Held Over By Popular Demand

We're not into reruns here at MHGL, but after I logged on and saw that I had a message asking to recruit more folks to LIVESTRONG Action, I decided to hit you up again. In yesterday's post, I asked you all to share your inner badasses with Jamie and sign his dedication page. The goal was 25. Hell, we had that in less than 18 hours. Why? Because ya'll guys* rock. Hard. (*Please indulge both my Midwestern roots and my Southern conventions with my combo of ya'll & you guys. Cute, no? I can't claim it -- my goddaughter H invented it when she was a toddler, and I like it. It could catch on.) So-o-o-o-o-o-o, when I returned from my girl-lunch date with B (who asked how I decided what to write about each day ... here's your answer ...) I had an e-mail waiting for me from Lance Armstrong. Yeah, we're buds (inasmuch as he's buds with all the other millions of folks he's inspired). So my boy Lance had this to say regarding the LIVESTRONG Action campaign and the dedication book filled with names:

As an added incentive, a donor has pledged to give $30,000 if we can collect 30,000 signatures before the end of the Tour. I'll send these signatures to world leaders after the Tour de France and pressure them to make cancer a priority in their own countries. It’s our best chance to push for better treatment, more funding for cancer research and access to care for everyone around the world. When you sign the declaration, you'll be able to dedicate that action to a cancer survivor or caregiver who has inspired you. I dedicated my signature to my mom, who stuck by me -- and fought alongside me -- throughout my cancer fight. Who will you dedicate yours to?

So now, really, what are you waiting for? Go add your name. If you've already added your name, click on that nifty yellow link on the bottom and send it to a friend, or two, or 20. If you'd like to create a page for someone else, you can click the nifty red link at the top and do that. My goal was to get 25 names on the page, but now you've awakened the overachiever in me (she doesn't sleep very soundly). Now I want to see Jamie's name in that upper right margin under "Top Dedications." In the time I've been writing this post, two more signatures have landed on J's page. See? I know my peeps rock. And I really, really, really do dig that about you.

A LIVESTRONG Action Kind of Day

Yep, that's my husband up there. Yep, that's a LIVESTRONG bracelet on his wrist. Yep, those are bubbles of magic chemo he put all around his head. And, yeppers, he's got a twisted sense of humor ... and I dig that about him. It's that "yeah, I've got cancer, but I've had bad trips before; I'll ride this one out, too" badass attitude that keeps him strong. That keeps me strong. That's why I chose that picture on his LIVESTRONG Action dedication page. You'll find it along with the story of why Jamie is the Phoenix. Go there. Now. Really. NOW. Because you can always come back here (in fact, why don't you bookmark, or subscribe, when you do come back? M'kay? Thanks!). But here is where you'll find almost 1,000 people just like Jamie (Probably more by now, J was #781) all over the world dedicated to fighting cancer. My husband is now part of the world's largest dedication book that LIVESTRONG Action will use to pressure world leaders to do more to fight cancer. From the site:

Right now, Lance Armstrong is dedicating his ride in the Tour de France to the fight against cancer. And after the race, he'll send this dedication book -- with your signature -- to world leaders and pressure them to make cancer a priority in their own countries. It's our best chance to push for better treatment, more funding for cancer research and access to care for everyone around the world.

Check it out. Add your name. That's it. It takes just a second, doesn't cost a thing, and will make you a part of a big worldwide team trying to ride this trip out and come out better on the other side. You'll do it. I know you will. You've got that inner badass just like we do. And I dig that about you.

Of Delusions and Diversions

Team Wedding Headquarters (TWHQ) is going dark until all the fuss on the front lawn dies down (I'm thinking tomorrow will be clear. Don't ask how I know; I just do.), what with all of the Phoenixheads gathered outside. Fortunately, the neighbors are accommodating the throng of media (four kids on bikes with cell phones, and one skeevy guy in sweatpants and a fedora), but if the crowd grows (I'm thinking the threshold is two more kids on bikes, one more sweatpant, two more fedoras, and/or TMZ. Whichever comes first.), there's no telling what might happen. Maybe breaking the press line to put a note from the Homeowners' Association in our mailbox. Maybe a livefeed interview. It could go either way. TWHQ is stocked up with Gatorade, Snapple, watermelon, tomatoes, and Cheetos; People, Real Simple, and library books are stacked beside the couch; NCAA Football is queued up in the PS2, and the remote control is doing a fine job of selecting OnDemand programming. Nurse Tilly is on her back, feet in the air, under the fan, so she can be fresh if she needs to go out and read her prepared statement. She doesn't seem too concerned, however. And neither am I. Because when I set my mind to it, not much of anything can penetrate the bubble I build around TWHQ.

