We made it?

Well, it's here. Eight weeks after I sat down on a freezing February night to tell everyone that winter was wearing on me, I sit to write about the glory of the arrival of spring.

Today, it's near 80 degrees outside, the sun is shining and not only can I run comfortably in shorts and a t-shirt, the world just smells better! Even those moments when I leave work and walk through the cloud created by my smoking co-workers, I savor the smell.


When we're in the thick of winter - when there's only a blink of daylight in a day - we use the stored memory of these days to get us through.

It works - kinda.

Sometimes I wonder why we stick around up here in the frozen north. We could have warm weather like this every day, we wouldn't have to rely on those embellished memories. Of course, today, I spent nearly 10 hours in the basement of a building in front of a computer screen - only occasionally stepping outside to appreciate the glorious weather that is coating Michigan like a hug. It's as if nature is saying, "Good job everybody! You made it. Here is your reward."

I have a strange inner need to tell my friends in the south, "See? I told you Michigan is awesome!" But today I have to admit to myself that that's just some sort of coping mechanism, a way to convince myself that I CHOOSE to live here. Honestly, I don't.

I live here for my girls. I live here for my mom. And, just a little, I live here for my job. Okay, friends too - I have incredible friends.

But if it weren't for those things, I'd be long gone!

Outta here!

History!

I'd be in a cool big city, where I could eat the most incredible food every night. I could check out my favorite bands every weekend. And I could run or ride my bike year-round.

But I'm not sure that's a trade I can make. You know how some people write little "pro" and "con" lists before they make a big decision? The balance on that sheet would lean heavily towards Michigan for me. Its hard to imagine that the weather, the food and the concerts could never trump my family and friends.  

But its time I acknowledged that the weather does genuinely suck.  I remember similar days in the past, when I can finally roll down my windows and crank up the music; when everywhere you look, moms are pushing babies in strollers, couples are walking hand-in-hand and suddenly everyone wants to take up jogging.  I remember the feeling of optimism and opportunity when those days arrived.  It didn't happen this time.
That might be because I refused to let winter get me down this year. I almost embraced it. The high was not as high because the low was not as low.

It might also be because the weather has no impact on my bank account - I'm broke hot or cold, rain or shine. 

So.....  what's the point?  I should wrap this up with a profound revelation.  But I have none.  I can only observe that my moods, my outlook and my thoughts change. 
 
Often.
 
My ability to cope is sometimes strong, other times weak.  But I get up and live my life every day - assured that another day will pass, another season will pass, and another year will pass.  And in each of them, I will be thankful for the opportunities that day brings to hug my children and to laugh with my friends.

I'm From Michigan

Earlier this week, I heard something about a groundhog. I didn't really even pay attention to whether he saw his shadow or not. And you know what? I don't care.

Winter is wearing on me. As I am sure it's wearing on many people living here in Michigan, especially if you don't really have a winter sport or hobby. And as I bundled up my girls this morning, watched them struggle against their big coats, and use all of their concentration to fit their boots, which double the size of their feet, between the seats of my car. I thought, "I cannot wait for this winter to end."

But it occurred to me that we can function through these winters just fine. We live our lives, work, earn paychecks, spend time with family, spend time with friends; people die, people are born. I am painfully aware that life continues each morning when my alarm clock goes off at 6:40 a.m. This winter burden we bear is shared by people all over the world. Its nothing noble, valiant or even special. It is entirely ordinary.

There are others who know nothing about that struggle. For them, perhaps the struggle is suffocating heat, hurricanes, disease carrying mosquitoes, or deadly earthquakes. So, in contrast, I'd say we have it easy. Okay, maybe not easy. Florida is nice. Especially right now - early February - when it seems like we haven't seen the sun for ages. I have a brother in the Pacific Northwest, its nice there too. They have seasons, but there not nearly as extreme as the Michigan Seasons.

But, this process we endure, is what makes people from Michigan start facebook pages called,
"Bitch Please, I'm from Michigan". Something about this state that makes us hearty. Not just the weather, its the fact that hundreds of thousands made their living on assembly lines and that right now, the state is the economic armpit of the country. Michigan has come to symbolize struggle, but some wear that symbol proudly as if it means nothing - certainly not the weather - can beat us down.

Last night, Governor Jennifer Granholm, delivered her final State of the State address. And for the entire 7-plus years that she's been governor, people have been running away from Michigan. Sure, there are no jobs here. But the weather doesn't help. Friends of mine recently moved away to a warmer climate, and hopefully a better job. That same story is happening hundreds of times every day. I may leave someday too. But it won't be because of the weather.

I often ridicule people who say, "I'd live in Michigan, if it weren't for the winters." And maybe that's not fair. The cold, and the lack of sunlight can have a serious effect on some people. But, I believe we can embrace the winter and living through it makes the summers so much sweeter. I mean, we do have some pretty nice summers! But overall, why does it even matter? We live where our lives are. We live close to the people we love - close to the communities that support us. The weather is just scenery. Its always changing.

