Tag Archives: Kelli Finglass

Life Lessons From The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders

31 May

Season Five, Episode 2, of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders – Making the Team favorite moment:  During the panel interviews, DCC Director Kelli Finglass, asks four cheerleader hopefuls:

“Line by line, starting with you, say the national anthem…”

Ms. Finglass defined the moment as “painful”.  In the privacy of my own home, I, too, squirmed.  Under pressure, could I solo the song word for word?   When the show was over, I dashed to my computer monitor to Google The Star Spangled Banner.

As I hummed a few bars in my mind, I realized, probably not.  I get hung up on “O’er the ramparts we watch’d.”  Opening up my faithful Webster Dictionary, I clearly catalogued ‘rampart’ to memory by definition.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago.  My desk calendar was marked for the 15th of May for preliminary DCC tryouts.  I dropped Sunni Cranfill a note letting her know she would be in my prayers.  She emailed back to remind me that the veterans return on May 27th for final try-outs and the panel interview.

Panel Interviews?  My Scooby-Do ears perked up and I couldn’t help myself. Ignoring my mantra of “Resist the Temptation” I marched forward in giving the two-year veteran (and former Miss Texas) unasked for, unsolicited, and completely free advice.

I told her to be sure to know the words to the national anthem.  And if you are going to give free advice, why stop there?  I added:

My mom and I were talking about the national anthem…and we both think it is really difficult.  Mom told me Congress discussed changing it a while back to either God Bless America or America the Beautiful.  I was really surprised!  In a way, the words to O Say Can You See don’t flow so much, from a literary standpoint.  I had to look up the word ‘rampart’ after last year’s DCC interviews.  And I think the national anthem is further complicated by years of standing around groups of people who make up the words as they go along.  Why would I think the guy next to me drinking his brewsky knows the words?  Just because he goes to every Red Sox Game?  Is it broad stripes, bright stripes….hum hum hum stripes?  I think people even screw that up!

Why did I write all that to my friend Sunni?  Yes, the brewsky guy is pretty funny.  I’ve also heard on good authority if you don’t know the words to a song just sing ‘watermelon.’  Had I’d known that life lesson when I emailed Sunni, I surely would have thrown that morsel in, too.

What’s not so funny is that during Megan’s cancer journey explaining myself became my absolute pet peeve.  Nearly every day I had a phone call wondering why I wasn’t taking Megan to Nebraska Med Center?  (Her renowned endocrinologist worked at the Med Center, and consulted with her oncologist at Methodist Eastabrook Cancer Center.  In addition, Megan’s urologist was trained at Nebraska Med Center.)  Or I was asked as why we didn’t drive Megan up to Mayo Clinic?  (Megan was on a trial study supervised by her oncologist and Mayo Clinic.  Also we did go see the world expert at NIH who specializes in adrenal cancer research and studies.)  After the big boys of medicine were discussed, my daily dose of free advice rounded up with vitamins and magic potion drinks.  Wow, they’d give me the first case free.  (We tried it, and the acidity in the juice tore Megan’s stomach apart.)

Sweet Jesus….it’s been seven years.  The senseless use of my time as so many others demanded an explanation on the choices I’d made based on the extensive research I’d already done.

But I’m a human like the rest of you, and before I shelled out my free advice to Sunni Cranfill regarding third grade memory work on the Star Spangled Banner, I failed to research her talents and patriotism.  No sooner than my free advice was out there in cyber space, the truth appeared in the form of a You Tube video.

A life lesson well-learned.  I’ll remember to be slow to give unasked for words of wisdom.  In front of a crowd of 80,000 my friend knew all the words.

Key Notes:

  • Sunni Cranfill advanced to Training Camp for the 2011-2012 Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.
  • The three women singing in the video are Brittany Evans, Cassie Trammell, and Sunni Cranfill.  Sign them up for next year’s Super Bowl!
  • Congress proclaimed The Star Spangled Banner the U.S. National Anthem in 1931.
  • Regarding unsolicited comments, Miss Manners says, “Sadly, most of what people say in passing is the first thing that pops into their heads, whether or not it is obvious, silly or even true.”
  • Miss Manners’s 10 Worst Faux Pas cites my offense at
    • 2.  HELPFULNESS  When this consists of minding other people’s business, by volunteering, unasked, your opinion of how they should lead their lives.

On A Lighter Note:

  • Joe, the art student that lives with me, told me that he did not know what a rampart was in third grade.  However, he now knows its exact definition and said ‘I probably learned it on a video game.’

Flying High in 2011

4 Jan

The worker monkeys at WordPress sent me my 2010 report card for blogging.  Since little has changed since my K-12 overachiever grade-grubbing days, I just thought I’d show off my report card bearing the big “Wow.”

Now, I don’t know what adjective the big bloggers got (you know, those who have thousands of loyal followers).  Maybe a word like ‘blog-tastic’.  WordPress didn’t tease me with a list of words that I could earn in the future, if only I worked a little harder at blogging, so for now I’m happy with “Wow.”

Maybe I was most excited to learn that the number of readers that viewed my blog is equivalent to the number of bodies that fill 22 full to capacity 747 jumbo jets.  That’s just a lot of people waiting to fasten their seat belts and pull out their Kindles so they can discover where they’ll find the next Sweet Jesus in my cyberspace column.

Take off really began for me a year ago (January 3, 2010) when I posted the blog about The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders – Making the Team.  The response astounded me.  More than my mom was reading it.  Lots more.

The blog became a runway to show me there is a big world out there that includes First Class passengers like Judy Trammell, Kelli Finglass and Sunni Cranfill.  It includes my pilot and literary coach, Erin Reel, who has been instrumental in guiding my craft through these changing months from depression to vision.  Don’t forget the caregivers that board the red-eye flight, grabbing a blog or two in the midnight hour with their sacred and limited time.  I am deeply honored by all.

I’m humbled, too, by all the friends that laughed a bunch, cried without apology, and continued to cheer me on in my writing.

