summer2009
bywomen forwomen aboutwomen
My travels taking the long way home My Money making a clean sweep My cause big dreams for little giants
PLUS My art my health and more
summer2009
Mia Magazine By, for, and about women Publisher The Leslie Group, LLC Editor Lisa Tresch Graphic Design Lina Holmes Contributors Sheilah Bright, Michelle Cupps, Indy Grotto, Charlotte Guest, Judy McCurdy, Monica Roberts, Linda Rubin, Amber Skye, Sandy Wagner Advertising Sales Jan Weinheimer Sales Assistants Susan Bayles, Malisa Nell Finance and Website Juli Armour Photography LSD Photography Lisa Dunham, Sophia Litchfield
Mia is published quarterly by The Leslie Group, LLC P.O. Box 35665, Tulsa, OK 74153 (918) 978-5567 Reproduction in whole or part is prohibited. Copyright Š 2009 The Leslie Group, LLC. All rights reserved.
Mia accepts full-length manuscript submissions and queries. For writer’s guidelines, visit our website at miamagazine.net
Mia Magazine P.O.Box 35665, Tulsa, OK 74153-0665 www.miamagazine.net 2
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
Summer2009 Contents About sixteen years ago, I sat around a table with a group of women and lamented my inadequacy at parenting and shared fears that my husband and I were growing apart. Leaving my job had made me feel useless, and besides all that, I thought my preschoolers might be going wayward. The women quietly listened to me as they sipped their coffee, and then they did something wonderful. They began to tell stories. Each woman had something to share about her own struggle or challenge. Some told a horror story or two, several lightened the moment with humor, and a few had come out on the other side and learned lessons about life. My fog began to lift, and although my problems weren’t solved, the stories gave me courage, hope and a sense of community. I was in the presence of some amazing women. Welcome to the premiere issue of Mia. I hope what you read in these pages will make you feel a bit like I did sixteen years ago sitting around the table with my women friends. Consider this your invitation to pull up a chair, grab a cup of coffee, and
listen to the voices of women who have a story to share. As you may have guessed by now, Mia is not your typical women’s magazine. We won’t tell you what you should wear or how to decorate your house. We won’t show you how to shed 15 pounds in a week and, honestly, we don’t know the secrets about what men really want. But we do know that every woman has a story, and when we share these with one another we gain strength for the journey. Since that day sixteen years ago, I have been surrounded many times by amazing women who were willing to share their stories with me, and each time, I came away a better person. The journalist Katherine Lanpher says, “stories are the connective tissue of the human race. “ If that’s true, then we can never hear too many stories. Why start a magazine in the midst of uncertain economic times? A simple reason: It’s just the sort of thing a Mia woman would do. The women we feature in our magazine are courageous, capable and creative. We’re following their lead. I invite you to turn the pages and meet some of these women, listen to their voices, and consider yourself a part of the Mia community. Women of Northeastern Oklahoma, Mia is your magazine.
Editor, Mia
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Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
My Travels
One woman’s trek across the White Continent
My journey
A 9/11 nightmare gives strength for the future
My heritage
Quinceañera: the biggest day of her life
My Cause
A mother’s fight against overwhelming odds
My Money
All those sweepstakes – are they worth it?
My art
Street School artist, Amber Skye
My BLOG
The view from southfillmore.com
My journey
Pens, spiral notebooks and a life of journaling
My inspiration
A granddaughter remembers
My relationships
Friendships that span a lifetime
My Health
Readers offer their favorite home remedies
Meet our Writers My so-called life
Practically in the Bag
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Let us help you tell your story
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Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
Mytravels
by Sheilah Bright
taking the long way home
T
he first time I ran away
to a foreign land I was about six years old. A mystical destination whispered to me through the windows of my tiny two-bedroom house, so I waited until my mother was loading the washing machine before I slipped out the storm door and set sail. I chose a dependable vessel, a turquoise banana-seat bicycle bought from Otasco, and steered through my Prattville neighborhood to a magical port where tigers ran around trees until they spun into butter and mermaids dried their flowing manes on mossy rocks surrounded by nothing but the blue, blue sea. I stowed away for about 10 minutes before Captain McPherson discovered me in the “big people” section of the bookmobile and alerted my mother. She wisely allowed me to linger as long as I promised to leave in time for lunch, didn’t talk too much during Story Hour and absolutely, positively promised not to take the long way home.
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
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The long way home has always been my albatross, my ransom, my treasure chest. For 40-plus years I have anchored down many times and spent days, even months, staying on course through mountains of casseroles, swamps of diapers and the arid torture known as Little League baseball. Luckily, parenthood comes with a license to occasionally kick off adulthood and wiggle your toes in fun. My three boys grew accustomed to the back roads of life, visiting the Tallgrass Prairie via, oh, let’s say Muskogee. My husband of 29 years is a fellow gypsy soul so we have taken turns either flying the kite or being the kite. Nomadic in spirit, we still recognize and cherish the solid security of home. When my youngest son left for college last fall, I spent a few useless days wandering around our 35-acre farm, surfing the web for obscenely-priced purses and waiting impatiently to launch my lifeboat of stockpiled maternal provisions for the inevitable SOS. Silence. Husband, happy and a golfer, no explanation needed. Three sons, “Great, hey, can I call you back after I finish the video game?” My dirty-socks-full-dishwasher-do-youhave-ten-dollars-world was now a deserted island, and for the first time in many years, I needed a map. I decided to take the long way home - via Antarctica. I waited until my husband was knee-deep in a golf tournament when I called to say, “I think I’m going to go to Antarctica so if you want to plunge into sub-zero tem-
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peratures, brave the roughest seas in the world and count penguins for nearly three weeks, hop aboard. “ He would have been a great traveling companion and a warm bunk mate, but I really preferred to go solo. Self-reliance feeds my psyche as much as stretching my comfort zone limbers my soul. It was a wonderful way to launch a new goal for my life – seven continents by the time I am 50. After exploring Antarctica and South America in October, I journeyed to Asia in February to reignite a career as a travel writer and photographer. Australia and Africa are now whispering to me through my window, and I have two years to answer their call. As a woman, self-indulgence can be just as uncomfortable as stilettos or lingerie. Guilt works overtime to wage an argument that the money and the time could be better spent, and who are you, this middle-age woman running away from home? Quiet that voice. Seize whatever dreams kept you rocking those babies and watching the clock tick past curfew for hours upon hours in those sleepless nights in motherdom. Exploring cultures and traveling to distant lands challenges my viewpoints. Testing my own boundaries nourishes me as a woman, which means I become a happier wife, a more loving mother, a better me. I knew it as a six year-old pedaling furiously through the neighborhood in search of a faraway discovery. I know it now. Sometimes, taking the long way home is the shortest route to happiness. Mia
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
Antarctica Mytravels
by Sheilah Bright
trekking across
The Frozen Land. The White Continent. The Big Chill. Antarctica is the wildest place on earth with its extreme temperatures, harsh landscape and abundant wildlife. Only four people in a million have traveled to this continent. Last year, I became one of them. Some 45,000 people journeyed to Antarctica during the 2008-09 summer season, November through February. I was lucky enough to board the National Geographic Endeavor for an October 31 through November 15 exploration of the Antarctic peninsula with two unscheduled continental landings. As the first travel expedition of the season, our ship of 60 guests and 40 crew members, naturalists, scientists and photographers helped document ice changes, penguin populations and animal behavior either through photographs, reports or memories. Yes, it is cold. Temperatures hover around 20 degrees and brisk winds whip the chill factor to about 11 degrees and below. Shifting ice, spastic snowstorms and remote conditions can cause trip itineraries to falter so if you aren’t someone who goes with the flow, stick to the tropics. However, if you are willing to spend the money and let nature take its course, Antarctica will not let you down. Every corner delivers another masterpiece; every sound is amplified in an amphitheater where even the slightest crack of ice can be heard. Standing on the bow of a ship adrift in a sea of endless ice allows you the freedom to strip off life’s expectations and simply settle into the reality that in this one moment, the only happiness you are responsible for is your own. Once, after nearly two hours of slow maneuvering, our ship came to a stop against an ice roadblock. We were trying to make it through the channel to reach Petermann
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
Island. This time, the ice won. In a way, everyone seemed a bit happy that the ice became the victor, for it allowed us the opportunity to retrace an amazing journey. If Antarctica intrigues you, spend the time up front to research what expedition will best meet your expectations. Typically, ships sail from South America and must traverse the wickedly notorious Drake Passage where warm and cold waters collide. Our journey home featured 30-foot swales, which forced most of us to our cabins for about 24 hours. If you are going to go through these extreme motions, make the trip worth the effort by booking an Antarctic experience that offers more than a drive-by. A few cruise companies are simply shifting ships to the region to capitalize on tourism, and experts predict travel tragedies may increase. Since the Antarctic Treaty limits the number of visitors per day, make sure your ship has enough zodiacs to handle its passengers - especially since zodiacs often double as lifeboats. Waiting in line is never easy, but sweating in polar gear while you wait for a zodiac rocking on sub-zero waters will be far more taxing than waiting in line at Six Flags. Here are a few travel tips for exploring Polar Regions: Pack light. Parkas, polar boots, gloves and other winter wear add bulk to your suitcase so be selective about nonessentials. Most expedition agencies provide excellent packing lists and resources for purchasing gear. Leave fashion at home. About the only time your street clothes are going to be seen is on the boat. Most of your trip, you will be wearing an outer waterproof layer so no one is going to know that you wore the same pants three days in a row. In fact, you will probably earn a little Continued on page 32
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MyJourney Cindi Hemm by Charlotte Guest
tested and refined
“I remember placing my finger on the TV screen and counting up 66 floors in each building. I knew if he was in one building, he probably survived. If he was in the other tower, he was gone.”