In just a few months, I'll be running, or riding my bike at the break of dawn on a summer day. I'll look at the enormous, bright sun rising over the mist of a corn field. And I'll say to myself, "Bitch, please. I'm from Michigan."

The Richness of Sorrow

I lost my Grandpa this week. He was my last living grandparent.

I cannot claim his death as my loss alone - it is a more profound loss for my father, aunts and uncles. They lost their father. And although the passing of Eugene Bradford was not a surprise, it does sting the way only the death of a family member stings.

It really has nothing to do with how close we were. I have to admit that we were not very close. Still, he was a presence in my life from the day I was born. He is included in some of my earliest and most profound memories. I can trace characteristics from him, through my father directly to me. Some are assets, others are not. But either way, he is a part of me. So for that reason- among many others - I mourn the loss. And look forward to mourning in the company of my family.

I am lucky to say its only happened a few times in my adult life. But, in my experience, there is nothing as powerful as the process of mourning the loss of a family member. I recall the last experience as one of the most beautiful and most powerful in my life. I've been wondering why - and I think I figured it out.

First, there are not many occasions during which an entire family comes together. Sure there are holidays, but often we are too busy running around, running errands and splitting our time up between other relatives and in-laws to really enjoy the company of our families. Especially if we have to travel great distances. But a death in the family is different. Its usually not anticipated or planned and it almost always brings relatives from every corner of the country (or the world) together.

And second, and perhaps most important, is the opportunity to lean on one another. I hope I can express this accurately: We spend our lives, especially as adults, being self-sufficient and strong (at least we try). A death in the family is one of the few times in life when we permit ourselves to depend on someone else. A time when we know that others understand our pain, because they're feeling it too. And because of that shared pain, and the shared support, we feel closer and more connected than at any other time in our lives. It is rich! Because of that support, the sting of the loss gets a little bit duller, while the rest of the world gets so much more vivid. Laughter is brighter, smiles are genuine, hugs are bigger and more meaningful. Even food tastes better! And during the richness of sorrow - families are strongest.

So in the coming days I will gather with my family to mourn the passing of my Grandfather. I will lean on them and I will allow them to lean on me. And I will pay respect to the man who, in some way, brought us all into the world. And I will not overlook - or under appreciate - the love and support of my family.

Rest in peace Grampa.

Fair?

I am a journalist. As much as I might try to struggle and rage against it, that's what I do for a living and its likely I'll keep doing it for some time to come. Now, of course there are wide variations in the types of people that give themselves this title. There are the small town newspaper reporters, covering the township board meetings across the United States. And there are the courageous journalists traveling into war zones, or traveling with The President. I am somewhere in the middle. But, what we all have in common (at least at the beginning) is the desire to be fair. To tell a story the way its supposed to be told, and to resist letting our personal thoughts, beliefs and feelings get in the way. But today I found myself struggling to do the opposite.

What is "fair" about what is happening in Haiti? And how do I "fairly" tell the story to the viewers sitting at home, with the news on in the background as they sit down for dinner. I've been producing news for a long time. And - I hate to say it - disasters of this magnitude have happened a few times during my career. First the September 11th terrorist attacks, then the Tsunami, Hurricane Katrina, now Haiti. And - I hate to say it - it's going to happen again.

Oh, these are the times when a journalist can really shine! Right? At a time when the suffering, the chaos and the misery are just beyond words, most journalists will dig into their bag of cliches.

They'll spew out lines like:
"The devastation is unimaginable."
"The horror of the tragedy is undescribable"

There are the standard words:
"Devastation, horror, tragedy, chaos, grief and grieving"

And while some child is probably still sitting underneath tons of concrete, dust, wires, shit and piss watching his parents decompose; some pretty, twenty-something reporter with too much makeup and too much hair spray is literally singing the words into a microphone. You know - the way almost every TV reporter has to sing their lines: "The dev-uh-staaaay-shun is UN-imagine-a-buullll.

I struggle against cliches every day. And today I tried my best to be fair. Fair to the people who deserved to know just how awful the situation is in Haiti, and fair to the people who died, who are about to die, or who have watched their children, their parents or friends die.

I wrote something like this:

"Haiti was already one of the poor. But this earthquake has taken a country that was on its knees and knocked it to the ground. Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands have died. Bodies are lying all over the place - some covered with sheets, others uncovered in plain sight. At night, little children go to sleep with a pile of rotting corpses only a few feet away. And with each hour that passes, the need for aid becomes more and more urgent."

Okay, I didn't resort to any of those loathsome cliches, and I think I brought enough graphic detail to the story to tell it fairly. But I'm not about to pat myself on the back for writing a paragraph while those people suffer. I haven't been there - never in my life. And I certainly have never seen or heard or smelled a disaster of those proportions. I wrote that from watching the video come down on feeds.

All day, I watch the images stream into our newsroom, and in a few days - like much of the world - I will become numb to them. Soon, the Haiti earthquake will get bumped down from the lead story to follow a school board meeting or an armed robbery. Soon it will take only 20 or 30 seconds of my newscast. And soon we'll forget. And soon, we'll start using words like "devastation" and "tragedy" to describe another story, somewhere else in the world.


Is that fair?