TEAM KAREN - ROCKIN' FOR LIFE!

Karen Fern Anderson 5.20.1962 - 8.27.2010

My courageous niece Karen fought Melanoma with all she had. I wrote about her valiant battle a lot. I wish there was nothing left to say except: Cured!

Someday, for others ... until then:

***Remembering Karen***

The beginning of her incredible journey is described here: KAREN ANDERSON.

CANCER WARRIOR, 2009 and 2010 (each new battle, in chronological order)

I See Courage (revised) Karen Loses Her Right Eye and, We Hope, the Cancer Too

Here's To Alex, To Life, L' Chaim! Alex's Bar Mitzvah

"This Is Not The End Of Your Life" Karen's Diagnosis: Metastasis to Liver and Spleen

No More! No Más! Enough! Basta! Finis! Stop! **UPDATED Karen's Birthday, 2009, More Bad News

Karen, Brave Warrior Tried All Other Treatments, Time for Chemo

Karen Does Chemo ***UPDATED UPDATE No Hair, Plenty of Humor

5 Reasons I'm Cranky, 5 Reasons I'm Not 11-year-old Amy is Belle!

Karen's Birthday, Cake with a Side of Chemo & Platelets Karen's Birthday, 2010, in the Hospital

Remembering Karen Eulogy For Our Shining Star

Bob Novak Could Sting, But He Was Really A Honey

"Beneath the surface, Novak was a sweetie.." Bernadette Malone, former Novak reporter; Senior Editor, Penguin

"There was nothing more fun after a long day than to sit down with Bob Novak and argue about capital-gains taxes, the Fed, the Contras or [any other] topic. But nobody ever doubted that we liked each other and that there was a part of us that would stand off in a corner saying, 'You can't take this too seriously.' " Democratic strategist Bob Shrum

"[O]nce you talked to Novak, you liked him.." Greg Gutfeld, Fox News

Liberals, moderates, even some conservatives have a right to dislike Robert Novak. Pundits everywhere have cataloged his "evilness" with great relish -- never more than in recent pseudo-eulogies and obituaries.

Well, why not? Novak gave them a giant target. He also gave them a solid example of a determined, dedicated Reporter. Even his enemies grant he was a professional political analyst par excellence.

There was another side of Bob Novak. A lighter side. Generous, funny, kind, thoughtful. And more. Not in public of course. Behind the scenes, among friends. It's true. I was there to see some of it for myself.

So, I am not here to defend Robert Novak's public politics, allegiances or deeds. My modest but determined goal is to assert that for those who knew the private man, especially in the years before his dark public persona had solidified, calcified, virtually taken over -- there was quite a lot about Bob Novak to like.

Yes, really.

I'm not speaking about or for his family. I don't know them and I imagine they're having a tough enough time dealing with his death and the public glee expressed by so many. I do know he wasn't an easy family man, so I also imagine they'll have a tough time making peace with it all.

I'm referring to Novak's other family. Not in a legal sense. Not other children. A privileged family of friends. An enduring love. Nothing "official" or even widely known.

Way back in the dark ages of the 1970's some things weren't acknowledged or discussed. The things some of us lived.

It seems like yesterday that I was such a young pup. First a student, then an intern, a low level 'operative." Eager for knowledge and to be all grown up inside the political universe of Washington, DC.

I ran in circles that included some pretty big names in journalism and politics. Some became my friends. Some my mentors. A few lovers. Many provided great stories.

My closest friend and mentor was Johnny Apple, aka R. W. Apple, Jr. of the New York Times. When he died in 2006, he took a big chunk of my early professional and personal years with him. And some of those great stories too. Read my Personal Notes on a Professional Journalist when you can.

Another whose path I crossed gave me one of my all time best stories: Dousing Dan Rather. (This one's especially dedicated to my Texas friends).

It's a different world now, but back then, politics and journalism were strange bedfellows, in both senses of the word. We all worked together, played together, helped --and used-- each other, loved and laughed and learned and betrayed and protected one another.

Life was a little more black and white on the outside and a lot greyer on the inside. Hard working, hard drinking, hard living people created and reported the news. Relationships were intense but friable. Entertaining, free-spirited, at times well-choreographed, often wildly chaotic and doomed.

There were very few constants. Oddly, Bob Novak was one. A grown-up, a power-broker, a potential king maker or breaker. A man who know exactly who he was, what he wanted and how to get it.

And no matter how high he flew (and he did, um, fly), his feet stayed on the ground. He seemed almost a father figure to the younger among us, me included.

He was so proper, edging toward pompous, it was beyond fun to watch him let loose, make indecently funny jokes, double over with laughter, become The Enforcer trying to quiet our riotous behavior.

Even when serious, if you knew where to look you could still see that private twinkle in his eye. Often pointed in one specific direction.

From the 70's through to the present, Bob Novak was friend, mentor and more to one of my oldest, dearest friends. For her loss, I grieve. He was her treasured LH (initials of her private nickname for him), known only by a few intimates. No, I won't tell you what LH stands for, you'd never believe me anyway.

There are a lot of things I'll never tell. But it doesn't matter now to say that Bob Novak had a very special relationship with a small group of insiders and with one very special woman.

You're shocked? Doubtful. You don't care? Fine. Enough of us do. We know there are no absolutes in people or relationships. Everybody's got secrets. Regrets. Imperfections large and small.