Cindi Hemm
Cindi Hemm drove to school Tuesday morning September 11, 2001, just like she did most days. This energetic school principal was gearing up for another day at Park Elementary. Prayer, inspiring music and selfdirected pep-talks were part of her daily drives then, and are still today. Most mornings were a mixture of routine regularity, and a few uncanny uncertainties that came with the job. Little did she know what that day would hold. Upon her arrival, staff quickly alerted Cindi that the World Trade Center buildings in New York City had been hit. Her 23-year-old son, Bill, was in one of the Twin Towers. “It was a surreal, almost out-of-body experience. My office staff and I turned on the computers and the radio at school and watched the horrific events unfold in complete disbelief. I listened for a while, and then left, instinctively calling my family members to meet at my parent’s home. All I could think of was to gather those I loved and quickly. “ Cindi had spoken to Bill the day before. “He was eager and excited about his training with Morgan Stanley, and he called to let me know he could see the Statue of Liberty from the windows on the 66th floor. I could see his grin as he shared about the sights and the big city. I remember telling him to be careful, to have fun and that I loved him. “ Cindi recalled that conversation often as events began to unfold. “I consider myself a strong woman, one who does well under pressure…but that day I truly was frantic. I cried all the way to my parent’s home, telling myself things would be fine, grasping my faith, but honestly feeling completely out of control. “
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Cindi’s family assembled as well as two of her best friends. They turned on the news and watched, along with the world, the demise of the World Trade Center Twin Towers. “I remember placing my finger on the TV screen and counting up 66 floors in each building. I knew if he was in one building, he probably survived. If he was in the other tower, he was gone. “ Cindi’s family and friends gathered that day, crying, praying, listening and hoping for what seemed like an eternity. Bill did not have a cell phone so all they could do was watch and wait for him to make contact. Six hours later, Bill, covered in ashes, called and simply said, “I’m okay, I’m okay. “ The decision to head downstairs to purchase breakfast saved his life. From the doorway, Bill and many others could see the first plane hit the tower. They ran out of the building and were told, “head north, head north!” Bill ran six miles to his hotel before he could make contact with his family. When Cindi received the call from Bill at her parents’ house, it was a moment when time stood still. Her emotions changed from devastated to elated in a matter of seconds. “I’ll never forget hearing his voice that day. I knew Bill would be strong through the whole ordeal. He is known for lifting others up, staying the course, and encouraging people when times are hard. We imagined how he would be if he were with us, and that got us through those dark, horrific hours. “ Cindi has put into practice many coping skills learned from that day. In the fall of 2003, she became the principal of Eugene Field Elementary, located in an economically depressed part of Tulsa. Cindi recalls the day she began her job as principal at Eugene Field Elementary. Mountains of mold, neglect of the building and facilities and what seemed like insurmountable obstacles abounded. There was no playground or stalls for the boys’ bathrooms. Inside it looked like a trash can had been turned upside down. “I felt panicked, just to a lesser degree than when I got the call about my son. But my physical reaction was so similar. I wanted to cry, my stomach was in knots and I felt almost hopeless, breathless in fact, “ Cindi shared. She recalled that 9/11 day and latched on to the same hope and faith that got her through those uncertain hours. For this school to succeed, Cindi knew she had to dig in, gather many together and pray for miracles. “One pencil by itself is easily snapped in two. When ten pencils are bound together, they can’t be broken. I’ve learned that there is strength in numbers. “ said Cindi.
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
Eugene Field now has a playground full of joyful children. The bathroom stalls have doors. Laughter and colorful children’s art fills the halls. The school once had the lowest academic scores in the district and state, but now under Cindi’s administration and perseverance, the school has among the highest scores. Eugene Field’s population has grown from 170 students to over 380 and they closed transfers this year due to space issues. In 2006, Eugene Field was recognized as the most improved school in the district as well as in the state, resulting in cash stipends for all the school’s faculty and staff. Cindi’s contributions go well beyond the academic programs at the school. She consistently spearheads efforts to address health and nutrition needs for her students and their families. A champion for her school community, she’s
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
raised funds for needed school projects and the families in her district. An accomplished speaker, Cindi has shared her story at many national educational conferences and symposiums. What was once an impoverished impossibility is now a thriving model of excellence. “I feel like I’m in a golden era in my life and at Eugene Field…it’s a beautiful tapestry and I’m just a thread, one of the many who helps holds things together. “ Gold is refined by withstanding enormous amounts of heat, then the dross is scooped away. This process happens over and over until it’s pure, smooth and stronger than ever before. Cindi’s hard times and the ability to gather many together have made her stronger, certainly refined her and have prepared her for the journey ahead. Mia
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Quincea単era
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Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
MyHeritage
Karina Huerta photos by LSD Photography
A formal dress, a waltz with Dad, and a gift – the last doll of her childhood, were all part of the biggest party of Karina Huerta’s life, her Quinceañera, which took place in May 2008. The tradition is deeply rooted in Latin American culture, and it marks a 15 year-old girl’s passage into womanhood. It’s bigger than a birthday party, more anticipated than graduation, and sometimes eclipses a future wedding with its large guest list and no-expense-spared planning. For Karina, it was simply “the most perfect day of my life. “ Her family spent a year and a half planning for this elaborate “coming out” party. A venue, caterers, three bands, a court of fifteen teenagers, dresses, tuxedos, choreographers and photographers were just a few of the arrangements that were put in place for the grand event. The guest list numbered around 500. “It’s like a sweet sixteen party, only you have it when you’re fifteen, “ Karina said. “For me, it was like a dream. I woke up the next morning and I couldn’t believe it had been so perfect. It was nothing like I expected. It was better. “ The celebration began with a Mass at St. Xavier’s Catholic Church in the early evening. After the service, the guests all went to Club Imperio where the party started at 7 p.m. and didn’t finish until 2 a.m. The evening included a Presentation Dance, a Father-Daughter Dance, and, Karina’s favorite, the Surprise Dances. Karina and her court (seven boys and seven girls) worked with a choreographer to learn and rehearse these dances several months in advance, and when they performed them at the celebration, they changed from their frilly formals to hip dance clothes. Many cultures usher their children into adulthood through a rite of passage or an event that marks the occasion. In Latin American culture, the Quinceañera is a community affair, with godparents, neighbors, family and friends planning and participating in the event. During the celebration, the girl wears low-heeled shoes, and her father changes her shoes to high heels. A doll is also presented to her, the last one of her childhood. Karina’s doll sits in her room, a constant reminder that she has left her girlhood days behind. As she continues to move toward womanhood, Karina will always have the memory of her Quinceañera – the best night of her life so far. Mia Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
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MyCAUSE
by Michelle Cupps
