After the big Yin Toxin Fast and the Clean Program, having dropped 14 pounds in short order, we went on vacation, a beautiful week of family time on Green Lake. I was totally cleansed and refreshed, in so many ways. Ahhhhhhhhh.

But when we got home, I took a good look around and, newly energized, realized how many other things in my life were…out of control, frankly. About three minutes after we walked in the door, I cleaned the refrigerator. And the cupboards. And the closet. And it spiraled from there. The month of September was completely dedicated to getting our house in order, literally. We cleaned and de-cluttered EVERYTHING. (OK, we’re still working on the basement. That’s kind of a lifelong project, evidently. And from the looks of my desk as I write this, it could still use some help…)

We also found a FANTASTIC, no B.S. new financial planner, who I’ll be happy to hook you up with if you need help. (Many thanks to Erica Conway for hooking US up.) She helped us take a hard look at our finances, re-budget to a more realistic level (read: what we can actually afford), refinance our house, update our life insurance, re-think our investments, the whole sticky ball of wax. We’re in a good place now, with a fresh start, and some space in the mental cache has been cleared for things like writing more.

I’m writing more on the Jigsaw blog these days. But, I’ll also be posting here from time to time, especially after a redesign that’s in the works is finished.

So, Happy Fall. What’s up with you? What in your life could use a fresh look or a little de-cluttering?

Several years ago, my acupuncturist gave me this Yin toxin fast because I couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of being sluggish. Those who knew me when I did it still talk about it; in 13 days I went from a chubby slug to super-energetic and dropped about 12 pounds (which stayed off for a long, long time). Since my surgery in May, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling of being sluggish, just not being able to find my energy. So I’m doing this again starting today.

I’m not a doctor. I’m not recommending this for everyone. I’m just sharing something that has worked for me in the past. And I’ll let you know if it works again. It’s a thirteen-day taper fast, in which you move slowly to detoxification from a “normal” diet and then back again. By “normal” diet, they mean a 100% unprocessed, vegan diet, not the “normal” diet that most of us eat.

Throughout the 13 days, there is no caffeine (OUCH, this is the hardest part by far), no sugar, nothing processed (no sour patch kids hahaha), no dairy (no YoMama goodness…boo), no alcohol (not that big a deal, except for my friend’s awesome birthday party), nothing refined or processed at all.

Day 1: beans, spices, fruits, grains, cooked vegetables, soups
Day 2: a little less of everything from day one
Day 3: very few spices, no beans
Day 4: less vegetables, more grains, no fruit
Day 5: few vegetables, mainly mixed grains
Days 6-8: one cup of organic brown rice 3 times a day
Day 9: few vegetables, mainly mixed grains
Day 10: more vegetables, grains
Day 11: very few spices, some fruit, no beans
Day 12: beans, fruits, grains, soups
Day 13: beans, spices, fruits, grains, vegetables, soups

If you try this, during days 6-8, you’ll pretty much be resting…no child care, no heavy exercise, no work, nothing. You’re letting your entire body including your digestive system rest, and it will thank you for it. This will mean it’s going to be difficult to impossible for me to attend 3 on 3 for Niebs this weekend which really bums me out, but I have to do something to feel better. Hopefully some of you will go for me. : ]

See you on the other side. Anything like this ever worked for you?

I never met either Andy or his family. But my heart breaks for them, and I’ve heard many of you say the same. I’ve never met Jennifer, but having watched my own Mom die from cancer many years ago, my heart breaks for her every time I read her blog. Katie, I’ve met, and come to know well, and love, and having watched my own dog die five years ago almost to the day, my heart breaks for her, too.

So, is it worth it, ultimately, opening yourself up to the pain of people who are, often, strangers? Yes, I think so. Why? Because every bit of “sad” brings with it a bit of sunshine.

The truly heartbreaking story of Andy results in getting acquainted with Jon and Maria Tiegs, who took it upon themselves to organize a fundraiser for Andy’s family, and, as I’ve told them, restore one’s faith in humanity. The heartbreaking story of Jennifer’s Mom results in getting to know the incredible strength of her spirit and Jennifer’s spirit. And getting to know Katie is…well, the gift that keeps on giving. : ] And these are just a few examples of the stories we all hear every day.

