Inside Out: Exploration of Media, Community, Change

Unexpected: Michigan media Detroit Lions reporter dies

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 12:33:07 PDT

Tom Kowalski, who covered the Detroit Lions for media in Michigan died today, Aug. 29. 2011.

The Grand Rapids Press posted an article about his death and role in Michigan media at mlive.com: Tom Kowalski longtime Detroit Lions reporter, dies

The 51-year-old started covering the pro football team in 1985 while working at the Oakland Press. He began covering the Lions for Booth Newspapers in 1997, according to the article.

Kowalski (aka "Killer") is also the Lions insider to WDFN-AM Detroit, WJBK-TV,Detroit, WRIF-FM Detroit, and The Sporting News.

More coverage and reactions is being added online on the Mlive.com Lions page.
and national sports sites also are reporting on his death.

Over on his Twitter stream, one of his last Tweets:

TomKowalski36 Tom Kowalski OK fellas, here we go ... Sleep well, I'll most likely kill you in the morning ...
17 hours ago

Some of his recent coverage of the Detroit Lions is archived.

The Booth Newspaper chain includes the Ann Arbor News, Bay City Times, Flint Journal, Grand Rapids Press, Jackson Citizen Patriot, Kalamazoo Gazette, Muskegon Chronicle, and Saginaw News. Booth is part of Advance Publications.

Tomorrow starts now for those who live in the moment

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 07:30:36 PST

It is so hard to live in the moment, to appreciate what we have right now, to know that what is here is enough, is right, is perfect for what this moment is.

It is so much easier to wish for tomorrow, that phantom time that will let us live our life the way we want to, not the way our kids mold our days and nights, not the way our parents shape what happens with questions and love, not the way the should tasks fill much of the 24/7 schedule.

Sometimes the only way I get through the periods of pain is by focusing on what will -- OK may -- be possible another time.

Yet the pain - in my body, or my mind or my heart - clearly calls me back to the moment. That pain shouts deal with me NOW.

Sometimes the rythmatic actions of online games can mask the frightening accumulation of pains.

Sometimes the warmth of conversation can melt the icy coat of hurt.

Sometimes catching the happiness that crosses the faces of those lost in the now is enough, is inspiring, is a call to action.

Can I create moments modeled by Jimmy Fallon who often giggles with the delight of the results of the right guest at the right time?

Does a grin cross my face and sparkle my eyes just like Keith Urban on a morning TV show performing "You Look Good in My Shirt?"

Do I ever get lost like the child who disappears into a bucket of Legos, box of crayons or a body-swallwoing mud puddle..

But, mostly I wait in the clutter of tomorrow.

I wait for that day when there will be time to read the books that are no longer grouped by subject and those books that wait in boxes for their turn on the shelves.

I wait for the right pattern, the right mood, the right idea to turn the yards of fabric, the boxes of embellishments and the bolts of ribbon into the beautiful objects that I see in my mind. I start many projects, finish few.

I wait for the space, the right tools, the day when the words and memories flow to deal with the photos aching for a place in an album that is completed with the who, what, when, where and why.

My contact list, my Rolodex, my addressbooks are filled with names and details such as birthdays and anniversaries. I am still overwhelmed by perfection and let the personal celebrations slide by with no acknowledgement from me, with no purchased card let alone one of the many cards I've put together or could put together. Next year, I tell myself.

So much waits for that moment when it is their turn to step into the moment and out of tomorrow.

About this blog
Yes, I'm still alive. Yes, the above explains some of the reasons that no posts appeared for such a long time. Yes, it has been a rough time because the thoughts remain even when I lose the ability to recognize and repeat the right words at the right time. I am dreaming more and moving less. I am trying new medications, new practices, new habits to try to return the multiple sclerosis to the stage that allowed me to work hard, to write right, to move freely and frequently. Let's see what happens.

More buyouts for Advance in New Jersey

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 13:42:20 PDT

No time for comment but I thought some of you would be interested in this Editor & Publisher article:

Newark 'Star-Ledger' Offers New Round of Buyouts
While the Garden State's largest daily is not revealing how many buyouts are being sought, Publisher Richard Vezza wrote in a letter to employees that based on its performance over the first seven months of the year, the paper is projected to lose $10 million in 2010.

The Star-Ledger is part of the Advance Publications network, sometimes called Newhouse newspapers.

Dads march into daughters' lives

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 08:54:44 PDT

I smile everytime I watch this video of a "It's a Dad's life," marveling at how expectations of what dads do, should do, will do has changed over the years.

We've moved dad's role from main money man to one more involved with every aspect of their children's lives. I cringe everytime I hear a father say he's babysitting his kids, a line I have never heard a mother say. I envy dads who play daily with their kids, who drive them places and never require a DNA check.

Jealous, of course

Summer is when I miss my dad the most. We built some pretty good memories around Christmas too. Mostly though, we postponed.

We started postponing when I first discovered the earring that was not my mother's. Someday, he would say, I would understand why.

We continued as I struggled to understand why he forgot to come get the five of us for bowling or sledding or whatever dad-time outing was planned. Someday, he would say, I would understand why you work when you can, why there was so little to say, why it was hard to for him to be around.

The first divorce

That divorce way back in the 1960s made our family unusual in the neighborhood, our schools, and especially our church. It changed our childhood as we became the first family to have a mom who worked, who celebrated Christmas twice, who skipped most events requiring a dad.

Someday, he said we would be closer, someday when I was older.

Once I had my driver's license, it was easier for us to meet him at his house on the lake. In winter, the trip almost always meant a new scratch on the car when I hit the tree at the bottom of the hill. In summer, there were boat rides, barbecues and chats by the grill.