Team Wedding Goes International

***TNN BREAKING NEWS ADVISORY***

DATELINE: SOMEWHERE, FRANCE July 9, 2009 The Tilly News Network (TNN) reports that "THE PHOENIX WILL RISE," Team Wedding's official contribution to Lance Armstrong's "Hope Rides Again" campaign on Le Tour de France, has been imprinted on the tour route. TNN French correspondent le Petit Cochon, network owner Tilly's exective assistant Piggy, reports early reaction to the statement's release was positive, but as word spread among citizens, a crowd grew. "This is unlike anything my beady petit cochon eyes have ever seen," reports Piggy. "You expect candles, flowers and singing of soothing songs at these type of impromptu gatherings, but folks here are burning incense, eating Cheetos and singing 'Can't Kill The Rooster.'" As Armstrong is already committed to zipping right past any markers on the Tour route, he is not expected to make an appearance at the PHOENIX site. TNN will interrupt regularly scheduled programming as this story develops. ### (c) 2009 Tilly News Network ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Wordless, Whimsical, Wednesday

Today's Post Is Brought to You By The Letters LP, J, LS, C, and JC

Today's post is a collaborative effort, even if my muses are only learning now about how they've inspired me today.

First, I have to thank my new buddy over at Cancer Sucks Even With Lilly Pulitzer On Your Side. I must acknowledge that I totally borrowed(stole) the video above from her site — but it's just too damn good not to share. I also must give her a well deserved shout-out for her instant friendship. She cheered, commiserated, complimented, and even made the commitment of giving me her contact info (a generous kindness that I hope she doesn't regret after a few e-mails from my rambling mind). And that was just in her first comment. Up until now, LIVESTRONG yellow colored my hopeful thoughts. Thanks, Miz CancerSucks, for throwing pink & green on my palette.

The amazing J is also responsible for making this a LIVESTRONG day. She turned me on to the Chalkbot, which, when I went to wearyellow.com, I realized was part of the same campaign featured above. From the site:

IT'S ABOUT YOU.

Lance is just one person. He can't fight the global cancer epidemic alone. So he asked artists, other athletes, survivors and writers to join his peloton. Now he's asking you. What's your bike? There are many ways to get involved and make a difference. How will you help?

© 2009 NIKE

THE ROAD IS OPEN. WHAT WILL YOU SAY?

Own a piece of the road at the Tour de France. Write your message and it will be sent to the Nike LIVESTRONG Chalkbot. What words of hope, inspiration and encouragement will you share with the world?

© 2009 NIKE

I've already sent my message to the Chalkbot: THE PHOENIX WILL RISE, a reference to Jamie's indestructible spirit. I'll receive a message when it has been written on the Tour route, and will post it here. Regardless, I encourage you to check out wearyellow.com, if only to see the incredible stories, pictures, and videos of hope, life, and survival everywhere.

Well, that takes care of LP (Lilly Pulitzer), J (my girl-date buddy), and LS (duh, LIVESTRONG) and now we find ourselves at our next sponsoring letter, C. No, silly, it's not for cancer. In fact, we never call cancer "C" here at Team Wedding Headquarters — cancer's not cute, so it doesn't deserve a nickname.

Nope. The final underwriting sponsor of today's post is none other than my baby sister Caryn. I was talking to her earlier, rambling on (as I do), interrupting her every third word (as I do), and telling her how I was going to check out this Chalkbot-thingie, and write about it today. The whole time we're talking, I'm hearing my almost-eight-month-old nephew talking in the background. I asked her to put the phone by him, but he was across the room, crawling, and taking his sweet time getting closer to her. 

Wait! What? Crawling? I haven't even seen him sit up on his own yet.

We speak often, but I don't see him nearly as much as I'd like. Caryn says that Atlanta isn't "so far away," but every time I hear JC's sweet voice — now saying "MAMA" — it may as well be a million miles away. Jamie heard me say that and felt guilty that he was keeping me here, not realizing in the moment he said it that I don't want to be anywhere on earth but here by his side. I just wish — even knowing it's impossible because of immune systems compromised by that so-not-cute cancer — everyone else could be here by our side, too.

I hung up the phone today and my mind kept hearing the words Caryn wrote on Jamie's Facebook wall after his first surgery (when, because of that damn compromised immunity, he hadn't even met JC yet): 

"Welcome home Jamie. I hope Tilly gives you the welcome you deserve. You are in our hearts and prayers. I am so glad JC has an uncle he can look up to for his strength and courage. We love you!"

File that under Reason #4,684 to keep LIVingSTRONG. Time is going by way too fast and my awesome nephew JC needs to know his awesome uncle Jamie.

And he will. I'm sure of it. Because I know the phoenix will rise.

Silver & Gold

"... Make new friends, but keep the old ... One is silver and the other gold ..."

