean, what is the purpose; two words wrapped all of this inquiry up so well and complete.

Barre - you are my idol in the folklore world. If I could have been a Barre groupie, I would have jumped at the chance - and I know you definitely had a following. Thank you for the lessons - taught by you without a text. Thank you for your example of seizing life, living to the max, and embracing every moment and every person. You have been my example, and I wish you peaceful waves, calm weather, a pocket of tobacco, and a bottle of your favorite drink, as you continue on your journey.

My sincerest love, Ronda Walker Weaver (Utah Valley University, USU grad 2003)

Word of Wisdom Part 2 -

Today in worship service we sang this song. And I had to smile, based on the previous post. Aaah, the reminders we receive, when we're not looking!

PS - it wasn't quite this reverent, rather more buoyant and light, particularly with children singing as well.

1. In our lovely Deseret,
Where the Saints of God have met,
There’s a multitude of children all around.
They are generous and brave;
They have precious souls to save;
They must listen and obey the gospel’s sound.

(Chorus)
Hark! Hark! Hark! ’tis children’s music–
Children’s voices, oh, how sweet,
When in innocence and love,
Like the angels up above,
They with happy hearts and cheerful faces meet.

2. That the children may live long
And be beautiful and strong,
Tea and coffee and tobacco they despise,
Drink no liquor, and they eat
But a very little meat;
They are seeking to be great and good and wise.

3. They should be instructed young
How to watch and guard the tongue,
And their tempers train and evil passions bind;
They should always be polite,
And treat ev’rybody right,
And in ev’ry place be affable and kind.

4. They must not forget to pray,
Night and morning ev’ry day,
For the Lord to keep them safe from ev’ry ill,
And assist them to do right,
That with all their mind and might
They may love him and may learn to do his will.

Text: Eliza R. Snow, 1804-1887
Music: George F. Root, 1820-1895