We’re back from Nashville. There are many stories to tell about the travel, the hotel, and the competition. I will tell them over the next week or so, for sure.

This photo begins the Great Panda Adventure. I bought a new camera — the Nikon Coolpix 550S — because DG and I both wanted a camera we could stick in a pocket and go.

This little camera is a real dynamo. We decided we were going to do a “Panda’s Adventures in Nashville” series of photos by placing the Panda in strange places around the Opryland Hotel and then photographing it. It was some of the best fun we had — thinking of places to put it, then photographing it. With this camera, the lighting didn’t matter, it was easy to compose pictures, and it was a one-shot deal to the perfect picture. It’s a 10MP camera with 5x optical zoom (4x digital zoom but I don’t recommend EVER using the digital zoom on any camera. It just doesn’t work well enough to justify the effort). It fits in the palm of my hand, has a beautiful, well-lit screen, lots of really nice modes for shooting (like backlit subjects, dark lighting, etc), and some really nice in-camera editing features.

Learning to use it took me about 5 minutes. Granted, I have a Nikon DSLR and am used to some of the features, but this camera has many more features than the DSLR does. Even someone unfamiliar with point and shoot cameras can take great images with it right out of the box. I bought a 4GB SD card (SanDisk UltraII) for $29 and have been really pleased with the performance and reliability of that as well. The battery life is pretty robust — I did about 10 minutes of video and 300 pictures where half were flash photos, and played them all back on the camera’s monitor before reaching total battery drain.

If you’re looking for a microcamera, I cannot say enough about this one. I haven’t found one thing I’d change about it, or anything to complain about. It’s not a DSLR, so don’t expect it to perform like one, but it’s got enough range, depth and versatility to consider it an excellent choice for just about any on-the-fly photo opportunity. I get really tired of hauling around the DSLR and lenses with me to places like irish dance competitions, so this was a welcome relief to my shoulders.

Oh, and it was under $200. That was the best part. I was pleasantly surprised at the price, particularly when compared to the benefits.

I’m looking forward to using it at the BlogHer conference in a couple of weeks. (I have much more to talk about with regard to that as well in a separate post).

As for DG, there was no recall at Nationals for her. That was sad, but we had a great time while we were there, and I can honestly say that she did her very best and looked like she belonged up there with that very, very tough group of international competitors. I would have loved for her to come back with a placement and medal (as would she!), but it wasn’t to be. Still, the experience of competing at that level is one that I think will be valuable for her as time goes by, whether or not she chooses to try it again next year. (I think she will, but you just never know…).

I suppose I should. If it were “stepfathers day” I’d have lots to say, because I have one of the funniest, kindest, quirkiest stepdads on the planet. He still kisses my elbow when I walk in the house and sneaks cotton balls in my purse when I’m not looking. (I told you he was quirky) Those cotton balls bring back memories of sneaking in at 3AM trying not to let anyone know I’d just gotten home, only to be caught out when I let out an involuntary scream while turning the covers back on my bed. Under those covers, there would be the carefully laid pattern of cotton balls, placed for maximum possibility of inadvertent contact.

See, I hate cotton balls. There is something about the texture of them that gives me chills down my spine if I even think about them, much less touch them. The idea of picking one up, or inadvertently plunging my finger into the center of one just about sends me into orbit. Call it sensory disconnect, or just weirdness. Because it’s just this side of utterly bizarre, my stepdad thinks it’s funny to tease me with them. It never fails to get a laugh (even from me sometimes), and he also reminds me that it could have been one of my brother’s snakes in that bed instead of cotton balls. The boas, in particular, seemed to love getting out of their nice warm man-made houses and finding their way to the foot of my bed.

With a great stepfather like that, writing about my real father on father’s day would be one of two things: mean-spirited or phony. It makes more sense to remain silent. There is one thing, though. My dad is the one who taught me how to love jazz, and to respect the artistry behind the music. It makes me sad to know that he won’t have an opportunity to see his grandson carry forward the tradition of the music he loves best. Beyond that, the other stories are not ones I care to tell, especially on a day where fathers are celebrated. Flaws and all, I know he loved me as best as he could. He just couldn’t get around himself enough to make it count when it needed to.

