"The Treasure of a Life is a Measure of Love and Respect"

As many of you know, Valentine's Day was my birthday-- #77. And imagine my surprise to find that about 900 folks reached out to wish me a happy birthday. A few went old-school and sent birthday cards (which I was delighted to receive), and a couple of my more artistic students created hand-made (or hand-painted) cards to give me. My stepdaughter sent balloons and an adorable stuffed animal (a unicorn) for my collection, and my husband made duck with orange sauce-- to go along with the birthday cake we had for dessert. 

But most of the well-wishers reached out to me on Twitter (I refuse to call it "X"), and Facebook, and Instagram, and Threads. Some just wished me a happy birthday, but others sent along personalized messages. I have to admit I didn't expect so many folks to be thinking of me, and knowing they did definitely put a smile on my face.

Okay fine, in some cases, the messages were automatic: if you follow me on social media, when it's time for my birthday (or anyone that you follow), you get a notification. But in a large number of the messages, the person had kind words to say about something positive that I had contributed to their life: there were former students I had mentored, friends that I had encouraged, people who read my articles or heard me on a podcast and thought my perspectives were inspiring, teachers whose classrooms received books or school supplies from me, and (of course) a large number of Rush fans who expressed their gratitude for my role in introducing Rush to the world.  

Several of the people who reached out are folks I met when I was in college radio or former colleagues I worked with in the music industry decades ago; the fact that they have kept in touch for so long means a lot. Others are people I've only known for a relatively short time: for example, a few young female Rush fans wanted me to know they see me as a role model and a trailblazer. Interestingly, some folks who got in touch are people who didn't seem to like me very much years ago, but perhaps time has caused their opinion of me to improve.

I tried to get back to as many of the well-wishers as I could. But I also wanted to use this blog post to send my appreciation to everyone who took the time to let me know I was in their thoughts. This has been a difficult few months for me, what with finding out I'm losing my job, and confronting the reality that it may be difficult to find a new one because we are a youth-oriented culture and I'm now 77-- still young and cute, but 77. And yet, to everyone who got in touch, I was just Donna, their friend, someone they cared about, someone who deserved to be remembered on her special day. 

To be honest, I find it hard to believe I'm worthy of that kind of adulation, but there it was-- more than 900 folks sending their love in my direction. So, if I have contributed to your life, if I have been a good friend or a good colleague or a role model or a motivational figure (or someone to play Wordle with), I'm glad. As Neil Peart said in The Garden (one of my favorite Rush songs), "The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect." I've tried to be someone who treated others with love and respect. Thank you for giving me that treasure: the gift of knowing that on some level, I succeeded.

My Birthday Wish

I normally blog a couple of times a month, and since this one is coming out at the beginning of February, the next one will be right after my birthday, on February 14th (Valentine's Day). Given that I'm a cancer survivor, it seems amazing to me that I'm about to be 77. Many of my relatives did not live to be 77. So, as I have said many times, I am grateful every day.

All my life, I've always been honest about my age: for generations, women were told to never admit to how old they actually were, but that custom mystified me. It seemed to play into the belief that only a young woman had value, and if a woman wasn't what society considered young, then she was expected to lie. But why be ashamed of how old we are? Why lie about it? So, yes, God willing, I'm about to be 77. People tell me I don't look it, and I guess that's a good thing-- although I don't know what a 77 year old is supposed to look like. I just know that's how old I'll be, and yes I understand that in a youth oriented culture, 77 is considered old.

And that is about to become a problem for me. As many of you know, several months ago, I received the disappointing news that 29 of my colleagues, including me, were being laid off: and the median age of those who got that email skewed over 50. Many of us are widely known, have won awards, are names in our field, and our students like us. But on paper, I guess we're considered old, and thus more expensive than younger faculty. And as businesses all over the country seek ways to save money, older personnel are being encouraged to take buyouts or they're being downsized.

So, while I am grateful to be alive, I'm facing the fact that it may be difficult for me to find another job. No, I don't want to retire: I enjoy working, and I can't imagine not doing it. (And I've been told I'm still good at it, so I'd like to continue.) Not only does having a job keep my mind active, but the income lets me pay my share of the bills, and have enough money to donate to the charities I care about. 