Everybody's got some good inside too. And true light. Just because you've never seen it doesn't mean it wasn't there. For some of us, that light's gone out. Though not darkness, but sweetness remains. And we'll always have P Street.

Paul Newman, No Failure To Communicate With Me

Warning: If you feel as I do about Paul Newman, this will make you cry.






No one can deny the timeless appeal of Paul Newman. No one will ever replace his precise blend of sex appeal, sensibility, intelligence and rare grace. As an actor, as a human being.

He was my first movie star crush, and no one's come close to this day. Not only because he was also undeniably gorgeous, but because of his reality and humanity, his unwavering devotion to his wife, his family, those less fortunate in the world.

Few celebrities genuinely fit the label Uses Power for Good, Not Evil. Paul Newman defined that concept. And lived life his way, with brio, bravery, honesty, commitment and even modesty.

I had the honor and--oh yeah--the thrill of meeting Paul Newman in 1979 at the Daytona 500. Pure. Magic. I was a guest of friends who owned part interest in Newman's race car company. (It's a business, believe me). They had a big deluxe RV parked in a prime spot inside the track. It was like a luxurious home inside, plenty of refreshments and facilities. We watched the races from swivel chairs bolted to the roof.

Newman didn't sit around and chat. He came and went, focused on the cars, his crew, the preliminary races. His presence was calm and electrifying at the same time. Not that tall, not a loud voice, dressed like all the other drivers. But there was something special about him, a supreme self-confidence and a charisma that pulled you into his orbit.

When we were introduced, he shook my hand with both of his, gave me his full attention, asked a few questions ... for a few brief golden moments making me feel important and yet totally at ease, as if we were old friends. I wish. Wow factor squared. And oh those extraordinary piercing blue eyes, as another friend once described, you could see from the back of his head.

My sister and I were just talking about him yesterday and I said, Is he sick? I've been having this feeling he's going to die. (I'm like that, get premonitions good and bad, always correctly predict the sex of my niece's babies, know when I'm going to hear from someone, stuff like that. My grandmother had it too.)

I so wish I'd been wrong this time. And I feel humbled too. Here I've been, whining about my stupid shoulder surgery, while I bet anything Paul Newman was dying as he lived, with dignity, grace, humor, bravery and love.

My heart goes out to his family and to all of us, his family of faithful fans.

On Widowhood After (gasp!) Two Years

"Celebrations of anniversaries of disasters provide opportunities, as do holidays." Joey Skaggs

Two years ago today my sister's husband was killed in a plane crash. She's shared her feelings about widowhood several times here. Every time I learned something. Which is what older sisters are for ... but I would have preferred to learn a different way.

Last year Judy gave us some real insights On Widowhood, After One Year. I asked Judy if she was up to another set of musings on the second anniversary of Bob's death. She came through, bigtime.

This was a difficult assignment because there was nothing monumental to write about. It was a year almost like any year, except I was still living alone. And there were times I wished Bob were here, but I did what I had to do anyway - live - and segued to the next project.

I read what I wrote last year when approaching the first anniversary. I made comments about how I felt then, and here I would like to address those comments and see how I feel now:

I still sleep on my side of the bed.

I finally went through the box of 'our' personal items. Saved some, didn't save others.

I have learned I can do just fine on my own, and it's kind of nice to live without fearing 'the look' when I failed to meet Bob's expectations.

I finally gave away all the flight suits from his closet. But mine is tucked away, waiting for someone to fly me to an air show.

I've resumed flying, which is great. What's not so great is that there's no Bob to call and tell about my great piloting. He loved my war stories.

I'm still not ready to part with his blue blazer with the Harvard buttons, his ski jacket and the Hawaiian shirt he wore on our final trip to Maui. Maybe by the time I write "Widowhood After Three Years."

Bob and I disagreed on some furniture, so I replaced the ugly dining room table and chairs, but most of the house remains the same. These familiar surroundings make me feel comfortable.

I am still learning that I don't have to explain myself to anyone. I really can do anything I want. If that sounds selfish, maybe it is. I've found that I enjoy spending time with Judy.

I can't imagine that I will ever minimize the depth and importance of Bob's and my relationship, but with determination I have learned to manage as a onesie.

No one can take away my memories, and they are still firmly packed away for the future, dosage to be determined at the time of need. Bob isn't here. That's the big fact. But I am. And I continue to believe that moping my way through life accomplishes nothing.

The tears don't flow so easily any more, though I am, after all, a woman.

When a memory of 'us' pops up I still get a little misty. But it's just another one of those memories than no one can take away. So I think past it and it gets tucked away. What's the point?

I still work as often as possible. Great distraction, great co-workers, long and hard days which keep me busy with little time for reflecting.

I did make the trip to Israel last year. Two days after my xxth high school reunion, where the women looked great and the men were fat and deaf, I was on a plane to Tel Aviv. When I deplaned I felt like I was on another planet. I couldn't read, I couldn't speak, I couldn't communicate. First question (puzzled face): "Speak English?"

I never understood, with his love of history, why Bob chose never to go there. I took in the magic of the sights, the hills, the buildings, the museums, and I wanted so much to share it with him.