The other upside? Gratitude. Today is my little man’s 6th birthday, and following Andy’s life and death is a constant reminder to be grateful for today.

It also makes us more prone to actually step in and help other people, which I still hope you will do for the #cancersucks fundraiser for Andy. I will be in attendance with my little man, and would love to see you there.

My good friend Erica Conway commented yesterday on the “helplessness of empathy”. I love that turn of phrase. It can make you feel helpless. Obviously, there’s nothing any of us can do for Andy. BUT there is a great deal we can do for his family. There is always SOMETHING that we can do. The trick is getting off our butts and DOING it.

Sometimes, it’s all a little overwhelming, to be honest. There’s only so much emotion that one can process at a time. Do you ever find it to be so?

Two of the most important words in the language, IMHO, are “thank you.” It’s a powerful phrase for individuals and companies alike. Recognizing your friends and supporters is sooooooo important. We talked about this last Friday when I spoke at First Edge, along with my belief that I’d much rather have a smaller, core group of people who REALLY care, than a huge number of friends/followers/subscribers who SORT OF care.

So, thank YOU. For your attention, your time, your friendship and your amazing support during what has been been a #bajeezuz of a 2-3 weeks. I am fortunate to know every single one of you, and am really humbled by all of the caring notes, thoughts and prayers I have received during these challenging days.

It continues to be challenging in terms of pain management, but, I remain exceedingly grateful for what appears to have been the “best case scenario” outcome. My surgery went well, as well as it could have. As it turned out, there were no cysts Boom and Bah…just one huge bad mammajamma of a Chuck Norris cyst. (I have photos of Chuck, but I’ll spare you!) The biopsy is still pending, though since there were no visible signs of cancer we’re pretty confident that the “All Clear” will be sounding soon.

Until then…THANK YOU.

Nearly two years ago, while waiting for results of tests to determine if I had ovarian cancer, I wrote this post, You can tweet like hell, but are you living loudly enough? I ask this question as much of myself as of you, of course. Lo and behold, yesterday, I received some potentially unfortunate news from my doctor. I don’t know for sure what it means yet – so let’s not jump to conclusions – but it’s enough to scare the hell out of me, make me feel how fragile life is, and make me wonder anew if I am spending my precious time well.

I have, for the most part, I think, lived out loud, though I am FAR from perfect, and too often lazy. Here are some things I would tell you – and would tell my own children – about how to make the most of it. What would you add to this? How do you make the most of your precious time?

1. Get away from the TV. If you’re the “average American” and spending 150+ hours per month in front of the TV, well, that’s just a sad waste of life, in my opinion. You can do a LOT of living in 150 hours a month. Honestly, the same goes if you’re spending 150 hours a month on Facebook, Twitter, etc. Different strokes for different folks, but unless you want them to put your last tweet on your headstone, GET OUT THERE and live IRL, too.

2. If you’re anywhere near the ocean, get up early and watch the sunrise if you’re facing East, and watch the sunset if you’re facing West. For me, few things have as much power to make me feel how beautiful the earth can be. The ocean is a poem waiting to happen.

3. Have children, if you are able, and so inclined, or spend time around children. Children are joy in its purest form. There is no sound on earth better than the laughter of a child. Griffin, if you ever read this, I am speaking absolute truth when I tell you that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. With my husband and two amazing stepdaughters right up there.

4. “Spend less time trying to be perfect, and more time trying to taste good.” A very wise, beautiful friend and messenger named Naila – whom I love and miss terribly – gave me this message when I lived in New York and went to photo school. I haven’t done a great job of heeding it.

5. Take some chances. It’s true what they say, you more often regret the things that you don’t do than the things that you do.

6. Be forgiving. It’s easy to harbor anger towards people who have put barriers in your way and had a negative impact on your life, even your health. To live happy, it is necessary to forgive them.

7. Puppies. Lots and lots of puppies. Particularly of the black labrador variety.

What else? Eat more bacon? Travel the world? What makes you feel as though you are making the most of your life?