But will anyone see what I have to contribute? Will they see all of my accomplishments thus far and think that I still have plenty more to offer? Or will they just see someone who is 77, and figure it's easier, and cheaper, to hire someone younger? No, I'm not trying to overstay my welcome, and I'm not trying to prevent a new generation from having their chance. Ideally, it shouldn't be "us versus them": there ought to be room for both the younger and the older generations, since each has important perspectives, and each has different experiences to share.

And if I have a birthday wish, beyond another year of health, I wish for the opportunity to keep making a difference, the opportunity to be judged not by my chronological age (or the stereotypes about it) but by what I've done already and what I still can do. I truly believe there's more out there for me to accomplish. To be honest, the odds don't seem to be in my favor right now, but I know that things can change. I hope they will. And I hope that soon, my birthday wish will come true.      

When Bad Behavior Seems to Get Rewarded

It should come as no surprise to those who read my blogs that my politics tend to lean center-left. On some issues, I'm more center-right, but in general, I'd have to say yes, center-left. However, I have many friends and colleagues who do not share my politics, and that's okay. We can agree to disagree and still be friends. We can find common ground on some issues, and put the rest aside. But heated arguments, name-calling, and insults just aren't my style. Yes, I can be passionate about what I believe, but I've never understood the need to mock or demonize folks who don't see things my way. And while I enjoy winning a debate, I don't see the value in turning everything into World War III.

I grew up in an era when political discourse could be intense-- as the fictional Mr. Dooley said back in 1895, and many modern politicians have since repeated, "Politics ain't beanbag." But I didn't grow up in a world where rudeness and unkindness were rewarded.There were norms: politicians could be snide or sarcastic, but vulgarity was frowned upon, and so was mocking how someone else talked. If a politician cursed in public, that was considered a no-no. So was making threats against your opponent. And if you lost an election, no matter how hard-fought, you accepted the loss and either ran again or did something else with your life. 

Okay, fine, times changed. But sometimes I wonder if things changed for the better. Radio, which used to feature announcers who were like your best friend, began airing angry political talk shows where name-calling was the rule, rather than the exception.On TV, cable news brought us lots of information (and exciting visuals), but it also brought us partisan commentators who cared more about generating outrage than sticking to the facts. And in politics, the tone of some candidates went from intense and passionate to conspiratorial and mean. And the other party wasn't just your opponent-- the other party was evil and needed to be destroyed. 

And when I was growing up, Evangelical Christians took the scriptures seriously. They would never have supported a candidate like Donald Trump-- someone who had been married three times, had cheated on his wife with a porn star, used vulgar language on a regular basis, frequently lied, mocked people with disabilities, and advocated for policies that not only showed little empathy for the poor but, more often than not, were uncaring and even cruel.

But in Iowa, a deeply religious state, white Evangelicals came out in large numbers to support the former president, and that has been the trend in other states as well. Perhaps they are willing to put aside their previous views because he supported policies they liked (such as bringing about the end of Roe v. Wade); but this still seems very transactional to me. Either you believe in ethics or you don't. I always thought Jesus said love your neighbor, feed the poor, give shelter to those who are less fortunate. But the candidate they support so faithfully believes none of those things; in fact, he believes quite the opposite. There is even a video circulating that implies he was chosen by God Himself, but no matter how many rationalizations are offered, I still find such devotion mystifying. 

I'm sure some of you are upset with me for writing this. I'm sure that some of you believe that the former president deserved to be re-elected. I can respect that belief; everyone has a favorite candidate, and supporters want to see that person win. But what I cannot respect is a candidate who uses hatred and bigotry in his speeches, and encourages others to do the same. What I cannot respect is someone who refuses to accept that he lost an election, and who continues to mislead his supporters about it. Call me old-fashioned, but I'm accustomed to leaders who bring out the best in people, not leaders who seem to enjoy bringing out the worst.    