Happy New Year, to 22 jumbo jets of readers.  Your support reminds me, “Wow! I have a flight to catch.”

Key Notes:

  • Subscribing to my blog (upper right corner of this page) gives you instant notification when a new blog posts.  It also makes me feel like I have a lot of friends.
  • The Lit Coach has me on a schedule to post every Sunday, with final blog in her email box the Thursday before.  I’ve missed a few flights in the last year.

On a Lighter Note:

One Shoe Can Change Your Life

9 Nov

Never Going to Be A Blonde...

There is just nothing long, blonde and flowing about my hair.  It’s ultra-short, brillo-like in texture, and has earned the award of ‘thickest dark hair ever’ from my veteran stylist of 20 years.  There were days in Megan’s cancer care that a hospice nurse would come to our home on emergency call in the wee hours of the morning and as I cracked open the front door in my pink fuzzy robe I would be greeted with, “Wow, you’re hair looks so good!”  The truth is my hair is completely unmovable, even in crisis, and I wake up most mornings with every strand in the exact same position as the night before.  My daily hair-do gives new meaning to the word motionless.

I did have a tinge of jealousy as I watched last week’s episode of The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders – Making the Team.  Brooke Sorenson, four-year veteran of the team, moved to the forefront of the CMT camera lens as her hair-that-I-wished-I-always-had blew in the wind.  That alone was Texas beauty at its finest, then add the bonus of Ms. Sorenson swinging her goldilocks over her shoulder with powerful confidence.

*sigh*

Clearly, I won’t be livin’ the I Wish I Was Born a Blonde dream in this lifetime.  In spite of that disappointment, last week’s Making the Team got me a front row seat to watch Amanda Roberts, 44-year-old super fan of the Dallas Cowboys, fulfill her dream.  Selected as one of four finalists on the Good Morning America – Living the Dream contest, Amanda’s desire was to be a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader.

Kelli Finglass, Director of the DCC, granted her wish.  The coach pulled up, and Amanda stepped out in her #81 Cowboys shirt and into the world she had only imagined since her twirler days from twenty (plus) years past.

What I loved about the Good Morning America contest is that the parameters were not limited to those in extreme personal or medical crisis, nor to those with but days to live.  The contest was wide-open to any human-being who told a compelling story about a life-dream ‘just because.’

God Himself knows how grateful I am to those who made my daughter’s dreams come true, starting with Joseph Essaghian, President of Belldini clothing, who flew in from California for my girl’s one year remission party to present her with the entire 2005 fall line of Belldini sweaters.  Or how about Nebraska Cancer Specialists, who moved Heaven and Earth to secure Megan a meeting with Justin Timberlake during his 2007 Omaha concert?  There were thousands of screaming fans, and only one wish was granted…and that was to my beloved girl.

Therefore, from my heart, my hope is that every human-being that faces cancer, chronic illness, and their own mortality can be given Dream List moments to make their difficult lives divine, if only for a day.

But I also do love seeing the extraordinary touchdown in ordinary lives.  Amanda Roberts is not a middle-aged Cowgirl trying out for the team because of some mid-life crisis.  She’s just a big fan with a big dream.  Amanda inherited her Texas-sized enthusiasm from her mother.  The tradition continued when she married into the faith and said “I do” to husband and Cowboys fanatic Kevin Roberts.  I gotta say, joy flooded my heart as I saw Ms. Roberts, an ordinary woman I’ve never met, step onto Cowboys Stadium field to learn a DCC routine along with seasoned veterans.  Amanda Roberts rocked it in rhythm and motion.  I dare to say that she makes a case for a new Diva division of the DCC.  She owned that moment, and her enthusiasm for The Cowboys was contagious.

Since all things Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders are done with exacting excellence, moments before Amanda’s dance routine at Valley Ranch, Fairy Godmother Kelli Finglass presented her with an official pair of DCC boots.  I almost missed the storybook moment.  But at midnight on Saturday night, I phoned BFF Janet, we cued up our TiVo’s and slowly replayed the split-second where Ms. Finglass (who said this wish would only be granted once) bequeathed the official DCC boots to Amanda.

Sweet Jesus…no boots for me and Janet?  We are the evil step-sisters.

Cinderella knew that one shoe can change your life.  And thanks to the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, Amanda Roberts has a pair of boots that changed hers.

Key Notes:

  • Just because it’s not your dream, you can still be happy for others as they fulfill their dream.  It’s the beauty of humanity.
  • Think your dream is silly?  It is God’s good pleasure to give us the desire of our heart. (Psalm 37:4)
  • There are many foundations that make dreams come true for children with cancer or chronic illness.  They include:
  • An organization that makes dreams come true for adults with life threatening illnesses is:

On A Lighter Note:

  • The original Grimms version of Cinderella does not name the evil step-sisters (21st century version would be Val and Janet).
  • The first show I ever saw on color television was Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella (1965), starring Leslie Ann Warren.  I am obsessed with Cinderella to this day.
  • Janet wants everyone to know that if there is one more pair of boots to be given out, we would share. (I said nothing about sharing.)
    • Janet is a size 7-1/2.  I’m a size 8-1/2.  Janet said I’d have to squeeze into her size.  I told her she’d have to stuff paper in the toes to fit into my size.


The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders – Making the Team 5

23 Oct

Over a quiet lunch BFF Lisa and I caught up on life and love since our last spur of the moment meal.  In between bites of Chicken Picatta I told her,

“The new season of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, Making the Team has started and a bunch of 40 year-olds tried out.

Swallowing her mouth full of salmon Lisa replied,

“So, what?  Is there a “B” team now?  The Botox Babes?”

My laugh was followed by:

“Have I not taught you all things DCC?  There is no “B” team because they only bring their “A” game.”

