Barb Caffrey's Blog

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Jeff Wilson: An Elegiac Portrait

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I’ve been asked to describe my good friend, Jeff Wilson, to those who never got a chance to meet him.  Here’s my best take, which I know will be inadequate.

Jeff was a very kind, compassionate person.  He deplored the evils of this world, most particularly selfishness, greed and stupidity, but refrained from passing judgment on anyone.  (More people should be like this.)

Jeff loved animals, and kept several cats (or maybe they kept him; I’m not sure).  His cats were extremely important to him, and he treated them with respect and dignity — but don’t take that to mean he didn’t enjoy them, because he did.  They often made him laugh, and he viewed this as an unalloyed blessing (which indeed, it was).

Jeff was an excellent friend.  He was always there whenever he was needed, and he’d do whatever he could to help.  He was an excellent listener; more to the point, he understood what he heard, which was a rare and special quality.

Jeff had very strong principles and an intrinsic sense of balance.  Perhaps this was due to his appreciation of Eastern religious thought, most particularly the words of Confucius and Gautama Buddha; maybe it was just something about him that would’ve been there even without that, though studying those tenets certainly helped refine these excellent qualities.

Jeff searched for excellence in all things.  He rarely found it, but when he did, he was as delighted as a child unwrapping just the toy he or she had wanted at Christmas. 

Jeff appreciated classical music because it brought him closer to the Divine.  His favorite composer was probably Ludwig van Beethoven; his favorite piece was Gustav Holst’s The Planets.

Jeff read everything, but he had a particular love for two different and disparate styles of writing: science fiction and fantasy on the one hand, and the highly structured and mannered novels of Jane Austen and her imitators on the other.  He loved the former because they opened up new worlds and ways of thought to him; he loved the latter because they proved that even in a highly mannered world (now lost), people often acted rashly, badly, and without forethought — but how they got out of trouble in the end and found worthy pursuits was very similar to our own time.  (In other words, Jeff found the commonality of human experience to be worthy, regardless of genre.)

Jeff was a nonmaterialist, a nonconformist, was an autodidact (meaning he taught himself many things he’d never learned in school and could absorb almost anything), a writer, an artist, dabbled with poetry but was rarely satisfied with his efforts (which to my mind, would make him a poet; not to his, though).  He loved life, talking with people about anything and everything, and wanted to know all that was knowable.

I will miss him profoundly.

Written by Barb Caffrey

November 17, 2011 at 5:57 pm

Life, the Universe, and the Unexpected

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Sometimes, life throws you something you really didn’t expect.

Take my good friend Jeff, for example.  About a month ago, he felt ill but had no idea what was going on; he was taken to the hospital, where he was found to have a massive infection.  He nearly died, as he had to have open-heart surgery due to the infection being too well-rooted in his heart (the antibiotics started to kill it everywhere else, but not in his heart); at the age of only forty-seven, he came way too close to death.

Fortunately, he has survived that.  And he sounds like he’s on the mend, though the road back from this is likely to be a long and difficult one.  But I have hope that he will fully recover, as his mind, voice, and most of his memories are intact.  (More about this below.)

A health crisis like this was completely unexpected — who would ever think something like this would happen?  And having gone through something like this, except worse, with my late husband’s Michael’s sudden passing seven years ago didn’t make this any easier from my perspective; I really wanted to be there for Jeff as I care very much about him, I wasn’t able to get there (he lives several states away), and he nearly died.

I’m very glad he survived.  (This is an extremely basic way to put it, of course, and I wish I had a better one.  But sometimes, the plainest words speak best.)   I will do whatever I can to help him in the difficult journey that lies ahead . . . wishing I had better words than this to explain what’s going on, but that’s the best I can do.

Jeff’s near-brush with death has shaken my own faith rather badly.  I realize that in no valid religion or spiritual practice will it ever say that good people should survive such terrible things; Michael didn’t survive, though he fought harder than anyone I’ve ever seen to do so, and he was by far the best person I have ever known.  (I’m sure he went to the Good Place (TM), too, or wherever it is wonderful people go after this life ends.)  But for Jeff to first suffer the vagaries of this horrible economy, then have this happen to him and me having no way to get to him to even try to help, seems to add insult to injury.  (Not to me.  To my friend.)  And that he’s going to have to work like the dickens just to get back to where he was . . . well, that he has the chance to do so is what I’d prayed for, so I’m glad of that.  But it seems . . . unjust, at best.