big dreams for little giants Mitchell Cupps was born August 4, 2004, weighing only two pounds, 11 ounces. His body was so tiny he could easily fit in the palms of his mother’s hands. Doctors told his parents that a prenatal problem with the placenta was most probably the reason for Mitchell’s low birth weight and that he would spend the next few months playing catch-up. Not to worry, the doctors told them, and after 28 days in the Neo Natal Intensive Care Unit, they took their baby home. Almost five years later, I sit here thinking how to describe my experience as the mother of a child with Schimke Immunosseous Dysplasia, a million different memories wash over me. I think about how I’ve changed as a person over the last four years, and how my entire family has changed. I think about all the other mothers and fathers who have struggled to find a diagnosis for their child, knowing something is wrong, and certain that once they know that diagnosis they can move forward to find a cure. Then I remember the blow that is dealt once the diagnosis is finally known and then hearing that the illness is incurable. To be honest, I have found myself on a permanent, emotional rollercoaster that doesn’t end. But I’ve also become stronger because of it. I look at life mostly in black and white, with not much gray in my thinking. Troy and I own and operate a physician billing company, and so I understand how medical practices work. I know the rules, the processes, the diagnosis codes, how insurance companies pay, what they pay and what they don’t. Everything is precise. Everything has an order to it. Maybe that’s why it was so hard for me to understand that Mitchell had an unknown type of Dysplasia. Nothing fit in the hard-and-fast rules of medicine. Before Mitchell’s diagnosis I went on a quest, that kept me working through the night, desperate to find an answer. I had to know what was wrong with my son. I had to figure out what to expect so we could stay ahead of what was coming our way. That day came for me on a cold snowy day in February 2009 when Mitchell was admitted into the hospital with kidney failure. The words we heard were so strange and foreign, barely pronounceable—Schimke Immunosseous Dysplasia, also known as SIOD—a rare and deadly disease would end my son’s life by kidney failure, a low immune system, or even stroke. The old saying is true, I guess. Be careful what you wish for. I had my diagnosis now and trading it was not an option. Up until then, Mitchell had already been through hip surgery performed at Alfred DuPont in Delaware, which
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required him to be in a body cast for six long weeks. He had also endured painful physical therapy, migraine headaches so severe they temporarily paralyzed one side of his tiny body, swelling in his face, legs and belly. Those required multiple hospital stays with perplexed physicians. So hearing my son has SIOD was a blow that frankly no mother is ready to face. Where was my hole to crawl into? I needed time to think. I needed a plan. I needed answers. I stopped taking calls from my friends, family and coworkers. I just couldn’t bear to explain Mitchell’s disease one more time. I remember screaming at my mom on the phone in the middle of the hospital parking lot. “Poor Mitchell... It’s hard enough on him that he is small and now this? How could this happen?” And then the selfish question wriggled out. “Why me?” Little did I know that the medications our local physicians were giving Mitchell to keep his kidneys from failing were actually harming him. His blood pressure skyrocketed, putting him at risk for strokes, which I later learned is another leading cause of death in SIOD patients. I soon learned that Mitchell’s diagnosis was so rare that our local doctors were faced with a huge learning curve. Treating him like any other patient with kidney failure could actually end his life. During our quest to find a diagnosis, Troy and I made contact with Dr. Cornelius Boerkoel in British Columbia and Dr. Thomas Lucke in Germany. Both doctors have treated and conducted extensive research on other SIOD patients. They soon became advocates for Mitchell and shared their knowledge with our Tulsa physician, Dr. Christy Mayfield. She then took the lead and aggressively started appropriate treatment on Mitchell as an SIOD patient: five different medications and regular blood pressure checks (we took the crash course on this) to determine the right dosage. I was now in the role of nurse, mom and educator, all at the same time. Now, there was no time to waste. Not a minute. I had to become more assertive with an illness that was holding me hostage. Hope seemed to slip away. All control over my life was gone... or so it seemed. When Dr. Boerkle called us a few weeks later to say there was a possibility that a medication called Ataluren, which is currently being tested for Muscular Dystrophy, might bypass the gene mutation and prolong Mitchell’s life, my heart soared. Dr. Boerkle would need to clone Mitchell’s cells to test the medication. Through this process, Troy and I learned that the physicians conducting the research and gene muta-
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
tions were working on their own time, money and resources. Rare conditions such as Mitchell’s are grossly underfunded and overlooked. The plain and simple truth is that money is delaying the research to determine if Ataluren could save my son’s life. Then I realized something very humbling. It wasn’t just my son’s life this research, testing and medication could save. Through many online searches, blogs and Facebook, I met hundreds of parents who were in our same situation. They had a child with a rare form of dwarfism; children who didn’t “fit” into known categories. I met mothers who were lost and confused and helpless, just like me. They can’t afford the medications or the travel expenses to medical facilities that specialize in their child’s form of dwarfism. Little things, such as bikes or wheelchairs specially designed to help mobilize their children, are expensive and not covered by insurance. I’ll never forget when one of those mothers contacted me. Kim Baker is a member of Parents of Little
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
People (POLP). She read an article in The Tulsa World featuring Mitchell and his passion for Taekwondo. She welcomed us into the group and more than a dozen mothers shared their personal stories with me. We all faced different challenges, because our children were all different, but then I realized we were actually the same. Although our differences separated us from those with traditional dwarfism, we were given the most special children of all. And the dream for The Little Giants Foundation was born, established for this very purpose: To be a beacon of light and inspiration for others in our situation who need information, funding, a hand to hold, and a glimmer of hope that their child’s life is not in vain. For those who are blessed to receive a smile from Mitchell, I am certain he leaves an indelible mark on their lives. This little boy has an almost Herculean power to make people forget their most trivial problems. He is a gift to everyone he meets.
Continued on page 28
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Mymoney by Judy McCurdy
A Clean Sweep in a Messy Economy When the economy gets tough, the tough get creative. Some women replace exotic family vacations with frugal camping trips or start an urban garden to save on grocery bills. Other women are discovering clothing swaps and rediscovering flea markets. Then there are women who have decided to “sweep. “ Not with a broom, but with a stack of index cards or an email address. If you aren’t familiar with sweeping…and if you’re feeling lucky today, read on. Most of my life I have dashed past sweepstakes and contests with the attitude that it was a waste of time to enter. But as the years went by, I became more aware of just how many sweepstakes are out there, and a theory began to form in the back of my mind. What if a person were to enter all those sweepstakes? Wouldn’t it become impossible NOT to win some-
thing eventually? And wouldn’t it be great fun to try? And then a “win” happened to someone I know. The Manager of the Casual Athlete Store in Wichita, Kansas won a trip to Las Vegas for herself and her husband. It also included a trip for her district manager, which just happened to be me. I won without even entering. My theory began to percolate as I enjoyed my free trip to Vegas. In 1992 I told my husband I was going to put my theory to the test and start entering every contest and sweepstakes I could find. I made him promise not to tell anybody because in the back of my mind I thought this theory might just be pure foolishness. Less than three months later, I got my first win – eight cases of Pedigree dog food! Maybe this theory wasn’t so foolish after all. It was enough to keep me entering.
