R.I.P. Rocky

It's a sad day indeed in the Mile High city. Not just for Coloradans, but for the entire journalism profession--one I count myself lucky to be a member of.

My mornings will no longer be the same. Even though I didn't grow up with you, you rolled out the welcome mat when I first drove across your "Colorful Colorado" borders 16 years ago to pursue my graduate degree at CU's School of Journalism and Mass Communication.

Call me old school, but I prefer to turn a page, fold over a corner, stain my hands with fresh ink, clip out a helpful tidbit or two or interesting profile to save for later. I always enjoyed your easy-to-peruse format especially as I was never much good at expertly folding each section like the other newspapers. I'll take old school any day over scrolling online through fine print after fine print.

I still have my original clips for the times I garnered a byline across your pages.

A Colorado native, my husband grew up with the Rocky. When he left to pitch for the California Angels over two decades ago, my father-in-law would lovingly clip every box score highlighting the innnings pitched, hits, runs, earned runs, bases on balls, strike outs along with his earned run average.

When my daughter, Hannah and son, Hunter were born, I created a tradition of saving the front page of the Rocky for every birthday. At least Hannah has seven tangible copies and Hunter four. If only you could have held on until your 150th anniversary Hunter would have had a copy on his fifth April Fool's birthday.

Printing it out from the internet doesn't quite cut it. Again call me old school, but my Tattered Cover escape breaks and park bench outings won't be the same again. I'll miss leafing through each page.

And how do I break the news to my lab, Koufax who will no longer perform his daily ritual of retrieving the news in anticipation of a tasty treat?

Yes, it's a sad day indeed. For readers, writers, reporters, photographers, copy editors...

Farewell Rocky Mountain News.

Blonde & Brain Impaired

Just some brain tumor schumor for the weekend...

To all those women feeling blessed, er, or rather cursed at times with being a true blonde, I can relate. I entered the world as a towhead, but not even sun and saline summers I spent year after year along the Pacific coast could preserve what Mother Nature had bestowed upon me. At nearly 42, (ok, only 41!) it’s actually sandy blonde and I have to pay what freelancing income (rather pittance) I don’t have, to achieve the gorgeous caramel and honey hues my 7-year-old daughter was naturally blessed with.

Lest I digress, I’ve had my fair share of “Dumb Blonde Jokes” sent to me. You all know the ones I’m referring to like “How can you tell if a blonde's been using the computer? There's white-out on the screen.” Or “Why do blondes take the pill?So they know what day of the week it is.”

And if being blonde wasn’t bad enough, nine years ago I discovered I had a brain tumor—a baseball-size tumor known as a meningioma, which shockingly had occupied my cranium for well over a decade. http://www.meningiomamommas.org/tumor.htm

So large was my uninvited guest that, like a schoolyard bully, it had actually shoved and pushed the right side of my spongy brain into its hemispheric left-sided counterpart. I’m convinced--or at least I tried selling this argument to my parents for years--this is why I wasn’t granted admittance into Columbia, Northwestern, CAL, (it’s too painful to name the rest), prestigious journalism programs.

Within days I was scheduled for surgery to remove the roommate that had invaded my brain and my life. I was told at the time that had my neurosurgeon not already been booked (I thought you only booked airline tickets and fancy dinner reservations), my half day surgery would have taken place within 24 hours.

It’s a miracle I survived considering how life threatening my blood thirsty tumor was and the fact that it was so tough and fibrous (as noted in my play by play path report) that in order to extract it, it was thinly sliced like deli meat.

Not long after my surgery I became more aware of how people reacted when I proclaimed I was a brain tumor survivor. Inevitably, the common reaction was, “You look too good to have had brain surgery.” Translation—why didn’t I resemble Herman Munster? OR people nearly gave themselves whiplash wondering how and where my tumor was removed. It didn’t take long before I offered an automated response, “Yes, the entire new line of Home Depot Dual Bevel Slide Miter Saws and DeWalt 18 volt compact drill drivers were demoed on my head!”

In fact, it’s become one of my many favorite mantras, which I don’t hesitate to share—the world needs to know that you can survive major surgery--including brain surgery. If you can’t talk about it and laugh at yourself, then this scary life altering subject will only continue to be shrouded in secrecy. And I’ve noticed that when I talk openly about not only being blonde but a brain tumor survivor as well, people lose the nervous laughter. They usually move in closer, cautiously inch by inch, curious about the bowling ball grip (courtesy of neurosurgeon drilling and tumor excavation) I point out beneath my highlighted hairline.

The best part about being a brain tumor survivor is being alive and reinventing myself. So without further adieu and in hopes of catching David Letterman’s attention, I present…

Top Ten Brain Tumor Survivor Benefits

10. Botox injections are painless if your face is numb like mine. I actually look forward to them, well that's if I did Botox.
9. My brain was occupied by a roommate, which explains why I wasn't accepted into an Ivy League school.
8. It's a great conversation starter: “I survived a brain tumor.”
7. It makes for really cool show and tell. I have an upside-down scar that resembles a question mark along my right ear.
6. I have a legitimate excuse for misplacing my keys, putting milk in the pantry and forgetting where I parked my car.
5. I’ll be on drugs for the rest of my life and am privileged to carry a dog-eared Walgreens frequent RX punch card.
4. I’m on a first name basis with the MRI techs at every hospital in my vicinity.
3. I love to gauge strangers’ reactions when I tell them, “I’m blonde; I don’t have a brain.”
2. I get my kicks when my titanium screws set off airport security alarms.
1. I’m waiting to get pulled over for speeding so I can say, “But officer, I’m blonde AND brain impaired!”