Of course, no one ever promised that life would be fair, even to good people like my friend.  But does life have to be this unfair? 

I know, I know.  We don’t have all the answers.  Sometimes we can’t even ask the right questions.  Being able to persevere is what makes the difference, to my mind, between a successful person and an unsuccessful one.  And I know Jeff will persevere, because I view him as a successful person (I always have), no matter what’s going on all around him externally.

Jeff’s mind has returned to him, thankfully, but not all of his memories have.  I’m happy he remembered I am a saxophonist; when I told him that I’ve been playing, and am now in a symphonic band, he was very congratulatory and he meant it.  But he’s forgotten all about his favorite of my unfinished novels, CHANGING FACES — the one I’m working on for NaNo right now — though he remembers the Elfyverse (the completed and looking for a home novel ELFY, the in-progress AN ELFY ABROAD and the prequel, KEISHA’S VOW), which I found out when I mentioned the latter novel.  

When I told him that he’s been asking me for the past two-plus years to please finish CHANGING FACES and be done with it, I got no reaction from him; then I explained how long I’ve been working on it, and that I’d written 6000-plus words into chapter 20 and have 600-plus in chapter 21 after it being stalled out for nearly one and a half years.  He recognized that as an achievement, and congratulated me on it, but it didn’t really mean much to him because he can’t remember the plotline, at all.

That the main reason I started working on CHANGING FACES as my NaNo project is because I wanted to do something, no matter how tangential, that I felt Jeff would appreciate as my way to honor him and what he was going through.  Maybe it sounds silly that this was my motivation for re-opening this MSS, but there it is. 

I wanted to write something that I felt Jeff would like to read down the road, when he’s again capable of reading well (right now, he isn’t, and this is a skill he’ll have to work hard to regain).  So writing this newest chapter of CHANGING FACES was my way to express to my friend Jeff, without words, “I believe you have a future, and I want you to read this in that future.”  But I wasn’t able to explain this well to him tonight.  At all.  (Though of course I’ll try again tomorrow, providing I’m able to reach him.)

Jeff is a very spiritual person, with a strong grasp of what’s going on in this world; to my mind, he nearly personifies the phrase “down to Earth.”  He’s an intelligent, funny, interesting person with a great many gifts and talents, who’s been hampered by a pitiful economy and a less than stellar personal situation that was all of a sudden made much worse due to his health crisis.  Jeff is a writer, a Webmaster, and is very hard-working in his own idiosyncratic way; I’m very grateful that he’s doing so much better, and I believe his strong will and deep faith will sustain him over time.

All that being said, I wish this hadn’t happened to him.  Because he truly doesn’t deserve it.

Written by Barb Caffrey

November 6, 2011 at 11:47 pm

Performances, Chaz Bono, and DWTS

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This week on “Dancing with the Stars,” it was Broadway Week — meaning every star had to do a ballroom dance of some sort to a Broadway song and also put some “Broadway inflection” into his or her routine.  Chaz Bono and his professional partner, Lacey Schwimmer, drew the tango — not an easy thing to dance to a Broadway tune — and the theme to Phantom of the Opera.

Now, I’ve written before about my liking for Chaz Bono before; I believe what he’s doing, in being open about his past gender identity struggles and being the first transsexual contestant ever on DWTS, is a very good and empowering thing.  I also think that as a heavier person, he dances well and shows that it’s a complete myth that “big people can’t dance.”

His routine tonight to “Phantom” was a tough one; his partner, Lacey Schwimmer, told him early on that he’d have to “step it up” and do more difficult choreography — that the “super-basic” routines he had learned up until now wouldn’t work.  (Note that last week’s samba routine was not all that easy; what I think Schwimmer was referring to was the rhumba routine and some of the routines before that, which were at the most basic level.)  I think this was difficult for Bono to hear, but he handled it, learned his routine, and performed it well.

