The Inside Press

Magazines serving the communities of Northern Westchester

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“If It’s Not One Thing…”

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(L-R): Don Rosenstein, MD and Justin Yopp, PhD Authors of The Group
PHOTO COURTESY of UNC Lineberger Comprehensive Cancer Center

How Programming at Gilda’s Club Helps Those Affected By Cancer

Gilda Radner, and her much-beloved Saturday Night Live comedic characters such as Roseanne Roseannadanna, kept audiences in stitches from the mid-1970s through the actress’s untimely death from ovarian cancer in 1989. Laughter is a gift, and Radner gave most generously. It is in that spirit of giving, and to honor her personal wish that information about her illness be shared to help others fighting cancer, that her husband, Gene Wilder, helped establish Gilda’s Club.

Gilda’s Club is a national network of 22 “clubhouses” dedicated to helping all people living with cancer– patients, their families and friends–free of any financial charges, ongoing obligations or commitments. Local affiliate, Gilda’s Club Westchester*, has welcomed and supported individuals and families in its warmly inviting White Plains clubhouse since opening its signature red doors in 2001.

Help for Bereaving Parents

While Gilda’s Club has a full calendar of regular and ongoing classes, support groups and events, there are often special events as well. And, it’s worth noting, many of these are open to the public without any need of Club Membership. In fact, this coming Monday, April 22nd, from 6 – 7:30 p.m., Gilda’s Club Westchester in partnership with the Bereavement Center of Westchester is hosting a Special Bereavement Parenting Workshop. The workshop will be led by clinical psychologist Dr. Justin Yopp, PhD and psychiatrist Dr. Donald Rosenstein, MD, authors of The Group: Seven Widowed Fathers Reimagine Life and co-founders of The Widowed Parent Project.

The Widowed Parent Project began in 2010 with a support group for fathers who had lost their spouses to cancer. From that small original group of widowed men to research that involved more than 400 fathers, to its current commitment to supporting widowed mothers and fathers, the Project is part of the Comprehensive Cancer Support Program at the North Carolina Cancer Hospital and Lineberger Comprehensive Cancer Center of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

The highly anticipated evening event is for “parents who have lost a partner to cancer and struggle with experiencing loss as they continue their role as a sole parent.” Yopp and Rosenstein will share their experiences in supporting both widowed fathers and mothers, and provide additional methods for coping with loss of any kind. Children of attendees are invited to come along, and to participate in a concurrent social program facilitated by a professional from Gilda’s Club Westchester’s Children Teens and Families group. Copies of Yopp and Rosenstein’s book will be available for purchase (with all proceeds going to the Widowed Parent Project) and light refreshments will be served.

New Off-Site Cancer Support Group in Northern Westchester

As busy and wonderful as the White Plains clubhouse and its many free programs are and continue to be, Gilda’s Club Westchester’s Director of Clinical Partnerships, Christine Speck, points out that the club’s proximity to people in need can be a deciding factor in determining membership and usage. “Time management is a big part of cancer treatment”, says Speck. Patients have various doctor visits, treatment visits, and also recovery times when they’re just too tired to go anywhere. There’s a lot to consider. Therefore, Speck and her colleague, Programming Manager Debbie Vincent, LMSW, are very excited to announce a new off-site initiative, the Living with Cancer Support Group, especially intended for people in northern Westchester.

Held at the newly renovated Bedford Playhouse, the Group will meet every second and fourth Wednesday from 10–11:30 a.m. beginning in April. It’s worth noting that the Bedford Playhouse is more than a comfortable, convenient locale; it was here that a preview of the thoughtful and moving Gilda Radner documentary, Love, Gilda was screened to great acclaim. The Group “will encourage discussion of personal experiences as well as provide ongoing exploration of emotional and social concerns, while dispensing wisdom and practical advice.” It is open to anyone in active treatment, including those who are not Gilda’s Club Members. Those interested need only sign up ahead of time.

*For further information, please visit Gilda’s Club Westchester website: www.gildasclubwestchester.org

My Idea of Beauty at 19 and Now

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Author and his wife Laurie

It was the late 1980’s and a Grateful Dead cover band was playing it hot at a local college bar. Across the room I saw her. A classic Deadhead chick in faded jeans and a tie-dye, covered with a loose peasant blouse. She was balancing a beer in a plastic cup while un-self-consciously bopping to the music. To say she was an enticing vision would be an understated lie. She was just outstanding. At 19, I probably fell in love at least twice a week but this moment stood out. I was not the type to approach a girl in a bar and I may have stared a little too intently but it definitely felt like lightning had struck.

As it turned out I eventually got to know this stunning hippy girl, just a little, and away from that moment in time the magic was gone. She was sweet and cute but there was no connection. In retrospect that moment at the bar, aside from my unwieldy 19-year-old ardor, was a great summation of my understandably naïve take on beauty.