Mismatched visions

He did not understand why I went to college or why I continued after marrying that nice young man. He expected I'd used my cooking, sewing, household skills for my own family, not knowing how tired I was of that life.

Still, he sent what he could. His campus visits almost always included a football game, a nice dinner out and a little extra cash slipped into my pocket. He was at the wedding. He was dad-proud at graduation.

Years later, he said he was sorry for telling me to stay married, sharing he was afraid I would follow his lead of multiple marriages and divorces and not recognizing the abuse, my cry for help, my need for my dad.

Birth breaks barrier

We repeated years of silence as I slipped into single life, wild life and then a new married life. Wisely, we let the birth of my daughter wipe out the barriers that led to month after month of no contact.

Christmas became fun again as he and my stepmother spoiled the grandchildren. Summers meant pontoon boat rides, grilled steaks, and water things like splashing and fishing.

Pattern continues

Mostly though we continued our postponing tradition.

Some day, but not this year, we would decorate the pantoon and participate in the Fourth of July water parade that took place in his "backyard."

Some time, but not now, we would look through photos and try to match memories and names and he would tell me stories of his growing up.

Some winter, but not right now, he would help replace the kitchen cabinets in the "new house." He had recognized the cabinets the first time he visited. They were cabinets from the company he worked at from high school until the end.

We postponed fishing trips, visits and calls.

Mismatched visions

I miss my dad right now because he would be taking me out on the deck for a private chat and a what-for. He spoke plainly and hated my ideas of what I thought life and love and work should be. He'd help me shake the blues, finding the rightness of now.

He thought the buyout was a great idea, giving me time to do nothing, to do crafts, to relax. He thought I deserved an easy ending to counter the hard start. He thought maybe nothingness would ease the pains of multiple sclerosis.

Mostly though, he thought we would have more time together. Instead, he postponed sharing symptoms with doctors, he postponed treatments but he couldn't postpone death.

Not so surprising is how my dad's death is linked to the grandchild that reopened our grill gabs, dad-daughter dreaming and predictable postponements. He died from cancer on the day my daughter started her cancer treatments.

Dance now idea led to moody musings

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Fri, 06 Aug 2010 09:20:15 PDT

I'm struggling with a proposed class on social media that might be offered in March. It's frustrating to try to predict what web site, tool, or technique will be hot in seven months.

It's equally frustrating because I don't know how I'll be today much less seven months from now.

In fact, I'm frustrated that I'm not keeping promises that I've made to myself or to others. Even knowing that there is no way that I would know what multiple sclerosis would deliver, I'm still frustrated.

I want to walk easily. I want to talk easily. Oh what the heck, I want to write and I know that is never something done easily.

I know the randomness of multiple sclerosis with its symptoms that come and go makes planning or promising useless. It seems there are more bad days then good ones, more times of the year when I know the best I'm going to do is make it to the recliner.

Precious tears

Plus, I know I'm frustrating my family and friends who want to help. I'm not surprised that as I'm writing I hear Rob Thomas explain the story behind Her Diamonds on the Rachel Ray show. (video below) The song is about a couple dealing with the effects of an autoimmune disease like multiple sclerosis.- His wife has another autoimmune disease. From Thomas' online bio:

"Her Diamonds” was written “about a couple dealing with that on a day-to-day basis. There’s an incredible amount of sadness that comes with something like that."

There's incredible frustration too. The song Her Diamonds starts with a woman laying back down in frustration with a familiar line of "I just can't win for losing." Then:

And I don't know what I'm supposed to do.
But if she feels bad then I do too so I let her be
And she says ooh I can't take no more
Her tears like diamonds on the floor
And her diamonds bring me down
Cause I can't help her now

Yet, there's the reminder that we all face hard times. From that bio:

"There are moments where I think I flirted with a thinner personal line than I’ve ever done before, but, really, I’m writing a song about how people deal with hard times, and that hard time is universal, that hard time can be anything.”

In fact, what I thought I was writing about today was something inspirational for a friend facing hard times. That started with a video of disco-dancing cows (below)because how can you not smile when watching that.

Just dance

I wanted to credit the oft-quoted phrase of dance like nobody is watching. Perhaps I should credit William Watson Purkey, who closed speeches with:

"You've gotta' dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth”

But I liked how Crystal Boyd's inspiring piece, which uses the phrase as a title, writes of the importance of not waiting until the kids are older, the mortgage paid, the time is just right)

Then Rob Thomas popped up on the TV screen and I realized the hard times are here as well as there. I'd like to make it easier for all, but I don't know what I need much less what I want that is possible.

For now, I'll go tackle the improbable task of predicting what I'll teach about social media in seven months. You watch the videos, OK?

Daughter's challenge inspires crew

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 07:49:14 PDT

Losing a bet led to this

Yep, that is my daughter licking a dumpster, a most unusual stunt for a germ-fearing kid.

She challenged her crew to make it a 4k day to see her lick the outside of the collector of trash. Had they sold 5k worth of pizza, bread sticks and drinks she would have licked the inside. Fortunately, they were $50 short of that last goal.

I'm still not sure who came up with the payoff. But even with less then two months at her new store, I am sure the crew knows how important cleanliness is to her. I'm sure they have scrubbed every surface, noticed the newly painted ceiling and learned the health department standards are minimum suggestions.

This is the daughter who sends unsused silverware that sat on the table during a meal to the dishwasher. This is the daughter who always checks the best used date on every box and bottle before consuming. This is the daughter who carries antibacterial cleansers everywhere and says "Purell is my friend."

Perhaps she's always had that cleanliness streak but I did not notice it until she came back home to successfully fight breast cancer. All of us stepped up the cleanliness madness, wiping surfaces constantly, degerming everything she touched and using hand sanitizer as if it were a lotion guaranteed to give us smooth skin.