Then came the judges, who were more critical than Bono had anticipated (they were about what Lacey Schwimmer expected, though of course I’m sure she’d hoped for better); they said that the role of the Phantom “did not suit” Bono (both head judge Len Goodman and judge Bruno Tonioli said this pretty much word-for-word, while judge Carrie-Ann Inaba said it in a slightly kinder way, referring to the “challenge” of acting a character that is not your own), that the dance of the tango wasn’t fiery enough or precise enough, and that Bono altogether “lacked the sense of menace” that a dance like this requires (Goodman, again).  No mention was made of the fact that Bono danced most of the dance in the half-mask of the Phantom; no mention was made that Bono’s movements were sharper and crisper than they’ve ever been, and that the form of the dance was preserved throughout.

As a performer myself (though not a dancer or actor), I’ve been there.  So I have some words for Chaz Bono that I hope he’ll heed tonight:  “Mr. Bono, please, do not listen to the harshness of these critics.  You have to understand that as a performer, not everyone is going to appreciate what you do, and you can’t do anything about that.  You can only control what you can do — which you did, as you danced the best I have ever seen you on the entire season of ‘Dancing with the Stars.'”

Or, in other words — I think the critics, while they’re certainly correct about the forms of the dance and maybe had a point about being more emphatic in your movements (the only way you could possibly have been more “menacing,” it seems to me, behind the Phantom’s half-mask, is to be very direct, cutting, and emphatic), are flat wrong about how you danced.

Look.  Your partner, Ms. Schwimmer, is correct about the way the judges will act.  This is just what they do; some of it is for effect, because they want to make a better show — and some of it is just how they are overall. 

Schwimmer knows this; she’s been dealing with these same judges now for several years.  All of her training is meant to help you withstand their criticism; she is an exacting teacher, yes, but also a kind and honest one.  She isn’t known for cursing or being upset with her pupils, in the main; she’s known for being able to teach anyone — including Steve-O of “Jackass” fame while he was just “getting clean” after finishing up some rehab for alcohol and drug addiction — to the point that her partners actually learn the dances, rather than just the routines.

Do you know what that means?  You’ll remember how to rhumba years from now.  You’ll know how to do the cha cha cha.  You’ll understand the tango, and be able to do it again once you’re off the show — that’s because she does teach the “super-basics” as well as the flourishes a show like “Dancing” requires, because she wants you to understand the dance as well as perform it.

The upshot of all of this, Mr. Bono, is this — it was very hard for me, as a viewer, to watch your face fall once you’d performed your routine to “Phantom of the Opera.”  I didn’t like seeing that, because that made me think that you’ve forgotten the most important person in the equation — you — and are basing your opinion of yourself on what other people think rather than what you think about yourself.

Granted, this can be very tough to do as a performing artist.  I have been there (I once had someone criticize my oboe playing who had listened to three hundred clarinets in a solo-ensemble music contest; it was the one and only year I didn’t go to the state contest in high school — I was the only oboist this judge heard all day, too, which made it all the more unfair) and I know how difficult it is.

Here’s another example for you:  I once had a saxophone lesson when I was going for my Master’s degree where I asked my professor, “Did I do anything right today?” 

His answer was, “Of course!  But if I don’t tell you what you did wrong, how will you ever improve?”   (Note that I was an “older” Master’s candidate, going for my Master’s past age thirty because I believed in myself and felt I still had a chance to improve my playing and perhaps work in my field.  I still believe that if my hands co-operate, I will be able to once again get back to where I should be and I really wish to work in my field, which is performing, teaching, and composing music.) 

This is why I have great sympathy for you doing something so far out of your “comfort zone,” because you obviously believe it’s the right thing to do.

I think what Lacey Schwimmer is doing by giving you criticism about how to improve your dancing and your overall performance is meant so you can take the criticism, incorporate it into your performance, and become a better dancer.  It certainly is not meant to wound you (even though it hurts, and badly, at the time).

As a performing artist (no matter how long I’ve had to be idle due to my carpal tunnel syndrome and other issues), I know that when fifty people compliment you, but one is highly critical, you tend to remember the one person who was so critical like it’s a burr under your skin.  I can only imagine what it must be like to hear yourself be criticized like that by three judges on national TV.

I know that I, as a viewer, saw both improvement and personality in your dance.  And I believe that as a performer, you did your job, because you did the very best you possibly could — you lived up to everything your teacher asked of you — in the best way you possibly could do it. 

So what I’d like most to tell you is this: keep on dancing, Mr. Bono.  You’re doing a fine job; you’ve learned a lot; you’ve hung in there and you’ve done everything in your power to improve and you have, indeed, shown improvement.   And while your overall likeability is one of your greatest strengths, do you know what your best strength is?  Your perseverance.

