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 I received the nicest email yesterday from my fine friends at United Airlines, offering me a free cup of coffee if only I would join them for a special anniversary event at O’Hare on Thursday morning. My first thought, ‘ I fly too much’, was followed immediately by ‘wow, that’s creepy that a company that big knows that I’m going to be at O’Hare tomorrow’. But I was curious, and decided to stop by C17 on my way to my flight to say hello.
I was greeted by several things at once when I made the turn toward their display – a huge wheel of fortune thing offering a chance to WIN WIN WIN!, several rows of UAL ‘economy plus’ seats which I could try out (in case your flight wasn’t long enough, I suppose), and a massive line waiting for a crack at the free coffee and personalized luggage tags.
Should I wait in line for a free luggage tag? No! What about the free airline coffee? NO! RUN AWAY! I glanced over my shoulder back toward my own gate, an automatic flight response, but what about all these other people in the line – what fact do they have that’s eluding me? As I watched a few people lug their bags up to the wheel for a spin, I realized that most occasional flyers these days would love to have an upgrade to economy plus – a benefit automatic to frequent flyers, and since I had some time I could at least provide one of them an extra spin, mine, so into the line I went.
If I win, will you award the upgrade to the person behind me in line? I asked. Quick glance over my shoulder. Brief nod. Slowly spreading smile. Spin. click click click. Rats, that would have been fun. Maybe next week, if they’re still running their promotion, someone else will ride with UAL five inches further from their toes.
 after 2600 miles across the US for MS I remember my first real taste of freedom. It came on a bright summer Saturday afternoon, back when I measured time entirely by what was likely to happen in each of the next ten minutes. Everything after, and I do mean absolutely everything, just didn’t exist. I’d been riding a two-wheeler for years – forever if you’d asked me at the time, but that day was different. I’m not sure what possessed my father on that day to carefully remove the bolts holding the training wheels so securely in place along my back tires, and I was absolutely befuddled when, placed back on the contraption that I both knew and yet felt as if I’d never seen before, I just could not figure a way not to topple over. Left side wobble, Dad saves. Right side wobble, Dad saves again. Thinking, are you serious, what was wrong with what I did yesterday, and why are is everyone watching and laughing so hard?
I remember kicking off, Dad’s assurances as invisible to my confidence as his hand, supposedly attached someplace on the bike in lieu of my third and fourth wheels. Seriously, take the wheels off so you have to hold my seat? I don’t get it. but okay, whatever. So, same as yesterday, now flying down the walk racing past the neighbor’s drives. Oh, but wait…where’s my dad?…Oh cripes!
After years of cycling to school or cycling to meet friends, my definition of freedom sadly but steadily evolved to the need for a driving license, a first apartment, new cities, new languages and for a long time my cycling habits rested, nestled in parents’ basements or the back corner of moving vans. The memories stirred again with the new found need for exercise, and eventually with the return to four wheels for the next generation. We rode for fun outside again, and we became spinners, riding inside for exercise.
Today, as readers of Lost in the Feed know, our thoughts often venture beyond our selves and today the freedoms that matter to us are defined far more broadly than ever; free speech, free time, free from illness (and in this economy free is better than ever!). We recently came across a story of a dozen young men and women who came together this summer to cycle across the US to support the Partners Multiple Sclerosis Center at The Brigham in Boston. We were captivated first by their generosity, raising money for such a worthy institution, but perhaps more compelling for us was the statement of freedom they made with their ride: imagine, we thought, having the freedom to spend the summer riding across the entire country ultimately in support of people who could never so such a thing. These 12 riders have chronicled their trip on Blogs, Twitter and Facebook and nearly live online maps show their steady progress toward their fundraising goals and toward their west coast destination. As we wondered about the best way to make a personal difference to the Bike the US for MS dozen, we thought what we’d feel like if we’d raised more than $20k and cycled almost 3,000 miles. So in addition to a quiet donation for MS and emails to everyone we knew (including a few to radio and TV stations along their route), we called the Missoula, Montana Days Inn and bought three hotel rooms for the crew for the night they were passing through. As this wonderful group’s adventure reminds us of the freedoms we prise, it seemed a clean bed, a hot shower and a quiet night as they approached their goals was the least Lost in the Feed could do.