That cleanliness obsession makes this motivating action even more surprising. Still she gave her word, never expecting the crew would make it the store's best day of the year.

Not surprising she did clean the spot first.

"lol I did it but I still scrubbed like crazy! Still gross lol. But the loophole was the purell they never said I couldn't lmao!"

A friend online labeled that action "deception by omission." Her response:

"lol hey they never said I couldn't! It was still disgusting :)"

Even as I cringe, I'm proud of my daughter finding creative, non-monetary ways to motivate people working with and for her.

Even as I beg her to look for a safer payoff next time, I celebrate this one step that shows cancer is loosening its grip on her life.

Even as I worry about my mistakes as a parent, I recognize the successes illustrated in this stunt - the importance of promises, the benefits of working together, and the neccessity of being prepared.

Today I understand even better that the apple does not fall far from the tree.

---

I've written about my daughter's cancer crusade, including the challenge of hair, chemo and TV shows that make me cry.

Wrong about beauty, being dumb and other thoughts Facebook feed provokes

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 06:36:44 PDT

The first glance today at my Facebook feed finds so much more then FarmVille, FrontierVille, and other mindless chatter that replaces the workplace coffee pot and/or water cooler.

The casual mutterings loosen up my fingers, my brain before I step into another major challenge of dealing with the three layers of government, one nursing home, a man with Alzheimer's, a confused spouse (the man's, not mine) and an overstressed grandmother frustrated by juggling too many grandkids, a mother with fading abilities, a long-distance wedding and, well, life. (Just writing that tells me why my lower back hurts.)

Via a Blackberry and straight into my stream comes:

"Beauty fades, but dumb lasts forever"

Perhaps it is the age of the sharer that makes her feel that way. She'll learn that you fix dumb with an education - in school, via books (or is that reading), and life experience. You fix beauty by cultivating the good or helping the community learn what real beauty is - the glow of motherhood, the spark of new love, the warmth of old love.

Comics change

Then, there's the viewpoint that ComicCon has changed as movie studios came into an event where geeks once reigned.

"Comic-con sure has changed. Went a couple times with my kids and it was fun. I liked all the unusual, but devotedly geeky people who knew about Green Lantern and Captain America when they were still 2-D. This year the studios took over and it feels as fake and polished as Hollywood. I miss the geeks."

Indeed, the definition of news, comic books and collecting is changing. A piece on some national news broadcast looks at how comic books are moving from paper to digital. Within 60 seconds, there is:

Reflection about the benefits of seeing the characters in crisp, bright colors immediately in a form that the young - the traditional starter comic audience - prefer. Bits over paper.
Moaning about how electronic delivery means the destruction of investing in comics as having a first-edition version of Superman loaded on your iPad won't ever increase in value like the coveted first paper editions in perfect condition in perfect environment will (or is that did?)
Prediction of the loss of community created by enthusiasts who bonded at local comic stores while waiting for a new shipment of comics on paper. (Or is that a prediction of another business doomed to die unless it finds a new niche?)

Back to the July 22-25 ComicCon in San Diego.The simple status update reminds me of what I like about Facebook - its ability to let me know a little bit more of people in my community. I watch as people press the like button on Facebook, leave a few words, and reveal just a tiny piece of information that helps define the uniqueness of each.

Hint of the news

One reply leaves me wanting to know more:

"geeks must still be there ,,, how else would someone have been stabbed with a pen (pocket protectors are now holsters.)"

That takes me off to the Internet to learn how one man vented by using his pen to attack the face of a man who sat too close. Ah yes, crowd control is crowdsourced.

CNN shows us video of the stabber handcuffed and escorted out and share quotes on why the convention folks must find a way to comfortably shoehorn in enough people to make a profit without risking multiple meltdowns that lead to pen stabbings and other horrors.

Back to work. Back to unraveling the bureacracy that uses registered mail to deliver a notice of change for skilled nursing care on the same day the change takes place and a mere 24 hours after the deadline to protest.

Juicy, red tomato says summer with every bite

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 09:31:03 PDT

We watched the plant blossom, a small green tomato grow bigger, a green tomato turn red, and finally we released it from our garden, brought it inside, washed it and brought it to the dinner table:

"Had the first tomato out of my first garden yesterday. It was really good. Nothing like a vine ripe tomato."

That was a Facebook posting from a friend that I could have written.

A backyard- or porch-grown tomato shares such a different taste from those from the Flint Farmers' Market, Whole Foods, the local grocery store.

We've been munching on the cherry tomatoes from the yard but nothing compares to the just-picked big ones.

I love tomatoes even when they don't love me back. So I enjoyed three big slices and (almost) gladly suffered through the migraine.

I wish I understood why the canned tomatoes or the market tomatoes don't trigger a headache. Heck, I wish I would remember about the garden effect BEFORE I ate the tomato.

Yet, I know I'd still eat that first one. And I know that I'll keep eating them - maybe just a smaller portion until I find the magical, safe quantity. Or maybe a dose of Benadryl before eating?

I'm thankful my husband planted and cared/s for the minigarden.

I'm thankful for one more sign it is summer (despite the back-to-school sales that are sprouting up in my community.)

I'm especially thankful for homegrown tomatoes.

Something for fun may turn profitable for hobbyist moving on

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 16:47:48 PDT

FarmVille is serious business for some folks. One guy, known best as the FarmVille Lawn Jockey, was among the first to bring the power of databases and spreadsheets to the game first popular on Facebook. Looks like he will leave with cash for his hardwork.

The creator, who started playing too late to get the short-lived lawn jockey (it was taken away when some complained it was racist), calculated which crop to plant to earn the most points and the most funds. He looked at which animals were the best to keep around to raise funds, even calculating how many animals fit on each precious square.