And yet, here we are. As I write this, it's the King Holiday, when we commemorate the birthday of civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. Earlier today, I put a favorite quote of his online, from 1967: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” But tonight, after the results of the Iowa caucuses, I wonder if some folks believe love is overrated, and that political power matters more. I hope that's not true nationwide. I hope that this isn't a sign that people want a leader who is cruel and autocratic, as long as he gives them permission to hate the right people. I hope more people will stand up and say "no" to that kind of politics, no matter which party they're from. But right now, I have no idea if they will, and that's what worries me.  

And I Thank the Lord There Are People Out There Like You

Because I used to be a deejay, I sometimes name my blog posts after song titles, or after lyrics that I like. If you're a Rush fan, you know I've quoted from some of theirs-- "Freewill" and "Witch Hunt" and "Spirit of Radio," to cite three examples. But as I look at the end of 2023, what comes to mind isn't Rush songs, but rather, a great 1996 dance hit by OMC called "How Bizarre." It truly was a bizarre year, with incredible and unexpected highs (getting inducted into the Massachusetts Broadcasters Hall of Fame in June; being on stage with Geddy Lee in Cleveland in November) and at least one incredible and unexpected low (being fired by email, told that I am losing my job, despite 15 years of going above and beyond). 

It was a year when Twitter, now renamed "X" (which nobody I know ever calls it-- I don't know about you, but to me, it's still Twitter and I still send out Tweets) deteriorated into a place where haters-- neo-Nazis, antisemites, white supremacists, etc.-- love to congregate. But some of us still resist, and many friendships still endure. A lot of my followers and I still gather nightly to play Wordle and compare our scores. We still gather to raise money for kids and teachers in need via Donors Choose. 

And speaking of social media, for reasons that I don't entirely understand, I sit at the end of 2023 with 9389 followers on Twitter, and more than 4800 on Facebook. I've been blogging since 2015, and I continued to do so throughout 2023. Some of my blog posts can attract several thousand views; others get fewer than 100; but the fact that folks I don't even know personally are interested in what I write still amazes me.

In mid-December (see previous blog post), I celebrated being 9 years cancer-free. But to be honest, it's hard to celebrate without remembering the folks we've lost to cancer over the years, including our beloved Neil Peart of Rush, and my mother (of blessed memory), and more recently, one of my favorite baseball players-- Tim Wakefield. There are lots of folks who are beating cancer, and I am grateful to be among them. But there are still too many others whose story did not have a happy ending. I'm hoping that ongoing research will lead to new treatments and new cures in the new year ahead.

Politics remained as divisive and hateful as ever: having been around for a while, I can remember other eras of anger and division, like the Vietnam Era, but I still can't get used to a world where a growing number of politicians think it's okay to sling crude insults at their opponents and talk like schoolyard bullies, or use racist or antisemitic tropes in their political speeches, just to pander to certain voters. In fact, it was a year when hatred of "the other" (Jews, Muslims, immigrants, gay people) was on the march in many countries, often fueled by craven political leaders. I kept wishing for one of them to take a stand and say "no" to hate, but it was a year when political courage was in short supply.    

And yet, through a year that can only be described as bizarre (believe me, I never expected to be inducted into the Mass. Broadcasters Hall of Fame... and I never expected to be fired from my job either), there was one constant: you. When I was frustrated or discouraged, when I doubted myself, when I was feeling like what I had to say didn't matter, when some of the haters directed their words at me, you defended me. You encouraged me. You let me know you cared.

I hope I was able to do the same for many of you, and I will continue to reach out in the new year. Meanwhile, as 2023 comes to a close, I'm gratified to know that there are still people who take friendship seriously, who believe in kindness, and who care about ethics. So, to paraphrase the words of an Elton John song, I thank the Lord there are people out there like you. May 2024 bring you good health and good fortune. And may we all live to see a more peaceful world. Happy new year! 

I'm Not Supposed to Be Here (But I'm Glad I Am)

I remember it as if it was almost yesterday. It was the last week in November 2014 when I got the phone call from the specialist. And he told me what my primary care doctor and I had suspected. I had been diagnosed with cancer.

I wasn't surprised. Some of you know me, and you know the genetic hand I was dealt: just about all the women on the maternal side of my family got similar diagnoses, and all of them had succumbed to the disease. I can still remember watching my mother's battle with cancer. She had told me many times about her own mother, the grandmother I never met, who died at only 44 years old. My mother was just 71 when she passed, and from that day on, I dreaded what the future might hold for me.

