Snow Day

I didn't grow up seeing the seasons change. It was always sunny. Always green. Always the same 350-355 days of the year. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I moved my family 2800 miles and two zones away from SoCal and the extended family and lifelong friends. It was the most difficult decision I ever had to make up until that time of my life. But I had to do it, as the advertising business in Los Angeles was beginning to wither. Jobs were tough. And I was going to work for a world class advertising agency and with some extremely talented people.

When we landed in Northern Virginia, the kids were unusually quiet. And cold. They were wearing shorts and playing outside on Christmas only 5 days ago. I think they were in shock. I tried my best to point out how great this move was going to be. They weren't buying it. They were telling Teresa they just wanted to go back home. Teresa was trying her best, but she wanted to go back. I had been traveling the country for 16 months, freelancing to pay the mortgage. I also paid the price of not seeing my kids enough, as I would be gone 2 weeks at a time every now and then.

We had a little celebration at the hotel we were staying in, a suite that had a loft and a basketball court right outside our door. (We would have to stay here for a week before we could move into our house and all our stuff was still being driven across the country). Fred, Karol, Norman, Kris and Tara joined the 6 of us. I remember hearing my kids laugh, seeming to forget they had been dragged into another time zone. Teresa and Karol were having an adult beverage. We can do this.

It's the little things that change for you when you have and survive cancer. I know I keep posting that over and over again. But it's so amazingly true. The first smell of Spring. The cool night air of an early Fall night. (The only "season" smells of change were, unfortunately, fire season). The first snowfall, today. Ryan had a boyish grin and lilt in his voice. Kaity called and said how beautiful it is looking out her front room window. Teresa loved the picture I sent her via cell phone––we couldn't do that before we got here––and was somewhat jealous that she was missing 3-5 inches of snow. And she's in Los Angeles with Travis right now.

What a snow day.

Thanks For The Time

Seems lately I've been abusing my time. Too much to do––most of it by me having a problem with saying "no"––and not enough wiggle room for errors, unexpected events and life in general.

I was talking to John Bell, Ogilvy 360 DI's Grand Pubah, about this very thing last night. John is all over the world, most of the time. So that means he criss-crosses many time zones. And for those of you who think traveling is glamorous and so much fun, think about having to travel at least once a week all year round. Which always makes me think of this––if you travel all the time, is you ideal vacation actually a staycation?

Anyway, Tuesday truly was Time Day. It took 20 minutes to get my car out of the parking garage. I sat in a 30 minute meeting that should have taken 10 minutes. I left the office @ 7:20 pm and got home at 8:46 pm. Plus I had my usual time discussion with my Dad, who always thinks time goes by too fast especially when I remind him I've lived away from Los Angeles for 15 years now.

So when Thanksgiving came and went and I was getting my game face on for Monday morning, I stopped and went outside for 5 minutes. I looked at the million leaves still in my backyard. I laid down on my hammock for a minute or two. I petted my dogs. I thanked my higher power for allowing me to be here, at that moment, to enjoy the simple things in life we take for granted and never take the time to savor. I thanked God for giving me the strength to beat cancer. It's been 2 years since my last treatment. Two very special years. An extension on life.

I'll take that any time.

Music For Life

I was inspired to write this by Cap, who sits next to me in the offices of Ogilvy and is "forced" to listen to my music after hours as we toil into the night.

Music helped get me through the tough times of my cancer treatments. I listen to everything from Pitbull to Perry Como. (This is what iTunes and Google was invented for––at least for me). So instead of a post about the good and bad times of chemo, needles and radiation, let me spit out a partial list that kept me in a good place. And helped me get out of the bad places.