So keep on keepin’ on, and non illegitimi carborundum.

———

Oh, one other thing: if I listened to “the critics” regarding my saxophone playing (now that I can’t do as much as before, or at least as quickly as before), I’d not even be making the attempt to play.  So yes, improvement must be taken into consideration here — which is why every single week, I’ve voted for Chaz Bono and Lacey Schwimmer and it’s why I plan to keep doing so.

Brewers Losing Game 5, but I Don’t Care

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My Milwaukee Brewers are currently losing to the St. Louis Cardinals, 7-1 in the eighth inning . . . but I don’t care.

You might be wondering why this is so.   Have I lost my love for the Brewers?  (Um, no.)  Have I decided that baseball isn’t that important?  (Well, no . . . it’s still what it’s always been.)

Or is it that baseball isn’t as important as someone else’s life?  (You’re on to something if you picked this option.)

Look.  One of my best friends is in the hospital in Colorado, and I don’t have the financial wherewithal to go visit him.  He has bacteria in his spine, brain and heart; I was contacted by a different friend who let me know what was going on.

I talked with my friend, very briefly, earlier this evening, and he sounds very ill.  He’s been in the hospital for a week and it doesn’t sound like he’ll be getting out any time too soon, either.

Whatever’s gone so wrong for his health that he picked up a major bacterial infection and has landed in the hospital is such a terrible thing that it’s driving out much of anything else.  I don’t have many details, not that they’d probably help if I did; I just know he’s ill, he’s too far away for me to visit, and I can’t do anything to help besides pray.  (Which I am.)

Anyway, the Brewers still have Game 6 in Milwaukee, and can maybe win that.  My brother has a ticket for Game 6 and I really do hope the Brewers will win and tie the series back up at 3-3.

But for now — just for this one game — I’m a lot more worried about my good friend than I am about the Brewers’ World Series hopes.  Because the Brewers can always try again next year for the World Series if they miss it now (it’ll be tough to get there without Prince Fielder, who is assuredly going elsewhere as the Brewers cannot afford the huge contract Fielder wants, but at least it’ll be possible); my friend’s life, on the other hand, is in a real life and death struggle and I’m far more concentrated on that than I am about any sports team, no matter how much I appreciate them or the game of baseball in particular.

———-

Edited to add:  I have added a tag with my friend’s name, Jeff Wilson, for those who knew him.  I’ve had a number of people ask me what Jeff’s illness was; this is the main post where I discussed it.

I really wish I hadn’t felt the need to add the tag, though; it really stinks that Jeff is no longer alive to talk writing, politics, and the world at large with as he was a most excellent conversationalist.  (And my best friend.)

Written by Barb Caffrey

October 14, 2011 at 10:26 pm

Dancer Lacey Schwimmer Tells Critics to “Zip It”

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This week, controversy swirled around “Dancing with the Stars” cast member Lacey Schwimmer, a professional dancer, because supposedly at 5’3″ and being a size six, she’s “too fat.”  As this isn’t the first time her weight has been talked about in a derogatory manner, Schwimmer has apparently had enough.

Here’s what she said here about these critics:

There’s nothing I can do about except let it go and get over it,” she told In Touch, adding two simples words for would-be critics, “Zip it!”

Let me try to explain how asinine it is that anyone would criticize this woman over her weight.  Schwimmer, 23, is a size six.  She dances for a living, so most of her body is toned muscle, as she is fit and in shape.  She doesn’t have an ounce of flab on her, as the skimpy costumes the DWTS female pros often wear will show anyone who has any sense at all.  And while she’s probably the curviest dancer on the show, that doesn’t mean her weight is too high; on the contrary.  It means most of the other dancers need to gain weight.

Schwimmer seems to have a healthy body image, as the following quote shows:

“I have boobs, I have a huge butt and I have a lot of muscle,” the 23-year-old dancer told In Touch magazine, via the UK’s Daily Mail. “I like having curves – I’m proud of them!”

And I say, “Good for her!”  Because if a woman who is a normal weight, who’s toned, fit, and in shape, is getting so much criticism, what chance do those of us who truly are “big, beautiful women” (also known as “full figured,” which are the kinder ways to say a larger than average size) have of being portrayed accurately in the media with any empathy at all?

