Hope for the Emperor of All Maladies

One word scares the hell out of me. Cancer. It scares a lot of us. Here are just a few people who have left this world because of this dreaded disease.

You've heard about my mom in lots of posts, and Mary Jane, Patricia, my grandmother and most recently, V.J., the Whimsical Whittler.

Since I wrote that post, dear Gretel, in the upper right corner, has been added to that list. I can't really write about that yet. And of course, last week marked the anniversary of blogger Diana's passing.

You'll also see my aunt, Grace, and my high school friend Gail here. All gone. And they aren't the only ones. Parents, siblings, children and spouses of good friends, college pals, one-time colleagues and more. I might not have good photos of them or my "grid" may be too small -- but they all matter and live in my heart.

But this picture tells a different story.

You might know some of them and you may or may not know their stories. But these are the men and women who have either kicked cancer in the butt, are fighting a very hard fight to kick it or courageously deal with whatever lies ahead. They are all ages. Their cancers have ranged from skin and thyroid to breast and eye, and lots of others. Their stories are all different. They are doctors and artists, business professionals and teachers, hair stylists and environmentalists. But today, at the moment I hit publish on this post, they are here.

They have had tough fights, each and every one of them and some are still fighting. For some, cancer has been something from their past -- they are five, 10, 15, 20 years past their last treatment. So far, fantastic.

These men and women have stories that could change tomorrow, next month, next year, years from now. But then really, don't we all? With my family history, I never know what the next appointment with the doc will bring or what they might spot on the next mammogram. And aside from that, there's always the proverbial bus that can change any of our lives at any moment.

It's this second picture I do my best to hold onto when I hear of cancer hitting the life of someone who matters to me. My mother died in 1977 from breast and ovarian cancer. I was 25. She was sick for three years.

Times Have Changed

Things have changed a lot in those 35-plus years since then. Detection methods have increased and research is encouraging. Technology is better, surgical methods are different, medications -- still rugged to tolerate -- have improved efficiency and results. Consequently, life expectancy has increased.

And so has quality of life. Yes, treatment can be brutal. But because so many treatments are more effective, life after can be improved.

That second photo gives me hope, not only because there are so many faces there -- but that they are just a few of the faces I know who are strong, courageous, tough, determined men and women who said, "I'll fight." And for many of them, they made that statement long ago.

They are amazingly inspirational to me, not only in their cancer fight but because of how that fight translates to any challenging disease or malady. They are my heroes. And so, too, are those who care for them -- the family members, nurses, doctors, neighbors and friends.

When you love and care for someone, supporting and taking care of them is just what you do. It can come at a cost. Stress, exhaustion, the constant struggle of finding the best information, the best care and treatment takes an enormous amount of energy. And the rest of the world doesn't stop for it. One still has bills to pay, a job or children to attend to, a house to clean. If you've ever been the caregiver for any reason, you know that.

Some of my cancer friends aren't pictured here. Why? They simply don't talk about it. I have one friend who told very few people of her diagnosis. She had a surgery and it was successful and that was that. The world needn't know.

The Ultimate Success Story

And then there is Eulah. Eulah was my next door lake neighbor from the time I was a teenager. The "hostess with the mostest," huge, big heart and a wonderful person. And no, she's not here with us now. She died when she was 101. Oh, and her cancer was some 40 or 50 years before. Talk about success story.

I hate this disease and I always will. And I pray for a cure and even more efficient treatment and detection. Understanding this, too, is important for we all have a role to play.

The TV Series

Recently I've been working with the public television station I retired from to assist with community engagement for a new series called "Cancer: The Emperor of All Maladies." Ken Burns, whose mom died when he was 11, is the executive producer and it is based on the book by Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Dr. Siddhartha Mukherjee and directed by Barak Goodman, who has a slew of awards to his credit.

The series will air on public television stations nationwide on March 30, 31 and April 1. But there is a wonderful website HERE with inspiring stories and much more about the film. I encourage you to visit if you have a curiosity or experience with this disease or simply want to know more.

The Story Wall

And one other thing -- there is a terrific "Share-Your-Story" wall on the site. The stories may well help other people deal with what you may have in the past, either as a cancer patient or survivor, physician, caregiver, family member or friend.