I've had some personal tragedies during this year and as a result have spent a lot of time in airports. And hospitals. And bedrooms. While these have been distractions, too, I still miss being able to call Bob at the end of my day and tell him all about it. He would have offered an ear. He went to UVA and then Harvard Law School - the right words were built in.

This summer I am nursing at the camp my grandchildren are attending as rookies. I thought it would be nice to have Grammy around in these strange surroundings. Two days after camp concludes a friend and I will go to London and embark on a twelve day cruise through the Baltics, another trip Bob didn't care to take. I still don't get it. But now he'll never be able to explain it to me.

I realized why I had so much trouble trying to put these thoughts together. It's because life is lived one day at a time. Pain is temporary. Every day just happens, and you do what you have to do. I've survived a few depressing hiccups with a great deal of support from family and friends. Here I am, about to embark on my third year of widowhood ... and saying the word doesn't hurt so much any more.

I am surviving. It is not easy, but if you remain stuck in the past you will never get to the future. So tune in next year.

Once again, Judy, you've taught us what real coping looks like. Thank you. I hope you meet a new Prince Charming on that cruise. It's time.

Hillary. Oh Hillary

"Politics is the art of the possible; creativity is the art of the impossible." Ben Okri

I watched. I choked up. I was uplifted. I was, as usual, impressed. The rest is about grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance.

I am one of those "older women" who feel so robbed. And it's not just a philosophical issue to me, I've worked in politics at the highest levels. I know how far women have traveled, and yet when it comes to choosing between a man and a woman, we are still Second Class. In the eyes of the White Male Politicians who still run the show and who believe in their guts women and minorities are all equally second class citizens, it appears even a man of color was deemed preferable to a woman.

I first felt she shouldn't be VP but now I'm not so sure. As for those who worry about comfort level between Barack and Hillary, there's a parallel to be drawn: JFK and Johnson. The youthful purveyor of hope and the tough, savvy warhorse. They hated each other but look what they accomplished. If not for that historic partnership, Barack Obama might not be where he is today.

It could work. I just hope and pray all Hillary's history hasn't been written yet.

Enough said.

Happy and HEALTHY Birthday, Karen

"Nothing contributes so much to tranquilizing the mind as a steady purpose -- a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye." Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Today is my niece Karen's birthday. You could ask, who gives a whoop besides her family? Anybody who's ever faced cancer, that's who. They know, as Karen knows, that every birthday is a gift. More, a triumph.

Karen's been fighting cancer for 8 years. During most of those years not for herself, which would be hard enough. But for her young son, which is, to a parent, much, much worse.

Alex was diagnosed at age 4 with a rare disease called VHL. An operation removed all the mechanics of his right ear, carotid artery and part of his brain. The outer ear is still there, but the hearing is gone.

You all know Alex. I haven't written about him for a while because although he's an extraordinary boy, thank god there's been nothing out of the ordinary to say. Last week Alex celebrated his 12th birthday.

A continuing triumph. Of family and medical diligence, healthy lifestyle, good karma, mind over matter. Whatever, we'll take it. Especially now for Karen's birthday too.

Because incredibly, a year and a half ago Karen got cancer. Not VHL. Skin cancer. Melanoma. Oh yeah. we've all heard of that. And not in a good way.

Karen's was first a small patch on her leg. Excised, clean margins, finished. Then, six months later tumors in her right eye signaled the much rarer, much more dangerous, ocular melanoma.

They tried everything, but it came back. On April 16, barely a month ago, surgeons had to remove her right eye. An outer cover is there, attached to the muscles which still work, but the sight is gone.

Karen and Alex. Mother and son. Different cancers, similar losses, totally the right attitude.

Fight. Mobilize. Energize. Laugh. Love. Live. Learn all you can. Gather your physical and emotional resourses. Seek and accept support and counsel and advice. Lean on your loved ones and stand on your own two feet.

According to Karen's example, that's what you do to survive. More, that's how you live life to the fullest.

Karen is a survivor of the highest order. An inspiration to cancer victims, mothers of cancer victims, other survivors and those who are trying to be. An object lesson to those of us who waste time moaning about petty problems.

Tomorrow Karen has her first appointment to be fitted for an artificial eye. She's been wearing cool eye patches, but is really looking forward to looking like she's got the real deal.

What a birthday present, eh? And not just for another of life's milestones, but for a true celebration of life itself.

Happy and HEALTHY Birthday, Karen. We're all wishing you many, many, many, many more.

Get the whole 411 on Karen HERE.

KAREN ANDERSON

Karen at the beach

"The eyes are not responsible when the mind does the seeing." Publilius Syrus

My niece Karen and her husband have been raising a son with a rare cancer called VHL. I've written about him so often it seemed fitting to give him his own page: ALEX ANDERSON

Hard as it is to believe, less than a year ago Karen was diagnosed with a different but equally rare cancer, Ocular Melanoma. April 16, 2008 doctors removed Karen's right eye.

Her story is really something. So here's her own page too.