some of Judy’s Wins Amethyst & white sapphire ring Digital camera $1,000 Elle wardrobe 2 telescopes 1999 Oldsmobile Alero $10,000 Two $3,000 Dell gift certificates $5,000 Pier 1 gift card A set of golf clubs 3 Weber grills Gateway laptop Two X-Boxes PS2 $500 Spiegel gift certificate $1,000 from Albertson’s $500 GC from AutoZone Two American Eagle gold coins Northwest Airlines tickets $90,000 Dell laptop $900 dishwasher
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Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
Soon, I had gone from dog food to high-end electronics with the win of a big screen television from Lane Furniture. In 2002 I was sitting in front of the computer entering an instant win game for a large bag of M&M’s. It seemed like a nice little contest and I was allowed to enter for each family member with the opportunity to win five times with each name. As I entered, every so often I would see “Congratulations! You’ve won M&M’s. “ As I was entering for my stepson Randy, a message rolled across my screen: “Congratulations! You’ve won a free Ford Taurus. “ At the time, Randy lived in Anchorage, Alaska, and he was able to pick up his new car at the dealership there. I was thinking small, but a big win came. After that win, I banished all thoughts that my theory was foolish. I’ve also won trips. We’ve been to the Grand Cayman Islands, San Antonio, Branson, North Carolina, Reno, Orlando, Cancun, and we’ve won trips to see the Dallas Cowboys and the Atlanta Braves play in their respective cities. As I gained experience, I learned that it was important to actively seek out sweepstakes and contests that took a little more effort but also had good odds, thereby eliminating some competition. I’ve won at least four recipe contests, three photo contests, a couple of short essay contests, and a few trivia contests. Although I haven’t yet won a slogan contest, I’m not giving up. Because many “Sweepers” shared my interest, SweepingAmerica.com was born. It’s a website for others like me across the country who like to enter and win sweepstakes. For the past six years, the Sweeping America newsletter has come out each week, filled with sweepstakes and contests that can be entered by snail mail. My job is to find these great promotions and get them out to Sweeping America’s subscribers. I proudly wear the title of a “snail herder. “ Here’s how it works: newsletter in hand, people in all 50 states fill out 3”x 5” cards and/or postcards and enter to win. It takes patience and persistence to enter all those contests and sweepstakes, but it pays off. People do win. Next to many of them, my wins are small. Sometimes they win things that money can’t buy. One Sweeping America subscriber was given the run of a Disney theme park for himself and 99 friends and family. The park was closed to the public, but open for the winner and his entourage. After the evening of fun, all the park restaurants packed up leftover food and sent it home with them. Other winners have enjoyed family trips to Houston for lunch with an astronaut, fishing trips with famous people, concerts with meet and greets, and New Year’s Eve in New York City. A week never goes by that I don’t have the fun of receiving an e-mail from somebody who has news of a win. It’s always fun to share in the happiness whether the win is a $5 Burger King card or a house. My favorite was a mother who entered every sweepstakes she could find for a Vespa scooter. She wanted her blind son to be able to ride with his father and feel the wind
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
on his face as they rolled through the neighborhood. They were so thrilled when they won. Sweeping America is a good strong business for me, and a great hobby for hundreds of subscribers. But it can be even more than that. It keeps people busy when their minds are troubled and gives those with disabilities a way to participate and be winners. In these difficult economic times, it’s uplifting to know that something wonderful could happen at any moment. Besides the big prizes, people win books, gift cards, groceries, and clothes that give the family budget and the family spirit a boost. If you ask someone about the first thing they ever won, most people have a vivid recollection of the event. Everyone likes to be a winner, and those who make it a hobby to enter sweepstakes love the thrill of winning over and over again. But even those who don’t want to make it a hobby can put their name it a drop box at the local supermarket…just in case. Here is what my foolish theory about entering sweepstakes has taught me: real people really do win. Mia
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Judy’s Sweeping Tips Gather white 3”x 5” index cards, white 3”x 5” pads of scratch paper, white #10 envelopes, postcards and stamps. Colored and decorated envelopes and postcards may give you an edge in smaller drawings. Read the rules and follow them carefully to keep from being disqualified. Don’t enter sweepstakes sponsored by any company that employs you or your family. When you win a large prize, an affidavit will arrive by FedEx, UPS or USPS. It needs to be notarized and returned, showing that you and your family do not work for the sponsor or the promotion company. Only enter sweepstakes with prizes for which you are willing to pay tax. Prizes over $600 in value will be reported on a 1099 form. You are responsible for paying taxes on these wins just as you would on income. Legitimate sweepstakes are required by law to be “no purchase necessary.” Avoid sweepstakes that ask for money or credit card information. Find other Sweepers. There are online groups and forums where experienced winners exchange information and encouragement. There are also sweeps clubs in cities all over America. Enter Online Sweepstakes. Find them on sweepstakes websites, Twitter, Facebook and blogs. Enter local and regional Sweepstakes. There are fewer people entering, so your odds are better. Don’t walk past that grocery store drop box without entering!
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Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
MyART Amber Skye Amber Skye, a junior at Street School in Tulsa, feels a love and freedom to create that she never knew was possible. Since transferring to the school from Edison High School, her passion for art has blossomed, and each time she walks into the art room she is able to lose herself in the act of creating. The art program has allowed her to explore different mediums, including clay and woodworking. Her work has been featured on the cover of the Street School yearbook twice and this year she entered a piece in Mayfest. Amber hopes to combine her talent for math and art in the future and pursue a career in architecture. Mia
Top left: Freedom of Speech; top right: Mother & Child; below: Bob Marley
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
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MyBLOG by Indy Grotto
southfillmore.com
Life with two kids, one dog, and a rock band
Yours Sincerely, Wasting Away There’s only eight years to go before I’m a miserable lump if you believe everything you read online, which I do. According to a new study, happiness follows a U shape and 44 is the unhappiest age of all. The happiest people are those in their twenties while forty-somethings wallow in misery at the bottom of the curve. But take heart! Things slowly improve through your 50s and 60s, and if you haven’t succumbed to a heart attack or been eaten by a shark, by the time you reach 70, you’ll be walking on clouds again. Fun fact of the day: citizens of Moldova are the unhappiest people on earth. So on a scale of 1-10, how happy are you? I’ve never been through a tornado, but I have experienced my fair share of earthquakes living in South America. These are earthquakes that wake you in the middle of the night with their roaring, your heart pounding in your ears. They toss you to the ground violently as you run downstairs to escape and bring people together in the street in the pre-dawn hours to exchange nervous laughter and sighs of relief. 18
This is how it felt a few weeks after the birth of my firstborn when, without warning, a severe postpartum depression/anxiety descended on our home. Only it didn’t come and go like an earthquake, leaving you to wonder whether you in fact had been dreaming all along. Oh no. This uninvited guest took up residence for the better part of a year, and she was so fierce, ugly and destructive that it is nothing short of a miracle that we made it to the other end alive. Our family was still intact, but our eight year-almost-perfect-till-that-point marriage had about as many holes in it as a kitchen sieve. This is how I learned that we are immune to nothing. When we least expect it, the bottom of our world can fall out and people like Andrea Yates, Mary Ellen Moffitt, Carol Soukakos and Annie Spangler and my cousin Gary are really only one breakdown away. And if you disagree with me, don’t bother letting me know because I will descend on you with a vengeance that will take your breath away. And this brings me to Brit Brit and my New Year’s resolution. For 2008, I gave up my favorite Hollywood gossip websites. But being the clever ducky that I am, I still keep my ears low to the ground. And this is how I know that she has been hospitalized for the second time in as many weeks. The mood swings, the not sleeping for days on end and the psychotic features are all too familiar, only my breakdown took place in a much more private arena. So I figure I’ve already bottomed out. It’s all uphill from here. Forty-four should be a piece of cake as long as we don’t move to Moldova. To our girl Brit Brit and all you out there who struggle with depression/anxiety on a daily basis--many happy thoughts and prayers. And to Jason, thank you.
Blog: \blog, bläg\ n: a Web site that contains an online personal journal with reflections, comments, and often hyperlinks provided by the writer.