 Parenting is often described as one of the hardest and most satisfying jobs on the planet – hard because it doesn’t come with an instruction manual (or perhaps I may have left mine on the chair at the hospital all those years ago) and satisfying because it is the second most forgiving profession, where you can make mistake after mistake and still produce happy, brilliant, beautiful, wonderful offspring. The first most forgiving profession is of course weatherman, but we’ll leave that for another post. Like weebles, children bounce and are stronger than any parent ever expects. But there is nothing worse for a parent than seeing a child in distress, and at those times having a place to turn for help can mean everything.
Aurora Health Care, the non-profit responsible for St. Luke’s South Shore Hospital in Wisconsin was started as a non-profit in 1984. And today, doctors Keng, Mullin and Zaidi stand ready to help distressed parents and children anytime, day or night. And knowing they’re there to help with the serious stuff lets the residents of southern Milwaukee spend most of their time focused on the fun things with their children. It’s a pleasure today to quietly support the St. Luke’s foundation in support of those dedicated ER docs.
Asthma, described as a chronic lung disease causing its affected difficulty in breathing, affects more than 7% of the US population, and is particularly pernicious in young children. The cause is unknown. According to the most recent study by the Wisconsin DHS, each year there are more than 22,000 asthma related visits to hospital emergency rooms in a state with a population of just over 5 million people. Fortunately for the children suffering from juvenile asthma, there is great work being done on the problem today. The American Lung Association, as an example, spent more than $48 million last year to help doctors and researchers seek a cure for asthma. Today, it is our pleasure to support the ALA’s work in the hopes that their efforts result in even one less trip to the ER for a child and parent in distress.
Our commitment to the goals of Lost in the Feed require of us time and energy that always feels well spent and never regretted, but we also work hard to ensure that our real primary mission – living our lives, enjoying and supporting our families and actually doing versus documenting takes real priority.
This reaffirmation consoled me on Sunday afternoon as I flew back toward Chicago, thinking about how to describe what became of my one single, failed opportunity for Lost In The Feed this weekend. I had boarded the small regional jet in Denver on Thursday evening without realizing how hot and sunny a day it was. Sitting in the forward bulkhead seat generally has its advantages (although legroom and baggage space are not among them), but with the sun streaming through the open door directly onto my seat, I was regretting my decision to board the plane early. I sat, baking in the summer Denver sun, praying both that we’d load the plane quickly so they’d close the door and that each boarding passenger would just pause during that fleeting moment when their profile shadowed my seat, a momentary respite from my increasingly uncomfortable decision.
After a time, as boarding slowed, I noticed that for a moment the sun had become totally blocked. That my hopes for a freak solar eclipse had been answered shot through my mind, but rather an incredibly tall man was waiting for me to move, allowing him access to the window seat next to me. The origami that followed as he folded himself into his bulkhead jail was nothing short of pure art. He was at least a foot taller than I, clearly uncomfortable and unhappy, while I had plenty of legroom if canted just a bit into the aisle. I debated an offer to switch seats, knowing I’d be fine and he’d be more comfortable during the flight but with the sun beating on me it was at best a mixed offer. I decided to wait until they closed the door, so my intentions would not be misconstrued. Finally, deliverance. Door closed, offer ready – and I turn… to find my seat mate completely fast asleep, folded and tucked into his minuscule corner, his expression locked in displeasure.
During the flight back to Chicago yesterday, I thought about the one chance I’d had this weekend to make a difference in a stranger’s life - I could have offered earlier to switch once the door closed, or tried again later in the flight, but I did not. When I landed, I found O’Hare airport surprisingly busy for a mid-summer weekend but after flying as much as I have, navigating the various byways is second nature and I managed to skirt most of the chaos on my way to the parking garage. The garage elevator was so crowded, I moved directly to the back of the car without pressing the button for the roof, figuring I’d press it as people exited on the way up. As we rose, I watched as we stopped floor by floor to let people muscle their bags off, or panic as their kids exited without their most prized possessions, and the roof button remained unlit. I was surprised when the last woman left in the elevator with me asked if I knew where the cabs were found. Knowing we were some distance from the collection of wrong turns and missed signs she’d passed on her way to central parking, and since I’d failed to hit the button, as the elevator was returning to ground level I offer to show her the way back, past the train station, up to baggage claim and back outside toward the cab stand. As we passed back into the terminal she assured me she was re-oriented and thanked me for helping, and I returned to garage wondering with amazement once again how opportunity elects to hide itself only to leap out at the most surprising times.
 Imagine, just for a moment, that you speak – and nobody hears what you’re saying.