I never made it past the Brownies in Girl Scouts, but that doesn't mean I didn't learn to LIVE. BY. THE. GIRL. SCOUT. LAW! Yeah, all you former (or fallen) girl scouts, you know what I'm talking about: the end of the pledge. Any troop of Brownies I've ever heard said it just like that -- a staccato cadence, each word rising in volume, and ending in giggles. All you former (or fallen) girl scouts also recognize that little ditty up there, too. It's been running through my mind today, ever since I logged in this morning and found three comments on yesterday's self-congratulating one-month celebratory post. Quite simply, they rocked. I've made some new friends: Heather, who said "I love the way you write"; and Meaghan, who said she "absolutely love(s) that picture." Click on their names to go to their blogs and you'll see just how hard these chicks rock. (And not just because they flatter me, and oh, I do -- I do! -- love flattery!) But, it's the third comment that really pushed me over the verklempt cliff. It ended with four words guaranteed to get me every time, especially when they come from the best-big-sister-lifetime-girl-scout-who-pinned-my-wings-on-me-when-I-looked-in-the-water-and-saw-myself-and-then-taught-me-everything-I-know-about-how-to-LIVE-BY-THE-GIRL-SCOUT-LAW! Stay gold, Chrisie. Stay gold.

Happy Onemonthaversary To Me

"I'm thinking ... I'm thinking ... I'm thinking ..." Hi. Yep, that's me up there. And if you think it looks like my wheels are spinning and wondering, "What can I do to make this perfect, um, better, I meant better (Really. Especially if Dr. J is reading this)," then you're right. I've been consulting my Original, Creative, Detailed* notes (*Oh, you can figure it out; that's an easy one.), adding more features as I go, making new friends, and feeling pretty darn good about the whole darn thing. Today marks my little venture's one-month anniversary. That's one more check-off on my list of things to do. Like achieve world domination. Or be eligible to join various blogging networks. Whichever comes first. It's all good.

Saturday. In The Yard. Think It Was the Fourth of July.

I am an Army brat. A proud one. And I love the Fourth of July. 

This year, it will be a relatively quiet celebration, except for any neighbors in good-old-fireworks-legal-South Carolina who may be putting on a show. We can usually count on a few teens nearby to pop off more than a few sizzlers, and Jamie and will venture into the backyard, beers or sodas (or bourbon) in hand, to watch the show. 

Remembering our first July in this house, I think that the kids thought we were coming out to complain about the playing-with-matches-and-what-not already in progress:

A round goes off, we take our swigs and holler a hearty "WOO-HOO!" their way. They think (or so I like to think), "OK, those old farts are gonna be cool." Then a real old fart (who, surprisingly, is younger than we are) comes outside and throws off a few passive-aggressive huffs and puffs, only to be ignored. She (it's always a she) even walks over and says something to the teenagers, and then arms crossed, head down, still huffing and puffing, she radiates bitch-energy as she skulks back to her house.

There's a pause in the show and we think that maybe the kids have bowed to young-old-fartista's will. Now I know they're thinking, "Crabby old fart," because we're saying, um, thinking, it, too.

But, no. They're just stockpiling whatever mini-munitions they have left in a pile in the center of the cul-de-sac. One by one, their cars fill up and drive away. We notice, however, they've only barely driven outside the neighborhood gate and pulled over to the side of the main thoroughfare, still a good vantage point.

When just one vehicle and two kids are left, our suspicions are confirmed. Ready ... driver starts the engine. Set ... passenger is poised at the end of a fuseline of sparklers. GO! Match is lit, dropped to the sparklers, and passenger hops in car, which pulls up even with our yard (I told you they knew we were cool) to watch the fuseline burn toward the pile'o'pops.

And ... BOOM! HISS! CRACKLE! SNAP! POPOPOPOPOPOP! SSSHHHHCCCCOWWWW-OW-OW-0W! (that's what it sounds like to me; feel free to suggest alternate spellings below ...)

The finale! 

We cheer! The kids beside us cheer! The kids on the road cheer!

Just as it ends, a chorus of car horns starts up and they speedily retreat ... probably to buy more fireworks (it's only 10 p.m.) and go to someone else's neighborhood (the night is young) and piss off some other old fart (they're everywhere, you know).

Our one-time "new" neighborhood is filled with homes now, with no more open cul-de-sacs in which to host impromptu sky shows. Not sure where Ms. Young Old-Fart is. She didn't venture out and complain much anymore after that night. She still may be huffing and puffing, peeking out her window every time someone's music is too loud, someone's dog barks, or someone laughs just a little too heartily. I feel sorry for her, and she doesn't even know why.

Those same kids have grown up and have better things to do than hang around someone's yard on a hot summer night, drink beer or soda (or bourbon) and shoot off fireworks. They won't ask, but if they did, I'd tell them that one day they'll learn.

I'd tell them:

"Twenty, 30 — hell, if you're lucky enough to keep a laugh in your heart, 40 or 50 — years from now, you'll learn that walking into your backyard, holding hands, sipping on beer or soda (or bourbon); watching fearless teenage boys impress breathless teenage girls; oohing, ahhing, and woo-hooing while the grumpy neighbors harrumph wa-a-a-a-a-y before their time; telling each other stories of summers long ago, stories you've heard already, but love to hear again and again because of the twinkle in the eyes and dimples in the cheek of your storyteller; kissing in the moonlight before going back in the house  ... You'll learn. You'll learn there is nothing better to do than just that."

But they won't ask. And they wouldn't listen. I wouldn't have.

Wordless, Wistful, Wednesday