I urge you to share your story there, too. It's easy to do (if you're a blogger and used to a blog set-up, it's a piece of cake!). There is a spot that says "station code." If you watch public TV on WKAR in mid-Michigan, I hope you'll share WKAR as your station code, or your local PBS station if in another area.

My Mother's Prognosis Is Not My Prognosis

My friend Patricia died from cancer about 15 years ago and she, too, was the daughter of a mother who died from cancer. When she got sick, she kept saying "Our mothers' prognosis doesn't have to be our prognosis" and she fought for many years, living a full life in the interim, marrying and having a lovely family that was her world.

Things have changed since then. They'll keep changing. I haven't had that diagnosis and I hope I never do. But should that day come, I will hold Patricia's words close to my heart. Someday we can only hope there will be a cure. Till then, knowing and understanding, helping others, asking for help if we need it, is the best we can do.

Discovering Frank

I had known about Frank Lloyd Wright and his work for a long while before that early autumn evening when he became a "real" person to me. I'd long admired his work -- his use of integrating light, nature, the land into his designs. His reputation included being persnickety, so convinced his style and design was correct, he would at times rearrange the furniture in one of the home he had designed because he didn't think the homeowner's version contributed to the elegance of his design. I hated that character trait, yet admired his guts and conviction.

Rick lives in one of the 1960s homes built in the style of Wright's work and has tried to keep consistent with that feeling.

But it wasn't until an unexpected evening several years ago that included video and ice cream that I would learn more about this man.

A number of years ago, Ken Burns produced a remarkably short special (for him -- only four hours) about the life and work of Frank Lloyd Wright. The film was to be one of the centerpiece of PBS' November sweeps period (yes, no matter what anyone tells you, at PBS ratings matter).

Several Frank Lloyd Wright houses remain in the Lansing area, and I thought it would be a wonderful idea to feature one of these as our program guide cover. So, I asked Michael Maurer Smith (whose blog is here and whose website is here) to photograph the home of Don and Mary Lou Schaberg in Okemos. (The photos in this post are not by Mike, but found at various sites online including wikipedia and some real estate sites.)

The Schaberg's home was from Wright's Usonian period in the 1950s, homes designed for the "typical American family." While now the market price could top a million, back then the homes were for middle income people. Schaberg, who was in the lumber business, was a fine partner for the eccentric architect and his supervisors, having a genuine eye for beauty. (Wikipedia talks about the Schaberg house here.)

Well, Mike came back with some splendid images, having enjoyed a lovely time with the Schabergs. We planned on our cover and that was that!

But one day -- before even PBS stations had seen a preview of the program -- Don called me and said he had received a copy from Ken and wondered if I would like to come preview it, with Rick of course, and with Mike and Kate. We'd have some ice cream, he promised.

Well, we were delighted and excited, and the evening didn't disappoint. The house itself was beautiful, with an open floor plan, astounding light, beautiful use of wood, stained glass and organic elements and the built-in features Wright was associated with. (The pool came later!)

We watched part of the documentary, including that which featured Don and Mary Lou's home movies during the building of their home. We then toured the tower Don had designed and built on their grounds (Don's office) and enjoyed our ice cream.

The Schabergs were delightful people and the evening was warm and congenial. During our talk, I learned Don was an old Lansingite and after he had revealed his high school, I asked him if he had ever known my mother or her sisters. I was thrilled when he remembered them all, particularly my aunt Grace, who was his age and with whom he hung about in school.

In fact, he said, he had a movie camera back then and he would shoot movies that Gracie and other friends wrote, using the homes of the various parents. "I'm sure I still have them," he said. And, when we made our farewells, he said he would try to find them.

Not long after, I received another call from Don. Would I like to come for ice cream and see the movie of my aunt Grace?, he asked. Well, yeah. (Below is Gracie with my uncle, Martin, 1951)

To see the woman whom I knew as a mom-figure come to life on the screen as a sixteen year-old girl was truly jarring and wonderful. The face, the expressions were there, but in the form of a young woman, playing a role (the devious maid!) with all the aplomb and sassiness I would recognize in this dear funny woman who would, like my mother, die far too young. (Grace, about 1975)

Not long after that, the Schabergs would give me a copy of that film, which I would share with Mama K's husband David and his two sisters, Patty and Mutty. It remains one of our treasures.