So instead of writing, I’ll just wish all dads out there a great day, blow a kiss toward my stepdad’s elbow, and remind the kids to behave.

I first heard about Phil Burns on Twitter about 2 weeks ago when someone re-twittered his most recent post saying that his daughter, Serenity, might have leukemia. And she does. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Fortunately, A.L.L. is the more curable type of leukemia, but it involves 2 1/2 years of treatment.

They’re on day 16, and it’s already a haul. Did I mention that Phil and his wife have 8 kids? Here’s a little bit of what they’re dealing with:

So, I cancelled my fantasy of maybe being able to actually go do something with Adria Friday night and got on the phone and started making arrangements for the other kids while I drove home, Adria packed our bags. I got home and we loaded up Serenity and headed to the E.R.. She really didn’t look good. By the time we got to the ER at Utah Valley, the oncologist had already been on the phone with Triage and they knew we were coming. As we pulled up, I had my little speech prepared to keep us out of the waiting room (neutropenic means her neutrophil (a type of white blood cells) counts are extremely low and she has little to no immunity):

“This is Serenity Burns, she was recently diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia, she is neutropenic and is symptomatic of requiring an immediate blood transfusion.”

I spouted that a few times, feeling a bit like Jane from Firefly in the episode where they break into the hospital. Anyway, they sent us into a room to check us in and the first question out of the RN’s mouth after hearing my little speech is:

“Has she recently been on any medications”

I was stunned for a minute, couldn’t think of anything to respond with that wasn’t just rude. After a second I said without further hesitation, ”well, with recently being diagnosed with Leukemia, she is now on chemo, zofran, dexamethazine, prevacid, oxycodin, PEG injections, sephra on mon and tues, and has recently had about a dozen blood transfusions and as many platelet transfusions - but that really hasn’t changed in the last few days.”

Then it was her turn to be stunned and ask me to repeat the list slowly. hehe.

So, in addition to being a web entrepreneur working to launch a new Web 2.0 app, raising 8 kids, and trying to have a life somewhere in there, the whole family is now struggling with a new and very scary paradigm — knowing that the youngest child is facing a disease that can be deadly and can be cured, and the line to walk toward a cure is a very thin, carefully balanced combination of medication, monitoring and love.

Friends have started a fundraising effort to help his family with Serenity’s medical bills. Even with insurance, it’s not a walk in the park.

It feels kind of like a startup company, which I’ve been doing for the last 18 months anyway, it’s familiar territory and I feel kind of comfortable here. Just like a startup, Serenity’s plan involves risk - a lot of risk. But there’s a huge reward and it’s very much worth time, effort and money. Going into this we have no idea how much money it’s going to cost but it’s got to be done and we’ll figure that out as we go - just like an early stage startup. The point is, I feel like I can do this, I’ve been doing it for a long time.

Please consider a donation if possible, and if not, please send good thoughts, prayers, and hope Serenity’s way.

Serenity’s website is here, and you can follow Phil on Twitter here.

Photo credit: Phil Burns

I know things have been quiet here. I’m obsessed, and also getting ready for Dancergirl’s middle school graduation — a day we’re looking forward to in terms of counting days and hours. Here is her farewell note, which I thought was something worth sharing with all of you, too. It’s a great way to see what matters to our kids. I just wish the school would read it, too.

You suck.

I work my butt off for you all year, getting renaissance (above 3.25 gpa) every single trimester/quarter throughout every single year–6th through 8th– in HONORS classes with crazy teachers who make us write highschool level essays for tests, and you don’t even acknowledge me.