The site kept growing - offering easy to use tools for others to blog about the game, to keep track of their successes, and to communicate with other FarmVille fans.

But his attention is turning elsewhere and his site is up for auction over on Flippa. Already 10 bids are in and his minimum reserve of $500 has been met.

He could have just abandoned the site, but confessed: "I'm pretty busy with all kinds of other stuff and I really would like someone else who has the time to grow this site to its full potential."

I can't wait to see what the other stuff is, what someone pays and how they develop the site.

To grease up or not is summer's hot question

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 08:21:34 PDT

Sun, water and kids of all ages creates a perfect summer day.

I stand out at any outdoor outing from June through mid-September. Just look for the woman covered from head to toe and in the shade, my attempt to avoid the damaging rays of the sun.

Some of my prescriptions carry warnings about exposure to the sun. Plus, as someone who overindulged in the sun as a child and teenager and has already had some sun-related skin issues, I don't like to tempt fate.

I prefer the clothing method over sunscreen when I can for many reasons, including I often forget to reapply sunscreen and I don't like the feel of it on my skin. Today, my husband shared a link that reinforces some of my ideas: Does sunscreen cause cancer?

Here are some highlights from the Ask Pablo blog post:

More is not better as most sunscreens rated above SPF 55 offer 1-2% more sunburn rays than an SPF 30 rated sunscreen. They offer a false sense of protection.
Sunscreen loses its effectiveness so replace it when the expiration date pases.
Check the ingredients as some are known to "cause cancer. (I've got "cause cancer" in quotes as I'm not convinced we really know why some of us get cancer and some don't.)
Look for sunscreens with avobenzone, Mexoryl, titanium dioxide, and zinc for UVA coverage. The Environmental Working Group recommends these sunscreens. Alba Botanical and Beyond Coastal top the lists.
Limit time out in the sun between 10 am and 4 pm and stay in the shade.
The best sunscreen is the kind you wear. Outdoor clothing manufacturers are producing SPF-rated clothing to keep you comfortable and sunburn free.
If you already have sunscreen check a nifty little database :to see how yours is rated.
When you buy sunscreen follow Environmental Working Group's list of recommended sunscreens.

You can read the entire The Bottom Line on Sunscreens from the Environmental Working Group. The government Food and Drug Administration site also provides sun precautions.

I'm heading out on the web to see about replacing some of my clothing.

Boy with big heart, rare disease asks for and gets help, hope

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 12:11:03 PDT

Every day, someone learns how rare they are, how unique. Sometimes that rarity is the happenstance of having a disease few do. Tyler Fehsenfeld has Duchenne muscular dystrophy, a disease only about 15,000 boys have.

It's the type of diagnosis that leaves little hope for the sufferer, family and friends. It is the type of diagnosis that often makes us turn inward, focusing on finding the best options for our connection.

But, sometimes, a family is energized by joining with other families for support. They work together, using their connections, to raise money for a better life for those with the disease, for research for a cure, for somthing that will make a difference.

So Tyler is lucky. His grandfather, the publisher of Michigan's largest daily, home-delivered newspaper, and grandmother sponsored something wonderful recently.

An event orgazined around the local premiere of "The Twilight Saga: Eclipse" raised funds for research on the disease. The movie's opening on June 29 was a chance to learn more about the disease and do good while having fun.

A June 30th update from Dan Gaydou:

"Generous friends continue to come through for the PPMD cause. As of this afternoon, the total raised is $139,840; $3,120 more just since last night. Thank you everyone for your support and God bless you."

The Grand Rapids Press published an article online that will help you learn why I called Tyler a boy with a big heart, a boy who may never celebrate a 30th birthday. The western Michigan news operation followed up with "Mission of 'Twilight:Eclipse' movie premier party was clear: End Duchenne (You'll find a video, photograph and more about the event, organized by Anessa Fehsenfeld, Tyler's mom.)

Gaydou asked his Facebook friends to help promote that event in hopes that many would attend the premiere.

(Sorry, I'm late - it is one of the posts I forgot to publish. But you still can contribute and at least be aware of the disease. You can donate online or send a check payable to Parent Project Muscular Dystophy to Dan Gaydou at 155 Michigan NW, Grand Rapids 49503.).

The boy's father once was the Newspaper In Education coordinator at The Flint Journal.

The family has tried many things. In 2006, the family rocketed into the spotlight when the federal government delayed delivery of Deflazacort, a medicine approved in other countries but not in the United States. A U.S. specialist had prescribed the drug.

"I'm choosing to give this drug to my son that a doctor says he needs, and my country says he can't have it," Anessa Fehsenfeld is quoted The Grand Rapids Press in an April 5, 2006, article. "As if the diagnosis isn't bad enough, and then you have this to deal with."

The options for treatment are few. The Internet has helped many parents to connect, including the Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy site which offers ideas, hope, support and more.

Still, it takes funds for that and for research. That's where events like Run for Our Boys and this western Michigan fund-raiser give help and increase the amount of hope.

Green tea failure? Or payback for pill-popping post?

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 11:18:59 PDT

I am drinking so much green tea you would think I would turn green!

Alas, it seems my holiday tradition continues since I woke up with a throat that feels as if I have swallowed razor blades the last 24 hours. I WILL be fine by Sunday (hear that body, I WILL).

Meanwhile, maybe you will have better luck with this supposedly magical potion.

(Oh no. Do you think I am being punished for my blog post about understanding why someone might want to skip the potions, pills and prescriptions? Could it be karma? Or is it my family physician is lonely since I keep postponing some tests and visits. mmmm. I'll ponder that while farming)

Note: Yes, that illustration is from the FarmVille game. Yes, this post was started over on FarmVille.