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
I Choo Choo Choose You
Home is Anywhere A couple of days ago, a friend and I jumped in the car and headed east to a gem of a little spa nestled in the Ouachita Mountains. There we spent half a day enjoying our Mother’s Day gifts from our respective better-halves. We were scrubbed, kneaded, buffed and pampered. I even got my first ever pedicure and facial in my not-soshort 36 years of life on this good earth. Back at the ranch where Jason was doing a fine job of keeping the kids alive and happy, the following was overheard: “Sissy, I’m sorry, but there’s a good chance Mama may not come back. “ But I did. And when I stepped out of the car and was greeted by my two sweaty favorite-things, Jo oohed and aahed over my painted toenails (formaldehyde-free!) and Jules even sidled up to me for a quick hug. And when the inevitable pushing and biting and fighting mixed in with the kissing and hugging and loving began again in earnest, suddenly the spa seemed very, very far away. And I smiled to myself...because standing in that driveway, there really wasn’t any other place I would rather be.
I’ve never been a fan of Valentine’s Day. I am, admittedly, not even slightly romantic. As a child growing up in Australia, February 14th was a non-event; it wasn’t until my sophomore year in college that I got my first ever Valentine when Jason gave me a handmade card based on the infamous Simpsons episode from the fourth season. And since moving to America, I’ve been of the opinion that Valentine’s Day was just an opportunity for otherwise unthoughtful men to arm themselves with boxes of chocolates and waxy roses, make a big show, and then retreat back into their holes for the other 364 days of the year. But apparently four year olds aren’t so cynical and today I nearly broke my son’s heart. Somehow, I missed the note that the children would be exchanging Valentines at his preschool party. “Dada, where are my valentines?” Jules asked as they happened upon the scene this morning at school, the children already stuffing bags and the teacher wondering why they had shown up empty handed. “Oh, I left them at home, Jules. I’ll be right back, “ a quick-thinking Jason calmly replied before tearing out of the parking lot at breakneck speed. Time was of the essence; the kids were headed to chapel and would be back at 9:00 o’clock for the exchange. I got the frantic phone call at 8:45 as Jason careened down Mississippi. “Didn’t you see the handout about the Valentine’s party?” he yelled before hanging up and continuing on his way to Walgreens in a desperate bid to save the day. At exactly 9:01, a triumphant Jason returned to the still empty classroom, clutching an armful of Transformer Megatron gift baggies, stuffed with Tootsie Rolls and already labeled with Julian’s name in the kind of scrawl that can only be achieved steering with one knee. Mission accomplished. The phone rang again. It was Jason yelling, “I win Dadof-the-Year-Award!” He had saved the day and narrowly averted breaking our firstborn’s heart, knowing only too well that there’ll be plenty more chances to do that down the road. “You are the best Dad, “ I concurred. And that, my friends, is worth all the chocolates and roses in the world.
In each issue of Mia, we feature a collection of actual posts and photos from one woman’s blog. This month, our blogger is Indy Grotto, a wife, mother, songwriter and member of the Boondogs, a band from Little Rock, Arkansas. You can read her posts at southfillmore.com.
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
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MyJourney
Barbara Thompson by Lisa Tresch
Turning the Pages of Life “Sometimes, the best thing I could do for myself was to sit down and write things out. It was like taking a deep breath.” Barbara Thompson
photo submitted
and then the difficult years after her husband’s death. She tells of her father’s college days and his job managing the Cotton Club in downtown Nashville, when musicians such as Duke Ellington, Count Basie and Cab Calloway performed there. Her own college years were spent at Fisk University, where she majored in psychology and English and participated in the Civil rights marches that were common throughout the campus. She met and married her husband, Carroll, who was a medical student at nearby Meharry Medical College. Her journal tells of the challenge of maintaining a marriage and starting a family during medical school years. “It was a very difficult time, very difficult, “ she remembers. “It was constant pressure for him, and I felt like there was nothing I could do to help. We just braved through it. “ Her journal is filled with examples of braving through difficulties, and soaking in the joy of the good days. “When I was in the middle of hard times, I didn’t think of myself as strong. I was just getting through the day because I had to take care of my children and keep things stable for them. It was a blessing, really, that the two youngest were so needy because I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep going. You just do what you have to do. “
photo submitted
Her journals are college-ruled spiral notebooks that tell the story in pencil and faded red ink. On certain days, scratching words on paper was an act of survival that allowed Barbara Thompson to spew out the frustration she felt and take in a needed dose of perspective. On a summer day in 1985, Barbara’s husband pulled into a convenience store in Tulsa, slumped over the steering wheel of his car and died of a massive heart attack. The couple had five sons, ranging in age from two to 21, and in the moment that she became a widow, Barbara felt the responsibility of being a single parent weigh down on her with full force. There were days when making a peanut butter sandwich for her younger boys was part of the routine that kept her going. That, and the journals. Sometimes she had to stop, sit down, and start writing. She remembers an afternoon shortly after her husband died when her car stalled near downtown. She left it there and found a ride home, then sat down wearily and started to scribble on a piece of paper: My car is downtown. I need to see about getting it fixed. She wasn’t making a to-do list, and she admits that it was a strange form of journaling, but it allowed her to pull back from the moment and put things in perspective. “Somehow, writing those words felt good, “ Barbara said. “It sure helped my mental state, but I guess it didn’t help much with getting the car fixed. “ Her children encouraged her to journal after their father died and requested that she write about her life, and also about her own father’s journey. She tells the stories in a scrawling script that covers the pages of the spiral notebook, spanning decades and eras ranging from the Great Depression to the Civil Rights movement
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Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
erase board on the wall behind her desk. She asks them to recall a favorite memory, a painful experience, a person they remember well, what they would like to do when they are grown. She wants them to take the many challenges, sorrows and the moments of happiness in their own lives and think deeply about them. The writing allows these students - many who have had more sadness than joy - the opportunity for self-introspection. It also gives them the chance to release frustration and find their own moment of perspective. “These children have an amazing survival spirit – a brave spirit that comes out looking not so pretty at times, but it is their way of getting through it. Because they are young, it gives me hope that they can overcome. “ She shrugs off the suggestion that she is also a survivor, and that perhaps this gives her the ability to understand the children better than most. “I had a good foundation in my life and lots of support. I’m not sure that I would be able to deal with the things they’ve gone through. They are very strong and they have enthusiasm for everything, whether it’s planting a garden, doing long division or singing songs…they just appreciate everything. They amaze me. “ She brightens when the students enter her room, and is intentional about pointing out to them their special qualities. “I want them to have faith in people, in themselves, and in God, and to take the disappointment in their lives and have confidence that they can get out into the world and make their lives work. “ When the lunch hour ended and it was time for class to begin again, Barbara closed the journal that she had been reading to her young student and smiled. “We were all caught up in that story weren’t we? Remind me where we left off, and we’ll finish it later. “ Mia
photo submitted
Two weeks after her husband’s death, Barbara returned to work, teaching middle school English at Beggs Elementary. She needed the comfort of routine and the feeling that there was something she could control. Life went on. Her sons continued through school, college and on to successful careers. She earned a master’s degree in education, continued teaching and then decided to retire after her sons were grown. But she had lived her life with a determination that kept her from being content to simply sit down during her retirement. Putting one foot in front of the other was all she knew. So she decided to continue teaching, but she chose a very different environment. Her son, Joseph, told her about a Department of Human Services group home that needed a teacher for their home school. Children who live in the group home and are unable to attend public school because of behavior issues or intake requirements attend school on the group home campus. It is reminiscent of a one-room schoolhouse, with students from eight to 17 years old sitting at tables, interacting with one another and learning together. On a spring day, a few weeks before school ended for the summer, Barbara sat at her desk with her journals piled next to her. It was the lunch hour, and she had opened one of the spiral notebooks and was reading to a young boy the story of her father and his determination to make it through the Great Depression by selling newspapers. The student was mesmerized by the story, and Barbara read to him in a gentle voice – the tone most often used for interacting with the young people in her classroom. Each day, Barbara has her students write something in their own journals - a spiral notebook that looks similar to hers. Their own writings are responses to prompts that she writes every morning on the dry
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
21
Myinspiration Deborah Bradshaw by Linda Rubin
from one woman to another “Grandma Neta was a fighter, and when things were at their worst, she would always say, ‘Well, let’s get going.’ “ Deborah Bradshaw While other grandmothers were passing down pearl necklaces and tortoise-shell combs to their granddaughters, Neta Hayes passed down two things that Deborah Bradshaw carries with her every day: gritty determination and an ability to keep smiling. She’s needed them both. As a child, Deborah lived with her grandmother Neta while her missionary parents worked overseas. Their trips would continue for months, but to Deborah it seemed they were gone for years. A gut-wrenching loneliness fueled her anger. She felt abandoned, and she cried out for her parents but they couldn’t hear her, so her grandmother soothed her wounded spirit with a whisper and a gentle squeeze. Neta told her granddaughter to be strong, and then with a smile demon-
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strated what female strength looks like. Deborah never remembers her grandmother complaining, or whining. She remembers the smile. The two women have had strangely similar paths. Both have sons with disabilities. Both had tragedies in the midst of raising those sons. And both have held on to determination and a positive outlook despite the heart-wrenching obstacles they faced. As a young woman, Deborah sat alone as she contemplated the news: she was three and a half months pregnant and was asked to decide whether her child would live or die. Her doctor told her she could choose abortion or adoption, or she could place her infant son in an institution until his death, which would likely be before he was 18 months old. The baby would be born with Down syndrome. Deborah cried, contemplated, prayed, and then breathed in the idea of holding her baby boy.