YOU DONT EVEN REMEMBER MY NAME–or if you do, you don’t spell it correctly

Thanks for making me really hate, fine I wont say hate–dislike with a passion– you guys. After punishing me for being a good dancer, a good student, locking me in the school one time while I was trying to do make up one of YOUR tests, and not even trusting me to get a book out of my backpack at lunch time–their exact words were, “I’m watching you.” I have some of these teachers for years and you still call me Abby, or Nicole. Jeez, is it really so hard for my PE teacher to remember my name when it’s written on my shirt???

But, you know what the worst part is? You really make me not want to work, and not want to try. Why should I? You care about the suck ups and the trouble makers. If they listen to you, why acknowledge them?

Its like when you’ve worked really hard for something, next to someone who has been working the judges over, or someone who was so bad, who didn’t care at all until they did one little thing, and its suddenly a miracle. Guess what order it goes in: The suck ups, the lazy people, the hard workers.

you know, I even tried not to care. After the stupid eighth grade awards night–of which you also messed up my brother on–I tried not to care about studying for that stupid test you try to cram in the last week of school, or the math project, or the stupid science activity. But you grrrrpeople have trained me like a dog, which is pretty much how you treat us too–and I realllly dislike you for that.

So here is my farewell wish for you, MVMS. Stop focusing on test scores like they’re the bible. Stop making it a hassle to learn, a chore, and once again make it fun, a privilege. Don’t EVER make someone regret working hard. By the time people leave your school, make ALL of them sad to be leaving–not counting the hours until they are out of a school filled with stiff necked test scores at all costs losers.

And don’t punish people for being successful.

Maybe then you’ll win back some of my respect, maybe some of the rest of my family’s too. I’m not promising though.

And to you MVMS I’m counting days, and hours until I walk through your doors for the last time–only remembering the few good times I shared with a few good friends, all enduring your school together. You boxed me in, you frowned upon my success, you worked me like a dog, and gave me a cookie to smooth it over. SEE YA!

peace

<333

Irishdancr

Irishdancr (dancergirl) blogs at Irishdancr.com

According to Liz, Wendy Portillo has been reassigned. She also has a great post up with much more constructive suggestions to voice your opinion and protest than my rant does.

You can also find a listing of posts at Whitterer on Autism in support of Alex and his family.

I’m still at a loss to understand how any right-thinking teacher could have not only allowed, but engineered this.

Update: 7:19PM From the comments, you can find a more complete list of bloggers here, and you can sign a petition here to request this teacher’s termination.

I love this picture. It so perfectly depicts the differences between my Mom and me. She’s looking straight at the camera, smiling, confident (I have yet to see a camera that didn’t love her on sight), and I’m looking aside, sort of engaged and sort of distracted, all at once. Yep, that was me, flighty, flitty girl, wandering off either in my mind or body to whatever looked interesting at the time.

Were it not for the things my mom taught me, I wouldn’t have had the skills to fry an egg much less manage a life. Mom had a job from the time I was born, so to me, it was a given that women worked. It wasn’t until I was old enough to notice that my friends’ moms stayed home that I began to understand how different she was from the rest, and what a trailblazer HER mother was for not only working, but having a successful career and retiring at just about the time women were starting to push for equality in the workplace. Grandma was years ahead of her time, and she passed that same ethic to my mom, who passed it to me.

Being the drifty child that I was, I remember Mom getting in my face and telling me to use my common sense about things. If I was supposed to be home at five, I’d darn well better have a watch or a way to know what time it is, because I’m expected to be home at five. If she was working, I should be able to feed myself, and she taught me to cook the basic things early on. My mom knows how to gets stuff done. And she taught me how to get stuff done, even if it meant doing it myself and in unconventional ways. If it needed to be done, it got done. It still gets done. My mom is the best when it comes to that — she’s a go-to person.

My passion for politics came straight from Mom. She has always been involved and engaged in the political process, right in the center of it, where possible. In 1960, she worked at the Democratic convention here in LA when JFK was nominated. And as I’ve mentioned elsewhere, she was also working the night RFK was assassinated in LA, phoning in primary election returns to CBS so they could report in as near to real time as they could get.