Assumptions almost made me, others miss beauty, inspiration

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 21:54:02 PDT

Sometimes even wearing my glasses is not enough help to see the most wonderful stories. Lucky for me I know people who share so that I know more about epsilepsy and indoor kite flying. (Look before you laugh.)

It is a co-worker connection that led to the sharing of this video clip (below) over on Facebook and in Free From Editors.

You don't need that hook because this clip stands on its own. Watch it for the story. Watch it to see a mother's love. Watch it to see how one moment, this moment, matters.

I confess that I noted the co-worker connection and almost moved on without clicking because America's Got Talent is not one of the TV shows I value. Blame that prejudice on reading the fine print too may times, uncovering the scams or "real story" too often.

I clicked because I wanted to see how Tim Doran has fared since he left his job at The Flint Journal (see below the video). The story of why his son, a high school student, has perfected the art of indoor kite flying, yanked tears out of me. The gracefulness of the kite flying surprised me, calmed me, enveloped me in quietness.

And then there's the music that his son chose to play while making the kite dance across the stage in Oregon. Sarah McLachlan's Angel, first recorded in1997 and covered by many, only emphasizes the story that many will miss because, like me, they don't watch these types of television shows.

How can you not relate to lines like this:

"... There’s always one reason
To feel not good enough"

As always, I find it interesting to see what unfolds with a find like that. It moved through Facebook rapidly, found its way into at least six blog posts, and now the video is on the front page of the Epilepsy Foundation's web site. and discussed in its forums.

Not bad for a piece of fluff.

Tim, who worked at The Flint Journal in Michigan, lists became managing editor of The Bulletin in 2003 on his LinkedIn profile. Bend, Oregon. Staff sheet now lists the 1988 University of Missouri-Columbia graduate as business reporter for the newspaper printed by the Western News Company and I didn't see a managing editor's job listed. Follow his business news tweets on NewsInBender.

A web search shows that he's stayed active in pushing for the freedom of information, including a stint on the board of Open Oregon and active in the Sunshine Week push.

Watch for another post on the Doran family soon. Meanwhile, another video of Connor's kite flying.

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 11:11:52 PDT

So how many of my friends in the US took part in the holiday tradition of filling their tanks on Wednesday BEFORE the traditional raising of gas prices that seems to ALWAYS come just before the start of a three-day weekend?

I forgot but that is OK because I'm not traveling. Nope. I am staying home and having folks over.

I'm almost done with food preparations so I won't have to cook (he-he) and I'm about to lay in a stock of paper products even though my husband already believes I must have lost the brain cells that remind you exactly how to load and unload a dishwasher so he does it 99% of the time (he-he).

Ah, summertime and the living is easy.

Note: This post began its life on FarmVille, when I "found" fuel while plowing and shared with farming friends. Why should they have all the fun of reading my posts, eh?

Living through excuses erases opportunity to "yell"

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 21:30:00 PDT

I remember being shocked that anyone still needed a reminder to finish an entire prescription of antibiotics.

It was beyond believability that a multiple sclerosis patient would ignore the opportunity to postpone relapses to avoid nightly injections.

Don't get me started on the rant about following the instructions on a prescription - you know, the ones that suggest eating certain foods render the drug useless or dangerous.

It always was easier to understand why some chose to eat rather then buy medicine. Even with insurance some drugs require an impossible hefty payment in days of layoffs, leaky roofs and lingering financial obligations to feed your famly.

I remember being baffled at the weariness on my aunt's face as she sat at the kitchen table and worked her way through a shoebox of pill bottles. These were the pills that kept her disease under control, that enabled her to walk with less pain, that might give her more time here with us.

I loved her puffy face. I adored her cane, so useful for pushing items and fun to twirl. I liked her long, floaty dresses that spelled freedom so much better then miniskirts or shifts or polyester pants.

But now, with the wisdom that comes with age and experience, I understand so much better why some days the puffiness, the cane, and the dresses were/are burdens, obstacles and sacrifices.

I understand the weariness of working your way through bottle after bottle of prescribed medications. I understand why the possibility of promises in the pills may not be worth the side effects or even the time that it takes to take them, to order them, to pay for them.

Is it really necessary to self inflict the sharpness of the needle on a night when staying awake is preferable to sharing a mattress moved by another body? Why would one dose make a difference? Show me the research.

Can one grapefruit really hurt? How can it be bad to try to calm the burning sensation with the dryness of Saltines an hour before food is allowed? Why should one more tall glass of water be necessary in a body already retaining enough to require a bigger shoe size most days?

If I stop taking the medications, can I pretend that everything is all right? Just for tonight? Just for awhile? Just forever?

What if I apologize to all those I judged for choosing medicine vacations? Does that earn me the right to hide all the bottles, donate the blue box of Copaxone to someone or stop ordering the endless supply of symptom suppressors?

If I promise to never "yell" or critique the medical habits of others can I slide on some of my own?

Summer heat tends to worsen my multiple sclerosis symptoms so I know that is why I am not recovering as fast as I once did. I will not listen to the whisper that I've recovered as far as I will and this is the new stage of remitting. I have too many miles to cover, too many things to read, too many quilts ... well, you get the idea that there is much to do on my list of musts.

Our household shrinks

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 07:09:57 PDT

Daugther's chalk drawing of the dog
hangs in our living room.

It is a work day so that means I am home alone. Really alone. As in the dog that has lived in this house almost as long as our family is gone.

The disappearance was not unexpected. I think it hurt my husband that four hours home from a conference I still had not mentioned her absense.

I'm more then OK with Amy's leaving as it was painful to see her stumble, to ache, to get so little pleasure from life, to play tag vigorously and then move slower with no grace.