The idea of a forty-year old in the Dallas Cowboys uniform is incomprehensible to us since both our lives were hypnotized by dress your age mothers.  Mental programming started early on.  Our moms, Bev and Ellie, believe nice girls don’t chew gum, no white shoes until after Easter, and no mixing of the metals (gold and silver) in jewelry.  “Are you wearing a bra?” is a personal favorite.  Don’t forget the ever annoying “Sit like a lady” bonus phrase.  But the winning Mom Mantra is “only girls from the wrong side of the tracks get their ears pierced.” Since my mom (Bev) and Lisa’s mom (Ellie) lived in completely different cities, just where were those railroad tracks, and who determined the wrong side?

The regulation as to who is approved to wear white on their wedding day puts a smirky smile on my face as I remember a time (or two) when a whispering wedding attendee said, “She shouldn’t be wearing white.”  The subliminal brainwashing was clearly effective, because when I watch “Say Yes to the Dress” with fifty year-old brides dressed like cupcakes, I cringe a bit and think they should be ticketed.

I must have passed the mantra of dress your age, whatever that age may be on to Megan.  Though she was so beautiful I had talent scouts call me from the pageant world, I refused to put her in an environment that dresses little girls like women.  When she became a young woman I saw to it that her clothing was fun and in-style.  Even when my girl was struggling with her weight because of the undetected adrenal tumor, I pressed her to enjoy her teens and the crazy fun clothes that go with it, because it comes but once a lifetime.

In the same spirit, Megan picked out all of my clothes, wanting me to dress my age and not beyond it.  As Megan expressed her final wishes she decisively said, “Mom, promise me you won’t dress like Barbara Bush at my funeral.”  Since Megan’s illness aged me beyond my years, and I am the black dress and pearls girl, her fears were not unfounded.  Still, it makes me laugh to this day.

I wish Megan could have been here to see the first episode of Season 5 of The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders – Making the Team.  The magic began when Kelli Finglass, Director of the DCC, emerged in her beautiful red dress, commanding the attention and admiration of over six hundred hopefuls.  In my world it was a touchdown.

As the hour-long premier show progressed, I was intrigued by the returning candidates, amused by the those with no God-given rhythm (I’d be in that group), and tortured by the commercial tease that alluded to the possibility of a returning veteran being voted off.

But the absolute showstopper, the moment that I wanted to phone my girl in heaven and say “You’re gonna love this!” was when the forty-plus year old DCC hopefuls stepped out onto the audition floor in hopes of laying claim to one of thirty-six positions consistently held by the young and the beautiful.

On one side, I have to applaud any woman (at any age) that has the mojo to reach for her dream and submit to the audition process.  But I did wonder what my son would think if me, his 53-year-old mom, put on crop shorts and a sequin bra and shaked it before a national audience and a 60 yard wide high definition TV that made me look like a double-wide trailer?

My first thought is not ‘he would die of embarrassment,’ but rather, ‘my death would be imminent.’  I contacted Ryan to find out what his reaction would really be, and he responded with three choices:

  • This is the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, not The Real Housewives of Omaha.  Fifty year old women are not cheerleaders!
  • I’m excited that you’ve found something to be passionate about…please don’t make me watch!
  • Hmmm…I thought I was the only athlete in the family, but good luck!

As four mid-life moms shaked it in high definition, Charlotte Jones Anderson, Executive VP of the DCC and newly appointed National Advisory Board chairman for the Salvation Army, leaned into Ms. Finglass and said,

If you ever see me on the dance floor…doing looks like that…and [I] think that I’m cute…Please tell me.

Perish the thought.  Before Ms. Jones Anderson completed her sentence, Ms. Finglass overlapped the absurd idea with,

I will tell you.

Since there must be some life lesson in this blog, in comes in the reality that even the beautiful and successful Charlotte Jones Anderson depends on friends who keep her moving forward toward excellence and away from being delusional.  I am grateful to have the same camaraderie with Lisa.

Lisa was kind enough at the two-year anniversary of Megan’s death to say, “When was the last time you saw the counselors at The Cancer Center?” honest enough to say, “You’re not wearing those jeans!  Megan would want me to tell you.” and loving enough that she would never let me go on high definition TV to shake my boot-tay.

Sweet Jesus…if you don’t have a friend, find yourself one.

Key Notes:

  • The new video screen in Cowboys Stadium is largest HDTV in the world.  It is 60 yards wide, stretching from 20 yard line to 20 yard line.
    • In a May 26, 2009 article, Chad Mumm points out that The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders onscreen are 101-feet tall.
  • I had enough try-out failures as a teen to know I should hang up the poms and move on to my next passion.
  • Every friend should not have the right to give you constructive criticism or input.  Reserve that privilege for an inner circle of friends that know you best and truly love you.

On a Lighter Note:

  • The “No God-given rhythm” group danced as Lady Gaga’s Poker Face played in the background.  Mickey Spagnola, columnist for the Dallas Cowboys and rookie DCC judge, kept his.
  • My ears were pierced before the age of 16.
  • I wore a new black dress from Von Maur’s designer department to Megan’s funeral.  I did not look like Barbara Bush.
  • I am eternally grateful to Joseph Essaghian of Belldini for his help in picking out my clothes.  This ruffle sweater in red is my new personal favorite.

The Glass Ceiling

22 Aug

Joe Kelly, Nationally Published Writer and Advocate for Father/Daughter relationships, voted DCC Barbie the “Worst Doll of the Year” for 2009.

Booo.  Hiss.

I don’t recall Mr. Kelly at any of our Barbie play dates, yet he writes,

“When you combine two classic symbols of gendered stereotypes – the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader and Barbie – you get one terrible toy,”

Even more disturbing, he adds:

“Do we really want to teach our young daughters that they belong on the sidelines, not in the game, and the way to get noticed is show a lot of skin?”

I guess I’m Worst Mom of the Year.  Don’t tell Mr. Kelly, but I would want my daughter on the sidelines and not in the game being plowed into AstroTurf by five or six 300 lb. players leading to a future mid-life knee replacement surgery. Call me gender-biased, but I would have prefered to see Megan in those really cute DCC boots over a slobbery on-field mouth guard.

In his Tips for Dads’ and Kids Watching the Superbowl Together Mr. Kelly encourages dad’s to point out male vs. female announcers and how gender bias might curtail a daughter’s career dreams.