I was 67 when I got the phone call. And thanks to early detection, I was able to have my surgery on this day (December 17) in 2014. Interestingly, I had an all-female staff working on my case: the oncologist was a woman, the anesthesiologist was a woman, as were all the nurses and the nurse practitioners. I grew up in an era when women were still discouraged from becoming doctors, and I had to admit that it made me smile to note how much society had changed. 

After the surgery, I had a month of radiation (no fun, but better than the alternative), and then, I had to come back to the hospital for regular tests, to make sure the cancer had not returned. Gradually, the testing regimen dwindled from every few months to once a year; and after 5 years, I was told that the odds of a recurrence were very low. But that hasn't stopped me from worrying-- cancer is a relentless foe, and it can make a return when one least expects it. 

But today is not a day for worrying. Today is my 9th anniversary of being cancer-free. I am deeply grateful to the excellent medical team that took care of me, and even on my worst day, I am grateful to be alive. I am also mindful of the many others in my family who are gone, as well as my friends and colleagues who have endured their own cancer diagnosis. Some of you who are reading this blog may be going through it yourself.

The good news is that there have been so many advances in cancer treatment. So many people, myself included, are living proof of that. We are still here, when previous generations had little hope of survival. On the other hand, we all know people whose type of cancer did not have that good outcome. In their memory, I hope you will make a donation to the hospital of your choice, so that researchers can continue to seek (and, hopefully, find) new cures. 

And for those who are going through what I did, please know you are not alone. Please know there is hope, and more people than in any previous generation are winning the fight. For me, it's my nine year anniversary of being cancer-free, and for however many more years God gives me, I will continue to be grateful. And I will continue to hope that one day, everyone with a cancer diagnosis will be able to survive and thrive... as I have.     

There Seems to Be a War on Hanukkah

I was thinking about Hanukkah a lot this week, and that's not something I usually do. Don't get me wrong: it's a perfectly nice holiday, and I enjoy it-- although attempts to turn it into the "Jewish Christmas" aren't very helpful. But it's actually a minor holiday in Judaism, and I think about Passover or Jewish New Year much more. Lately, however, Hanukkah is in the news, and not in a good way: I'm saddened to hear that some cities where they used to have a public lighting of the menorah are canceling those events, and others are hiring extra police to protect the celebrants. Hanukkah didn't used to be controversial. It's a small but happy holiday-- about miracles, about gratitude to God, and about religious freedom. But now, a lot of Jews are afraid to publicly observe it... and that's sad too. 

Truth be told, the culture at this time of year is seldom Hanukkah-oriented. Everywhere we go, all we can see are Christmas decorations, Christmas ornaments, and Christmas displays. Okay fine, Christmas is a major holiday in an overwhelmingly Christian country, and Hanukkah comes at a different time each year. But even when the dates align, most merchants and most civic spaces tend to treat Hanukkah like it doesn't exist. In a few cities with large Jewish populations, there might be a public menorah lighting, but for the most part, Jews observe Hanukkah at home, lighting their menorah near a window, a symbol of shining the light of hope into a world darkened by prejudice. 

But this year, prejudice seems to be winning. The Israel-Hamas war has brought out angry protesters who chant slogans that are not just pro-Palestinian but often anti-Jewish. I don't understand how screaming at the Jewish owner of a falafel restaurant in Philadelphia is going to get the war to stop. I don't understand how vilifying random Jews-- as if we are all somehow to blame for what the Israeli government is doing-- is an effective strategy for bringing about a more peaceful world. And I absolutely don't understand how shutting down Hanukkah observances (or any other Jewish holiday celebrations) will bring us any closer to mutual respect and understanding.

And we need mutual respect now more than ever. I read statements from my friends on the right that the Jews need to be converted and that America is really a Christian nation (no we don't, and no it isn't). I read statements from my friends on the left that Jews are responsible for Palestinian suffering (I am not responsible for what the government of Israel does; I don't live there. I support a two-state solution and I always have. And as an American, I totally reject Islamophobia. But I also wonder why there is so little anger at the many, many Muslim-majority nations, especially those run by autocrats, where they seem fine about having lots of noisy anti-Israel demonstrations, but do very little to actually welcome Palestinian refugees, and even less to make life better for them).      