The lack of a dog means I move around less because I don't need to open and close the door a zillion times for a dog whose bladder and/or memory was bad.

The lack of a dog means I can leave all interior doors open, the toilet seat lid up, and food on any counter or space that I want.

The lack of a dog means no one eagerly eats what I drop, licks my laptop or knocks over my piles.

The lack of a dog means I don't need to leave on a light at night, trip over water or food bowl or sleep lightly so I heard the scratching request to go out and not make my husband get up.

The lack of a dog eliminates the need to sweep up the hair, may reduce the number of required allergy shots and might save the household a few bucks in vet bills, food, medicines, lodging, etc.

What was good about the dog was the delight it provided my husband and daughter over the years. They loved the dog from the day they picked her up from the Genesee County Humane Society. They played with the dog, provided for the dog and trained the dog.

The dog was a reason for dad and daughter to play outside, to walk outside, to talk.

Amy's exploring gains her collar
of trash can lid

The dog helped ease the transition from city to suburbs for my daughter when we moved in the midst of a middle-school year.

The move was sparked by anger that her school (or the local newspaper) did not see the setting of her hair on fire in a classroom as a big deal.

The move meant we finally had a back yard bigger then a sandbox, removing the excuse for not having a dog. The dog helped as we adjusted to a lifestyle without museums, the library and friends within walking distance.

The dog helped ease the transition of losing our daughter twice now to a community 624 miles away for my husband.

The first time she left for a household that already had a dog and so left "her dog."

The second time she left it was clear "her dog" was her dad's dog now. Plus, the move would be tough on the rapidly aging dog who already seemed to forget where she was or what she did. Besides, our daughter had another dog of her own.

This dog was the third in my life. I barely remember the first - an Irish settler that lived outdoors. The best thing about the second dog was its litter financed a dishwasher for my family. That was almost enough to forgive her for throwing up in my shoes.

Almost.

Amy never needed forgiveness.

Tip-toeing back into Inside Out: Recognizing what delights

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 21:56:01 PDT

Waking up early and slowly today let me uncover some thoughts, some smiles and some tears before throwing off the covers.

Like most days, I reached first for my iPhone to check on the time, to check for messages, to check what's new via Facebook.

Unlike most days, I skipped over to the Safari application and visited a few blogs. Although each blog delivered delights and insights, I also recognized the pleasure of reading the blogs in their native environments. It is the design, the completeness - blog post with comments - and the focus that delivers the punch of pleasure sometimes hidden when you read through a feed.

Or maybe it is the slowness, the appreciation of the steps taken to get to a specific spot on the Internet and the ability to move from post to post and indulge in a feast on one topic or one writer.

Blog inspiration

There were three that feed an addiction and have inspired my blogging - FarmVille Freaks, FarmVille Fanatic, and FarmVilleFeed. There was one - Free From Editors - that made me cry and delivered a reminder that my blogging is changing. There was one - Louis Gray - that reminded me some people talk about authentic conversations while others have them.

Happy and growing

I still smile when I remember how happy the bloggers were when Zynga, the FarmVille creator, recognized them by distributing giftable items to them.

It has been inspiring to watch them learn to credit the blog that had the information first and to give Zynga the credit for images.

Equally interesting is watching the designs grow. One frequently ends posts with questions that inspire comments or use multiple-choice questions to garner interest in options. The categories change as do how the information is presented.

I knew that!

I can't type in a web address without thinking about Free From Editors, a blog by a former colleague who will never forgive newspapers for giving away content for free on the Internet.

That led to an a-ha moment as I read Jim's post on a Bay City Times reporter who has moved on to a new venture. Reading the post made me recognize the urgency of this blog, my blog, to report on Michigan media changes is fading fast. I had stumbled across Jeff Kart's change via a LinkedIn update, asked a few questions but never posted here about the Mr. Great Lakes site or his new job as online director of Michigan League of Conservation Voters.(since May 2010).

Multiple streaming

Reading Free From Editors also reminded me how I am once again scattering my shares/likes/finds across the Internet and how Facebook is helping me connect with more things. The reminder came in his post on Connor Doran, the son of another former colleague.

I'd shared the video on Facebook on Sunday, meant to write about here and well, you know how that went. I do have a post pending, just waiting for an answer to a question. Stay tuned.

Walking the talk

I'm running into the phrase "authentic conversations" on a regular basis. The disappointment comes with those who limit being authentic to words, not action. I am rarely disappointed with Louis Gray, who models an admirable openness, delivers good information and always pushes items onto my to-do list.

Today's reading added three actionable items and a watch reminder:

Checking out Brizzly, promoted in Brizzly rolls out picnics for private real-time group chats (although you'll never convince me anything online is private)
Look at Tungle.me, explained in Tungle is an irreplaceable web scheduling app
Spend more time with Amplify, after rereading Amplify goes mobile with clipping service for curating.
Keep an eye on Google Me because of posts like Edge Theory Conversations: Google Me rumored to challenge Facebook.(although I still prefer writing over audio and long for transcripts from EdgeTheory and Cinch)

As I said, I'm rarely disappointed by the return on investment when I spend time at LouisGray.com His post on The art of being pragmatic in a world of fanboys is just part of a series he offers on where he is coming from and what he is doing online. I admire him for not only thinking about it, but sharing his insights.

Quick sidetrack: Jesse Stay's blog post on Who Are the Mormons? yesterday reminded me of Gray's openess. It also made me think about why Gray and Stay are at the top of my bloggers to read list.

(Note: I corrected the spelling of Mormons)

Pardon the dust

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 15:18:35 PDT

Let's pretend I chose to take this break from most Internet things.