It’s a common problem. Travelers, moving from experience to experience in a foreign land without the benefit of the local language. Students, moving from class to class while their educators, often experts in their field expressly rewarded for possessing more information than anyone around them, assume the kids have nothing to say worth hearing. And in emerging social media outlets like Twitter, tools perfectly designed for those who wish to speak but abysmal for listening, it is possible for anybody’s voice to be lost in the din.
It seems there are at least a few major reasons why one’s voice might not be heard – important considerations if you seek to be heard yourself:
- What language do you use? We have such amazing access today to the voices of the world, and with just the click of a few keys we are able to chose among millions which we let through. And with translating tools now so common (with the exception of Icelandic ), I do not refer here to voices speaking in a tongue other than yours. Rather, I mean the words you use to express your thoughts. Take for example, @redheadwriting – a prolific Twitter contributor, and an exceptionally talented and frequently provocative writer, but one whose profane commentary, like someone screaming in your ear for an extended time, both puts her voice above the fray and yet leads at least some to stop listening.
- What message do you send? Certainly it is easier to be heard if you give people what they seek and the honest and personal voice finds a more sympathetic ear, but many times these two conflict. Most often great art, great writing happens when its creator transfers their vision into a work without a care as to how it may be received.
- Which medium do you chose? Standing above the chaos with a howling wind at your back will certainly help your voice carry far and wide – but unpopulated mountaintops are not known for their massive audiences either.
For some, however, despite any possible planning it is often impossible to be heard. The core mission of Lost In The Feed is to help those at risk of losing their voices to the noise of the world know that at least someone stands quietly listening, but today we had an opportunity to take our mission quite literally.
Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet was born in Philadelphia in 1787. Educated at Yale, by all accounts Gallaudet was destined for the ordinary life of a lawyer; that is until he met Alice Cogswell in 1814. Alice was only 9, and as a result of cerebra-spinal meningitis at age 2, lost her ability to hear and to speak. With Alice as inspiration, Gallaudet founded the first school in the United States dedicated to teaching students described at the time as “deaf and mute”, the American School for the Deaf (ASD) in Hartford, Connecticut. For nearly 200 years, the school has been committed to teaching its students how to communicate effectively – how to be heard in the feed, and to teaching other teachers in the field. The ASD was among the first to develop new tools, new methods and resources to address their unique needs, and many of these original books reside today in the school’s museum. In honor of those who dedicated their energy and resources to goals so similar to ours, it is our distinct pleasure to quietly support the ASD today.
 The Johnston family farm sits on the western edge of the Swan Mountains, just north of Creston, Montana. Creston has always fascinated me, mostly because one enters it from a 70-mile-per-hour highway that slices north though the lush fields of the Flathead valley. As you approach Creston, the speed limit drops to 45 – but it’s such a physically small community, you can see the sign returning you to 70mph at the other end before you’ve slowed. If you google Creston, you’ll find it described as Class 6, “Populated Place”. It did have a post office for a bit, starting in 1894 but by 1956 – well, it was just a populated place. But while Creston isn’t a sprawling metropolis (and that wasn’t easy to write without a giggle), it is a spectacularly beautiful place and its inhabitants somewhat remarkable.
Scott Johnston moved to Creston in 1986 according to their website, working at various jobs until his passion for radio got the best of him and in 2004 he erected a 78 foot antenna to begin broadcasting his own low-power radio station from his farmhouse’s front porch. Today, the Montana Radio Cafe can be found both on the radio dial and on the internet, playing an eclectic mix of blues intersperced with Scott’s occasional thank you messages to the local community that keeps him on the air. And if you are lucky enough to find yourself on Route 35 in Creston, look for the yellow farmhouse with the OnAir sign just north of Creston and give the Johnstons a wave as you pass. Scott may find himself happy to be doing what he loves, but his work makes the interest and the Flathead Valley a richer place for all of us, and we’re thrilled to quietly support him in his efforts today.