Written by Barb Caffrey

October 4, 2011 at 5:25 pm

Not Enough Words, Seven Years Later

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Folks, as of midnight 9/21/11, it has been exactly seven years since I last saw my husband, Michael B. Caffrey, alive.

I keep wondering what, if anything, I could’ve done to save Michael’s life, but none of us knew that his heart was about to give out.  If Michael had known anything of the sort, he would’ve camped himself in the nearest hospital ER even though he hated hospitals; there’s no way he’d have wanted to have his heart completely fail after four heart attacks, the first one having started around 10 a.m. on 9/21/04.   He fell into a coma quickly thereafter and never again regained consciousness.

Michael fought hard; the doctors said they’d never seen anyone fight as hard as Michael did to cling to life.  There was a pattern to the seizures he was having on the right side of his body; he appeared to be trying to communicate with me, even though he was in a coma.  He certainly knew I was there and he was trying very hard to make his body work; he just couldn’t do it, that’s all.

At 8 p.m., about two hours after a fourth heart attack had lowered Michael’s blood pressure to 30/10 with a pulse rate of 4, Michael was pronounced dead.  And I had to say goodbye to the man I’ve loved the most in all the world; I did my best to do this, even though it was and remains difficult for me to believe that my beloved husband Michael, an extremely creative, warm, and witty person, was dead.

I’ve told you in this blog post about how my beloved husband died.  But I cannot tell you how he lived, except with gusto and grace; I cannot tell you how much he loved me, only how much I loved him.

So, even seven years later, I don’t have the words to express the depth of my feelings for my beloved husband.  I wish I did; oh, do I wish I did.

All I can tell you is this: Michael changed my life for the better.  I miss him every single hour of every single day.  I know I always will.   And because of that great love, I will keep trying to help our writing find its audience (his, mine, ours, makes no never-mind now because it all has to go through me); that’s the only way I know to keep even a small part of him alive.

Written by Barb Caffrey

September 21, 2011 at 6:58 pm

Tenth Anniversary of 9/11; Help the First Responders

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Folks, today is the tenth anniversary of 9/11/01, one of the most shocking and horrific things in United States history.  Due to the attacks on that day, the US “lost our innocence” regarding international terrorism.  Though other, terrible attacks had occurred, most especially to the USS Cole and a previous attack in 1993 against the World Trade Center, most American citizens felt like our country could not and would not be attacked.

We were tragically wrong.

Last year, I wrote a blog about 9/11, which is posted here.   In many ways, I cannot improve upon this; even though a lot has changed in a year, many of the same problems are still with us.

So instead, I’ve decided to focus on the biggest remaining problem from that fateful day: our lack of help for the first responders — the firemen, policemen, military people, and volunteers — who did their best to find surviving victims of the World Trade Center bombing, then did their best again to help clean the place up and restore it, in the process finding many of the dead who did not survive that fateful day.

I’m tired of our current crop of politicians doing nothing about this important issue.  Instead, I wish our politicians would act more like President Barack Obama, and past Presidents George W. Bush and Bill Clinton, have acted in the past few days.  These men have been statesmen, and have publicly discussed the need for medical and financial help for the first responders  — many of whom still need help and perhaps always will — because what they were doing in trying to rescue people trapped in the wreckage of the Twin Towers was inordinately stressful.  These first responders were exposed to goodness-knows-what toxic substances, and that some of them have not been able to get help for the medical conditions they incurred is plain, flat wrong.

Note that Hillary Clinton, when she was still a United States Senator, urged the Congress to act and they did, but it wasn’t enough.  She now is our Secretary of State, and for the most part cannot take active part in asking for more help to be given to those who gave of their time and effort on 9/11/01 and afterward.  And while she’s been an outstanding Secretary of State, I wish that she was still able to call more attention to this issue as it needs to be done.

Aside from her, Representative Peter King (R-NY) and, of all people, comedian and political commentator Jon Stewart (he of Comedy Central’s The Daily Show fame) have been the most vocal and active people in the public eye who have demanded help for the first responders.  Good for them; they know many of those first responders ended up with chronic medical problems due to their help on and directly after the 9/11 terror attacks, and they know it’s absolutely disgraceful that these people have had to fight for whatever little bit of help they can get since that awful day.

