Letter to Marcie-Sweet days in the sun

The fall sunset, so special still...

Saturday I was watching one happen from the rooftop of Park Manor Suites as two new friends tied the knot. I so remember seeing one just like it one cool November evening and I glanced over to old Mister A's.

"This was way too expensive," you said.

I nodded. It was. But I wanted to have a special night with you, and I had gotten it. And all the extra hours in the world could not make that any less of a thrill. I was so in love with you.

The fires up north created a spectacular backdrop to the ceremony Saturday. It was so close to our night above the city, I swear.

I felt you hold my hand again as I closed my eyes and clasped my little glass of Crown Royal. I listened to the wind and the crowd and went back. I remembered the smell of your Fendi and the slinky slide of your top against my chest as we swayed.

I remembered the long kiss and the feel of your nose in the crook of my neck, then the soft weight of your head against my chest and your hair in my hands as I rubbed your nape gently.

"I love you," you said.

It was just one of the many times you had, but it is distinct. And Saturday I danced with mothers and grandmothers and wives and two new brides, and thought of you. And I smiled for them because of it.

Love,

F.

Letter to Marcie-Halloween

It's another little gift you gave me. In 1993, I had not celebrated Halloween for 10 years. I just didn't see the sense in it. But you prevailed upon me to take another look at the holiday.

"So I was thinking we shoul do something for Halloween," you said.

'Hmm... dinner, dancing and gymnastics?' I thought. 'Maybe in costume for the last two? Helllloooooo nurse!'

"Well, what do you have in mind, Miss Stoddard?" I asked, trying to be suave.

"Let's go to Ralph's and get pumpkins to carve!" you blurted out. "We'll have some dinner and then we'll hand out candy. It'll be great. We get a few kids and all of my crazy neighbors come every year for candy. It'll be so fun!"

I guess the silence on the other end of the line tipped my hand. I was a bit taken aback, certainly. "I don't really do that on Halloween, usually," I said.

"Well, what do you do?" you asked, the edge of pre-annoyance (my name for that 'why didn't you just agree with me like you are supposed to' tone you had) definitely there.

"Well, usually I just hang out with friends and maybe go dancing or drinking or hit the beach for a bonfire," I offered. The truth was, I just used it as an excuse to party. I hadn't worn a costume in a decade.

"Well, I love Halloween and I would really like it if you would come over and carve a pumpkin with me, but I understand if you want to go out and get drunk with your friends," you said, matter-of-factly. "Some people need to do that."

Oh, it did sting, but it was effective. "No, that does sound fun," I said. "I'll tell you in class tomorrow. Maybe we can go to a party after trick or treaters stop coming by?"

"I work the next day," you said flatly. "Listen, I've gotta go, but I'll see you tomorrow. You know, you really don't have to if you don't want to. I understand and I won't be mad if you want to do your own thing."

It stung for sure. You would have been hurt, I could tell.

"You know what, let's get pumpkins tomorrow," I said. "Even if I don't hand out candy, we can have some fun and hang out making a mess."

"OKAY! OKay, we'll take the 7 after class," you said. "Oh, I am so excited! I can't wait to see what you carve."

And the die was cast. I read three articles on pumpkin carving that night and decided I had to make this a good Halloween. We carved them that night and yours was a wonderful one-tooth with a pointy grin and evil eyes.

I somewhat missed the mark. I made the theater faces in pumpkin but they lacked menace. "They look very nice," you said. "But they are not very Halloween, are they."

I guess vindication came in the form of your gay neighbors' exclamation. "Oh, my god, I want to take these home. These are the coolest. Can I have them?"

You shrugged and pointed at me, saying "Ask him, he made them."

Two days later I had a fittingly menacing and imperfect pumpkin to put next to yours as the stream of patrons began. I remember your black hat and gown, and the huge witch nose from CVS.

You were otherwise so cute... but that green nose...

It was my first Halloween in ten years. Last year, just two days after you left us, I handed out candy to the neighborhood kids. You were so happy at the anumber of them we got at our little house.

I knew you were there with me, and even if I had a very hard time doing it, I learned from you well, and I took a guess at each child's costume. This year, tyhe hulk, Darth Vader and devils were prominent.

Thank you for helping me understand the joy of the whole thing. This was a special holiday for you since you learned about it. For me, it was a special holiday for us because we got to be kids together, and simply play.

It was a sweet time of year for us, Marcie.