Let's pretend that multiple sclerosis is not a God that decide when relapses and remitting occurs.

Let's pretend I choose what is affected and when by this disease and that at most each person can have 1 function - and only 1 - affected.

Perhaps when those who know the truth stop laughing I will return to blogging, tweeting, facebooking, farming, and all things virtual. I hope for a return.

Meanwhile, we can ask for forgiveness of the dust created via virtual construction of what is next. Yeah, that is what I am doing - planning.

Getting started is the tough part

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 12:10:16 PDT

I start a gazillion blog posts - in my head. I think I will remember the thoughts. I think I will squeeze in time on the computer to craft a post from the thoughts.

Sometimes, I start the post here, get sidetracked by needing to check on a fact or find the right word or spelling and forget to get back here to finish and then publish a post. In fact, once more I have more posts started then posted. Fortunately, the Blogger software lets me do that.

Yes, blogging is no different then the rest of my life. I start so much more then I finish.

Sometimes, I stop by choice. I am more comfortable now casting aside books that don't deserve to be finished by me.

Take The Blind Side, for instance. I stopped reading it because the story kept getting lost in the details of football. Had I noticed the rest of the title: "Evolution of a Game" I might have never started reading this story of a boy who grew up without a bed and helped change the game of football. It was the boy's story I wanted, not the explanation of football evolution. That's the story the movie focused on. I finished the movie.

Casting aside books is fairly new for me as I had been trying to give the author the benefit of doubt. I pushed past my uncomfortable level, hoping, no believing, the words would become more valuable as I got deeper into the book.

Remember, this is the woman who drove librarians in Livonia nuts begging to be allowed to check out more then 5 books at a time, asking repeatedly to be allowed access to the adult section. My first oral reports were to those librarians who asked questions to make sure I was reading the books, not using them as props.

Oh, how I remember the feeling of accomplishment as I worked my way through the fiction shelves: All the authors whose last name began with an A, with a B, with a C, and so on and so on and so on.

Now, though, I realize that was just one of the first unfinished projects as a job in a bookstore (dream job, of course) and other priorities took over.

Now, though, the potatoes are done so I need to answer the call of the boil. I'm calling this post done as well.

Surprised, perplexed, exhausted from/at/in Journalism That Matters

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 19:22:55 PDT

I am amazed at the optimism and positive outlooks at a Journalism That Matters event taking place now in Detroit Michigan. With a subtitle of Create or Die, with the dying of traditional journalism, the amount of change in media, with media in Michigan this could have been a somber affair.

An opening exercise invited all who had worked in a newsroom to change places with someone else in a circle of participants. Nearly everyone moved elsewhere. But only two moved when the question was who works in a newsroom.

Tonight, I ran through a slideshow of photos from the event. Notice how many are smiling.

Participants set agenda

This is a conference where those who are present create the agenda. Someone has an issue, an idea, a proposal to examine and announces the idea to the group. Anyone can stand up and suggest, sometimes ideas are combined. All ideas are posted to a board, get a time, get a room. Then participants choose where they want to go, if they want to go.

Unlike other Journalism That Matters conferences, the hope was that some projects would be a direct result of the talking, sharing and exchanging that happened at the event with a tagline of Innovate, Incubate, Initiate.

You can see the topics proposed and notes from the sessions online as well as photos and video of some parts.

The plan

What I planned to do at this meeting was buzz from session to session to gather a sense of what happens and to create an ongoing report of the outcomes after people left Detroit, returned home and moved on. I did some conference work, picking up supplies, making some wall hangings, and inviting some people. I helped people make collages of who they are for a wall of faces. I planned to gather words each day to pull together as a poem to recap the end of the day for all.

Social gaming for journalism

But a series of conversations on the opening day led me to host a session on Social Media Gaming to foster understanding of Journalism and Civic Engagement That session went past the initial time, rolled through lunch, through the afternoon and onto a plan for all day Saturday.

There was a revolving, evolving set of people who flew in and out of the conversations as we talked about different types of games, how could we encourage people to understand why journalism mattered, the of state of gaming journalism, racial and gender issues in gaming and much more.

But, by the end of the first 90 minute session a small group of us knew we wanted to create a game that was fun, that could be viral, that could help others understand the complexity of finding the story as a journalist, that might lead to more people caring what happened in their community.

Long way since Space Invaders

I would not consider myself a gamer, although I admit I've played a variety of games online, on consules, on mobile devices, even my phone. I've played when the games required text commands like "get ball" made a character move across the screen and in more complex games.

Lately, I've been watching and reasearching FarmVille as a powerful example of how to make money online, create a game that lets you succeed with little time spent and offers some life lessons I wish more would encourage: Being nice to neighbors, working together for the success of all and celebrating success.

Still, I think the traditional gaming industry appeals mostly to males and those under 30, if not younger.

Breaking out

One fascinating part of the session for me was who was in the group. Only two or three (it depended on the time) were active gamers, by which I mean played multiple games, knew the types of available games and could speak off the cuff deeply about the gaming industry.

The group was predominantly female - many games are male dominated in developing, characters and players.

I continued to faciitate the process for the next five hours, pulling ideas of games that worked, that didn't from those who play games regularly and those who didn't. There was pulling of what is journalism from those who once were journalists and those who never were or intended to be.

We explored possible characters, possible approaches to storytelling, platforms and so much more. We left with the idea to continue the next day with blueskying, picking one scenario to flesh out and doing preliminary building so that we could present some sort of a game to a panel of coaches on Sunday.

Right people, right place

There are four principles of Open Space, the technique of this gathering:

Whoever comes is the right people
Whenever it starts is the right time
Whatever happens is the only thing that could have
When it's over, it's over

What happened early Saturday was remarkable. By the time, I entered the session where that day's agenda would be formed I knew I was too exhausted from the first day to continue as facilitator. I also knew that I didn't want to focus my energy for the next few months developing this game. Yet, there was no time to hunt for any of the participants to let them know of my change in plans.