I am so glad my dad used the Superbowl as an opportunity to pass the popcorn bowl, instead of passing a dose of reality to squelch any dream of becoming a newscaster.

My parents never told me there was a glass ceiling.  I was only told,

Valerie, you can be whatever you want to be when you grow up.

At age five, I wanted to be an astronaut.  My mom, a woman of practicality and function, bluntly told me I would need a degree in astrophysics and layed out the educational roadmap to that goal.  Sheesh!  No thanks!  I had just graduated from needing a nap on a floor matt.  Mom failed to mention that it would be 20 more years before the world would see Dr. Sally Ride became the first American woman in space on the shuttle Challenger .  My fly me to the moon dream was short-lived, but I never thought it was an impossibility.

I’m not so obtuse to believe that Mr. Kelly’s life goal is to see his daughters ‘in the game’, donning shoulder pads and cleats.  He clearly has spent his well-intentioned career protecting his girls and encouraging other men to cherish their daughters, too.  In the same way I know he doesn’t want them literally on the Superbowl field, but does he truly believe the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders are literally on the sidelines?

To name a few of their activities outside the stadium:

  • The DCC have made more U.S.O. visits to U.S. military troops stationed oversees than the legendary Bob Hope.
  • All the DCC participate in a holiday visitation program, along with the Dallas Cowboys, that extends to five different hospitals throughout Dallas and Fort Worth.
  • Charlotte Jones Anderson, President of the DCC, has raised hundreds of millions of dollars for The Salvation Army.  Her efforts have touched lives around the world.

Sidelined?  That’s the starting warm-up of their off the field philanthropy work.

If it’s open game on the gender bias discussion, consider the fact that the average NFL career spans 3.5 seasons.  Compare that now to the life and career of Kelli Finglass, Director of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.  Ms. Finglass was a member of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders from 1984 to 1989 (five years) where she was the first cheerleader to be invited back without having to go through the customary audition process.  Not limited to the kick line or the sidelines, Ms. Finglass’ boots were made for walkin’ right up the corporate ladder, as she stepped into the position of assistant to the director of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders (that’s a couple more years).  By 1991 she advanced to Director of the DCC, becoming not only the on-field mother to 36 Texas beauties, but the mother of all invention as she brainstormed and branded the hit series, “The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders – Making the Team.”

Sidelined?  Did I mention that Ms. Finglass garners between $10,000 and $15,000 for speaking engagements?

There seems to be no ceiling on the number of women that can advance within Cowboys Stadium, and Ms. Finglass is joined by the star-spangled excellence of Judy Trammell.  Ms. Trammell cheered from the sidelines from 1980 to 1984, and then advanced to the position of assistant choreographer.  By 1991 she was promoted to head choreographer, and has developed routines and programs that make the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders unparalleled.  If my math is correct, Ms. Trammel’s career now spans 30 years, far exceeding the longevity of a NFL player.

My blogging banter about DCC Barbie is intended to be just good sport.  But the blogs that consider it a penalty to be sidelined strike at my very heart and the life Megan Bosselman lived out in her last days.

My girl was sidelined.

With spinal tumors exerting pressure at every moment, the last days of her life were spent in a horizontal position, as standing upright sent her into indescribable pain.  Her only contribution was to just ‘be’.  With an outside world screaming that you don’t have value on the sidelines, my daily struggle was to affirm her in the value of her quiet and sweet existence.

One of her last heroic efforts to preform came on my 51st birthday (24 days before Megan’s death).  With cane in hand, my girl managed to hobble down to the kitchen in the hopes of making me a full breakfast.  She got as far as the coffee, and after starting the pot and writing a little note, returned to her bed in sobbing pain.  I came out to the kitchen that February 27 to find her little note which remains my most sacred birthday memory.  As I ascended to her room, with cup of coffee in hand, my girl cried over what she couldn’t do.

I reminded her that it was enough to just be.

It leaves me humbled to know that a massive organization such as the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders would reach out to me after my daughter’s death.  Every minute someone dies with cancer, and it is staggering to think that they encouraged me with no motive of recognition, to thought of thanks, and no pre-knowledge that my blog would soon be read by thousands.  The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, Mr. Kelly, are anything but sidelined.

Key Notes:

  • I miss my girl on the sidelines.
  • There is no glass ceiling at Cowboys Stadium, but a retractable steel ceiling that has pushed the limits of human and architectural possibility. The monumental arches represent the longest single-span roof structure in the world at 1,225 feet.
  • I grew up to own a national sticker business, selling thousands of stickers for home party companies and charity fundraisers.  I sidelined my 20 year business to care for my daughter, and I’m in the process of rebuilding.
  • My father Charles Wilscam Jr., who built a multi-million dollar architecture business from nothing, was instrumental in helping me start my sticker business.  He never told me ‘you can’t make a living in art.’
  • The life and career of Charlotte Jones Anderson and her father Jerry Jones should be documented research on excellence in father/daughter relationships.

On a Lighter Note:

  • DCC Barbie has more skin covered per square inch than Speedo Ken.
  • Though writing for Campaign for a Commercial Free Childhood, Mr. Kelly’s blog www.thedadman.com is flanked with commercial ads to purchase his best-selling books.


Wife Swap

18 Jul

The premier episode of Wife Swap in September of 2004 aired a few weeks after Megan’s surgery to remove her left adrenal gland.  My girl’s body still required enormous bed rest, and the new show was a respite during those first house bound days.  The show featured Jodi Spolansky, a New York City socialite, and Lynn Bradley, a hard-working, wood-chopping mom from rural New Jersey. Wife Swap’s mantra is:

for two weeks, two wives from two different families with very different values
exchange husbands, children and lives (but not bedrooms)
to discover what it’s like to live a different woman’s life.