As for me, I want to live in a world where it's safe for me to wear my Jewish star without someone berating me about what they think my politics are. I want to live in a world where people of all faiths, and no faiths, can respect each other's views and then go grab some lunch together. I want to live in a world where the haters don't win-- no matter how noisy they are. Now more than ever, we don't need a war on Hanukkah. We need to eat some potato pancakes and some jelly donuts together. And it might be nice if everyone put up a menorah, a symbol of taking a stand for tolerance and respect over hate and bigotry. Even teddy bears agree: the world could use more kindness and the world could use more friendship, especially among people with different views. So, as Hanukkah begins, I'm hoping you will join me in bringing a little more light into a world that needs it. Happy Hanukkah!     

Oh the Places You'll Go (or How I Ended Up Back in Cleveland)

I had known for a while that Geddy Lee was writing another book, and unlike the last one, this was more of an autobiography than a tribute to his love of playing the bass. And when he finished it and embarked upon a book tour, I was looking forward to seeing him-- we hadn't seen each other since the last book tour, back in 2019. 

Geddy came to the Orpheum Theater in Boston on Saturday night the 18th of November. Prior to the event, I had a wonderful time hanging out with a large group of Rush fans, many of whom were part of RushCon, which I attended on a few occasions and really enjoyed. I gave a talk (I hope it was interesting), and then I got the message from Geddy's manager that if I went to the venue early (as in, "now"), he'd have some time for us to chat. Needless to say, I went over immediately, and had a chance to hang with him for a few minutes. We hugged, and we talked about family, his book, and our 49-year friendship, something both of us are grateful for.

For some strange reason, Boston's big album rocker (WBCN) never really played Rush very often: I was told the program director didn't like the band, and it wasn't till years later when the guys got played at a different station-- classic rocker WZLX. But a lack of local airplay never stopped thousands of fans from turning out at Rush concerts, nor did it diminish the size of the crowd at the Orpheum. Even now, eight years after the band broke up, the fans love Rush, and they absolutely love Geddy.     

I sat in the audience, enjoying the show. Eric McCormack, of "Will & Grace" fame, was the moderator, and he and Geddy had an interesting conversation.  But prior to that, the audience was treated to a slide show that included rare photos from Geddy's life and career (I was surprised that there was a photo of me, and when the fans saw it, they cheered; they also cheered the first time Neil's photo came up); it was accompanied by organist Josh Kantor. Josh is incredibly talented, and fun to listen to: he does the music at Fenway Park, and he added some local touches, like "Sweet Caroline"-- a sing-along version of which has become a staple at Red Sox games.      

Geddy seemed relaxed and comfortable, as he told stories about how he got his name (both his Hebrew name and his English one); his complicated relationship with John Rutsey; his first impression of Neil, and how Neil's audition for the band went; and why he thought his dad was an incredibly cool guy (and how his death-- when Geddy was only twelve-- affected him). He told of how he learned his dad had been a musician in the old country-- he wished he had known that growing up, as it was something he and his dad never got a chance to discuss.  

Along the way, in addition to answering McCormack's questions, Geddy read several excerpts from his book, and he also talked about missing Neil, and how much the friendship of his band-mates meant to him. He said they seldom if ever argued, and they could always make each other laugh. He mentioned bands that were really good to them (like Kiss) and bands that weren't (like Aerosmith). And he mentioned the staying power of "Working Man," which they performed during just about every tour.  Geddy's talk provided some details  about his life that many of us knew, as well as some we'd never heard before. I thought that perhaps writing the book was cathartic for him-- a retrospective on a successful career, but also a way to process losing his dad so unexpectedly, losing his mom to dementia, and ultimately, losing Neil to cancer. 