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
On hearing the news of her granddaughter’s pregnancy and the heart wrenching decision she faced, Neta congratulated her. “Grandmother wanted to know the name and the sex of the baby, “ Deborah said. “She didn’t say how sorry she was or that this was all such a mistake. She was just excited that I was having her first greatgrandchild. “ Deborah and her husband chose to keep the baby, and when the child was placed in Deborah’s arms, they welcomed Curtis Earl into the world. That determination and ability to smile through the worst of times passed down from grandmother to granddaughter was about to be tested. The baby was taken to another hospital for unexpected and immediate surgery. And Deborah, who had suffered spinal nerve damage during delivery, was told she would be wheelchair-bound for the rest of her life. Deborah held Curtis, who was now attached to a maze of wires and tubes, and whispered a promise to her son that his mother would walk again. Years earlier, Neta had made a promise to her own son. His body had been ravaged by Muscular Dystrophy, and the cultural norm was to institutionalize these children because raising them required so much work. But Neta refused to succumb to the trend. She did the hard work of caring for her son each day and when he
became old enough for school, she sent him to class in his wheelchair. She promised her son that she would never give him up, even when he was expelled from school because his wheelchair was a “distraction. “ And then, when her husband died and she was forced to begin working full-time to support the family, Neta did not sink into a fit of anger or indulge in self-pity. Instead, she used positive thinking to develop a creative solution for the son she loved unconditionally. She enlisted the skills of a teacher to homeschool him, and together the two of them built a ramp to the front door of the teacher’s house so he could wheel himself into the house and into his future. Eventually Neta’s son graduated high school. When Deborah was placed in her grandmother’s care, she met the remarkable boy and listened to stories of hard times. She watched her strong grandmother smile and Deborah learned to think in creative ways. The resentment toward her parents began to dissipate and she developed an ability to create positive plans when faced with pain and difficult times. “Grandmother was a fighter, and when things were at their worst, she would always say, “Well, let’s get going. “ As Deborah held Curtis many years later, she was just as determined to make a way for her son to live life
Continued on page 30
Cheryl Wackenhuth Cell: 918-798-3593 cwackenhuth@kw.com Fax: 918-491-6351
See virtual tours of homes at www.CherylWackenhuth.com
Cheryl Wackenhuth Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
4745 East 91st Street, Suite 100 Tulsa, OK 74137 office: 918-491-2252 Each office is independently owned and operated.
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Myrelationships by Sandy Wagner
A Lifetime of Friendship Make new friends but keep the old one is silver and the other gold These words have lingered in my mind over many decades. They take me back to summers when I ventured away from home with my Brownie Scout friends to a campground near Welling, Oklahoma. I can still smell the Pine-Sol from cleaning the dreaded latrine, and I can hear the chorus of little-girl voices drifting through the night air. Brownie Scout camp is where it began years ago. We hiked, swam, made lanyards, and sang around the campfire. There were ten of us back then. Now, decades later, there are nine of us. But we’re still together, still believing that our friendships are precious, like silver and gold. We could have easily drifted apart over the years, but we haven’t. Our accommodations are not quite as rustic as Brownie Camp, but we find times to steal away from our busy lives and reconnect. We’re still the same girls, but different. We’ve been through sorrows and losses and we’re stronger because of them, but also stronger because of the friendships we share. Those Brownie girls are now advancing in age. Gray hair, crow’s feet and creaky joints have replaced the pigtails and the bodies that could turn cartwheels and climb trees. Over the years, these friends have become even dearer to me and enriched my life. I want to introduce you to a few of my childhood friends.
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A circle is round it has no end That’s how long I will be your friend Betty Jo has always been refined and gracious. We walked everywhere in our growing up days in Muskogee. We would pack a lunch and hike along the railroad track from the west side of town to the east and back. We always found an adventure along the way. Our friendship gave us the kind of security that every little girl longs for. But life gets rough, and recently Betty Jo lost her husband. We were there for her at her son’s vacation home in Hot Springs. It was a poignant time for her – the first time she had returned to that home since her husband’s death. Somewhere in those moments were the two little girls who had walked across those railroad tracks, just glad to be in each other’s company. I’d like to think that her friends softened Betty Jo’s heartbreak a little.
A fire burns bright it; warms the heart; we’ve been friends from the very start Winnie is truly unique. She is a proud descendant of Sequoyah, the Cherokee chief, and she defied tradition by learning the Indian Hoop dance in a day when only men were permitted to perform it. She was shy when she came to our school, but it didn’t take her long to get over her timidity. By the time we reached high school, she was a bit of a drama queen. She could – and still can – quote with great elocution, “The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. “ She is talkative, funny and has a way of drawing people to her. Now in her seventies, Winnie runs marathons and competes in Senior Olympics. She inspires me. I’m also often left checking my watch when I have a date with Winnie because she’s almost never on time, but she’s always worth the wait.
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
You have one hand I have the other; put them together we have each other Kay is the friend who is no longer with us. I can still see her flaming red pigtails flying in the wind as she rode her stick horse down the sidewalk. Kay was a rebel from the start. We were lifeguards and taught swimming when we were in high school. One night, a boy who said he was from Hawaii taught us the words to “Hawaiian War Chant. “ We draped our beach towels over our swimsuits and did the hula. Kay developed breast cancer and diabetes some years back, but she was stubborn and full of spirit and could still break into the Hawaiian song and hula at a moment’s notice. She would have stood by me to the death if needed. Unfortunately, it was me who stood by her hospital bed in her last weeks.
Silver is precious gold is too I am precious and so are you Linda is determined to live life for all it’s worth. Her father owned a dairy and I thought they were marvelously rich. They lived in a huge house next door to my piano teacher, and every lesson I would walk up the sidewalk and stare at Linda’s house in amazement. Our friendship continued through many piano recitals and concerts. Linda lives in Pearland, Texas and can’t always make our frequent get-togethers, but we talk weekly. Many years ago, we grieved with her at the tragic loss of her husband. She returned to our hometown when Kay died and together we planned the funeral, mourned and reminisced about earlier days with our friend.
