Did you know that when people are in the process of dying, they might stop breathing for several minutes, and then gasp for breath again?

I learned this several years ago from a helpful instruction manual given to us by the caring and sensitive people from the hospice  that provided end-of-life care for someone close to us. Their educational materials were very enlightening to me in helping our loved one make her passage. Believe me, that one tip I just gave you was REALLY IMPORTANT.

Today another loved one is in the care of hospice in another part of the country, and I am grateful for every donor and volunteer who created the organization that is serving us now.

And I support another hospice as well, one that helped educate an entire community about the hospice experience and which has guided several of my dear ones through the end of their lives.

I got the sad news last night of another death, this one of a nonprofit to which I have contributed  and whose work is life-changing and good for the economy.  It was sudden and immediate.  They just couldn’t raise enough money for their exemplary work in these difficult times.

Reminder to self: Contribute to those nonprofits whose existence might not be important to me today, but that I want to be sure are still around if I do need them.  Hospice, for example.  Just a few small and faithful contributions from a large number of people can keep a nonprofit alive .

It’s true: You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.

Earlier this year I wrote about “thons,”  and if I were going to have a Blog-A-Thon today, these are the posts I have on my To Write list:

Something about the philanthropic leadership of Diana DiMenna - my longest-running “I intend to write this post” post. Going on two years now, I think. She just keeps adding luster to her legend. 

Which reminds me, something about the philanthropic leadership of Jennifer Buffett.  So much to say that I know it will take a long time to write, so I keep putting it off until that day I have the time I know I want to devote to it.

The award I received . Again, it will take some time to write about that, and I intend to take the time and write something appropriate, even if it is long past timely.

Canyon Ranch followups: I still have tons of notes to share.  I need to transcribe the recording I made of John Allen, who masquerades as a waiter but who is really a customer-service guru. Also Reggie, the general manager. Gotta get his last name.

 I need to look at all the notes I took on Mayer Kirkpatrick, the acupuncturist and energy healer whose lecture I attended.  Three of us had private sessions with him and each of us had life-shifting experiences.  For me, it was simple but powerful and I want to do it justice.

Oh, I should probably share highlights from Dr. Mark Liponis’s lecture, and for sure I need to find out Tai Chi instructor Tom’s last name because I want to share the take-home value from his class.

Do I need to write a post about the craziness of boycotting BP? Because it’s nuts to try to bankrupt the company to “punish” it.  If BP goes bust, who will pay for the damages? Don’t be stupid. We don’t want to put them out of business.  No, I guess that’s all I wanted to say about that.

Also on the “to write” list: cleaning out my office, the Cassandra moments in clearing an ancient TiVo playlist, the electronic journal, the bead ritual, the portable sabbatical, the big scary challenge and why it’s good to have one and what I’m learning from mine and how that relates to a sabbatical project…oh, man.

Starting to sound like work. (Pronounced as Maynard G. Krebs  would have)

Gotta go.

Real life is where the action is, and you can’t put a price on personal contact. Oh, wait, you can.

At the Personal Democracy Forum 2010 conference in New York City, one woman stood up after the Philanthropy 2.0 breakout session and said, “Well, now I know the truth.” Wanjiru Kamau-Rutenberg  was attending as a Google Fellow, and something she heard gave  overwhelming sense of relief. A great mystery had been solved for her. 

“All this time, people say if you are doing good work and your grant application tells the story that you stand a chance just like everyone else,” she said. “Now I have finally heard someone say it – you have a better chance of getting a grant if you have a relationship with the grantmaker.” Yes, it’s true. Grantmakers are human beings, and they will naturally hear a proposal differently if it comes from someone who has already earned their trust in an ongoing relationship.

When people are new donors, they are sometimes hurt or disillusioned when someone from a nonprofit says they want to “get to know you better” and it turns out they only want to know how to get bigger donations. Well, that’s their job.  Get to know prospective donor-partners.  Find out what’s important to that potential donor and present opportunities to them that would have the most appeal from their point of view.