Delicious!  If I ever taught a college level course on reality television, the Spolansky/Bradley show would be required viewing for any respectable trash t.v. portfolio and questions about this study in American diversity would definitely be on the pop quiz. Megan and I followed the Spolansky/Bradley fall-out all the way to their guest appearance on Oprah, where husband and socialite Steve Spolansky apologized to hard-working Lynn Bradley for being a jack ass (it does take a big man to go on the Big O and own up for his big mistakes).  Beyond that drama, I didn’t watch the show as Megan moved into a brief remission from cancer and the busyness of my life resumed.

Last week it seemed angel Gabriel and a host of seraphim were harkening me back to the television in the 4:00 p.m. hour.  The 100 degree Nebraska heat, compounded with my own menopausal heating system, left me feeling not so hot. Grabbing a glass of water to rehydrate, I slipped back to my bedroom to lie down. In that split second, as I steadied the remote to change to Our Oprah Girl, I saw Jay Johnson, trainer for The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, on-screen for a 2005 rerun episode of Wife Swap.

Sweet Jesus. Thank you for the future blogging material!

I hit the TiVo record button, and was on my way to expanding my knowledge of all things Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.

It doesn’t take enormous creativity to imagine the scenario set up by Wife Swap producers.  Jay Johnson swaps his beautiful Boot Camp companion (and wife), Lin Johnson, for Rebecca Blackburn, a soap opera junkie from Tennessee that uses their fitness room like a big storage closet (so that means couch potato Tony Blackburn gets gorgeous and fit Lin Johnson for two weeks, too).  The look of terror on Tony’s face when Lin shows up at his door was right out of the movie, Adams Family Values.  Be afraid, be very afraid.

Even sweeter was Rebecca Blackburn’s reaction to new two-week hubby Jay Johnson:

I know he’s gonna make me work out something fierce.  I just know it!

I took a few minutes out of my lying around time to calculate what it would cost for a human being to have access to Jay or Lin Johnson for two solid weeks.  On their website, you can buy a 30 minute personal consultation for $150.00. Assuming seven hours of sleep at night (which is quite generous for the 4:00 a.m. risers), that leaves 17 hours a day to glean all things fitness from The Masters ($5,100 a day). Take that times 14 days, and you have a whopping $71,400 in free services.  Too bad it appeared Rebecca and Tony wanted the BK Whopper, instead.

Power SquadAs reality t.v. marched on, Sound Off 1-2-3-4, I was stopped in my boots by the realization that I do have Jay Johnson in my home, in the form of the DCC Power Squad Shirt.  The shirt was sent to me from Jay Johnson through Kelli Finglass, Director of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, in memory of my girl who desperately wanted to one day be well enough to earn the prized t-shirt.   To recap for newbies to the blog, after my January 3, 2010 blog, I was emailed by Kelli Finglass and Judy Trammell of The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.  They not only provided a base of encouragement to me, the Nebraska writer who was buried under 14″ of snow, but they sent a few care packages to the wounded troops….me, a struggling mom, recovering from the death of my 27-year-old daughter.

Megan had this amazing awareness of the value of her physical body.  In the notes Megan left me for the book in progress, Put Up Your Umbrella, she shares her philosophy on fitness:

What if you were only given one car at age 16 and had to keep that car for the rest of you life?  How would you take care of it?  Would you throw Cheetos’ in the back seat and completely trash it?  That’s how I feel about my body.  I’m only issued one body, and I have to take care of it for the rest of my life.

Jay Johnson began Wife Swap with:

Treat your body like a Ferrari.  If you don’t have a Ferrari, your body is your Ferrari.

It echoed Megan’s dictum.  No wonder she loved Jay Johnson.

As they grew up, I impressed on both my children that all that they do should be done with excellence.  Jay and Lin Johnson are the standard of excellence in fitness.  My girl died telling me to take care of myself.  More than that, she died caring for herself.  Just fourteen days before her death she said to me, “Mom, if I feel better tomorrow can you get out the Billy Blanks’ Tae Bo tapes so I can work out?”

The very idea of this was preposterous.  At the time, Megan required a cane just to hobble to the bathroom.  She had tumors up and down her spine; abnormalities so monstrous they played with the components of her neural system, stripping away the parts that cooperated with pain medication, convincing the brain that she was in constant agony.  In spite of living in a level of agony that I believe few can imagine, my girl still imagined being fit enough to wear Jay’s Power Squad T-shirt, and wanted to take care of the one body God had given her.

Jay Johnson preached the ideal that we should work through the pain and Megan was that living testament in her mission to keep fit even throughout her illness, even in her final moments when she hoped to turn on Billy Blanks’.

Recovering from the death of a daughter requires baby steps all the way.  This week’s step is to reach for Jay and Lin’s standard of excellence, and to try in my own feeble way to reach my girl’s revelation of health.

Though my daughter is dead, yet she speaks.

Key Notes:

  • Hebrews 11:4, in the Amplified Bible, reads “And though he (Abraham) died, yet he is still speaking.”  Though Megan has been gone from me for over two years, her life still speaks.
  • It is impossible, still, to articulate the meaning of the Power Squad Shirt, sent through Kelli Finglass in Megan’s memory.  I sobbed almost uncontrollably through the last four paragraphs of this blog.
  • The Billy Blanks Tae Bo Tapes are outstanding.  Though my girl was the #1 Fan of The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders – Making the Team, Jay’s Boot Camp Home Edition was not available on video in 2008.  It is now available on his website www.jaysbootcamp.com.

On a Lighter Note:

  • Sunni Cranfill of the DCC will be checking in with me from time to time to make sure I’m getting my bum off the couch.  By the grace of God, she adopted me when I began blogging about America’s Sweethearts.
  • I’m loving my DCC workout videos, especially the bonus part where I can use my DCC Jr. pom poms.  (Don’t worry, Megan.  Your uncoordinated mom closes the drapes.)
  • My cousin Libby took me to Whole Foods today to shop for healthier groceries.  Libby became a Vegan two years ago.  Vegan is a more annoying version of a vegetarian.*

*I think I heard that on the Saturday Night Live News Update.