Back then I was limited in my perception of so many things. If I were to consider my opinion of what was beautiful at that time it would now seem dated and superficial. I’ll present here, embarrassing as it may be, what might have been my vision of an ideal evening at that time even if it was, in reality, completely out of reach. I’d pick up my date (picture the hippy chick above but really into me) in my new red Porsche 944 (one of the company’s few failed models), we’d have a fine meal at TGI-Friday’s (who knew mozzarella could be deep-fried!) and then we’d head off to the movies to see the latest John Hughes teen angst flick (to this day I still don’t quite understand Eric Stoltz’s big plan in “Some Kind of Wonderful”). I know. This scenario is not appealing.

Cut to 2019 and the world is spinning wildly out of control and we the people are divided. Social media is pervasive and invasive and we’re clearly, as a society, moving forward into unchartered territory in so many ways. As for me, I’m as immersed in the chaos as anyone else but I endure and now I believe, I have a more credible and learned perspective on the subject of what constitutes beauty.

I can now see beauty in so many things that had been inconceivable to me when I was a younger man. Obviously, watching our children grow and evolve is a no-brainer but is also a profound movement away from inherent pre-kids self-absorption. Having worked for many years, I now recognize the allure of someone doing a job, any job, with commitment, honor and excellence. I’ve been fortunate enough to have unexpected friendships that make life more fulfilling and fun. I’m also lucky to still be able to compete athletically at sports I loved as a child. Not to mention the pleasure of good food be it a bacon and egg on a roll or fresh summer peach.

I can now see beauty in so many things that had been inconceivable to me when I was a younger man.

Undoubtedly, the most consistent and important aspect of beauty I’ve been fortunate to be exposed to is my wife. Laurie is the embodiment of gorgeous both physically and spiritually. I’ve known her a long time and am completely secure in our relationship yet I still have moments where I shake my head and say, “How the hell did I achieve this”? On a typical morning, she’ll get dressed for work and ask me how she looks. This daily exchange has occurred for years. My first instinct is usually to say “beautiful” because that’s the truth. However, I usually choose a more work-setting appropriate adjective. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I look forward to that interaction every day.

Way back, at 19, I had another one of those memorable moments not unlike at the bar with the Deadhead chick. A lovely girl pulled up in a funky orange European car wearing a red-sweater and blue jeans. She had stunning coffee-colored eyes that matched her long hair. My heart fluttered a bit as I caught sight of this beautiful young woman. It was years later that we got to know each other well. Of course, it was Laurie and the lesson I’ve learned is that true beauty can even transcend the naivete of youth.

Snow Days Bring Winter Warmth and Community Bonding

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As my feet came out from under me and I started to fall backwards on the front stoop of my house the first thing I noticed was that time had started moving very slowly. My next thought was that this was not a good situation as I saw my unlaced sneakered feet elevate above the rest of me and found myself twisting slightly as my skull approached the waiting hard-brick top step. I didn’t feel panicked but was aware that there was something ridiculous about braining myself first thing in the morning while still in a bathrobe. Astoundingly, my body landed across the steps, as it would turn out, relatively unharmed. My head was the last body part to land and with acute clarity I felt it connect with the rock-hard surface about as gently as imaginable. As I lay there doing a toes to forehead assessment of any physical damage one thought crept through–I should have used more salt!

There are a myriad of realities to living in the snow-belt that is Westchester County north of 287. Better have all-wheel drive. A generator? Not a bad idea. Plow guy seems expensive and wakes your neighbors at 3 a.m. as they’ve communicated through strongly worded notes taped to your door? It’s still better than you shoveling the large wet snow-filled driveway and unwittingly flirting with your first heart-attack. May it only be mild.

The other big figurative snow-balls to contend with are the incessant snow days. In the past when the phone rang at 5 a.m. it was usually serious business. A health scare or worse. Fortunately, those shock-inducing calls were exceedingly rare. However, present day, anytime there is a hint of snow in the forecast you can expect the phone to ring at that same ungodly hour.

At best a two hour delay. Many of these calls result in full, no school, snow days. Which translates to no school for Bella and a day of professional productivity and otherwise being abruptly obliterated by a robo-call.

One morning early last winter the phone rang early and my wife dutifully answered it. I could tell by her expression that this was not going to be a two-hour delay. Outside the snow was steadily wafting downward and absolutely sticking. Ugh. I can’t recall specifically what I wouldn’t be accomplishing that day but I do remember being irritated that the heaven’s and Board of Education were annihilating my day.

Like any modern middle-aged man of responsibility I took my concerns to social media. The Facebook post went like this:

Like most kids I used to long for snow days which seemed exceedingly rare and elusive. The thought of sled-riding, pick-up snow football and a variety of potential misadventures all while not having to go to school made these days unbearably wonderful. Now, cynical and grizzled from life, I dread snow days like a looming medical procedure. There’s some kind of lesson here but I’m too engaged in my irritation to pursue it.

The comments and likes came quickly from friends, people I barely knew in high school and random acquaintances. The overwhelming theme was that I should stop being a snow-grinch and embrace the situation and the serendipitous opportunity of an unplanned day with my family.

So I did.

Laurie, Bella and I bundled up and headed up the cul-de-sac to see what was happening. It wasn’t crazy cold out nor windy so the little neighborhood hike would be not a frozen bummer. The fluffy snow was accumulating on massive pine trees and looked absolutely beautiful. Like a work of art. If you stood still you could hear the snow coming down relentless but gentle.