Of course, I noticed the perennial favorite... all the little witches in their regalia. There were plenty of those, but I could have used one more.

Love,

F

What a trip

There will be no photos shared publicly about my trip, save a few generic skyline shots and, perhaps, an approved shot of the hostesses (once they okay one). I will also not share much about this one here, except the Slow Food Nation event, as Marcie would have been in heaven there.

Suffice it to say that this was the first trip that I went on really more for myself and my future than for her and my past. This is not the place for such things.

Pictures of it all later. For now, we're going back to my memories of moments of my Marcie. I have some thoughts to share about Marcie and how I felt looking out on my next home city, one she almost joined me in. That will be all that one finds here.

Friends, of course, can ask in person or email. I will have some private albums to view...

F.

San Francisco Trip Part 2

Ah, vacation(s). On August 29th, I will be in San Francisco, visiting Jane and Christina and perhaps scouting. This is something I have been forced to put off time and time again as the school district and other items have thrown me curve balls.

Just know that there will be many images and possibly some films. Unfortunately, the long trip along Big Sur from last time will not be repeated. I am a flying fool.

There will be a visit to Izakaya for sure. I wonder if everything is still "gorgeouth."

Muahaha. I plan to wreck the place. Hell, I need to. In a Marcie-approved way, of course.

When booking my little room in Japantown, I noted all rooms are for two adults (assumed) when reserved. Sure I am happy to be going, but those little things really sober you up.

Starting in an easier place

So, I have been dragging my feet on selling all of our stuff. With Marcie's goods, this is because it kills me to look at it all and sort through it. The items she owned, even the insignificant ones, point to her personality and tastes very strongly. With the televisions and the electronics, it is just that I have to find the market.

Next weekend I will do a test garage sale and Craigslist spree. I will essentially attempt to pare my life down to almost nil... again. However, this means that I will have to work on selling Marcie's things, too. I dread it.

I will start with my own items for now and our videos and DVDs. After that, books, perfumes and knickknacks. Gah. This is so going to suck...

I will post links to the craigslist-offered items for you folks to look at. Unfortunately, Amazon makes it tough to sell or link to items I post there... but I will try when I get to that point. There will be a media list before I put that on Amazon, so watc for that.

I promise a substantive post tonight. I had a dream of her last night.

Birthdays like mine

It's my birthday today. Marcie was not only a huge fan of birthdays in general, but someone who reintroduced me to celebrating them for myself. She was also my biggest fan, and therefore my most ebullient celebrant. I miss that.

I am going to try and enjoy my time today, but I will share more about my birthdays and Marcie in later posts. This week, I mean.

Have a good weekend, folks.

A Mistrust of Praise (2)

I was never more crushed by Marcie's condition than when she used it as a rational to undermine anything good that came her way. She was terrible at it. Everything and anything that could be chalked up to the disease immediately was.

Marcie hated being singled out in any case. Her acute dislike for such recognition became much more pronounced as the cancer progressed or as she reached milestones.

So loathsome was the idea of being associated with the disease to Marcie that she went so far as to hate everything about the phenomenon of breast cancer. Foremost and most hated among her pop culture targets was the Pink Ribbon campaign.


"Oh my god, why is veveryone buying me pink?" she asked me one day as she rummaged through a care package from a well-meaning friend. "God, I fucking hate Susan Komen and her stupidass campaign."

She had obviously had enough. She tossed the good back in the bag and looked up at me, exasperated.

"And the ribbons?! Oh my God, please don't hate me, Frank, but if one more person comes over to me at work with a pin or a ribbon or a little doodad with a ribbon or a sticker, I am going to stick it right in their face," she said, flopping back.

She laughed and crawled into my lap with a huff. "I don't want to be the cancer woman," she said. "I want to go back to being the homemade cakes and cookie chick."

But of course, she was much more than that. Marcie was a miracle worker and a business generator. She did not slow down or falter and always kept up the pace. Unfortunately, no one had ever given her the recognition she deserved.

That changed. When her disease finally resulted in the treatments that took her away from work, she was selected as Employee of the Year. I congratulated her.

"Honey, that is so wonderful," I said. "Are you going to make it to the ceremony? I know you feel better, and I would love to take you out to your awards ceremony."

She looked at me as if I had bitten the head off of a monkey or committed some other bewildering atrocity. She then gave me the followup look, the tilt of the head as if to ask, "Are you that stupid?"