I See Courage Karen's First Diagnosis and Surgery

Pray for Karen Please Karen's Enucleation Surgery (Removal of the Eye)

Update on Karen Post-Op Stories

Eye Catching Views of Karen The Coolest Eye Patches Ever

Happy and HEALTHY Birthday, Karen Karen's Post-Op Birthday, 2008, We Hope Cancer Free

Barbara Walters Really Is Baba Wawa

"I guess it's good to be made fun of, I guess that means you're slightly famous." Barbara Walters

If you're an early Baby Boomer you remember Gilda Radner's hilarious send-ups of Barbara Walters on Saturday Night Live. More than parodying her slight speech impediment, Radner really skewered Walters' overblown sense of self-importance and concurrent false modesty about her iconic celebrity status.

Serious journalist? Yes, Walters had the chops and some of the 20th Century's top interviews to prove it. Ground-breaking feminist? Absolutely. She was television's first female journalist, breaking ground for most of today's women on TV news and quasi-news shows.

She even broke through the glass ceiling, if only briefly as television's first female evening news anchor on ABC. When she got cut, she showed 'em all by making more money and becoming more famous than the jamokes who juked her.

Less than impressive is her pivotal role in creating the execrable "infotainment" triad of news, entertainment and celebrity gossip that has supplanted actual news for millions of television viewers.

Did she dally with the great and near great along the way? Well, of course. Who wouldn't? But I don't believe for a second she slept her way to fame and fortune. She just slept with the famous and the rich and powerful who swam in the waters where she dangled her feet.

Now, thanks to the nauseating hype surrounding the most obscure affair she reveals in her newly released autobiography, we are subjected to cutesy, near-adolescent descriptions of her sexual exploits.

I just have to say for the record, Blech. If you can't talk like an adult, I don't want to listen.

Which is nothing compared to my outrage at the media for pouncing on Walters' revelation of her affair with former Massachusetts Senator Edward Brooke. And beating it to death. It's pandering of the very worst kind.

Until Walters' book, Brooke was a man living under the radar, completely out of public life. At the time of their affair he was her "younger man." A married man. A US Senator. And by the way, he's Black.

Groundbreaking, famous white woman and younger, formerly little known Black senator plastered all over the news together. Beyond Blech.

I don't know who thought up that disgusting marketing ploy, but Shame on You! And, I have a feeling, shame on Baba Wawa for going along with it just to sell her wittle book.

Yom HaShoah - Holocaust Remembrance Day

"I stand here on this cursed ground, from which the cries of our brothers will forever resound, I salute our six million brothers and sisters... I salute the ashes of our people and vow 'never again.'" Israel Defense Forces Chief of Staff Gabi Ashkenazi

You don't have to be Jewish to honor the more than 6 million innocent victims of the Holocaust, modern history's worst crime against humanity. You just have to be a human being.

For the 17th year, thousands of people, from teenagers to survivors joined the March of the Living, an annual Walk of Remembrance from Auschwitz to Birkenau on Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day.

Jews and all those connected to survivors around the world marked the horror of the Holocaust with prayer and ceremonies. Yom HaShoah is especially poignant this year in Israel, preparing to celebrate its 60th anniversary as a nation, formed largely by and for those forced from their homes and countries by the Nazis.

Hamas, on the other hand, took the opportunity to pervert Yom HaShoah by airing a documentary series claiming that the Holocaust--the genocide of European Jews--was planned as a satanic Jewish plot to get rid of the handicapped and mentally ill.

Hamas also claims the Holocaust was meant to manipulate the world media into feeling sorry for Jews. And of course, it never really happened and the Nazis had nothing to do with any of it.

What can you say to that kind of bigotry, hatred and ignorance? We'd like to ignore it, but so many Palestinians, a whole generation of young ones for sure, are being taught this horrible lie.

It's not a time to talk Middle East politics. It's a time to remember those who died at the hands of evil hatemongers. And to pray. And to promise it won't happen again.

Those who join the Walk of Remembrance take a solemn pledge. It can't be any clearer than this:

"We pledge to keep alive and honor the legacy of the multitudes of our people who perished in the Holocaust.

We pledge to fight anti-Semitism, anti-Zionism, Holocaust denial and all other forms of hatred directed towards the Jewish people and Israel.

We pledge to fight every form of discrimination manifested against any religion, nationality or ethnic group.

We pledge to actively participate in the strengthening of Jewish life in the Diaspora and Israel.

We pledge to increase our knowledge of our Jewish heritage and to pass on a love of Jewish life and learning to the next generation.

We pledge to give tzedaka, to assist in helping the Jewish needy, wherever they may live in the world.

We pledge to involve ourselves in tikkun olam, to build a better world for all members of the human family.

After the Shoah the promise of 'Never Again' was proclaimed. We pledge to create a world where 'Never Again' will become a reality for the Jewish people and, indeed, for all people.

This is our solemn pledge to the Jewish people, to those who came before us, to those of our generation, and to those who will follow in future generations."

That's our future and our children's future, those special words: Never Again.

Eye Catching Views of Karen

"With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things." William Wordsworth

For those keeping up with the saga of my niece Karen, who lost her right eye to cancer barely two weeks ago, here's the latest.

Don't cringe at my title, look at the pictures above and below to see I'm just following Karen's lead. Which is to make lemonade out of lemons, turn chicken sh*t into chicken salad, focus on the joy of family, continue to embrace life.

If you can't see that, you need to look again.

I've already shared a picture of Karen in her first basic black eye patch. But now she's got a full wardrobe of eye catching patches. So I asked her to give us a look-see. She did a fashion shoot this week with daughter Amy manning the camera. Here are the fab results.