The talk had some sad and emotional moments, but it was also very entertaining, especially when Geddy told stories about life on the road. More recently, he told about how much he had enjoyed collaborating with Alex during the Taylor Hawkins tribute. He said it was great to play together again; but while he had no desire to re-create Rush (he has long said if there's no Neil, there's no Rush), he was eager to get back into music on some level. He had rediscovered a couple of songs that he wrote in the late 1990s, and he wanted to write some more, and possibly collaborate with Alex at some future point.

But as I was watching Geddy do his book talk, nobody in the audience knew I had a secret. When I was backstage with him before the show, his manager (Meg) suddenly asked me if I'd be willing to come to Cleveland the next night, assuming they could work out the logistics, to lead the fan Q & A. It was almost a spur of the moment thing; evidently Meg and Geddy got the idea, and once I said okay, it was a matter of making it happen-- except I was asked to not say a word, almost like I would be the "Mystery Guest."

I hadn't been back to Cleveland in a while, but it has such an important place in Rush history, and I was excited to be a part of Geddy's show. And that's how I ended up in a limo, being taken to the airport, and on to Cleveland, in time for the pre-show sound-check at the State Theatre. Geddy was very happy that I was there, and we had fun doing some ad-libs and testing our microphone levels. I did a practice run on some of the fan questions, and then they ushered me back to the Green Room (which isn't green, but I guess many years ago, the guests actually waited in a room of that color). At some point, while the first part of the show, moderated by music journalist Rob Tannenbaum, was going on, I was able to watch it from a chair to the side of the stage, behind the curtain (nobody in the audience could see me, but I had a wonderful view of Geddy and Rob in conversation.  Geddy read different material from what he read in Boston, and told a few different stories, but once again, he seemed relaxed and conversational-- as if he'd been doing this all his life. 

After the intermission, Geddy did another reading from his book, and then... he announced that the person reading the fan questions would be me, and I came out on stage. Geddy and I hugged, and I waved at the fans, many of whom were on their feet applauding and cheering us both. It was almost magical, and yes, I know that's a cliché, but that's how it felt-- like some kind of magic was happening. I had tears in my eyes, and I don't think I was the only one. After all, Cleveland was where it all began, and now, 49 years later, we were all re-united, brought together to celebrate Geddy and to celebrate how much Rush meant to our lives. 

I showed Geddy my old (1975) pass for the Agora Ballroom, and asked him what he remembered of playing there while I was at WMMS. And before we got into the questions, I thanked the fans for being loyal to this band, and I also thanked Geddy. He could easily have forgotten about me years ago, but Geddy (and Rush) always took friendship seriously; the guys in Rush were always loyal to those who had been good to them.  And then, we got into the Q & A. Just like in Boston, when Washington Post arts reporter Geoff Edgers led the questions segment, I read the name of the questioner, we'd put a spotlight on him or her (there were lots of women there, by the way, and I once again remarked that yes there ARE female Rush fans-- which got a cheer from some of them) and then, I'd read their question and Geddy would respond. I was pleased that he and I had a good rapport: to be honest, I hadn't been on stage in quite a while, and I was just hoping I'd do a good job for him and make the fans happy too.   

Evidently I did, because at the end, as I walked off stage, Meg and all the others who had been watching us, said it had turned out perfectly, and it was right that I was there to be a part of it. It was a full-circle event, in a way: I was back in Cleveland, doing what I used to do when I was still on the air, back with people I cared about, back with Geddy, talking about Rush in the city where I first introduced "Working Man." It was as it should be. And before I even got back to my hotel, fans were posting photos and comments to my social media pages. It had been a night I would never forget. I felt privileged to have experienced it.      

So, how do I put into words how much being there meant to me? During the Boston event, at one point, Eric McCormack began singing some lyrics from a Rush song I dearly love, "Madrigal." It seems a fitting tribute to Geddy, to the fans who have remained loyal to Rush, and to the power of friendship, even during difficult times. To everyone who saw me at either of the shows and said hello, or reached out to me on social media, thank you for making me a part of the extended Rush family. "When all around is madness, And there's no safe port in view, I long to turn my path homeward, To stop a while with you." And in a way, that's how it felt: like coming home, like being among friends, like stopping a while to celebrate our shared appreciation for Rush, and our gratitude for Geddy Lee.