"FRANK! It's a fucking pity award," she said. "They did not award this to me because of what I did, they are giving this to me because of the fucking cancer. Just get out of here and leave me alone."

She began to sob, and then she was wracked and her hands covered her face. "It's so humiliating," she moaned. "I worked so hard all these years, and I know they only gave it to me because I am sick and they think I am going to die."

I did my best to console her at first. "No, no, no... they just realize how important you are now that you are at home," I said. "They miss you and you carried that place, honey."

I just held her and she sniffed into my chest, "Really? Do you really think that?"

Yes, I certainly did. Scumbag salesmen would drop multimedia projects on her desk and she would get them done, though it was not her job. Managers would assign her report generation well outside her department.

Marcie handled well her duties with Jim Drummond, her boss, and did raw coding and design for her projects, usually a duty for the content and web folks. She was in business development, but everyone else seemed to think that meant, "load her ass up when her manager is not in."

Jim, as much as she loved him, was almost never in. When he was, he walked around in thought. At any rate, Marcie never complained, and would have had scant cover if she had. So everyone leaned on her, and she did it all, saving her complaints for me, at home.

So when she accepted that she deserved it, she made it clear that it came with a caveat.

"I know I earned it," she said. "But they only gave it to me because now they would feel guilty if they cheated me again."

And if that was not complete acceptance, it was better than the cancer winning it, and I felt much better, as I know she did. But she was still not completely pleased.

"I just know whatever salesperson they were going to give this to is sitting there thinking that I wouldn't have won if it wasn't for the cancer," she said.

"I hope," I said. "If that is the case, that they win a lot of awards to make up for it, and for the exact same reason, whoever they might be."

She looked up and was angry at first, but she smiled at me and kissed my cheek, the metallic bitterness of chemotherapy on her breath and lips. She curled into me tightly.

"Yeah, those fuckers," she said. "They can have my award if they take the cancer with it."

Memorial Day

"Hey, honey," she said, kissing me on the cheek and looking in my eyes. "I am going to the movies, then I will be at the grocery store. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

I smiled and nodded, held her hand and closed my Anchor book. Memorial Day was usually a day to reflect, and she generally stayed out of my way for it. She kissed me again.

"I love you," she said. "Relax and I'll bring you home a little treat."

I nodded and watched her go, then turned back to my boot camp book, flipping through the pages and recalling one memory per face, one memory per frame, sometimes more. I lingered over a few.

This was their day. Car accidents, combat, misadventure, the grind of life after the service and the callous turned backs of the people they served, these didn't matter. That they served and then died did. My company had only a few over the years, but for my father, or my great-uncle Jerry or for any world war two vet, it was more a case of very few left to remember them and more of them to reflect on.

But this was the day for that, and Marcie knew I set it aside for that, and that is what I did. When she came home, we ate and drank wine, and the toast was always the same.

"To all the friends and comrades who would have like to meet you," I said, each year we were together, every Memorial Day.

Her toast was always the same, too. "To you, a true friend to heroes."

And dinner was usually silent afterward, but warm.

A tough time to wed (Pt. 1)

Everything went off as planned when Marcie and I were married. Except one little element. I was as sick as I think I could ever be. Unfortunately, the run-up to our marriage made this condition completely suspect in Marcie's eyes.

Marcie had always sustained that she would never marry me. I was first to propose, in 1996, before we went to Humboldt for my journalism degree. She immediately rejected me.

"No way, I am not marrying you," she said. "I don't even know if I am ever getting married."

I do not know if I was hurt, offended or both. Whatever the case,  I shot right back at her. I cannot remember exactly accurately so far back, but I can approximate. I may have even had a little acid on my tongue, as well as egg on my face, so to speak.

"You've probably got the right idea," I said. "I don't want to be tied down, either. We're happy how we are. Besides, I promised my dad I wouldn't get married, and I planned on keeping that promise until I at least turned 30."

We did not speak for the rest of the night, and I felt distant from her until we moved into our house in Arcata. In the mean time, still smarting from my rejection, I told my father I wouldn't marry her, as much to prepare him in case I left her for a marrying girl as it was to let him know we would be living in (delicious) sin for some time to come.

Time healed that wound over. I put away the idea of marriage, which had been skeptical of despite my Catholic pedigree, and enjoyed my life with my apparently permanent wonderful live-in lover and all of her domestic talents. I thought the issue of matrimony was off the table forever.