My dog died nearly five years ago , and his ashes have been sitting in an unopened box in a closet, waiting for the day when I would make it a priority to take them to his favorite place in the forest. For whatever reason, today, Mother’s Day, I was out riding my bike and I realized that today was the day that I was ready.

So we did it. My husband, son and I drove out to the forest, went for a beautiful hike, and finally, finally laid Gomer to rest. It was, obviously, very sad, and my son cried for a long time. He was super sweet about it, and helped make a little memorial, with rocks representing Gomey’s body. He said it made his heart hurt.

It made all of our hearts hurt, to be sure. Explaining cremation to a child, not so much fun. But now, somehow, I am a little bit…lighter.

Whatever you are putting off, whatever your box in the proverbial closet is, I encourage you to get it out, deal with it, and move on. It feels good.

Allright if you’ve made it through that warning and are still here, God bless you, I love you and thank you for your support. First off, I have to say God bless my mother in heaven, who had THREE miscarriages and a STILLBIRTH before she had the perseverance to have my two older brothers and me. I cannot imagine how strong she must have been. Then, I have to say how incredibly grateful and blessed I am to have my wonderful son, Griffin, and how much my heart bleeds for women who want to have children but cannot, including one of my very best friends. Believe me, I know how lucky I am.

Oooooookay then. Finally. Here’s my story…

My son was born five and a half years ago. I am often asked why we only have one child, and every single time, it shatters my heart all over again. (So, uh, think twice before you ask people that question, K?) We, like many couples, envisioned having two children. I would have been delighted whether the second was a girl or a boy. But, the girl had a name, and her name was to be Grace. Griffin and Grace…that was the plan. Sadly, plans don’t always go how we want them to.

Just over two and a half years ago, in the summertime, I found out I was pregnant for the second time. I was, of course, delighted. Exhausted and sick as hell, but delighted. They gave me the big binder on healthy pregnancy, scheduled my ultrasound for the next week, and sent me on my happy way to tell my husband and son that we were having another baby.

They had suspected a possible miscarriage the summer before, but it was so early in the pregnancy that they couldn’t be sure. Basically, while trying not to be TOO disgusting (and failing royally at that), some tissue had fallen out of me into the toilet that looked like it might be a very small person. OK, that’s so disgusting that it’s making me laugh…stay with me here…so, uh, they wanted the ultrasound to happen right away. At 39 I was no spring chicken, and at 53, neither was my husband. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

They did the ultrasound. And the heartbeat we were so anxious to see…wasn’t there. There was a well-developed amniotic sack…with nothing visible in it. They said there was a 90%+ chance that I had miscarried, but we’d wait another week to be sure. Try going to work every day with a smile on your face knowing that you probably have a dead baby inside of you…awesome. A week passed miserably, they repeated the ultrasound…still nothing. Definite miscarriage-in-the-making.

After my sobbing subsided a little, they gave me three choices: 1. wait for the miscarriage to complete itself on its own, which could take weeks or months. In other words, keep going to work every day with a fake smile on your face, knowing that you have a dead baby inside of you that might choose to come out at any time. Mmmm…no. No thanks. Not a great option. What else you got? 2. Have D&C surgery. Mmmm…I get massively sick from anesthesia. What else you got? 3. Take a drug called Misoprostol, aka “the abortion pill”. This will cause you to miscarry at home. From my vantage point now, I don’t know WTF I was thinking at the time, except probably just wanting to be curled up, at home, in the (irony) fetal position. I chose option three, the Misoprostol.

I scheduled some time off work, picked “the day”, and crammed some tablets up my vagina periodically as instructed, every few hours. (“Not now, Griffin…mommy is busy…”) It took seemingly forever, but I started cramping and, uh, “stuff” started coming out. I’ll actually spare you the details of that…suffice it to say that it was long and protracted and disgusting and painful and heartbreaking and there are no existing words that can describe it.

