Good-bye, Grand Rapids

Cancer Bitch has returned from Grand Rapids, the town where Gerald Ford is still a hero. She had many adventures there. Among them:
She found that her friend B, who invited her to Aquinas College (after she asked him to), is more nature-phobic than she is. She did not know that that was possible. She is a Fresh Air Fiend in comparison. Unlike B, she can identify common flowers and and likes bugs and worms. She especially likes to watch the beetle family. B does not. He considers nature to be dangerous partly because there are bugs. She became self-conscious about pointing out flora and fauna to B because she thought that he would think that she did not deserve her nature-fearing credentials. Cancer Bitch is mostly afraid of nature because it gives her asthma. Also, it bores her and makes her feel empty and that the universe has no meaning.
B and Cancer Bitch, therefore, walked around looking at Italianate and Romanesque buildings downtown. They also visited the outside of the only Frank Lloyd Wright building in GR. It is owned by Steelcase, one of the furniture manufacturers in town. Herman Miller is HQed there, which explains the Aeron chairs in the Writing Department meeting room at Grand Valley State University. Wright built the house for Meyer May. Cancer Bitch read the historic marker in front of the house: This house was built in 1908-1909 for local clothier Meyer S. May and his wife, Sophie Amberg. Frank Lloyd Wright designed the house in the Prairie style. It was his first major commission in Michigan. May was the son of Abraham May, founder of A. May and Sons clothing store. In 1906, Meyer became president of the store, which was the first in the nation to display clothes on Batts hangers. Meyer May lived here until his death in 1936. The house was used as a private residence until 1985. In 1986, Steelcase Incorporated began the complete restoration of the house, its interior and grounds. Meyer. Bing. Amberg. Bing bing. Son of Abraham. Bing bing. Clothier. Bing bing bing. Sophie. Bing. Her Jew-dar had sprung into action. She wanted to mention this to B but she was embarrassed at how Jew-centric she is. Though on GR campuses there seemed to be a dearth of Jews, so that being Jewish was odd enough to make Jews an *interesting, exotic* minority. As a Jewish student told her: I don't want to be exotic.
The question is, of course, what are Batts hangers and why are they important enough to be mentioned in a historical marker? And a corollary: Was May so unremarkable that his second most famous purchase was hangers for his store?
Batts, Inc., in Zeeland, MI, made wooden hangers until that division was bought out in 1999. So May bought local.

Cancer sucks, but blogging and the Stones rock!

It's a well known fact that the Chicago neighborhood of Oak Park, Illinois, has the highest concentration of Frank Lloyd Wright homes in the nation.

Frank Lloyd Wright's early work in the 1890's included high-pitched,
Tudor-style homes that were in stark contrast to his trademark, low-slung Prairie homes.

It's a little known fact that Oak Park has one of the highest concentrations of Rolling Stones fans in the nation. On the Saturday before I checked in to Hotel Hope for my stem cell transplant, George and I traveled to Oak Park to attend the biannual Rolling Stones bash of Oak Park's most ardent Stones fan, Howard Prossnitz.

Cover Boy: One of Howard's high-profile litigation cases made the
front page of USA Today while this photo graced the cover of the
Chicago Tribune's Red Eye Magazine.

Not unlike the work of Frank Lloyd Wright, Howard, his home and family are a study in contrasts, especially on the night of the Stones party.

Susan, George, "Sir Howard" and friend Judy enter the giant plywood tongue
at the entrance of the Prossnitz's three-story Victorian home.

Will and Ben become Stones fans for the night.


French Pinot Noir is served in plastic cups along
side Great Books classics.


Wife Liza, a CPA at one of Chicago's leading accounting firms,
reluctantly joins the scene. "This party sucks," she admits.
(We all disagree.)

Before the party officially began, Howard presented gifts to his out-of-town guests.He gave me a special, custom-made T-shirt and announced to the crowd that I had Mantle Cell Lymphoma and was about to undergo a stem cell transplant.

Cancer sucks! Blogging and the Stones rock!

I admit, I cringed a tad after Howard's announcement. I wanted to be cancer incognito - an anonymous, dance-loving Stones fan - not someone about to check in to the hospital for a month. I soon realized that I could be both - party animal AND cancer vixen.

The guests had no problem embracing both personae and provided loads of heart-felt good wishes without an ounce of pity. I liked that.

Party animal, cancer vixen or both?

As soon as Hot Rocks, the Rolling Stones tribute band, began to play, it didn't take much to "start me up" on the road to complete "satisfaction."

Seeing double? Hot Rocks lead singer and Howard pay tribute to Sir Mick.

At parties as in life, the most memorable moments are often the unplanned ones. At the last Stones party two years ago, that moment came when I took a midnight rendezvous with a gay decorator (a former client of Howard's) to see the Prairie-style home he decorated in the neighborhood. "I have the keys and the clients aren't home," he tempted while dangling the keys. I ran two blocks in a cold, Chicago downpour to get a tour of the house. (OK, I'll admit it: I'm a house ho.)

This year, that memorable moment came in the form of party guest Nina, a book editor by day and Janis Joplin channeler by night. Nina pinch hit for Mick, who had a touch of laryngitis that night.

While I was undergoing chemo, I couldn't get her soulful styling of "Me and Bobby McGee" out of my head. Never mind that the only words I knew were, "La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. La, la, la, la, la la, la." That song got me through more than one dreadful night.

Surprise of the night, Nina, belts out "Me and Bobby McGee." "When I
invited her, I didn't even know she could sing," confesses Howard.

Two days after returning from Chicago, I checked in to Hotel Hope, where I received daily, early morning visits from a different kind of rock star.

Early bird Dr. Forman stands by my dance partner during one of his 7 am rounds.

Weeks before I met Dr. Forman, I saw him cross the lobby at the City of Hope. I nudged George and whispered, "That was Dr. Stephen J. Forman." It was just like seeing Mick Jagger walk by.

Once I was lucky enough to have Dr. Forman as my own doctor, I quickly realized that it's not his rock-star qualities or world-wide reputation that make him extraordinary. It's his compassion, caring, unwavering sense of humor, humility and down-to-earth nature that make him special.

Just the same, if I ever see Mick Jagger strutting across my path, I'm sure I'll nudge George and whisper, "That was Sir Mick. It was just like seeing Dr. Stephen Forman walk by."