I did avoid one persnickety neighbor but after that it was like we walked on to the set of “It’s A Wonderful Life” (the happy part) and I was Jimmy Stewart reveling in the beauty of what’s all around me but often unappreciated.  There are kids sled-riding. The smell of a burning fire-place and smoke rising from an old stone chimney. We’re hugging neighbors and sincerely wondering why we haven’t seen each other for months. I joined a group pushing out a rear-wheel drive car stuck in the snow with gloved high-fives all around once the tires found firm footing.

As we looped back to our yellow house I couldn’t help but think of the contrast of how I felt before the walk and after. Through the simple act of a winter stroll I remembered the feeling of community that something like a snow day elicits. And, the winters here while challenging are most definitely communally persevered. It’s a long haul from start to finish but we all go through it and come out the other side ready for a beautiful spring.

A Dog to Love – Maggie Mae

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I never thought I could love an animal as much as I love my Maggie Mae. She is, without a doubt, my best friend and my biggest fan. She will follow me anywhere, is totally devoted to me–even when I scold her. Maggie Mae loves me unconditionally. She’s a black and white Parti-Toy Poodle and the joy of my life.

When I first saw her, her outgoing personality attracted me, and I knew right away that she was mine.  But maybe it was the other way around and she chose me. Nearly eleven years ago, when she came to live with me, she was three months old and weighed only three pounds.

I can’t imagine my life without her. She’s a wonderful companion, and she makes me laugh. She can be sound asleep, but if the phone rings and I answer, she is by my side in a minute so I will play with her. When I say to her, “You’re the best girl I know,” she always rewards me with a kiss.

They say that dogs are man’s best friend, and they’re not kidding. When a fly is buzzing around the house, she’s right there to alert me and to guard me. She alerts me when I have accidentally left the front door ajar or if there’s something in the wrong place. And then there is Maggie Mae neighborhood watchdog. She can spot a car blocks away and frequently knows who’s in it.

As a perennial single person, I have lived alone for most of my adult life, and it is easy for a single person to become self-indulgent. Having to think about the well-being and care of another were valuable changes for me. That’s one reason I’m so grateful for Maggie Mae’s presence in my life. She also keeps me healthy. No matter what the weather, I am outside with Maggie Mae at least three times a day. We take long walks that are good for both of us–and not just physically. I often get good ideas as we walk. One was her Maggie Mae Pup Reporter column that many of you read in this magazine for years. I’m also grateful because she has made my life more interesting. I learned to write from a dog’s point of view.

As many of you readers know, Maggie Mae is “personable” and well-known by merchants in town. She has high self-esteem, which shows in the way she carries herself and walks down our streets and into the shops as if she owned Chappaqua. Other people notice her, and I could not have been more proud when Sophie Mendelson included her in the Chappaqua Children’s Book Festival mural in the center of town.

Maggie Mae loves to ride in the car and is a great traveling companion who’s always happy with whatever we do. Since she was a puppy, she’s been a regular guest at the Red Lion Inn and has many fans in Stockbridge and the Berkshires.

As much as Maggie Mae loves to snuggle up next to me, especially when I am doing something that doesn’t include her, she is an independent dog who often likes to be alone. She’ll go into her crate, lie on her bed or find a square of sunlight on the carpet just to chill.

My heart is bigger than I ever thought. I love Maggie Mae’s little kisses, how she curls up at my feet to give me a hug. How she puts her head under my hand so I can pet her. I love her wagging tail and how she waits for me at the door.

So little can make her happy and that is a lesson we can all learn.

And as I was writing this, she came up to me, leaned in, pushed my pad and pen away and climbed on my lap. I can’t imagine life without Maggie Mae. She’s my girl and I love her dearly.

 

On Love and Caring in the Age of Trump

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You know… as a local publisher, I have received assorted criticism from both sides of the political aisle.
 
For not doing enough with my press and my time even at the local level to counter the age of Trump. When I try, it can feel like a Herculean task as I try to keep up with community coverage, press deadlines, paper work, etc. This local publisher gig is frequently a full time job, and then some.
 
From others: for being ‘too political’ with my press.
 I don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer. And navigating these tugs and pulls from both directions can feel somewhat exhausting as I ride this see saw, still. I maintain my independence so that I’m not pulled too much in either direction, actually.
 
Whether I’m doing enough, or not enough, whether I miss the mark, or am on target, I always try to convey: that while love lost a round, its power is unbeatable, and I’m confident it will win at the end. And that I appreciate and am grateful for all the activist efforts, too.
 
As erratic as I can be, I  always, always try to strike a note that conveys that at the very least, I am awake, and that I CARE.
 
I CARE about the environment, and supporting real science.
I CARE about women’s hard fought for rights under siege and protecting choice.
I CARE about the aggressive accumulation of wealth in the hands of the few.
I CARE about supporting a vision of a Rainbow over America, and compassionate leaders who would never marginalize any one group, resort to hard core exclusionary tactics, or consider one group more deserving than another.
 
Well, you get the idea.
 
Happy Valentine’s Day, with love and care.  — Grace