Karen Loftis Rankowitz

Nurturing my inner woman does not involve makeup, manicures, cashmere, or jewels. I am quite comfortable in my own skin and do not require the pretense of outer good looks or prettiness to foster the beauty on my inside. Dress up the tree but remember to take care of you during the holidays. And I don’t necessarily mean that you shouldn’t dress yourself up if it makes you feel good. What I mean is that while the tree looks good with the lights and ‘jewels’ of Christmas past the stresses of the season can swoop in and, like a vulture, steal the fire that burns inside your heart. Here’s what makes my inner woman shine… Affection Conversation Lighting a candle The smell of the ocean Honesty Loyalty Respect Forks to eat pizza Laughter Warm sunshine on my face Driving with the top down even though I don’t have a hair brush Crying happy tears and sad ones too And being seen as a woman and not just a mother My heart can sparkle like glitter as long as the light is shining ...

Dear Santa, Yes, Santa, I do believe. I’m only going to ask you for a few things this year for Christmas. I’ll start with the easier requests. I’d like a self-loading dishwasher. And would you be able to make the dust on the shelves look ‘festive’ – like snow or frost – instead of neglected? I’d like my father to call me by my name and not those of my siblings or the dog I had when I was a teenager so long ago. I’d like just a little bit more time in each day. You can give that to me through my children. Please have them turn their clothing right-side-out, before it’s washed. Specifically, their socks. Enough Scotch Tape to wrap ALL the gifts. Oh, and some Duct Tape so I can hold myself together this season. I don’t want leggings or tights. But could you give me legs that might look good in them. In years past, I didn’t always get the things I wanted, but that’s probably because I didn’t ask for them. I wanted things, but I stopped working hard to get them and keep them. ...

Oh, the controversy…should retail establishments open for business on Thanksgiving Day? Traditionally this is a holiday when time is spent with family and friends. We give thanks for what we have. Turkeys are roasted, potatoes are mashed, families embrace, and perhaps this is one of the rare times everyone sits at the table for a shared meal, good conversation, and prayers expressing gratitude. In my home, for many years – and I guess it has now become a new tradition, one that is quite different from what I remember growing up – I rise early to prepare the feast. Yes, my mother did much of the same things that I do. However, there is one exception in this cozy scenario. My husband works on Thanksgiving…my father did not. I could feel saddened by this, but I don’t. Instead I choose to be thankful. My husband has a job to go to. Many do not. I still have my husband, my children, and my parents. Many do not. I had a brother who passed away 18 years ago, and while I miss h...

This week the world lost a beautiful woman, a sister, and a daughter. Two children lost their mother. A husband lost his wife. And the families and friends of Karen Houle will mourn, her life taken so unexpectedly. A sudden devastating loss will break the dam and flood us with emotions that we have no idea where they came from, or why, now, we are experiencing them. We will all grieve in different ways, and that is normal and healthy. In order to get past things, we have to travel through them. We will cry, we will feel anger, sadness…and in many ways we will each feel a touch of guilt. ‘Guilt’s’ cunning and manipulative finger will tap our shoulder and want our attention. Know that it is ok to forgive yourself. Forgiveness means moving forward and Karen would want nothing less from anyone. To hoard unhealthy thoughts and emotions in the heart can make a mess. That which is not helpful, needs to be recognized, sorted out, and then, eventually, put to rest. Sadly, we are not ...

The newsletter from school that came home in Noah’s backpack featured a duck reading a book entitled ‘Silly Stories.’ I like silly, it’s what I write about. I started reading. The first column “Where’s Your Funny Bone?” asked what makes your child laugh. Funny noises, being tickled, or maybe a funny picture; nowhere did it mention jumping off the roof of the shed with cardboard attached to arms to see if people can actually fly. So, I moved on. The next column, “Attention All Shoppers” drew me in. I’m the shopping editor for a publication I write for. Surely, this will help me with my next edition. Take your child grocery shopping, it read. I gasped so loudly that the cat fled the room. I’d rather have my eyelids stapled to my brow. As one who loves a good challenge, or simply a kick in the pants, I took my boys shopping. Actually, I take them shopping often, though not my choice; it is what a mom must endure. I thought about the newsletter’s advice and decided it was time for ...

Breast cancer is the most common form of cancer for women and about 46,000 women will fall victim to it each year. Mammograms can cut this statistic by 30 percent. By now, my family, friends, and Facebook buddies are probably so tired of hearing and reading my relentless promotion of breast cancer awareness. I can understand that. I am an extremely persistent person. They see my name – usually attached to it is a pink ribbon – and they probably want to tie the thing around my neck to silence me…and these are my relatives, my friends…I can’t imagine what my acquaintances are wanting to do. Here is why I continue my faithful mission…50% of women in America do not get an annual mammogram. That is a staggering percentage. From Susan G. Komen for the Cure, and you can read the full article here http://ww5.komen.org/Content.aspx?id=6442452934 , “Average annual mammography rates were as follows: 47% for women aged 40 to 49 years, 54% for women aged 50 to 64, and 45% for women aged 65...

Of all the months in the year October bombards us with everything pink. We see pink ribbons on shirts, hats, and shoes; there are posters, billboards, pink bras, and boxing gloves telling us to ‘fight like a girl’. It can be overwhelming. Maybe some are tired of seeing and hearing about it. I was tired too. Tired of my breasts being poked, pushed, and squished. They were scrutinized then analyzed, and, YES, they were victimized…by cancer. To add to the list, not only did I have my general practitioner and gynecologist; I now had a radiologist and an oncologist. When visiting my dentist, I immediately began to slip my arms through their sleeves and I looked around for the gown – ‘with the opening in the front, please.’ My breasts were no longer private and I began to think of them as extra elbows, or knees, body parts that I didn’t mind showing to everyone in the eastern half of Connecticut, which made me thankful that I didn’t live in a big state, like Texas or Alaska. And then it...