Good Things Come in Threes

23 May

Ryan Bosselman - San Francisco 2008

If good things come in threes, I can now release the happy news that the same weekend that I received my surprise box from Kelli Finglass and the thrilling news of being a finalist in the CureToday Extraordinary Healer Essay Contest, my son called to say,

“Mom, I’ve met a girl.”

Ryan moved to Overland Park last November and somewhere between his new job, new surroundings and new life , Beauty met up with My Boy and they began dating.  The words “Mom, I met a girl…” make any mom’s heart dance for joy.  Those words were quickly followed with “she has long dark hair and is really beautiful.”

I had a few weeks of anticipation, but last Saturday night Ryan’s dad and I got to meet them for dinner at our family favorite special occasion restaurant, Lo Sole Mio.  I was put on strict probation to not ask too many questions.  I don’t know why Ryan would think this of me? You know me, his mom the researching writer…his mom the detail freak…  I have been accused on occasion of putting a girl or two under The Spanish Inquisition.

The big double doors to my home opened to reveal everything my son had described;  a raving beauty.  Whether he likes it or not, Ryan is the child that is most like me, and he has his own gifting for perceiving detail.  But this was more than the details – there stood the beautiful Andrea with her dazzling smile and bubbling personality.  No wonder she stole his heart in such a short amount of time.

Andrea is a cutie, but she is also a foodie.  My foodie behaviour began at an early age when I licked the faces off the hand-painted sugar baby ornaments hanging on the Christmas tree.  In grade school I just loved working as a volunteer with the lunchroom ladies…the big reward was those sugar cookies made with lard.  Yum-O!

It was a Foodie Fantasy come true when I married Dann, a waiter at a local restaurant who aspired to own his own restaurant.  In our 25 years of marriage Dann worked in a variety of food venues, and is now part owner and successful director of The Farmhouse Cafe and Bakery in Omaha, Nebraska.  I own a small percent, yet remain a silent owner as I yield my vote to his foodie expertise.

Andrea plans on attending Johnson and Wales Culinary School in Denver in the fall.  Her goal is to work toward a culinary degree and a degree in nutrition.  (Guess that means no lard cookies.)  As she spoke of her future foodie plans, my mind raced to retirement, just imagining the possibility of Crème brûlée delivered to me at the Old Folk’s Home.  If I’m not on good behaviour, my son threatens to put me in a home where I have to share a t.v. remote with a bunch of other strange old people.  Now, I’m imagining my own t.v., my own remote, AND my own daily dish of Crème brûlée.

Moving back to the reality of the moment, my eyes glanced to the delicate sterling silver ribbon charm that graced her fine features.  You see, Andrea is also a cancer survivor.  Diagnosed in the days surrounding her 16th birthday, she began the journey into the underworld of chemo and radiation.  While Ryan had told me in advance that she is a cancer survivor, it was her countenance (not her necklace) that gave evidence to her maturity and wisdom.  She carries herself triumphantly.

But maybe what I love most is that she carries the understanding of all that cancer brings.  Who better to understand Andrea than Ryan Bosselman…but who better to understand Ryan than a young woman who has been down that road?

You know, Megan Bosselman lived to see her 27th birthday on January 27, 2008.  From the moment she heard of a golden birthday, she couldn’t wait to turn 27 on the 27th.  Her birthday was sacred to her.  Is it a coincidence that the young woman who was God-sent from half way around the world to care for me that first year after Megan’s death, Sara Vahle, shares Megan’s January 27 birthday?   Is it a coincidence that one of Megan’s favorite pastors experienced the joy of his first grandchild on January 27, 2010?

And is it a coincidence that Andrea’s birthday is January 27?

I don’t know.  And of course I don’t know the long-term for Ryan and Andrea.  But I do know last weekend my son brought a beautiful girl home to meet old mom.  The family that has cried for six years, laughed over Fettuccine Alfredo.  And to that I say,

THREE CHEERS!


The Fine Art of Timing

16 May

The box from Kelli Finglass, Director of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, arrived at the perfect time.

Megan Sharp and Sarah Gourley

Megan Sharp and Sarah Gourley

It had been a few months since she posted to my blog, and out of nowhere on Monday, April 19 a surprise package arrived.  It was beautifully assembled by Brooke Wicker Alexander, Event Coordinator for Kelli Finglass and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.  I need to sidetrack and say Brooke’s story is inspiring in and of itself:  a cheerleader wanna-be, Brooke tried out for the junior high squad.  She couldn’t jump, couldn’t split, and described her efforts as a ‘total joke.’  Her tenacious spirit led her to make the drill team at high school level, and she eventually learned to jump, split, and kick her way to her DCC dream.   She wore the uniform for four years (1992-1996).

The box was exquisitely packaged.  Maybe because all things DCC are done with excellence…and maybe because Brooke took extra loving care for the box for this grieving mom.  While Brooke and I haven’t shared cheerleading experience, we have shared grief from the consequences of cancer.  Twenty years ago, just days before her 18th birthday, Brooke lost her precious mother to cancer.

I carefully sliced open the box.  It’s been 39 years since my first disastrous cheerleading try-out….and after all these years, there they were.

Pom Poms

Oh yes…read it and weep.  Not just any old, skanky party pom poms.  Official DCC Junior cheerleader pom poms.  Blue.  Silver.  Hot Pink.  And might I add, ‘not available for sale’, a DCC branded exclusive.  My very first gut reaction was to choke back tears.  How did Kelli know?

I’ve always wanted these.

I continued to pour over the treasure chest of all things DCC…the calendars signed by each individual cheerleader, two of Jay’s workout videos, the pink DCC backpack (Oh yes……it’s mine, mine, all mine), the car decal, the pewter helmet paper clip, and did I mention

Pom Poms

I carefully hoarded the treasure box on my executive desk.  BFF Robin Lindley, a top designer for the Interior Design Firm in Omaha, dropped by.  Assuming that Robin had washed her hands, I let her touch the sacred pom poms so she could show me a few moves.  Now, Robin has never been a cheerleader, but she learned a thing or two from her daughter Emily.  So, she showed me how you shake the pom poms really fast up by your face.  I asked her if the move had an official name and I think Robin’s response was ‘shaking-the-pom-poms-really-fast-up-by-your-face.’  We roared with laughter, imagining that at any minute Judy Trammell, Choreographer for the DCC, was going to call wanting a few tips for new DCC routines (as creative thinkers, Robin and I live in a completely imaginary world).