Numb--Jay-Z & Linkin Park

Cause We Ended As Lovers––Jeff Beck

I Would Die 4 U––Prince

I Wanna Be Sedated––The Ramones

Stand Up––Ludacris

Mama Loves Mambo--Perry Como

It's My Life––No Doubt

Give Up The Funk (Tear The Roof Of The Mutha Sucka)––Parliament

This Is Not A Love Song––Public Image Ltd

Going To California––Led Zeppelin

I Walk Alone––Los Lobos

Until It Sleeps––Metallica

Without Me––Eminem

Working For The Clampdown––The Clash

Changes––David Bowie

(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes--Elvis Costello

A Little Less Conversation––Elvis Presley

I Like The Way You Move––Outkast

Guero––Beck

Pet You And Hold You––Rockpile

No One To Depend On––Santana

Would it make a good "mix tape"? Who knows. But I do believe that music did at least one thing for me.

It gave me life.

Keepin' It Real

I'm a big fan of Chris Rock. Ever since I saw him in Boomerang––he played Bony T, a guy in the mail room––and I'm Gonna Git U Sucka––"how much for just one rib?"––I try to catch everything he does.

It's been two years since my last cancer treatment. Sometimes it feels as if it never happened. Other times, I remember every little detail. The pain. The needles. The blisters all over my face. The look of fear on my family's face. There's a part of me that wants to forget it ever happened. There's a bigger part of me that will never forget. Why? Because it reminds me that every day counts. That there is more to life than deadlines, winning new business and getting upset when the Trojans, Lakers, Dodgers or Kings lose a game. That every day I don't enjoy being alive, is a day wasted.

I went to my ENT, Dr. Lee, on Thursday. Dr. Lee is a life saver. She's one of those tough-on-the-outside people––she's a surgeon––who I love to get to crack a smile. Over the last two years, she's been the Doctor I've seen the most. I've even made her smile and laugh. And this time, she made me cry. Not because she was mean or gave me bad news. Quite the opposite. She told me everything looks perfect. I don't have to come and see her every 4 months. I've "graduated" to every six months. I'm taking care of myself––along with my Wife being the angel she is––and I need to make sure I keep it up.

cancer taught me a valuable lesson––life is measured in the moment you're living in. You control whether it's a good or bad day. You make decisions––or don't––that mark the moments. I have lost that, lately. Me. I'm the one. And I don't like it. And I can do something about it.

I can keep it real.

Back From The Dead

It's been a while since my last post, I know. (I hope you're still following).

The main reason was work––I work at Ogilvy and fortunately we've been extra busy––and the other big reason was the preparation for our annual Halloween Party, called "The Freaky Fest." Why the name? About 27 years ago, my friend Bubba––no, not the shrimp king or BC––said, "you need a name for that shindig." (As I said, it was about 27 years ago and shindig was a leftover from the '60's and '70's). And so after a few rounds of throwing names out, we came up with The Freaky Fest. (Yes, we were ahead of our time. As the word "freak" is frequently used in today's language. Right?).

Two years ago, in 2007, we didn't get freaky. I was at the end of my cancer treatments and I was trying to stay alive instead of dressing up for the dead. I remember my kids telling me we could have a "small little party" so we could still celebrate Halloween. As strange as it may seem, Halloween is the biggest family celebration we have. Our children have been at every one––except one or two where one of my 4 kids were away at school or like this year, sick––and now my two Grandkids are right there with the rest of us. My Wife, Teresa, is a master at the event. She's the greatest, as she plans and works her ass off to put the party together. And I know she only does it for me, because I love the party so much.

In 2008, I was just out of the hospital two-and-a-half weeks before our party. This time, I had complications from my gall bladder surgery and spent 5 days in the hospital. I had lost so much weight, that I looked like death warmed over. Perfect for Halloween! I dressed up as a pimp. I had one drink all night. I danced as much as I could––that's another FF tradition, we dance all night––until I didn't have anymore strength. It was a good, but shorter than usual party.