But Marcie didn't forget my words, though we never discussed it again. She held me to them, in fact, in a way I never thought she would.

The day after her birthday in 2000, she came to me crying and sat next to me, holding my hand and looking down as she heaved and sniffled. I was completely baffled. "Honey, what's the matter?" I asked. "Is everything okay? Is your family okay?"

She shook her head "no," then "no" again, and then sniffed and wailed in her hoarse, sad, heartbreaking voice. "You're 30 now, why haven't you asked me to marry you? Don't you love me enough to try again, Frank? I think I deserve it."

"Of course you do," I said, feeling the sting of hot tears on my cheek. "Are you sure? I thought you didn't want to marry me?"

She looked up infuriated and shook her head and squinted as she spoke. "I knew you would mention that, you asshole," she spat. "If you don't want to marry me, just say so. You fucking..."

I cut her off and pulled her into a hug. "Shhh, shhh..." I said. "no, no. I love you, honey. I love you. Will you please marry me? Don't be mad."

And after smacking my back and sobbing for a few minutes, we went to bed. Some time later, as she panted in post-coital-making-up exhaustion, she gasped in my ear, "Yes."

"Huh?" I asked, half adrift already under her.

"I'll marry you, stupid," she said. "I love you, Frank. I want to get married."

""Thank you," I said. "When?"

"I got us tickets to Vegas for November," she said. "Next month."

And so that was that. I was pleased, even though I knew I had been very had in the best possible way.

F.


*I am taking a little break from the posts on Seamus to revisit the story of our wedding trip. We resume Seamus Week Sunday with... film!*

The importance of creating

Creativity was the essence of Marcie' uniqueness. Marcie surrounded herself with creativity and engaged in it.

Marcie not only created things of beauty but also appreciated the creations of others. Books, meals, movies and architecture, singers, composers, and artists of all stripes gained her appreciation and patronage.

As Marcie worked towards her English degree, she leaned most of her class selections towards the study of not just literature, but the arts as a whole. She reveled in visits to the various museums, libraries, movie houses, bookstores and music venues San Diego has to offer.

One notes that dwindling numbers of people appreciate, much less engage in, the process of artistic creation. One also notes the tendency people have to push children and teens away from the arts and humanities and into professional degrees. If they are not pushing degrees, it is tradesmanship in place of craft.

The demand that we specialize, homogenize and even self-marginalize eats at the capacity we have to appreciate or even tolerate those who do not. Often, this pressure to pursue practical functionality ends the artistry or the common person. The world wants everyone to fit in a certain niche and function there.

We are called, as we go through life, to focus like a laser on one field of endeavor at a time. That is wrong. People are multifaceted.

The brutal nature of our society's outlook on our fellow human being is an outgrowth of this conformity-thirsty, aesthetics-rejecting mandate. The greed in our economy for orderly and predictable inputs from pliant and contributive laborers demands that all who avail themselves of less hard-nosed pursuits than wealth or advantage, and those that presume to pursue happiness in a manner another can profit from, be somehow "corrected."

At the same time, those who deem themselves and those they will hire worthy of art's rigors tend to preclude the mass. Snobbishness, competitive, money-focused nastiness, an exploitive studio culture and collaboratives that serve more as cliques than schools do not merely drive off the common creators. They also have fallen into the mindset that the paucity of colleagues is due to some special elite status, as opposed to what it is, the slow alienation of creation from appreciation. The same can be said for literature, film and music. This all must end.

Just as we do not always know when an idea will become a usable technology, we do not know when a piece of art will become relevant in a way the mass can appreciate. But if the mass is engaged in the creative process, perhaps that lag time between a permutation of art as a novelty and as an institution will shrink. Perhaps the idea that art is "before its time" should be examined more closely, to assure that saying, "before its time," does not actually mean, "we are not ready for the world to go there."

Sometimes the brutality is that of the cold-hearted allocation of few resources to the creative, the different or the conventionally unemployable. Consider the beauty of someone whose every word is written in a deeply poetic inner voice, silenced for years by society's brutal dismissal of her. How many Peyton Goddards wrestle with their own "ires-epic" today, undetected? Every one is a great loss.

The drive to create must be inspired and supported in every person who ever wished to express themselves, as much for their pleasure as for their profit. Every person who paints needs not be a master. Photographers should display their shots. Actors and performers should find a stage. Those who sang should continue to. But this does not happen. Instead, criticism, pseudo-sympathetic entreaties to "more productive" pursuits and the difficulty of paying the price of creativity winnow the ranks of the artist, the singer, the bard and the chef.