We must help all of those who need it who helped find victims after the Twin Towers were destroyed.  If we do not, the legacy of 9/11/01, which is already distressing enough, will become that much worse.  Refusing to help these people is shameful.

Baseball, Mike Flanagan, and Depression

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It’s now been a week since former pitcher Mike Flanagan’s death rocked the world of major league baseball.  It’s been six days since Flanagan’s death was ruled a suicide.  And it’s taken me all this time to try, somehow, to come to terms with Flanagan’s death enough to discuss it because I think it’s important.

Flanagan lived an interesting, fulfilling life, and was a bright man with a biting wit and a winning personality to go along with his substantial athletic gifts; all you have to do to understand this is to read Washington Post baseball writer Thomas Boswell’s tribute to him, or perhaps former Washington Post baseball writer Jane Leavy’s piece about how unusual Flanagan was because he wasn’t self-focused as many athletes are, or better yet, Kevin Cowherd’s assessment in the Baltimore Sun (reprinted by the Boston Herald, where I found it) on how the Orioles did their best to cope in their first game back (Friday night) after Flanagan’s suicide.  All of these are essential reading if you want to know who Flanagan was, much less how big a hole his passing has left in its wake.

But to this long-time Brewers fan, the best way I have to remember Flanagan is to remember how good a pitcher he was.  How strong a competitor he was.  How indomitable his spirit seemed while he was out on the mound, and how impressive Flanagan was even in defeat (which was a rare thing as the Brewers seemingly never got the better of him).

But baseball, as important as it was to Flanagan, wasn’t the sum total of his life.  Flanagan was a husband, a father, a friend, a mentor, and many other good things in a life that spanned fifty-nine years; that he left behind three daughters, a wife, many close friends and a baseball community behind who will miss him greatly is heartbreaking.

Depression is an illness that knows no boundaries; it can strike anyone at any time.  Baseball players are far from immune, and baseball itself should have realized this quite some time ago as it’s been over fifty years since Jimmy Piersall wrote FEAR STRIKES OUT, the story of Piersall’s struggles with mental illness and how he overcame them to play professional baseball with the Boston Red Sox and other teams.  And yet despite the publication of Piersall’s important book, it seems like baseball would rather not admit problems like Piersall’s — or Flanagan’s — exist.

Flanagan’s depression and suicide is not an isolated incident by any means, as there have been a number of players suffering depression in recent years.  Joey Votto, famously, had to make a statement regarding his father’s death and subsequent severe depressionKen Griffey, Jr., once tried to commit suicide; fortunately, he didn’t succeed.  On the Milwaukee Brewers, my favorite team, there are two players — both pitchers — who have problems often linked to depression or anxiety.  These are Zack Greinke, who has SAD, an anxiety disorder treated by medication, and Zach Braddock, who has a severe sleep disorder that may well have caused some depression — quite understandably, to be sure — and who is now on the disabled list.

So this problem is not unknown here in Milwaukee; in actuality, we should be among the cities who understand this issue the most because two of our players are battling these problems.

Yet it disturbs me that so little has been said in the Milwaukee area regarding the death of Flanagan, who was a superb pitcher in his time and used to give the Brewers fits (this, of course, was when the Brewers were still in the American League).  Bob Uecker discussed the rain-out of games due to Hurricane Irene and made an off-handed remark after finding out that the Orioles didn’t want to schedule a double-header on Friday that Baltimore probably “didn’t want to lose out on gate receipts” in conversation with Cory Provis on the Brewers Radio Network last Friday night.  But Uecker had to know that the real reason the Orioles didn’t want to play a double-header that evening is because the team was grieving and in shock as Flanagan had been one of the Orioles’ television broadcasters at the time of his death, and had been heavily identified with the whole Orioles franchise as he’d been a player, coach, assistant general manager, and member of the television broadcast team.   And Friday’s game between the Orioles and Yankees was the very first one since Flanagan’s death had been ruled a suicide; tributes to Flanagan, including a moment of silence and a retrospective of Flanagan’s service to baseball and the Orioles franchise in particular, abounded during Friday night’s game as Cowherd’s article, referenced above, clearly shows.