When that part was done, I started bleeding. Profusely. Like, WTF am I doing at home right now,  why would they let me do this here, profusely. Soaking through pads in a matter of seconds. It was evening. I called my doctor’s office, and there was no one available to talk to me. Umm…I kinda think I’m bleeding out here…”we’ll have the doctor call you back.” Yes, thanks, that’d be swell. I called my friend and asked her to come over right away and watch Griffin so we could go to the E.R. The doctor called me back, and said yes, yes, that would be the right thing to do about now. And just as my friend arrived…the bleeding stopped.

OK, it’s over. Except, it’s not. Not everything came out. So I kept bleeding, and ended up having to go in a week later for the D&C surgery that I should have had in the first place. I had to give the hospital permission to bury my baby’s (I am sorry, I cannot bring myself to call her a fetus, and if you do I will punch you in the face) remains in a cemetery. And they gave me this, which still makes me sob, two and a half years later, every time I see it.

I have no way of knowing, of course, whether that baby would have been a boy or a girl, but in my heart, I know that was my Grace. This experience was so devastating, I was never strong enough to bounce back to the point where I wanted to try again. I wish to God I had been as strong as my mother was. So, we’ve never really tried, and we’ve never really tried not to.

And now, as I write this, I’m 42, and my husband is about to turn a very young 56. I’ve bounced back to the point where we could try again, but pregnancies at our age are risky and very unlikely to succeed. That doesn’t mean I am not open to it…I would be thrilled.

The moral of the story…if, God forbid, you are ever presented with this choice, and I pray to God that you never are, I would strongly encourage you to just have the D&C and move on. Misoprostol sucks beyond expression.

This Mother’s Day, God bless all Mothers…and all who want to be. In my view, if you ever had a baby inside of you, then you are a Mother.

Thank you for listening. Please share your experiences here if you’d like to talk about them and get some support.

As he handed me this flyer, he told me the story of Jake, diagnosed with cancer when he was four years old and in junior kindergarten. Then Griffin told me that he wanted me to go donate blood.

“You want me to donate blood for Jake?” I asked.

His reply? “No, Mom. Jake’s already dead.”

BAM.

I’ve considered donating blood for the past couple of years, ever since my stepdaughter Laura organized a blood drive at her high school. I went and tried to donate, but they couldn’t take my blood that time because 1. I was dizzy and 2. I had traveled to a malarial area within the past year. I’m not going to lie to you, I was relieved. Like many people, the idea of giving blood makes me feel a little…weak. And I won’t be able to work out the next day. You know what? BIG FREAKING DEAL. Because there’s a boy who died when he was 7, who won’t be able to work out, oh, EVER. And donated blood gave him three more years of life, and gave his parents three more years with their beautiful son, Jake. So, on April 9th, I plan to donate blood for the first time at Jake’s Blood Drive.

Tomorrow, April 1, marks the start of #DonateLife month and I am asking you, too, to donate blood. BloodCenter of Wisconsin is a client, and is a phenomenal organization, and that has nothing to do with why I am writing this post. It’s just disclosure. I’m writing this post because it is truth. Think about it…you have the power to save lives.

I’m also encouraging you to sign up to donate organs and for the National Marrow Donor Program. I did last year, because of another boy, David, my friend’s nephew. In 2008, David went to donate blood for the first time with his dad. He was told that he was not eligible to donate that day because a pre-screening determined that he was anemic. Three months later, he was diagnosed with MDS, a form of bone marrow cancer. His only treatment option was a life threatening bone marrow transplant. David has had ten rounds of chemotherapy and recently had his 35th bone marrow biopsy. He is doing OK, thanks to donor T-cells that have given David and his family hope.

I’ll let you know in a 8 or 9 days what my first blood donation is like. If you’re already a regular blood donor, thank you, and I encourage you to leave you own story in the comments. Why do you give blood? What does it feel like? If you signed up to donate organs or are on the bone marrow registry, why did you do that?

Thanks.

It’s hard to put into words what a relief it is when a passion you’ve been burying, neglecting, ignoring, subsuming for years comes bubbling back up. So, if you’re burying anything that you really love, I hope you can find a way to do it.

Now, I can think of worse things than sitting in bed writing a plan as I will be doing this afternoon. But, I’d rather be out taking photos.