Keep in mind Amy isn't yet 10 years old. I think she's got a real career ahead of her. Look out, Annie Liebovitz!

Miss Thing Does Bling




A Kiss For You




Haa Cha Cha Cha!




Oriental Peace Patch




Make That Double Peace, Y'All


Courage, humor, style and grace under pressure. I can't think of anything better to inspire us all, can you?

Update on Karen

"True friendship is seen through the heart, not through the eyes."

My niece had surgery to remove her right eye last Wednesday. Oh yeah. Really. Of course I wrote about it here. Pray for Karen Please.

Karen came through the operation well. No question such radical surgery was necessary, there were two malignant tumors on her optic nerve.

Next steps: recuperation, then--in 6 weeks--the artificial eye implant, then occupational therapy to learn to see and live a normal life with only one eye. If anybody can do that, it's Karen.

There are more next steps: MRI, scans, maybe biopsies to check for metastasis. Friday we see the oncologist. Karen, her husband Bob, my sister Judy and me. Together. United. En masse.

The goal now is quality of life and prolonging life.

And she's already cracking jokes, telling her husband, "I had my eye on you from the beginning. Let's hope it was the good eye."

On a more poignant note, telling me, "Life is so precious. I had to lose an eye to see the truth."

My current challenge is finding colorful eye patches to match her outfits. Basic black (see above) is always in fashion, but we want to push the envelope and go for more gusto. If you have any info, let me know.

And keep praying for Karen please.

Update on the update: New eye patches!

Pray for Karen Please

"The greatest treasures are those invisible to the eye but found by the heart." Michael Nolan

Last summer I wrote about my niece's heroic battle with a vicious cancer called ocular melanoma. At the time, though the surgical treatment was rough, it seemed she emerged victorious. We celebrated. But then the Cancer Demons said: Not. So. Fast.

Today (Wednesday) surgeons will Remove. Her Eye. Yeah, join me in a giant shudder. It's called Enucleation.

Here's the medical info:

What is Enucleation?
Immediately after the eyeball is removed, an orbital implant is inserted deep in the socket to preserve the shape of the eye. It will later be replaced by a permanent prosthesis.

It may hurt when you jerk your good eye to one side or another because the muscles of both eyes always move together and although your eye has been removed, your eye muscles move as if your eye was still there.

The plain facts in cold medical terms for laymen. What, they can't say life will go on, you'll be able to operate normally? Well, actually, they do.

What will I look like after my eye is removed?
Keep in mind that your eyeball helps to keep the eyelid up. Therefore, when the eye is removed the eyelid simply stays shut as if you are winking. You may be self-conscious and want to wear an eye patch or sunglasses until you get your prosthesis.

Will I be able to lead a normal life with only one eye?
It will take some time to adjust to using one eye, but almost everyone learns to compensate during the first year after surgery. There is reduced visual field on the side when looking straight ahead, and there is a loss of depth perception.

If the vision in your remaining eye is good, you will still be able to drive, read, play sports, and perform all your usual daily activities.

Yeah, enough already. In your wildest dreams you don't want this nightmare.

Here's the part they don't talk about. How long will I live?

That's because they don't know. They believe the enucleation will finally and completely eradicate the cancer. But ocular melanoma can metastasize to the liver and lungs. So even though the prognosis will most likely be good, the scans and tests and vigilance must continue even as life goes on.

Karen is 45 years old. She has a husband, two children, two dogs, a busy, productive life. Her 11-year-old son Alex also has cancer. A different kind, called VHL.

I want to howl to the heavens: HOW MUCH PAIN MUST ONE FAMILY TAKE?

I know the answer. As much as they're given.

Karen is such a warm, courageous, loving, caring person. She virtually glows with goodness and light. Read her story if you didn't already: I See Courage.

Pray for her please. If you don't pray, send some healing thoughts her way.

We all thank you.

El Sistema - Drums, Not Guns

"A child's physical poverty is overcome by the spiritual richness that music provides." Dr. José Antonio Abreu

Did you watch 60 Minutes Sunday night? If so, you were inspired and humbled by a story about a music program call El Sistema -- the system. It's credited with saving hundreds of thousands of Venezuela's cruelly disadvantaged, impoverished children by teaching them music.

Bob Simon tells how children start in El Sistema as early as 2 years old, are eventually given instruments, willingly practice for hours every day, six days a week and learn to play in orchestras instead of on the dangerous streets.

The brutal reality of the slums in which they try to stay alive is so unfair you want to scream. Not so different in America, but what do we do about it? Cut after-school and cultural enrichment programs. Our children play with guns instead of clarinets and trumpets and drums.

The best of the El Sistema musicians travel the world as the Simon Bolivar National Youth Orchestra. They've just played Carnegie Hall to cheering crowds. That's what happens everywhere they appear.

If this doesn't make you smile and cheer and even choke up a little with pride for the accomplishments of these amazing children, then you are made of stone. But you're not.

So crank up your speakers and get the hankie ready.

Iraq War - 5 Years Too Long, 4 K Too Many

Mike Rosen visited the grave of his friend, Sergeant Michael Carlson, yesterday in a section of Arlington National Cemetery dedicated to US servicemen and women who have lost their lives in Iraq since 2003. That number passed the 4,000 mark Sunday. (WIN McNAMEE/GETTY IMAGES)

We have never been permitted to see the reality of those deaths. Of this horrible war.