It was the next day, April 20, that Alexandra Hurd of Cure Media (also a beautiful Dallas girl!) called to let me know I was one of three finalists for  CureToday Extraordinary Healer Award Contest for an essay I wrote to honor Megan’s chemo nurse, Dorothy Wahrman.  Alexandra asked me, “How do you feel about going to San Diego?” and I cried and squealed with joy at the very thought of publicly cheering on Dorothy in a national arena.

The perfect timing of the pom poms and the Cheerleader-In-A-Box should be no surprise.  After all, Kelli Finglass, along with Judy Trammell, have built a team of world-renowned cheerleaders based on the art of timing.  Well, they are really beautiful, too.   All one needs to do is watch The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders – Making the Team to know that a repeated series of slightly off movements sends up the penalty flag and a DCC cheerleader hopeful is in sudden jeopardy of going down.  In contrast, thirty-six DCC cheerleaders can storm the field at Cowboys Stadium and command the attention of 80,000 fans.  On a giant-size field, that’s more than beauty…but precise coordination and timing that mesmerizes a crowd.

The big event finally arrived.  On Thursday evening, May 13, 2010 I entered the ballroom at the San Diego Marriott Resort and Marina for the 35th Annual Congress for Oncology Nurses.  As 900 chairs were being set up for professionals from around the country, I could feel my stomach churn up into my throat.  (Is there a nurse in the house?  Some Tums?)  My thoughts raced as I knew that in a matter of about an hour I would not be talking to empty chairs but to women and men that are the lifeline to ordinary people at all stages of cancer.  Oncology nurses from places like MD Anderson…Mayo Clinic… I considered more Tums.

Kelli, with her patented precision timing, must have sensed I was just about to make the Cheerleading Squad for Oncology Nurses across America and sent the glorious box.  As the media lights flashed on my bewildered face, and my voice wavered as I read 1,000 words about Dorothy Wahrman, such an extraordinary woman, I realized I was also thanking all the oncology professionals in the room that helped and are helping someone’s mother, sister, wife, brother, father, or friend in the journey through cancer.

I didn’t get many things I wanted in life.  No mom wants to lose a daughter.  But I did get the pure joy of hearing Maggie A. Smith, Clinical Science Liaison for Centocor Ortho Biotech Inc., announce that the 2010 winner of the Extraordinary Healer Award from the essay written by

Valerie Bosselman

is Dorothy Wahrman.   Dorothy Wahrman got herself a beautiful trophy – a trip to Lakeway Resort and Spa in Austin, Texas, and national recognition for all the amazing things she did for my girl, Megan Bosselman, while nobody was watching.

In addition, Valerie Bosselman, the girl who never made cheerleading, and was told by a college professor that she was the worst writer he had ever encountered, got herself some

Pom Poms

Key Notes:

On A Lighter Note:

  • Sorry, Kelli Finglass, I couldn’t make DCC tryouts this weekend, with my official DCC Junior Pom Poms.  I was flying back from San Diego.
  • Judy Trammell, BFF Robin and I are available for special choreography consultation.  Our fees include accommodations in a luxury suite at Cowboys Stadium.

The Making of a Cheerleader

30 Apr

I was the girl who never made cheerleading.  No chance.  No hope.  No way.

My first cheerleading try-outs were spring of  seventh grade;  I didn’t even make the first cut with my brown horn rimmed glasses and frizzy long hair.  It would have helped if I’d been able to do the jumps or the splits.  Oh yes, and there was that small problem with my shorts creeping up in between my thighs….no easy way to yank those back down in front of a crowd of three hundred.  Maybe my unibrow was the big problem?  Could my life and destiny as a cheerleader been just one pair of tweezers away?  Probably not…and I wish I could say I had that cheerleader charisma to compensate for my lack of athletic ability…but as a 53-year-old woman I know there is nothing perky about me.

The photo of the Eighth Grade Pep Squad below speaks for itself…I’m Dip #2.  For the record I didn’t just pen in the comments.  One of my dip friends added the snarky bubbles way back at year-book signing in 1971, giving enduring evidence to the fact that I was a dork among dorks.

Arbor Heights Junior High - 1971

The Author is Dip #2

Back to the loser part…whether it is that I am delusional or the eternal optimist, I tried out for cheerleading both junior high years.  I just couldn’t take no for an answer.  Hope was on the horizon, and the world as I knew it changed at my first high school pep rally when the Westside High School Drill team came marching out in perfect unison.  Sweet!  No jumps, no kicks, and at any given moment at least one out of two feet was touching the ground.  I can do it!  The outfits were adorable, and the black and red pom poms were memorizing as they moved and swished in perfect symphony.  Sign me up!

But the cycle of rejection continued.  By junior year, the three girls on my try-out team all made the Westside High School Drill Squad.  I stood on the stair landing to see all their names written on the board…there must be some mistake?  What about me?  That heartache was further amplified by one of my teammates, with her new pom poms in hand, imitating me in front of a cafeteria of on-lookers.  (No, I’m not bitter!)

I just loved the fact that being a cheerleader was a free ticket to popularity, and I wanted to be ransomed from the smart-kid English Study Hall.  And maybe it just looked fun…girls just wanna have fun, and those girls always looked happy.  Nonetheless, I marched away from that dream after high school junior year try-outs, with head held high and imaginary pom poms swishing, and I never glanced back.

There are times in our lives, however, that we get exactly what we want but it looks completely different from what we ever imagined.  The card from Ally Traylor of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders that pointed out that I was Megan’s personal cheerleader has been a catalyst for much thought and soul-searching.  Ms. Traylor is right.  Being a caregiver is all about cheering.