Unexpectedly and with great appreciaiton, one of the first people to bounce up with an idea to lead a session was one of the women who floated in and out of the first day's conversations/planning/sessions. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Some others dropped out, others droped in. I stayed for some of the planning and then moved on.

New energy builds on the start

Today ended with the project -- Create a game to interest the public in the continued creation of an evolving journalism -- being picked as one of four (out of nine) to get coaching on the last day of the conference.

The game may never make it to the real world but the process of learning what hooks gamers, gaming journalism, what those inside and outside of journalism define as journalism was exciting. All who worked on the gaming plan agreed that any of us could use parts of what we discovered/learned/developed to use.

I am about to end the day, smiling in amazement at what happens when you are willing to give up the shoulds.

I wrote about this conference as part of a post on citizen journalist iniatives in Michigan

Oregonian reporter fired for writing for Glamour without OK

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Fri, 21 May 2010 10:07:05 PDT

A 12-year career with The Oregonian ended with a firing because a reporter wrote a story for a national magazine without clearing the job with her newspaper editors first.

Details about the firing, including a comment from the editor, are posted in Williamette Week.

The story, published in Glamour under the headline " 'I Found Out My Mother Was A Killer': the Rebecca Babcock Story," is about a 26-year-old woman learning her birth mother, Diane Downs, was convicted of shooting her own children in 1983.

Downs was pregnant with Rebecca during the trial, the result of a "brief fling with a newspaper reporter" according to published reports. (The Oregonian published several reports, including this one, on "one of the most notorious murder cases in Oregon history.")

20/20 also featured Babcock's story. and "Why did Diane Downs Plot to Kill Her Kids?". You also can watch an interview with a reporter about how the story developed. The story of Diane Downs was the subject of Ann Rule's book "Small Sacrifices," and that was turned into a TV movie.

Most news organizations either restrict employees from contributing or publishing in other sources or require advance permission and first refusal rights.

Jef Mallett: Control what you can

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Mon, 17 May 2010 07:24:10 PDT

How much in life can we control? As a woman who lives in a temperamental body - oh, thank you MS - I know that sometimes the answer is nothing.

But Jef Mallet, who I first met through The Flint Journal, suggests how we can control the start of the day in a blog post under the headline of Reveille. He sneaks in a review of John Hiatt's Muddy Waters.

I also like reading how Jef invites those of us on Facebook to head over to his latest blog post. Here's the intro for today's post:

"Most of life just happens the way it wants, even for those of us who like to think we're allergic to passivity. Truth is, you can only control a few little pieces. They might as well be key pieces. First three minutes of the day seems pretty key to me."

Most times you'd get his lead:

"People who don't like waking up on Monday mornings apparently don't wake up the way I did this morning: To John Hiatt's "Crossing Muddy Waters," from his 2000 album of the same name."

It's a perfectly good way to start a blog post. But I like how he takes the time to craft a summary of his latest post. Here's what he said over on Facebook when I left praise for his intro:

"I like how that spreads the word and drives traffic, but mostly I like how it forces me to do an instant evaluation of what I've written. Great training."

Me? I like waking up to read the blog posts of long-time and short-time friends despite being allergic to mornings. Finding a role model or learning something new can perk me up almost as much as a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

Refresher 'course' uses humor to improve grammar

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Mon, 17 May 2010 06:38:08 PDT

Me and her? Double negatives? Run-on sentences? The College Humor site takes us through some grammar lessons. But such a tragic ending, I'm afraid.

Fear not: Internet helps shrink world into villages again

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Sun, 16 May 2010 22:47:24 PDT

Great reminder from Jason Kottke who has been sharing online since March 1998, about How to Stop Worrying and Learn to Love the Internet.

Click on that link and you'll see what Kottke pulled out as a stark reminder that it is us on the Internet.

Then head to the original piece by Douglas Adams, which first appeared in The Sunday Times on Aug. 29, 1990.

One of my favorite lines?

"Anything that gets invented between then and before you turn thirty is incredibly exciting and creative and with any luck you can make a career out of it."

It's part of three sentences of what in the world is normal and what is against the natural order of things. Unfortunately, most of us won't believe those sentences until we've made it past the age of 40 or so.

But I also like the reminder:

"Another problem with the net is that it’s still ‘technology’, and ‘technology’, as the computer scientist Bran Ferren memorably defined it, is ‘stuff that doesn’t work yet.’ "

But what I like best is this reminder of who we are and why we reach out via email, Facebook, FarmVille, Twitter, and so much more:

"We are natural villagers. For most of mankind’s history we have lived in very small communities in which we knew everybody and everybody knew us. But gradually there grew to be far too many of us, and our communities became too large and disparate for us to be able to feel a part of them, and our technologies were unequal to the task of drawing us together. But that is changing.

"Interactivity. Many-to-many communications. Pervasive networking. These are cumbersome new terms for elements in our lives so fundamental that, before we lost them, we didn’t even know to have names for them."

Won't you be my friend? Or follower? Or neighbor?

Do your Facebook friends follow the crowd on quizzes, games and more?

mcwflint@gmail.com (Mary Ann Chick Whiteside) — Thu, 13 May 2010 23:03:00 PDT

I'm so grateful none of my friends on Facebook suck. Do yours?

After checking out the 8 websites you don't need to do because someone else has already done them, I stumbled across "How to Suck at Facebook" So, of course, I shared it on Facebook, which led to more people sharing and laughing. Some even volunteered to share with me some of their friends who do suck.