Frank Lloyd Wright -- he was as eccentric, Don said, as all the stories Ken Burns and countless others told about him. And as brilliant. Certainly one bit of proof was their own home and their own memories.

Wright's life was turbulent and marked by many loves and great tragedy. To learn about the novel "Loving Frank" by Nancy Horan, which I recently finished, visit Chopsticks and String.

Burned Out: Creativity and Style, Part One

(This is part one of a three-part series of essays on creativity and style. I hope you'll take a look and add your feedback in the comments. Parts two and three will appear on "Chopsticks and String." (In a few days) Yes, it's a little long (just like a Ken Burns documentary series), but I hope you'll follow it. In part two, we'll look at when style gets in the way of creativity and in part three, I'll look at some bloggers who seem to manage to keep their creativity going and master many styles.

*****

A little over a week ago, I was in the grocery store when a stranger came up to me and said, "When are you going to show my real shows again?"

(I didn't know this woman, but when you do a lot of pledge breaks and "go into their home to ask them for money on TV," they feel like they can ask.)

What she was referring to was the six-day pre-emption of public television programming for Ken Burns' current series, "The National Parks: America's Best Idea."

The 12-hour series took up 24 hours in the PBS prime time schedule because someone at PBS felt they should repeat the two-hour episodes immediately after they concluded on the same night. I hate it when they do that.)

And at WKAR, since we have other digital channels where the program was scheduled, it took even more time from our lives and offered viewers even fewer choices.

I knew what this frustrated woman meant. It's not that I don't appreciate Ken Burns' work, but I am "burned out" -- and "burned up" that so much air time was spent this way.

I can hear some of you now. "I loved that show!" "It was beautiful!" "It was fascinating." "How can you even SAY anything negative about it?"

And I agree.

But it was long. And frankly, after seeing every film Ken Burns has ever made, it was stylistically redundant.

That's really what this series of posts is about. Style. Not a Burns-bashing. In fact, I respect this man immensely; he's on my "imaginary dinner party" list. I've heard him speak numerous times, with passion and eloquence and will hear him again when he comes to MSU in December. I've had the privilege of meeting him. He can make a still photo speak volumes.

But editing for length isn't his strong suit.

I understand this. The hardest part of my job is editing Tweets for the station because I, too, appreciate the "long form." Like this post.

But it isn't just that.

For those not familiar with Burns, a quick look back shows a brilliant career that began in the 1980s with short, evocative historical documentaries on topics like the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the Shakers.

Then Burns, a passionate historian, sunk his teeth into "The Civil War" and took the nation along with him. It was then (and may still be) public television's greatest ratings success (yes, we do care about ratings -- don't let anyone tell you we don't!)

After that he moved onto lots of topics -- The West, jazz, baseball, and most recently, World War II. (Below, with "The West" writer, Steven Ives.)

Now, to be fair, I don't think any of these should have been one-hour shows! And while I quibble on length, the thing that bothers me most about "The National Parks" (and it took awhile to have this sink in) is that Ken Burns has not had a change of creative style in 25 years.

Now, if "Parks" was your first Ken Burns experience, this commentary will make no sense. But for those of you who have followed his career, look at every film the man has ever made.

It's structured in precisely the same way. Witnesses comment on the subject matter, all photographed beautifully with extremely effective use of still photography. Historical stories bring a human perspective to whatever subject matter is at hand. Diary entries are read by well-known voices and a compelling narrator recites almost poetic text. (Well, let's just say I thought narrator Peter Coyote whined his way through the "Parks," but usually the narrator is outstanding.)

Burns knows how to surround himself with outstanding colleagues. He uses them well. The script for "Parks" by Dayton Duncan is a poetic gem. And his longtime cinematographer Buddy Squires deserves an Emmy for what a friend of mine called "nature porn." It was lush, sensual, beautiful. No arguments there. (By the way, if you want to see this program and missed any, check it out at PBS.org under the Watch Video tab!

A film producer's job is that of both visionary and technician. Having the idea, finding a unique concept or presenting it in a unique way, and then combining the skills of all his colleagues into a unified whole. Think of it as putting together a jigsaw puzzle with tens of thousands of pieces, then add dimension, and sound.