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
You help me and I’ll help you and together we will see it through Sami Kay moved to Muskogee long after kindergarten, but we connected the minute she walked through the door. Sami Kay is spunky and not to be underestimated. Her house was across the street from our church, so while we didn’t share Brownie Scout days, we quickly brought her into our circle. She has the sweetest smile and the beautiful quality of taking people where they are and loving them.
Across the land across the sea friends forever we will always be Janet remembers all our camp lyrics and music, and she has used her creativity to compose children’s songs. Despite the trials she has encountered in life, she is still the same Janet I have known since kindergarten. We have been anchored together through the tragic death of Janet’s grandchild and the devastation of her husband’s business because of the economic downturn. Janet is a precious friend who leaves me with a song in my heart. Growing up, we were peppered with our mother’s maxims: “Don’t say anything if you can’t say something nice, “ “If you don’t overlook your friends faults you won’t have any friends. “ Along with the lyrics to our childhood songs, these words linger with me. Keeping these friendships requires giving. My friends and I schedule time together monthly for those who can make the trip, and long weekends three or four times a year. During those extended times together we’re like girls again, laughing, talking non-stop, and occasionally sharing in a good cry. Like the circle with no end, my friendships with the girls I knew as a child in Muskogee endure. Mia
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MyHEALTH
Home Remedies Got a hangnail? The cure might be that carton of yogurt at the back of your refrigerator. Chapped lips? Slice up a cucumber. Some people swear by them, others scoff, but most of us have at one time or another tried a home remedy. These aren’t risky alternatives that take the place of advice and treatment by health-care professionals. While you should consult a physician about your health issues, most of us don’t rush into our doctor’s office at the first sign of menstrual cramps or a cold sore. Sometimes, a quirky home remedy is the cure for what ails us. With that in mind, we asked our readers for safe, practical remedies that have been passed down through the generations and still stand the test of time. My kids have always gotten cold sores in their mouths and I found a home remedy that works overnight. You can find Alum in your local grocery store spice aisle. It’s a pickling spice and if you rub some on the cold sore for approximately one minute and rinse with water, the cold sore will disappear overnight. It does burn a little, but we have passed this remedy on to friends and they are amazed how well it works. – Toni Sparks, Tulsa, OK In Persian culture, bodies run “hot” or “cold. “ When a body is “hot, “ it’s reacting to allergens. In order to cool the body down, my parents always told me to eat “cool” foods. The best one that always works for during an allergy attack is watermelon! Cucumber is a great one too. It always seems to help. – Sogol Ahmadinia, St Louis, MO This remedy helps with nausea and headaches: pour about 2/3 glass of Sierra Mist or 7-Up over ice, and fill the rest of the glass with water. It makes a soothing and refreshing drink and quenches thirst better than water or soda alone. – Betty Logan, Tulsa, OK
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(918) 494-0929
www.MarshallChiropractic.com Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
The moment you feel sick with a flu or cold, place a small, sliced piece of garlic on the inside of your cheek and leave it there for about 30 minutes. Repeat this three times a day. You can also dice the clove and put it in a teaspoon of olive oil and swallow (you can add honey to help with flavor). This works wonders and is also extremely helpful for digestion and the heart. Be sure to drink plenty of water. When you are sick with the flu you really don’t care about bad garlic breath anyway. It’s worth it to feel better! – Erinn Lynam, Double Oak, TX Here is a recipe that lowers cholesterol and helps with joint pain: 2 quarts water; 1 cup cider vinegar (must be cider vinegar); 1/2 cup honey. You can warm up the honey so it mixes easier and then put in fridge. Drink four ounces in the morning and four ounces in the evening for at least two weeks or until cholesterol can be checked. Then drink four ounces a day for maintenance. The ingredients are all natural. – Susan Maxey, Broken Arrow, OK I simmer a pot of water on the stove during the dry, cold winter months for our allergies and nasal passages instead of using a vaporizer. It is always easier to put a pot of water on the stove instead of hauling the jug to the humidifier. – Tomi Mahoney, Hobart, OK Here’s a home remedy that my sister-in-law from Canada tried on me, and it really helped. Last fall when I visited them in Dallas, I had a horrible allergy attack and my sinuses swelled up terribly. She is a massage therapist and so she massaged peppermint oil onto my face and forehead in the area of the sinus cavities. It felt fabulous, and later that night helped to open the sinuses. Just be careful not to get it in your eyes! – Sarah Sutton, Oklahoma City, OK. To prevent fever blister breakouts, take one L-lysine every day. This also shortens a breakout once it has occurred. – Patsy Brennan, Phoenix, AZ
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
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Mycause
Continued from page 13
What I do today—what we do today—will impact not only Mitchell’s future but the future of every child born with the rarest forms of dwarfism. Their lives matter, not only to mothers and fathers sisters and brothers, but to the world. Our responsibility lies in more than just the care of our own child. We must become educators and warriors and the loudest of voices to demand the funding of medical research and testing that can save our children’s lives. We must share information, help each other, network and seek out those who have the power to put our situations in the spotlight.
Foundation FOR RARE DWARFISM RESEARCH Our Main Goals To become a voice for those diagnosed with rare forms of Dwarfism To support research, studies and experimental testing that offer life-saving hope To connect those who are affected with rare forms of Dwarfism with each other and to provide vital information and news that can strengthen our fight To assist affected individuals with medical equipment, travel expenses, advocacy support and other items needed to improve the quality of life
Yes, I still ask, “Why me?” Who am I to help others? I can barely help myself right now. Mitchell is and always will be the little boy who touches the lives of everyone around him. He never asks, “Why me?” Our family knows that Mitchell will never be the most valuable player on a football team. He’ll never be the fastest runner. But we also know that it’s up to us to make the most perfect life for our beautiful children. Most importantly, I know now that this could very well be my calling in life—to not only do everything I can to prolong the life of my son but to help others prolong the lives of their children. My sincere desire is to provide a home through the Little Giants Foundation to all those who have felt the unique helplessness of a child diagnosed with the rarest of medical conditions. We will not go quietly. Mia
Your Home Our Committment
To enhance awareness of rare Dwarfism among the public, private, government, and health insurance parties To educate the medical community about Schimke and other rare forms of Dwarfism to reduce the incident of misdiagnosis
Contact Us Little Giants Foundation Fund 7030 S. Yale, Suite 600 Tulsa, Oklahoma 74136 918-591-3050 Michelle@LittleGiantsFoundation.org Troy@LittleGiantsFoundation.org Little Giants Foundation is a partner of Tulsa Community Foundation, a 501(c)3 organization. All donations are tax deductible.
Andrew 918.698.7814 Lori 918.606.3913
Rhynes Evans Your Home. Our Commitment.