Once a person has been pushed away from the creative well by the pressures of post-industrial and the snotty gauntlet of their discipline's "scenedustry," I have noted that it sours them on the field itself. The artist cannot reject their own participation without rejecting some part of the form they were ousted from. This means that art loses twice when creators cease to pursue their craft.

Marcie constantly prodded and cajoled her creative friends to pursue their gifts and their urges. I will try to as well. I am officially starting a little movement I will promote personally.

I call on all of you who created in the past to stay in touch with that, to revive it if if has faded, to follow it closely if you have let it go and to start creating in the manner you choose. Return to museums and dancing and movie houses. Sing, strum a guitar, draw something, take photos, cook a meal with your own special ideas in it or just tie grass into little woven bracelets.

Even if such a movement were only to increase the number of grass bracelets in the world, to invite any one person back to any creative process successfully is something to be celebrated. All should push for the common creative to be reborn and the neglected talent to be recognized and renewed.

F.

*Heartening Dumplings and Pot Stickers*

The last warm-up course from the dinner I served Jane and Christi was pot stickers and dumplings. Had I been able to find a source, it would have been pot stickers, dumplings and Shu Mai, but sadly, no Shu Mai were to be found last week. Still, our two-variety mini dim sum was fun and tasty.

Before cooking the pot stickers and dumplings, heat an oven or toaster oven to 200 degrees Fahrenheit. This will allow you to keep a course warm while the other finishes cooking...

Use the "pan frying" method detailed on the packages, as it is far superior and allows you to be creative with the process, such as putting some pulverized ginger into the water when you add it (which I did not do this time... next time, though).

The most important part of this dish is the sauce selection. We had three, two of my own and leftovers of the cilhini plus Marcie's favorite, the Ling Ling company's base sauce. Christina invented one of her own combining two of the sauces, which I have added here. It was good!

Red Hot Marcie Dip

This is a sauce about how I felt about Marcie, not about how she liked to eat. Marcie was, simply put, hot. HOT hot HOT hot HOT! She like to be spicy, something I appreciated. But she was also flavorful...

2 Tbsp Hunan Red Chili Sauce
2 Tsp honey
1 Tbsp rice wine vinegar(spiced)
1-3 drops almond oil
A pinch of lust for life and love

Taste liberally as you work. Mix the honey, almond oil and the vinegar together first until the former is thinned into the latter and the middle ingredient is obscured. Add them to the chili sauce. Let the sauce settle in a refrigerator to thicken and separate a little (overnight).

Sweet Hot Jane Sauce

This sauce is not ready to go as soon as you have made it, so I named it after Jane. It will be ready in its own time. This sauce is laid out in proportion, but flavor to taste! Some like it hotter.

1-2 Tbsp Hunan Red Chili Sauce
4 Tsp honey
1 Tbsp soy sauce
1 drop sesame oil
1 light pinch of powdered ginger
A moment of careful consideration at each step

Mix the honey and soy sauce, add the pinch of powdered ginger, more if you would like, but don't overdo it. Add the drop of sesame oil and watch it float a bit, then stir it in, too. This must sit overnight so that the ginger saturates the sauce. Stir and then serve; never serve it settled.

Auburn Sauce Christina

This mix cannot be made in advance, but must meet exacting standards on the fly instead. Leave it to Christina. This does combine for a distinct flavor separate from a simple combination of the others.

1 portion Red Hot Marcie Dip
1 portion Sweet Hot Jane Sauce
1 portion Ling Ling dipping sauce
1 small portion Mischief (hold the capers)
1 portion Verve

Gather the remains of the above two sauces on the table after eating for a while. Mix them together on your plate and demand everyone else do the same. Enjoy. Proclaim loudly and happily that it's delicious. Accept consensus of same.

I hope you enjoy the sauces. We did. I recommend this all be served with red wine (Barefoot Zinfandel is nice) or Vodka, up with olives.

Bah, Humbug!

So, today was a big day at work. We had our annual Christmas Luncheon, which I enjoyed for the most part. Beef, Chicken, Fish... I took a little of all of them, despite my move toward less meat and more veggies. I was not in the best of moods, though.

I could not help but think about how, in the past, I would have maybe had Marcie there to show off. It was one of my favorite things, as childish and selfish as it was. Once in a blue moon, Marcie would bother to go to one of my work events and knock everyones' socks off. It always bought me a little breathing room, and more than a little respect afterward, mostly because of how we were together.