War is draining our resources everywhere. Billions for Iraq war seen squeezing food aid.

As the stock market tanks, military suppliers get richer.

And we are haunted by the thoughts of fallen soldiers, in their own words.

I remember sitting on my bed alone in the dark watching Richard Nixon's face fill the TV screen to tell us the War in Vietnam was over. I could only hug myself, tears streaming down my face.

"Peace with honor," Nixon called it. Wrong. A disastrous war. A dishonorable peace.

All these years later, President Bush mouths the same empty platitudes: Bush Says Iraq War Deaths Not in Vain.

I say, ENOUGH!

Spitzer: Show Spine, Don't Resign

"When written in Chinese, the word "crisis" is composed of two characters-one represents danger, and the other represents opportunity." John Fitzgerald Kennedy

Note to those currently salivating over the Spitzer scandal: you're all wet. We need leaders like Eliot Spitzer. He's one of the Good Guys. Most of whom, by the way, history has shown to have healthy sexual appetites.

So what?!

We're in a WAR, a recession, a nationwide health, education and welfare crisis. Americans are losing their jobs, their homes, their pensions, their children, their future. Not to mention their Human Rights ... a joke under our current administration.

Cities are exploding in violence. Schools are under growing threats of the same. Our country faces potential terrorist activities every day.

Yet somehow the FBI has time for a sex sting? Oh please. Just the place for our dwindling tax dollars - an evangelical witch hunt. Why not focus on the real evil-doers, the thieves, pedophiles, embezzlers, torturers, war-mongering profiteers?

They're the ones pointing their crooked fingers at Spitzer with hypocritical glee. And they're the ones who should read the US Constitution-and their bibles--more closely.

Eliot Spitzer was set up, his rights trampled and his privacy invaded in a political, personal and professional vendetta. Yes, he broke the law, banal and archaic though it be. His actions pale in comparison to the inalienable rights and laws broken in the quest to bring him down.

I don't care which prostitutes he paid for, how many times and in which hotels. You shouldn't either. The only people affected by his behavior are other consenting adults and members of his family.

Who did Eliot Spitzer hurt? Not innocent civilians. Not overwhelmed taxpayers. Not brave service men and women. Not children, the unemployed, the homeless, the helpless. Can W and his minions say the same?

Take your pick: sex or death? Payment for personal dalliance or political pork? From the president to the vice president to members of Congress, Republicans have made a mockery of our constitution, our country, our future. And WE have paid the price.

That any Republican would dare call for Spitzer's resignation is beyond hypocrisy. The list of Republican law-breakers still in office is long and disgraceful. The list of those who have never answered for their crimes is endless.

Eliot Spitzer should stay in office and fight the abuse of his constitutional rights. The Democratic party should champion his distinguished career of political decency, honor and accomplishment.

I don't care if he threw his white hat on a call girl's bedpost. I want to see it back on his head where it belongs.

Dry Bones for Israel's Wet Eyes

"Their lives were a testimony to the values which are shared by both Israel and the United States -- lives of religious commitment and tolerance, the spirit of independent thinking and living, and love of one's fellow human beings. Terrorists cannot live with or by those values -- and so they murder beautiful young people." Dan Kurtzer

Horror in Israel. Again. Students cut down by a maniac. More horror: unlike Virginia Tech, Columbine and other deadly school rampages here in America, this particular maniac was state-sanctioned. His murderous actions were publicly celebrated by the Palestinian government and many of its citizens.

So it's time to stop talking Clinton/Obama presidential politics and take a moment to reflect on a far deadlier conflict ... where the stakes are literally life and death.

As I've temporarily lost the use of one hand due to surgery, I've been featuring posts from friends' blogs. I've decided to shut up about my minor inconvenience. There are families in Israel who will never recover from the loss of their children.

Yaakov Kirschen, aka Israel's legendary Dry Bones gives voice to their pain and a unique look at life in Israel when terror strikes.

Understanding Israel's Neighbors

Whenever you read news stories about American Jews focusing on our government's support for Israel and wonder why it's so important, think of this most recent abomination. What if it happened to you?

Jerusalem Post Tribute to the Victims of Terror Casualties of War

MLK: If I Had Sneezed

"If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have had a chance...to try to tell America about a dream that I had had." Martin Luther King, Jr

I know an inside story about Dr. Martin Luther King. I bet most of you've never heard it. And it's time you did. Because the irony should escape none of us. And more, because it says something about the man whose life and accomplishments we honor today. It says he was human.

Human not in the sense of foibles and frailties, although he had those too. What man, great or small, does not? I mean human in the manner of his deep humility.

Human in his recognition not of the glory but of the opportunity to lead a movement that would change the course of history, not only for African Americans but for all Americans.

I was too young and never privileged to meet Dr. King, but in later years I knew and worked with his widow, Coretta Scott King through my association with C. DeLores Tucker. I knew and worked with Jesse Jackson in those years, when he was still steeped in the same humility that thrust him forward to carry on Dr. King's mission.