Lest you think that it’s only the Brewers radio broadcast team that seemingly would rather avoid the whole subject of Mike Flanagan, the Brewers television broadcast team of Brian Anderson and Bill Schroeder also hasn’t said anything at all regarding Flanagan to the best of my knowledge.   The only possibly reasoning that I’ve come up with as to why Anderson and Schroeder would be silent is that due to the Brewers impressive record and season (in the last 32 games, the Brewers are 27-5, one of the best stretches in their history, and are currently 10.5 games ahead of their nearest National League Central Division rival, the St. Louis Cardinals) that talking about Flanagan would be “a downer” or perhaps even irrelevant despite the fact that Schroeder was a catcher for the Brewers years ago and had to bat, several times, against Flanagan.

The lack of discussion regarding Flanagan is disturbing, because depression is a part of life.  Many of us have light bouts with it from time to time, and we pull out of it; some have heavier bouts, get medication, and are eventually able to pull out of it.  But some, sadly, cannot pull out of it no matter how hard they try, with Flanagan obviously belonging to this last list along with 49 other baseball players known to have taken their own lives.

How I wish baseball weren’t so close-mouthed regarding those who suffer with depression.  How I wish that baseball would do what Leavy suggested:

Flanagan’s suicide and that of former Yankee pitcher Hideki Irabu after the spotlight passed them by, that of Denver Bronco’s receiver Kenny McKinley and LPGA golfer Erica Blasberg after suffering debilitating injuries, and that of former Pro Bowl safety Dave Duerson, who shot himself in the chest so his brain could be studied for evidence of trauma-induced disease — which was found to be ample — cry out for the availability of on-going psychological services for professional athletes and for a reexamination of the fallacious assumptions we make as a result of their sturdy professional lives.

I agree with Ms. Leavy, and wish that baseball along with all professional sports would come out of the “dark ages” and realize that depression is not a dirty word, nor one to be shunned.  Those with the courage to admit they have a problem and get help for it should be appreciated, rather than being pushed to the side or ignored.

Considering that major league baseball has known since 1957, if not before, that some of its players have struggled with mental illness, anxiety, depression, and now sleep disorders (which often have a depressive component mixed in), it’s long past time that baseball did something to attempt to head future tragedies like Flanagan’s off at the pass.  And if they decide to actually do something about all this, that would be the best memorial to Flanagan’s life that this baseball fan could possibly imagine.

What to do when a Publishing Relationship Ends

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Why is it that most writers plan for the beginning of a publishing relationship, but never plan for the end?

I know, I know.  The end of any relationship, in or out of publishing, is not what most people prefer to dwell upon because it’s depressing.  The end of any relationship means the end of any current possibilities, and that’s sad and extremely difficult for most human beings to contemplate.

That being said, in the current world we live in, we need to plan how to deal with failure graciously.  (Not that every end to every publishing relationship means you’ve failed, mind you; just that it’s going to feel like failure, especially when you know you’ve tried everything in your power to make a publishing enterprise work.)  We need to learn how to come to terms with setbacks, be they minor or major, and learn to deal with them as graciously as possible.

See, I look at the publishing business as a long-term thing that, in its own way, is a microcosm of life.  We’re going to have good days and bad.  The good days are usually easy to handle; it’s the tough ones we must learn from as best we can.

What I do when a publishing relationship has ended is to acknowledge it, make some sort of announcement to those who need to know about it, and am otherwise as polite as humanly possible.  My thoughts, which are greatly influenced by those of my late husband Michael in this regard, are these: who knows if I’ll be working with this person/these people in the future?  So why be obnoxious now when there’s really no need for it?

Yes, we need to acknowledge when we’re upset or frustrated.  I’ve never advocated “sitting on” any emotion, as in my experience that tends to fester and make things worse later on.  But we don’t need to go out of our way burning bridges this way and that, either . . . in fact, if we can avoid burning bridges, that’s probably the best way to handle things.

All that being said, it’s sad when anything you’ve spent a great deal of time and effort on goes for naught; I’ve had this happen a few times this past year, and the only thing that can be done is this: chalk it up to experience, be as polite as possible, and move on.

This is very hard to do, granted.  But if you can do it, others will notice and appreciate the professionalism of your attitude, which may lead you to further and better work in the future.