There was no dance floor anyways. I did mention that they should have one next year, if only for the sake of having one for people to use, as people could bring their significant others. But really, there would have been no point for it by me this year.

I won't be doing public things like that for a while, I've decided. *Sigh*

Kathy Griffin - Marcie's Favorite Non-Marcie Redhead

Last night, I went up and visited Walt and Lisa Soto in San Clemente. Lisa is one of Marcie's girlfriends and someone I looked up through the internet when Marcie mentioned she missed her. I can't believe that was a decade ago.

Lisa and Marcie had elaborate outings together, each seeming to want to outdo one another with their ingenuity and keen eye for each others' tastes. That's something about Marcie's girlfriends that is paralleled. Who can get the more perfect gift for the other? Who can set up the better girls' out-of-town visit?

Last year, Marcie hit one out of the park. I picked up Lisa and her at 4th and B after a show with Kathy Griffin. Both were huge fans, and they got their money's worth. Kathy went over on time and, even waiting on the street for the ladies, I could hear the cheers and laughs inside.

Marcie never got to join Lisa for last night's show. Lisa purchased tickets to the show well in advance, before Marcie's illness began to overtake her. But, being a fan myself and wanting to enjoy something I knew Marcie loved, I jumped at the chance to see it with Lisa in her place.

Kathy is a comedienne of some notoriety and great humor, but she is not a humorist for the sensitive soul. Kathy is brutally honest. This would not be so fun in most circumstances, but Kathy hammers people who are the least prepared to deal with it and the thinnest-skinned imaginable.

The people she has insulted:

• Hollywood bigwigs
• Powerful politicians
• Disabled children in wheelchairs
• Oprah (she loves her but cannot resist)
  
• Christians
• Barbara Walters
  
• Fox News (especially Bill O'Reilly)
  

Naturally, I am drawn to her comedy like a moth to a flame. It's like a very bad cake you know you should not eat but you decide you have to. Plus, she is a redhead. Points for red hair, every time.

I had a wonderful evening. I don't think I was nearly as fun as Marcie, with her boisterous and infectious laugh, but I did my best. We had dinner at Lisa's and Walt's, a very special treat in my book. Dinner was outstanding, as was the company.

Walt dropped us off at the Orange County Performing Arts Center. What a place. I admit that I am loathe to say so, but it is a beautiful center. However, it is surrounded by the most overdone plastic, pastel-stucco, neon-laced commercial district I have ever witnessed, playing host to various garish national chain restaurants and light pollution.

Kathy killed. Repeatedly. Her special talent is in making you laugh at things you should not, while also stimulating thought about social priorities on the sly. I love it! Unfortunately, I also heard that Kathy is dating and may marry Steve Wozniak of Apple fame. No more "plan B: Date Kathy Griffin" for me. You know I kid (on the square)!

I knew which jokes Marcie would laugh at and I know she was there with me. Lisa told me later that she was glad I had come, and that she had almost canceled her attendance. Well, I am glad she didn't. That was a very nice moment of Marcie she provided me.

Thank you, Lisa and Walt.

Frank

Pictures and Video from Susan Komen

So, I went to the Susan Komen finale for the San Diego 3-Day at Petco Park. Marcie was never enamored of the pink ribbon phenomenon. She supported Komen and the mission, but her disease and the number of people offering pink ribbon items was a little too much. I remember her groaning over a bouquet.

I asked her why she was so nonplussed, and I had to write it down after she said it. It was something that reflected the kind of person she was. In her own words:

"I like the whole walk for the cure pink bow campaign concept. It's feminine, it's a ribbon, it's pink and it's all over the place. That's wonderful. What sucks is that every time someone brings me a gift with a pink ribbon, it reminds me that I am not Marcie the movie buff, or the woman in business development, or maybe even redhead. I'm breast-cancer Marcie. So I love the idea of helping, but I just want to be the smart redhead again, without the cancer."

I wanted that, too. But since that was not to be, we'll just focus on the event. It was massive. I recorded a clip of the event beginning.



Thank you to all of the people who marched, ran, walked and suffered for the cure. I have also set up a gallery of images from the event, along with this darkish slideshow. It's not my best work, but I did it.



Click on it to get video segments to share or just view, and better pictures to view. I have added captions to the gallery versions of these images.