Peace. Spaight

I never thought I’d be writing about phoning it in; you know, the act of making a half-hearted attempt at something. Normally, half-hearted is not a word in my personal vocabulary. This week, on something important (to me), I phoned it in, and I feel like crap about it. So, forgive me for what’s sure to be a very “soft” post, but, I need some catharsis, a little piece of mental salvation. Today, this little piece of the web is a journal; if you don’t want to read it, I understand. It’s one of those personal posts, that, like this one about losing Gomer and a future one about miscarriage, had to be written eventually. I’ll try to at least have a sense of humor about it, isn’t that from whence the best catharsis comes?

Back in around 1997 or 1998, several lifetimes ago, seemingly (yes, I am THAT old), I took a photography workshop in Oaxaca, Mexico, with the amazing documentary photographer Mary Ellen Mark through Maine Workshops. I won an award for a photo of some Mexican Punks, and went to New York to receive it. Mary Ellen, whom I admired greatly (still do), liked my work and encouraged me to apply to the International Center of Photography in New York. They have an amazing documentary photojournalism program that at the time, accepted about 10 students from around the world each year. I applied, and I got accepted, and I quit my job at Minneapolis agency Carmichael Lynch, took a flying leap, and went to New York in fall, 1999.

And while living in New York was an amazing experience, my time at ICP was (still is) one of the greatest disappointments of my life. It started out strong; I had a great eye for “the moment”, everyone said. But technically, I sucked. I am really terrible with anything but natural outdoor lighting, and my printing skills were even worse. The director and teacher of the program, Joan Liftin, whom I greatly respected (still do), left mid-year, which really threw me off-kilter. I came home to Wisconsin for a break (met a guy) and lost focus, to say the least. When I went back to New York, my photos got more and more depressing. In January, we had a workshop with Mike Yamashita from National Geographic in which we had to go shoot Central Park in a snowstorm; I couldn’t muster anything more than a pathetic photograph of an empty slide. Mind you, I was in my early-30s and could almost hear the sound of my eggs dying. My final student exhibition was, laughably, a close up of myself and a close up of my bed, both taken with a plastic Holga toy camera, and a shot of my aging father walking into the ocean (the last of which, a gallery tried to purchase for an insanely low price, and I refused to sell.) I might as well have exhibited three large photographs of my navel.

Now, I’d been dreaming of being a photographer for about a decade already at that point, in spite of my burgeoning success in the *highly glamorous* business of advertising. So, needless to say, the glorious ball of flaming failure that I experienced in New York was a bit hard to handle. Never mind the fact that I didn’t actually want to achieve a lifestyle in which I’d earn $250 if I miraculously ever got a photograph on the cover of the New York Times, and I’d pay ten times that monthly for a tiny studio apartment. The point was, I’m not used to sucking, and failing, and I don’t much like it (who does?)

Fast forward a decade. I move back to Wisconsin, get a job, buy a house, meet a guy, get married, honeymoon in Paris, use one of my few remaining eggs to have a kid, get a different job, and another, then land, twice and for all, at Jigsaw. As far as photography goes, it doesn’t have much of a part in my life, although before New York it was a huge personal passion. Sadly, I haven’t taken a lot of good photos of my son. And, though we have been married for six years, my husband has never seen my photographs that got me into ICP or that I took while I was there. Boom! Passion buried.

Now we’re at the “phoning it in” part of this post. The lesson here is: kids, don’t phone it in. Ever. Jigsaw, you see, has a monthly photo contest on our blog, with some amazingly talented photographers. I decided I should start participating. But instead of actually doing that, participating, finding it again, taking some new photos for the contest, I just pulled an old photo from my blog and phoned it in (emailed it in, actually). And I’m extremely disappointed in myself. If I had put my heart into it, like the others did, and still not done well, that would be much more admirable than the fact that I couldn’t get over the disappointments of the past and find the passion.

So, I’m committing here publicly that over the course of the coming months, I will do my best to pour my heart and soul into photographs again and find it. I might still suck, but at least I’ll be trying. And that, I can live with. Fortunately, I have an incredibly inspiring group of people to learn from.

Have you ever let yourself down? How did you let yourself back up? Ever buried a passion? How did you find it again?

Thanks for listening.

Spaight