So many times back then during our efforts to put together a fundraiser, launch a voter registration campaign, organize a rally, even draft legislation, I would hear the words "If I Had Sneezed." Over and over. When frustration, exhaustion, fear or anger threatened to overwhelm us, someone would say, "If I Had Sneezed" and determined smiles would reappear, renewed energy emerge, efforts would double.

I eventually learned that "If I Had Sneezed" was insider code for something the general public knows in a whole different way. It's from the sermon Dr. King gave on April 3, 1968, at the Mason Temple (Church of God in Christ Headquarters) in Memphis, Tennessee.

That specific phrase is the final rallying cry --and some say a prescient prediction-- in perhaps Dr. King's most important speech. Read just this part of it, then read all of it and listen to Dr. King's immortal words in his own voice.

Let us rise up tonight with a greater readiness. Let us stand with a greater determination. And let us move on in these powerful days, these days of challenge to make America what it ought to be. We have an opportunity to make America a better nation. And I want to thank God, once more, for allowing me to be here with you.

You know, several years ago, I was in New York City autographing the first book that I had written. And while sitting there autographing books, a demented black woman came up. The only question I heard from her was, "Are you Martin Luther King?" And I was looking down writing, and I said, "Yes." And the next minute I felt something beating on my chest. Before I knew it I had been stabbed by this demented woman. I was rushed to Harlem Hospital. It was a dark Saturday afternoon. And that blade had gone through, and the X-rays revealed that the tip of the blade was on the edge of my aorta, the main artery. And once that's punctured, your drowned in your own blood -- that's the end of you.

It came out in the New York Times the next morning, that if I had merely sneezed, I would have died. Well, about four days later, they allowed me, after the operation, after my chest had been opened, and the blade had been taken out, to move around in the wheel chair in the hospital. They allowed me to read some of the mail that came in, and from all over the states and the world, kind letters came in.

I read a few, but one of them I will never forget. I had received one from the President and the Vice-President. I've forgotten what those telegrams said. I'd received a visit and a letter from the Governor of New York, but I've forgotten what that letter said. But there was another letter that came from a little girl, a young girl who was a student at the White Plains High School. And I looked at that letter, and I'll never forget it. It said simply,

Dear Dr. King,

I am a ninth-grade student at the White Plains High School.

While it should not matter, I would like to mention that I'm a white girl. I read in the paper of your misfortune, and of your suffering. And I read that if you had sneezed, you would have died. And I'm simply writing you to say that I'm so happy that you didn't sneeze.

And I want to say tonight -- I want to say tonight that I too am happy that I didn't sneeze. Because if I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been around here in 1960, when students all over the South started sitting-in at lunch counters. And I knew that as they were sitting in, they were really standing up for the best in the American dream, and taking the whole nation back to those great wells of democracy which were dug deep by the Founding Fathers in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been around here in 1961, when we decided to take a ride for freedom and ended segregation in inter-state travel.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been around here in 1962, when Negroes in Albany, Georgia, decided to straighten their backs up. And whenever men and women straighten their backs up, they are going somewhere, because a man can't ride your back unless it is bent.

If I had sneezed -- If I had sneezed I wouldn't have been here in 1963, when the black people of Birmingham, Alabama, aroused the conscience of this nation, and brought into being the Civil Rights Bill.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have had a chance later that year, in August, to try to tell America about a dream that I had had.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been down in Selma, Alabama, to see the great Movement there.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been in Memphis to see a community rally around those brothers and sisters who are suffering.

I'm so happy that I didn't sneeze.

And they were telling me --. Now, it doesn't matter, now. It really doesn't matter what happens now. I left Atlanta this morning, and as we got started on the plane, there were six of us. The pilot said over the public address system, "We are sorry for the delay, but we have Dr. Martin Luther King on the plane. And to be sure that all of the bags were checked, and to be sure that nothing would be wrong with on the plane, we had to check out everything carefully. And we've had the plane protected and guarded all night."

And then I got into Memphis. And some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers?

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop.

And I don't mind.

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!

And so I'm happy, tonight.

I'm not worried about anything.

I'm not fearing any man!

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!!

I still get chills reading and hearing those words. Because the very next day, metaphorically, Dr. King did sneeze.

No matter your political party or candidate, no matter how many changes are still needed, you've got to imagine Dr. King's glorious satisfaction at the strides we've made toward the promised land.

And we all must say to him, GOD BLESS YOU!

Remembering Those Lost In 2007

"Pale death knocks with impartial foot at poor men's hovels and king's palaces." Horace

I was lucky this year. I didn't suffer many personal losses. Some of my friends and family did. The world of arts and letters did. Sports too. And our country did. Too many mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, children and spouses lost loved ones to violence in 2007.

Yes, I'm talking about the war in Iraq. And Afghanistan. Hate-based murders and suicides in the Middle East.

But I'm also appalled at the number of violent deaths right here in my own hometown. The killing sprees escalating around the country.

I've banged the same drum about that violence in Philly and Omaha and Virginia Tech -- WE NEED GUN CONTROL.

Now that I have that--temporarily--out of my system, here's my short list of loss in 2007... from the ridiculous to the sublime, from those I only met to those who significantly touched my life.

My husband's aunt, one of the purest souls I've ever known: Everybody's Aunt Rebecca.

A seminal mentor from my early professional years: Mal Johnson - Boss and Friend.