It was such a small thing today, barely worth writing about. I was in line at the grocery story this morning with my two daughters, watching as the elderly woman in front of us fumbled with her credit cards to pay the cashier. As she managed the chaos of her bag, finally extracting her wallet, we all heard something hit the ground, skittering under the display case seperating the aisles. The world froze as the cashier peered over, the girls glanced down and the woman paused for just the the most fleeting of moments. And then time reasserted it’s force on us all, and all but I went back to the activities of just a moment ago. I too had seen just the shadow of the thing as it raced away, freed from the constraints of her well packed bag. I wondered many things in that single moment: did it flee of its own volition, and what aging party did it join under that divider, and how long do you think the others there in the dust have been waiting there for salvation or maybe a broom and dustpan? I would have been easy to join the others as if nothing had fallen, but lostinthefeed constantly rings in my mind, so I interrupted the woman’s day and the girls dropped to the floor to retrieve the fallen. The woman stopped as my daughter handed her back the dusty clip, and you could see the play of emotion race across her face – ‘it was a trivial thing and not worth your energy‘, ‘I wish I was so young to fall so quickly to the floor and rise again without effort‘, and finally with a broadening smile ‘thank you for being selfless today‘. As my girls demonstrate their unsolicited comprehension of everything Lost In The Feed is about, they just make me extra proud today. Happy Independence Day to you all.
 If you’ve been reading these posts, you know we range far afield in seeking opportunity for Lost In The Feed, and the more dire news we read, the more dedicated we become to our goal. As we think about brightening another stranger’s day, it occurred to us that we might be overlooking one of the best opportunities so much closer to home. With that, the LITF team committed this week to reaching out to our families particularly our rapidly aging parents, daily, to ask the harder questions and to make sure that they too were doing okay in these tough times. It’s not always an easy conversation to start, but it is always a necessary one and as I went through this process this week, I was lucky enough to have several conversations that I’d never had before – and found an opportunity to make a difference in a few small ways, but ones that hopefully were meaningful to my family.
We’re working on a more complicated touch this week for lostinthefeed, but one particular message we came across in this morning’s ‘mail’ caught our attention. There may be hundreds if not thousands of authors in social media talking about being positive, and many push their message maybe a bit too far. Life coach? Guru? My shoulders start to rise of their own volition while my brain screams for the off button as I read through their various descriptions and occasional rantings.
Today, however, I came across the musings of Dani at Positively Present – a refreshing, honest and extremely positive and well written blog. And it didn’t hurt that the second item on her list today spoke directly to the goals of lostinthefeed! And so, I sent off a quick thank you email to Dani just to let her know that her work was appreciated and that I, along with many other readers I’m sure, look forward to her next post.
 At the suggestion of the team, I decided to plan ahead for a lostinthefeed opportunity this weekend and as almost always happens, not one bit of it went as planned.
It started really well. We’ve had the amazing good fortune to have dined in some incredible places over the years in Europe, Canada and here in the US, but one of our favorites anywhere is an amazing restaurant close to our summer cottage, with an extremely casual environment that belies the seriousness of the food. We look forward to visiting with them when we can, even though we don’t generally go to restaurants all that often. Cooking has been a passion for a long time, and inspiration comes often from the many places we visit.
So it was that we decided that we’d plan a night out with the family this Saturday. However rather than our favorite, with the team’s mandate in mind, our family decided that instead we’d go to a restaurant run by a local couple we know. The food here isn’t bad but it’s expensive for what one gets, and I suppose typical for places with lower turnover. Much of the product is sourced from Sysco, and rarely do you get that spark of flavor from fresh local ingredients. It’s rarely crowded, and the food business is a tough one so the business closes for the winter and re-opens in time for the summer visitors. But our visit would support this nice couple in a way befitting lostinthefeed, so we pulled off the lake early, and at 7:30 (late for the kids) packed the family in the car and headed off for the evening with charity in mind. Actually, we were excited to see the couple running the restaurant and glad for our family’s decision to support them. You can imagine our surprise then, when we finally arrived only to find the place closed – ‘open for breakfast and lunch 7 days‘ sign breezily suggesting the couple might even be dining miles away at our favorite that very evening.
With this failure in mind (I know, another time), I headed off to the airport this morning for the commute back to my work week thinking about what I’d write in support of lostinthefeed and the team’s weekend mission. The flight is long enough to be dull and I was glad to have the new book my wife had offered just before I left. My flight is an out-and-back run and since the it was running late, I was also glad to have the few extra minutes to stop at the airport store for a snack. That’s when I noticed the flight attendant racing for a coffee before returning to load the just emptied jet. Clearly missing the luxury of time, I wondered if she might not have the luxury of a new book either, so I added a second snack and a Sunday paper to my small collection at the register and went to board the plane. The appreciative smile and thanks when these were offered and accepted two hours into the flight dropped the restaurant failure into distance behind me.
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