This year, was a challenge. It was on Halloween, which meant we were not going to see our friends with kids. It was supposed to rain. I was swamped with work. And not to mention the flu––H1N1 and other petrie dish varieties of the flu––was kicking a lot of people's ass. So, I thought maybe 50 people would show up and we'd have a blast. Wrong! There were well over 100 people in costumes––amazingly, no Michael Jackson costumes––and we finally stopped the music at 3AM. And that's with the extra hour we gained from the time fall back. Yes, we killed it and everyone had a great time.

Good to be back alive.

The Sunny Side

It was a cold and rainy weekend. (No, this is not the first line line of a romance or mystery novel).

I used to look at these kind of days as unproductive, dreary and a waste of a day. But not anymore. Not after battling cancer and coming out on the sunny side, the side that is full life and not darkened by death. Every day is a good day. It is up to me to make it the best day ever.

Now some of you might say, "oh yeah, Mr. Sunshine! Well let me tell you about my crappy life!" I understand. Been there myself. I'm a cynic at heart. It's hard when you don't have a job, the bills are piling up and then it rains all weekend and all you have is the TV or the confines of your house. It's easy to wallow in self pity, look for someone to "make it all better" for you or bitch and complain about how tough you have it. Let me tell you something, we all have stuff to deal with that makes life challenging. And who is to say my problems are worse than your problems?

cancer has a way of bringing out the best of you when you live through it. I'm sure there are cancer survivors who would disagree with me––I've posted this before––but cancer turned the viewfinder around on me. The emotional side effects from cancer have actually made me stronger. Made me appreciate the smile on Teresa's face. The laughter of my children. The hugs from my Grandkids. Make me stop and hear the wind blowing through the trees and watch the leaves come cascading down to the ground. I choose to thank a higher power every day I wake up. Because it's a new day of opportunity. A new day to give thanks to those who have helped me through the cancer course that was trying to kill me. So even though the weekend was somewhat of a washout, I had a great weekend.

I'm alive.

Friends

I had dinner the other night with one of, if not my best friend, Fred.

Fred and I have been through a lot together. We met over 20 years ago at work, working in the ad business and working our asses off as we were trying to move up the so called ranks. It was an instant friendship, as we both came from similar backgrounds but grew up 3,000 miles apart. He started in the business sweeping floors, cleaning the stat camera and running errands for the owner. I started in the mailroom stocking the Coke machines, sorting mail, moving furniture and running film back and forth from Downtown LA to Hollywood. We both wanted to be in the creative department, making ads and commercials and working with our brains instead of digging ditches or some other form of manual labor. And the odds were against us for many reasons.

As we sat across each other, I began to tell him some things I never told him. And for that matter, never told anyone except for Teresa. I told him the struggles I had as I was going through my treatment. Why? We were talking about the old days, trying to remember some names and faces from 20+ years. Facebook has helped our memories, as John had posted some shots from our JWT days. As we usually do, the conversation covered a lot of ground until I told him that the chemo and radiation had done some damage to my memory. He laughed and said, "oh man, that can't happen. I've always relied on you to put the names and faces together. You never forgot any of that stuff. I do, and I didn't have chemo!"

For some reason I told him that the gaps were being closed, but that some may never be filled. I told him about the times I stayed up all night, sitting in the bathroom vomiting and crapping at the same time. I told him of the times I summoned the ever-powerful will of my mind, convincing myself to hang on until the morning so I could be alive another day. If only I could see daylight, I knew I would live another day. And with another day, there was hope of many more to come.

The look on Fred's face was one of amazement, shock and empathy all at once. All he could say was, "Man." He didn't have to say anything. I knew when I was going through the treatments, he was there for me. He didn't bother me all the time or tell me he knew how I felt or how he knew someone else who had cancer and what they went through. He was just there whenever I needed him. I felt his support, prayers and friendship. He, like a lot of my friends––Ted, Jeffrey, Larry, Tom, Francis, Ben, Richard, Craig, Mick, Lance––called when they felt it, talked to me when I needed it and visited when I was beating the hell out of the cancer. And there were so many more people and friends, waaaaaay to many to list, who were there for me.

Thank God, for my friends. I never would have made it without them.