Another boss who was also a colleague and friend to the end: Dick Doran - Really RAD and Dick Doran - A Fitting Farewell.

The wonderful father of my wonderful friend: Suzie's Dad - A Righteous Man.

An opera star with brass and class: Betsy and Bubbles, Take 2.

True media lights: Bergman, Antonioni, Kurt Vonnegut, Merv Griffin and My Tom Snyder Quote.

Last but not least, some horses asses and an actual horse:

Anna Nicole - Legacy of Lunacy

Tammy Faye, Merv, Brooke - Who's Next?

Barbaro - Horse, NOT Human

There were many more deaths this year, of course, and we'll see them endlessly looping through TV, newspapers, magazines and online specials as 2007 becomes 2008.

But these are the ones who touched me ... or raised my hackles. I send sincere condolences and prayers to those left behind to grieve their deaths, no matter how ridiculous or sublime they were in life.

On Widowhood - The Next Phase

Judy on her recent trip to Israel

"Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow." Albert Einstein

My sister Judy and I tend to become experts on almost everything life throws our way. It's how we learn, cope, grow, survive. We're always willing to enlighten others if we have something of value to offer. I do it here. Judy's joined me from time to time, especially on her latest area of expertise: widowhood.

Hardly a skill anyone would want, nevertheless Judy became a widow suddenly and cruelly when her husband Bob was killed in a plane crash July 16, 2006. From the beginning she's been sharing her thoughts on coping with loss and widowhood. It's been cathartic for her, supportive for other widows and eye-opening for the rest of us.

She hasn't parsed it out in formal stages of grieving. That's been done to death (pardon the pun - trust me, she'll smile) and it's not her style anyway. Judy has simply opened her heart and her soul when the spirit moved, allowing us glimpses into the head and home of a new widow.

More than enlightening, it's inspiring. She's taken us on a journey of pain, darkness, self-reflection and courage. Now she's ready to open the door to hope. And new beginnings.

This is the one I've been waiting for, in Judy's words:

I think I've rounded a corner. Nearly 16 months after Bob's crash, something happened to me. I noticed it when I came home from the latest trip -- a week in Philadelphia for family, grandchildren and my high school reunion, then on to Israel for nearly two weeks.

I've traveled since Bob died but when I've come home from those trips there was always a feeling of sadness, either because I had no one with whom to reminisce ... or no one to tell about my adventure.

This time I came home, did my unpacking, laundry, bills, etc., then went back to work. And hit the ground running. Jury duty segueing into flu shot clinics and on to my OR nursing. I came home so tired after each day that my outlook became objective and I was able to realistically see what life was going to be like now.

I looked around the house and realized I had created a shrine to Bob with pictures, his belongings, his collections and a few sentimental items of his clothing. I also realized I didn't need things to remind me of him. As I've learned and said before, I have memories nobody can take away. The material reminders are extraneous.

Frankly, everything is a reminder anyway and I'm okay with that. So I've begun to divest myself of more of the remaining items. I've been gathering pictures and other memorabilia to be given to his son and brother. I've begun giving away even more things to Good Will and The Salvation Army.

I haven't yet, but am contemplating doing some furniture rearranging and throwing out and replacing, though I'm cheap and that will take longer. But at least I've begun to think about it.

None of this is meant to convey that I don't miss him, or that I know my life would still be interesting and exciting if he hadn't left it.

I plunge ahead fearlessly, confident that while I no longer do much plumbing, electric repairs or airplane maintenance, I can do it – all by myself. I feel sure Bob is watching and cheering and when I talk to him, he hears me.

But I guess this is the end of my tsunami, the one that's supposed to hit when one gets the kind of news I got. I didn't have the tsunami all at once, but I did have to figure out how to get on with my life.

I haven't gotten it all figured out, but I'm starting. And there's something that feels very good about that.

Bob hears you, Judy. And we hear you. Bravo.

Suzie's Dad - A Righteous Man

"No monuments are erected for the righteous; their deeds perpetuate their memory." John Lennon

My friend Suzie lost her father November 28 to a sudden coronary, blessedly in his sleep. It's tragic on many levels, not the least that age 67 is far too young to go. And because he was Suzie's Dad.

It was clear meeting Suzie's parents how much they loved each other and their daughter. I always felt I knew them well ... because of Suzie.

The home she bought, based party on the private, pretty space she set up for their visits. The pictures of them throughout that home. The stories of her childhood, her mom's good heart, her dad's dogged dedication to the Republican party. We joked about that a lot.

Suzie's Dad loved his family, his country, his party and his fellow man -- pretty much in that order.

He was a devoted husband and father. An Army veteran. A staunch Republican, former head of the GOP Marion County. (Only for Suzie would I put up a Republican link.)

I can't bring myself to hold it against him, especially because he was such a dedicated volunteer, teaching people to read. And because he was Suzie's Dad.

He doted on Suzie's mom, took care of her, took care of everything. And Suzie wasn't just "Daddy's girl," she and her dad were a team ... regardless of that pesky Republican thing.

Suzie's Dad was a solid, hard working, kind, decent, honorable man. A good husband, a good father, a good brother, uncle, friend. A good person.

A righteous man.

I put a flag up there in his memory, because Suzie said they put one in the local paper and he would have liked that.

Rest in Peace, Suzie's Dad, you left a truly righteous legacy.