ANDREW:
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698-7814
LORI:
606-3913 Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
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Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
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MyInspiration Continued from page 23
despite the challenges that faced him. But she first had to get up out of the wheelchair and walk again. It was time to get going. So she gritted her teeth and trained herself to use a walker while balancing Curtis in her arm and dragging her legs. That was 18 years ago. Deborah now walks unaided and her son is an active, bright and talented teenager. Curtis began acting at age seven and has been in 24 community stage productions. In 2007, he was the first actor with Down syndrome to be on the Williams Stage and featured on the cover of the Performing Arts Center’s Intermission magazine for his role as a greaser in The Outsiders. Deborah has fostered that creativity in her son, believing that he can achieve far more than anyone realizes. That belief has led her to utilize the arts to help “people of all abilities” (including those with Autism and Down syndrome) achieve their full potential. She teaches two theatre classes, that include students with disabilities. Making a Scene and The Actor in All of Us, through Tulsa Community College’s continuing education program. The classes give her a way to pass along to others determination and a positive outlook. Three years ago, Deborah was given another opportunity to test what had been passed to her from Neta. She needed that determination, because she lost the smile. A serious car accident left her with partial facial apraxia, a neurological condition that impairs facial movements, and aphasia, a stroke-like language disorder caused by brain injury. For months, she lost much of her ability to talk…and smile. She knew that people perceived her as unfriendly or angry because her face did not display emotion, and she understood that people judged her harshly because she could no longer express her thoughts. “As I overcame this condition, I began to understand my students, “ Deborah said. “They think just like the rest of us. They feel just like the rest of us. “ Deborah takes what has been passed down to her and passes it on to others. Grandma Neta died in 2004, but her strength lives on in her granddaughter. “We can’t choose what happens to us, “ Deborah says. “We can only choose our reaction to it. “ This truth was lived out in Neta’s life, and now Deborah is living it out and inspiring others along the way. Mia
G
randchildren are the dots that connect the lines from generation to generation. ~Lois Wyse
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Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
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MyTravels
Continued from page 7 respect for a more eco-friendly choice. After watching Mother Nature and tuxedoed penguins strut all day, you don’t want to steal the show. A black dress or skirt and sweater will get you through and do double-duty as travel wear for the trip home. Practice hiking in your polar boots. I did this in a tank top and shorts in the heat of August. I may have shocked a few motorists as I clamored up and down my farm hill, but my feet and legs welcomed the familiarity a few weeks later when I hiked the slippery slopes of penguin rookeries. If you can find a way to practice getting in and out of a boat with your gear (including a camera backpack), do it. Go biodegradable with all personal products. Limiting your own carbon footprint everywhere, but especially here, is a more responsible way to travel. Share your experience with others. I developed a website featuring a blog and photo albums so my family, friends and local students could travel along with me. Most ships have intermittent internet service. You will learn many things. Don’t keep them to yourself. Traveling to the windiest, coldest, driest and most sparsely populated continent on Earth isn’t easy, but if breaking new ground - or in this case, ice - warms your wandering soul, then this glacial land of beauty can become a transforming experience. Perhaps nowhere else can you better understand that what’s below the surface is often the most important. Mia
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Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
ourwriters A former journalist, Sheilah Bright turned to freelance writing 19 years ago after realizing that juggling three kids while trying to document crime scenes or grass fires for small-town newspapers was too chaotic for family life. She is a newly-minted empty-nester determined to experience the world through travel, writing and photography. Her work has been published in numerous newspapers and magazines, including Oklahoma Today where she is a contributing editor. She and her husband, live on Bright Morning Farm, a 35-acre homestead in Sand Springs. Sheilah wrote an essay on travel, “Taking the Long Way Home” on page 5, and an article about her adventures in Antarctica, page 7. Five days a week, Linda Rubin is a high school English teacher, and three nights a week she counsels troubled teens. She has two sons, a four year-old grandson and another one on the way. She has her masters in both school counseling and clinical psychology, and is working to obtain her license to practice as a therapist. She is a cancer survivor and an incurable optimist. Her greatest feeling of success is helping kids make it through college. Linda wrote Deborah Bradshaw’s story, “From One Woman to Another, “ page 22. Charlotte Guest is a creative writer, event planner, and communications strategist who has managed and implemented award-winning plans for a variety of clients in Oklahoma, Dallas and Kansas City. She and her husband and three children enjoy being involved in their church activities, and you can find them at most of the Jenks sporting events. Charlotte is often inspired by this quote from Helen Keller: “Keep your face to the sun, and you’ll never see the shadow. “ Charlotte wrote Cindi Hemm’s story, “Tested and Refined, “ page 8.
tell us your story
Monica Roberts is an Oklahoma native and Tulsa is her adopted hometown. When she’s not being a mom to Jack, Lucy and Oscar (children, not dogs), she writes, works as a marketing consultant and tries to take a nap, which rarely works out. She enjoys cooking, reading, long walks and entertaining. Monica writes the column, “My So-Called Life, “ page 34. Indy Grotto is a songwriter, mother and wife. A native Australian, she spent her teenage years in South America before finally settling in Little Rock, Arkansas. Her band, the Boondogs, just released their seventh album, Take Shelter. She chronicles her “life with two kids, one dog, and a rock band” on her blog at southfillmore.com. Indy shares excerpts from her blog on page 18. Sandy Wagner served as Publications Director at Northeastern State University for 23 years. Her work has appeared in The Minneapolis Star, St. Paul Dispatch, St. Paul Downtowner and numerous other publications. She is currently painting an oil on canvas series titled “Women Through the Decades. “ Sandy wrote “A Lifetime of Friendship,“ page 24. Judy McCurdy is the sixth of seven children raised by a sewing teacher and accountant in Tulsa. She met the love of her life in church on her 16th birthday and “he’s still the one!” She is the proud mother of two grown children who have paid off their college loans. She can be found at www.SweepingAmerica.com. Judy tells her story in “A Clean Sweep in a Messy Economy,” page 14. Michelle Cupps and her husband Troy have four children, Shelton, Trenton, Megan and Mitchell. In addition to championing her cause LittleGiantsFoundation.Org, she is Vice President of Operations for TMC Practice Management Services, a physician billing company. Michelle wrote the story, “Big Dreams for Little Giants,” p. 12.
We believe that every woman has a story, and that includes you! We are accepting full-length submissions and queries for publication in Mia. For writer’s guidelines, visit us at miamagazine.net.
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
33
MySO-calledLife
by Monica Roberts
Practically in the Bag
“
I don’t consider myself materialistic . . . so why was I obsessing over an indulgence I couldn’t afford?
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I’m not the sort of girl who drools over status symbols. In fact, I eschew blatant logo wearing (or driving) in favor of the simple and somewhat practical. Before you conjure up a granola girl in cut-offs and Birkenstocks, stop yourself because I do have a sense of style. And on a recent gray and rainy spring day, I had some time to kill before meeting a friend at Starbucks. There it was. A fancy handbag store right next door—something akin to kryptonite for most women’s willpower. Surely a little window shopping would be perfectly harmless. I don’t own a single LV, DB or bag with any other fancy initials, so who knows why I became enamored with one velvety leather pocketbook after another that day. The gregarious sales lady, glad to have an actual customer in the shop, pulled down a procession of bags for me to “try on. “ Pink patent leather? Why not? She assured me it was so “versatile” and would look equally appropriate at Christmas with a rose colored scarf as it did with my pale lemon raincoat. For the monthly payment on a BMW I could take that sassy pink number home with me. And I’ll admit, it looked good enough to eat. But in the midst of a recession-ridden economy there was no justification to be found. So why was I still thinking about it several hours into the evening, particularly on a day that was my daughter’s sixth birthday? Shouldn’t all of my attention be on her and making the day particularly memorable for her? Shouldn’t the Littlest Pet Shop, American Girl doll outfit and a metallic pink Nintendo DS be enough to fill my voids as well? Still contemplating that yummy bag the next morning, I was embarrassed by how much of my mental capacity had been taken up by it. I don’t consider myself materialistic…so why was I obsessing over an indulgence I couldn’t afford? Like so many moms out there, I was feeling deprived. Last on the list. Serving wench to all. I have a new baby in the house, so I should have been satisfied to be let out midday for a chai latte. With so much recent sleep deprivation, I had been eating a lot of junk, walking around my house in slippers for exercise and living vicariously through the antics of those New York City housewives. It was clearly time to take stock. I needed to treat myself better, starting with more healthful eating, a brisk walk around the block and time spent with real women who don’t summer in the Hamptons or buy $3,000 custom Italian shoes. Maybe that’s why they call it reality TV. Not because what’s on the show resembles reality, but that what we’re viewing begins to influence our own reality. Maybe, just for a New York minute, I projected their Park Avenue lifestyles onto myself. Surely a $600 bag is not a big deal. I’m worth it…right? You bet I am. And along with better choices for my own well being, I just might decide to save up for that Coach purse after some thoughtful planning. Just give me a wink when you see me wearing it. Mia
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
“Stories are medicine. They have such power; they do not require that we do, be, act anything we need only listen. –Clarisa Pinkola Estes
Mia Magazine, Summer 2009
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Mia Magazine, Summer 2009