So, to sum up, here’s the three things you need to do when a publishing relationship of any sort ends:

1) Come to terms with it and write a brief, polite, professional note saying you’re sorry things have come to this pass (whatever it is), and that you’ve appreciated working with whomever.  Also, if you can bring yourself to it, wish the person (or people) well in the future as this costs you nothing.

2) Acknowledge it to those who need to know in a brief, polite and professional note.  (Keep your feelings about it, as much as possible, to yourself.)

3) Allow yourself to grieve the loss, because it is a loss — give yourself an hour, or even half a day if you must, to be upset over it.  Then, do your best to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and move on.

Most importantly, do your best not to bear a grudge.  Remember that we’re all human, we’re all fallible, and there’s no need to spread nastiness.  You don’t need to put up with bad treatment, mind you; far from it.  Just try to rise above it if you can while knowing that it’s possible that someday you might work with this person (or these people) again.  And if that opportunity arises, you want to be able to work with whomever without undue rancor if at all possible.

You need to think long-term at a time when your inner self is screaming, “No!” at the top of its lungs.  This isn’t easy, but if you can do it, it’ll help you in the long run.**

——–

** Michael’s name for this was the “better in sorrow than in anger” method.  Try it.  It works.

Written by Barb Caffrey

August 29, 2011 at 4:33 pm

Kenosha News Refuses to Print my Election Letter

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The Kenosha News, in their infinite whatever, refused to print my election letter on the grounds that I’m not a Kenosha County resident, and that I’m not a subscriber to their paper.  Yet as far as I know, their “Voice of the People” section (what most papers call the “letters to the editor”) does not contain anything that says you must be a Kenosha County resident or a subscriber in order to comment on current events or anything else — I’ve read the Kenosha News many times because I don’t live that far from the Kenosha County line and often pick it up at a local gas station.

At any rate, since the Kenosha News refused to print my election letter, I’m going to print it here, in its entirety; you see if you find it objectionable in any way, shape or form:

To the Editor:
 
Though I live in the city of Racine, I have a great appreciation for Senator  Bob Wirch and wish he were my state Senator.  Here’s  why.  
 
In 2006, Sen. Wirch discovered that Gateway Technical College (which had a $2.4 million budgetary shortfall at the time) had  appropriated five million dollars of taxpayer money to create two private  organizations.  One of these was actually run for profit, but did the taxpayers of Wisconsin ever see a dime?  No!  
 
Without Sen. Wirch bringing this to light, we’d have likely had no idea about what had happened to that five million dollars. 
 
 At a time of unprecedented belt-tightening, we need Bob Wirch to stay in the Senate to make absolutely sure that our money is spent  wisely; we can’t afford to waste a single penny.
 
During these unsettled times, where Republicans run “fake Democrats” in recall primaries to give themselves more time to raise money, and Gov. Walker told the “fake David Koch” that he’d seriously considered planting fake protestors in Madison to cause further unrest, we need Sen. Wirch more than ever.  He’ll fight against bad budgetary decisions while continuing to fight for a transparent, honest and accountable government.
 
We need more people like Bob Wirch in the state Senate, which is why I urge you to please cast your vote for him on August 16, 2011.
 
Sincerely,
 
Barb Caffrey
Racine, WI

Now, what’s wrong with this letter?  That I like Bob Wirch?  (That’s what election letters are for — expressing your appreciation, or your disgust, for a candidate running for office.)  That I think it’s great he’s been able to bring things to light that otherwise would’ve gone unknown and unheeded?  That it’s under 250 words, which fits their guidelines?  What?

Mind, if the Kenosha News had prominently said on their Opinion page that they do not, emphatically do not, accept letters from people who neither live in Kenosha County nor subscribe to their paper, then I’d not be as upset.  I’d still not be happy about it, but I’d not be upset.

My letter to them in return after they said they were uninterested in my “voice” was something to the effect that I didn’t appreciate this, at all.  And that as I live in Racine County — right up the road from Kenosha — it’s ridiculous to think I don’t know what’s going on in this election, especially as part of Bob Wirch’s district runs straight through Racine County.

I also sent a voice mail, which, while again polite and using no four-letter words, expressed my outrage over this.  Emphatically.

So, now I know that at least one newspaper in this area doesn’t care what real people think about the important recall elections.  And that’s not just bad, sad, or shameful — it means they’re unwilling to do their real job, which in part is to report on what real people in their area think about the issues at hand.  Including this recall election.