I’m sure it made her mad as hell when I rebelled in 1972 and joined my Republican friends to get out the vote for Nixon, and yet she never once drilled me with I-told-you-so digs when I spent the entire summer of 1974 watching the Watergate hearings and realizing I’d been duped, big time. She had more class than that, and welcomed me back into the fold of friendly Democrats with a wink and a nod, unlike other family members who STILL needle me about it.

For all of her practical leanings, my Mom is an artist at heart and in her soul. Whether it was drawing, or painting murals on the bedroom wall, or making those sequined calendars every single year for the relatives (yes, I think she sewed sequins on about 15 years worth of calendars altogether), or making me dresses that really were cool to wear to school, or painting my bedroom in all the shades of lavender that any respectable purple-loving girl could want, my mom is truly an artist. It’s her creativity that I love the most. I’m wearing earrings that she made out of antique buttons for me, and I still have the shawl she crocheted for me back in the 70’s when crocheted shawls were all the rage. Mom showed me how to be creative, to be artistic, but still keep both feet on the ground.

Mom lives the “don’t be afraid to try” motto, which is why she ordered up a Dell laptop for herself about 8 years ago or so and went from wondering what a mouse was to being a power seller on EBay in short order. She’s not afraid to try, she’s not afraid to learn, and she’s not afraid to ask when she doesn’t understand how something works.

Above all, though, my mom is a giver. With her time, her attention, her money, and her encouragement. There was a time where we were driving somewhere and came upon an accident in an intersection ahead. Without even thinking, Mom was out of the car, helping with first aid to the victims. One of them was a hemophiliac, and no ambulances had arrived on the scene. We were about a half-mile from the hospital, so without so much as a skipped beat, Mom bundled the lady into the front seat of the car and said she’d just drive her up to the emergency room.

I can remember being a little bit scared, but mostly surprised that my mom didn’t care that this person was bleeding all over her car, that she didn’t even know her, and that she was taking over like she’d done it all her life. (My dad, on the other hand, would never have let someone bleed in HIS car…perish the thought). As it happened, the ambulance arrived just as she was going to go, so she handed the lady back to the paramedics (or whatever they were at that time) since they had on-the-spot resources to help with her condition.

Later I asked why she had done that. She explained what a ‘bleeder’ was, and asked me this: “If you had a choice between helping or not, and you knew time was of the essence, and you knew this person could bleed to death waiting, what would YOU have done?”

I have never forgotten that lesson. That was driven home clearly. If you have a way to help someone from dying, being hurt, being hungry, being sick, DO IT. Don’t let people suffer when you can help. Don’t wait for someone else. DO IT.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. In your honor, and because you taught me to, I am making a donation in your name to the BlogHer Global Giving initiative to help the Myanmar/Burma cyclone victims. Global Giving has people on the ground there, helping already, so this is a situation where giving really can make a horrible, tragic situation better. Despite confirmation of over 61,000 victims, I can still help the ones who are still alive.

Of everything you taught me, Mom, that lesson matters most. Make a difference where you can.

Let me start this post by saying that it’s not supposed to be 97 degrees in Camarillo in April. It’s especially not supposed to be 97 degrees on a day where DG performs outside at our local Celtic festival in full costume, with only two other backup dancers. AND…when she has a competition the next day.

This competition meant a lot to her. After the last one, she has been practicing, working, practicing. Beyond the obvious desire to do well and finish in the money, Nationals looms large on the horizon, and is the next big goal ahead of her dance-wise. Like our presidential candidates, momentum means a lot. This competition was DG’s Pennsylvania primary. She didn’t have to finish first, but she did need to close the gap and finish strong.

She did, too! Jumped up 7 or so places to 8th. Unfortunately they only gave trophies to the top 7, but it’s the first time I had to fight back happy tears over a non-trophy finish, because she was, in this biased parent’s estimation, brilliant.

Here’s a little excerpt of what we call Irish dancing in hell….full costume, 98 degrees outside, dancing in the sun. Yowsa. Didn’t she do a great job? This is a new dance for her — she’s working on polishing it up for her set dance at Nationals.