Burns does the technician part better than anyone. And he is a visionary in topic. If he gets a little too in love with the project and can't edit it to a more agreeable length -- well, it's understandable. Producing a film is like giving birth. You want all the "toes and fingers" to be there.

But every single series Ken Burns produces is structured the identical way, in chapters, with sections fading to black and a "chapter name" popping up to begin a new segment. It's the same thing. Every single series for thirty-some-odd years.

I don't think the man could make a music video if he tried. Not that he'd want to, but could he?

Now, this whole internal debate with myself is making me crazy -- and the fact that it does make me crazy almost makes me more crazy. Because part of me says, "What's the problem? Isn't this this really sort of a "norm" for well-known artists?"

Yes. They call it Style.

Think Jackson Pollock.

Norman Rockwell.

Mary Engelbreit. Laurel Burch.

Jerry Bruckheimer. Claude Monet. Agatha Christie. The list goes on and on.

So, am I holding Ken Burns to a double standard? I suppose I am, and I don't like that in myself.

Is it because I'm not a "parkie"? I've had a fine enough time visiting the parks I have.

(Incidentally, the photos in this post are mine from National Park visits and PBS meetings, because I didn't feel comfortable trashing -- sort of -- the show and using their photos. The rest are from google images.)

But after gasping for a few minutes at the astounding beauty and size (and depth) of the Grand Canyon and feeling rather small or admiring the waterfalls of Yosemite, well -- let's put it this way...

When I think of Yosemite, I think first of the Ahwanee Hotel and a fabulous dinner with my friend Cathy.

A glass of wine on the porch on a day so flawless and fine, with a sky so blue, it hardly seemed real. A small red squirrel circled our area, waiting for peanuts, oblivious of the "do not feed the squirrels" signs. (So were we.)

The waiter inside poured his water more elegantly than anyone I've ever seen. The arts and crafts-styled interior was at once both massive and warm. The dessert was chocolate and divine. It was hard to drag me from the Ansel Adams gift shop.

I don't remember the name of the falls, though they were pretty, and I did rather like a rock wall that appeared to have a carving of a Native American. My notes tell me that's "Half Dome." I don't remember.

I did some great photography. Who couldn't? And I loved the woods with its brooks and very mini-falls.

But my sense memory is Cathy's CD of Native American music as we drove from venue to venue; the warmth of the sun as we sat in Adirondack chairs on the lawn of the Wawona Hotel after lunch.

I think of climbing rocks where sunbathers and climbers were relishing in the cool mist from waters falling from yet another waterfall. (I do love waterfalls...)

And then there was the Grand Canyon, which is very grand indeed.

My cousin Walt, Rick and I visited the Grand Canyon on a crisp December morning, winding through the roads of the park to a perfect lookout site. I don't think there was a cloud in the sky.

As we stood at the canyon rim and looked over I felt very small indeed. It was beautiful, the morning light playing on the rocks. (It was this trip and this trip alone that motivated me to get a decent digital camera; my pictures are awful. Not that any camera could really capture it, although Ansel Adams did a pretty good job. Still, most cameras capture it better!)

But after looking down and feeling a bit more vertigo at the drop than I'd like to admit, I moved away to enjoy it from a distance. I most remember buying Christmas tree ornaments and taking photos of the gorgeous tree in a gift shop at the Grand Canyon.

I remember buying earrings there, getting a quick bite at a snack bar. I loved Walt's stories about people who died in the canyon. I remembered briefly how terrified I was 30 years before when my cousin Nancy and I walked down into the canyon and how I thought I would never get out, as I walked up the steep and narrow ledge back to the top, frozen when people would pass that we would bump one another and I'd fall.

And I remember thinking "This is so beautiful. Thank God I don't have to camp there."

No, it's not the Parks topic that turns me off from this series. They are beautiful. The series is beautiful. And his history storytelling is unparallelled.

It's a style thing.

And Ken Burns' style has finally gone out of style with me.

But should it? Clearly the others I mentioned above had unique and not terribly varied styles. Isn't that just what artists often do, strive for? A consistent, unified thematic or visual style in their work?

In the next post, I'll look a bit more at style. And maybe I'll have better photos!