You know, cheering isn’t just about winning.  Cheering is about giving full  support to your friend or family even as their world crumbles apart.  Cheering is about helping someone get up after they fall.  And cheering isn’t always about noise.  How many times have we seen a player injured on the field, and a crowd of 60,00 stands in breathless silence as the stretcher comes on field…all watching…all waiting.

Then comes the noise…Hell can not hold back the roar of a crowd as an injured player is moved off the field.  Those moments remind all of us that our value is not just in winning but in ‘being’.

As Megan Bosselman’s mom, I got the cheerleading job in 2004 when my girl was diagnosed with cancer.  The culmination of my head cheerleader status came in November of 2007 when Megan walked in from the ocean at Sanibel Island, sat on my beach chair and told me she was going to stop all treatment.  Without crying, I had to dig deep and somehow continue to cheer on her every decision.  I can still almost feel her sitting next to me as we listened to the ocean waves.  No words were exchanged, and cheering at that moment was holding her in silence.

Cheering also meant that I was going to support Megan and encourage her to finish strong, even though that Sanibel Island decision meant the touchdown would be eternity.

As a family, we continued to cheer through the last breath of her life.  On Easter Sunday as Megan labored to breathe in a coma, I kept reminding her that it was o.k. to “Let Go.”  ”You can let go now, Megan….It’s o.k. to go…we love you…”  I gave my last cheer for my girl at 11:57 p.m. on Easter Sunday, 2008.

As the Dip#2 that never made an actual cheerleading squad, it still comes as a total surprise that the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders have come along side of me for this part of the game.  I’m so very grateful to Judy Trammell, Choreographer for the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders and Mom- extraordinaire to Cassie Trammell, for coordinating all the DCC personal notes that have been instrumental in getting me back in the game of life.  As you might imagine, I needed some cheering after Megan died…but could never fathom God would send the often imitated but never equaled Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.  How did that conversation go down in heaven?  ”Hey, you know Valerie…that Nebraska Cornhusker that knows nothing about football…needs to pick herself up and move on in life…let’s send the best team in the world….see what Kelli Finglass, Judy Trammell and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders are doing this week?”

Though things I’ve never imagined have happened, the story gets even better.

Last week a box arrived from Kelli Finglass…just in time…and its contents included a desire fulfilled for both me and Megan.  Stay tuned…

My Baby…she wrote me a letter… continued

4 Feb

Still bundled in my winter coat, I carefully grabbed the DCC envelope and pulled a dining room chair out just enough to plop myself on the corner.  No time to pull the chair out all the way.

After Kelli Finglass (DCC Director) e-mailed me requesting my home address, my hilarious friends had much speculation about what would be arriving.  Janet was certain that it was going to be a pair of DCC boots.  Since my BFF is not well-educated in all-things-DCC, I roared with laughter, explaining to her that you really don’t even TOUCH the boots until you are almost officially on the squad. Furthermore, I painted a fashion visual picture of me in my black wardrobe with a pair of snow-white boots.  Those boots were not made for walkin’ around Kitchen Toyland sales floor by a couple of middle-aged moms.  I know just the thought makes Kelli Finglass and Judy Trammell (DCC Choreographer) shudder.  Geniuses that we are, Janet and I finally concluded that the boots probably don’t come with orthopaedic insoles for old ladies.  Just a guess…

With freshly washed hands, I reached in to the mystery envelope and pulled out a stack of 4″ x 6″ glossy photos, one for each of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.  All were personally signed to me.  Like a 13-year old clutching my sacred stack of Monkees cards, I flipped through them like flash cards trying to make sure all were accounted for.  ’Phew…there’s Cassie Trammell.”  I was worried for a moment since she was toward the bottom of the pile.  Some faces flashed back to moments shared with my daughter…and some faces flashed back to last season when I thought, “Wish you were here, Megan…you would love this season.”

In my excited frenzy, a photo flipped over on the table to show a lengthy hand-written note.  Quickly turning the stack over, I realized that not only had The Cheerleaders sent me their squad photos, but every young woman hand wrote a heart-felt message on the back.  I audibly gasped.

Maybe it’s because I’m in the stationery business…or maybe it’s because I’m a wanna-be-writer…but Megan and I loved receiving cards during her four-year battle with cancer.  Every note was saved in a Longaberger Basket, hand-woven by Megan at the 1996 Basket Bee in Dresden, Ohio.  A handmade basket filled with hand-written notes was Megan’s prized possession.  On more than one occasion Megan pulled out the basket and re-read every card.  Words were life and power to me and my girl.

In an e-mail saturated world, The Cheerleaders understand the power of a note.  As I began to read the first note my eyes filled with tears, and by the third card I had to stop as I could no longer see/read through the watery glaze (and my pop-bottle thick eye glasses).  The notes confirmed to me what I already knew about the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.  They have a depth of character and tenacity of spirit that can be overlooked as the world just looks them over.  A few excerpts, listed below, speak for themselves.

Malia Morales writes,

...My mother and I used to curl up and watch all the “Making The Team” seasons as well before I finally decided to audition.  My sister was also a huge fan of the show before sadly passing away this New Year’s Eve of lung cancer.  I know the pain your family must be facing and I will pray that peace and healing awaits you..

Ally Traylor writes:

Words cannot even express how powerful yours and Megan’s story is–at the surface, it’s about the impact the Making the Team series had on you and your daughter–at its core, your story and your daughter’s life is a testament to the special bond between mother and daughter.  Megan’s strength, courage and spirit were clearly a reflection of an amazing woman and amazing mentor, supporter, friend, mother and personal cheerleader that Megan had in you.  My deepest sympathies for your loss.  Megan’s story has truly touched each of us and we carry her memory with us!

In a week where I so missed my girl, I believe Megan inspired her favorite cheerleaders to have the right words at the right time.

Jackie Bob writes:

You still have 35 daughters here at Valley Ranch.

From heaven’s gate, my baby…she wrote me a letter.

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