Donor cultivation is like seed cultivation. There’s a growing cycle. You can’t rush the stages of development. You have to wait for the right season to harvest. And there’s no substitute for the investment of time and a personal, hands-on approach. 

So Wanjiru now knows that no matter how high-quality one’s online efforts may be,  there’s no substitute for a personal, real-life connection. 

I could say I “knew” a lot of people at the PdF conference. But most of them are are mostly familiar to me as icons on Twitter. These relationships largely exist online. Something changes when I get to shake hands with these people in real life. There’s bonding, cementing, solidifying. I hugged a few people and I felt a true exchange of energy. That brief physical connection will provide some kind of fuel for our online relationship in the months to come.

It was a big week for real life. Last weekend a college graduation brought most of my closest kin together to celebrate.  We don’t all get together very often.  It’s so precious when we are in the same room at the same time – even moreso when it’s not for a funeral.

Before I went on sabbatical, most of my daily interactions took place online or on the phone. Now, I’ve upped the face time I spend with people I like, and I want to do more of that. The only way that will happen is if I plan for it, and the only way I can plan for it is to put it in my Outlook calendar.  There’s something amusing about that, isn’t there?  That I can’t have real life experiences without planning them electronically? 

The sabbatical itself required months of advance planning.  If I really intend to do something, I can’t just say “one of these days” or “someday.” I have to commit.

The philosopher Stephen Gaskin says “You can always tell what somebody really wants to do, because that’s what they’re doing.” 

What I really want to do right now is go hug my husband.  You can tell, because….

Lila's Ever-Blooming Gift

Day 128

One reason I am a Thrillionaire  and I enjoy helping others discover their passion for giving is that  I’m so grateful for the philanthropy of others.

 All donors have personal reasons for making their contributions. Not everyone wants to give to animal causes, not everyone wants to give to religious institutions, not everyone gives for the sake of beauty in the world.  Thank goodness, there are donors for nearly every cause under the sun (and beyond it ).

Lila Acheson Wallace  earned her fortune via the Reader’s Digest ,  and she was one of the most generous benefactors of New York City’s Metropolitan Museum of Art .  Visitors are always treated to a spectacular floral display when they enter. Four huge niches contain arrangements so large that they must surely be fake.  But they’re not.  Lila dedicated a portion of her gift to make sure that those niches were filled with artful fresh floral displays.

Love the Park? Help Pay For It.

  If you have a chance to stroll in Central Park you can thank the private donors who make the Central Park Conservancy possible, because they make the beautiful park possible.  I walked a few miles with one of the development officers recently, and she asked me who else I knew who ought to become more familiar with the Conservancy.

Restored Iron Bridge

Several moments of contemplation ensued as I tried to imagine the perfect people to involve more deeply in the work of the Central Park Conservancy.

I didn’t say this, but this is what I was thinking:  EVERYONE.  Everyone needs to become more familiar with the Conservancy.  If you love the idea of a clean, green, safe, educational, fun, open, free expanse of public parkland in the middle of a huge metropolis, you could send a contribution to the Conservancy.  Any amount would help pay for a plant, a gallon of gas, the restoration of the bridge  you see in the photo above.

When it comes to great institutions that welcome everyone to share their public treasure, I love to give.  I don’t give large sums, but I give a little to a lot of museums, parks, and arts organizations in a number of cities even if I never personally get to visit those places. Why? I want these cultural icons to continue to exist and I know how easy it is for a nonprofit to close its doors.  Just like some great businesses, great brands and great names disappear without a trace, so can our beloved institutions.

At “work,” I’m a professional philanthropist.  If I can’t enjoy a musuem or a stroll in the park without thinking about the philanthropists who created them and who sustain them today, am I still in “work mode”?  Or is it part of the way I express gratitude, to acknowledge the source?  I know what the park looked like before the Conservancy was created in 1980, so every step I take there today inspires me to credit the volunteers, visionaries and deep pockets. I might have entered the Museum to see the American Woman exhibit, but I stopped to smell Lila’s flowers. They’re a work of art too, as floral arrangement and as philanthropic gift.

During this sabbatical year I’m trying to discover what is “me” and what is “work.”  I think my awareness of the source of what blesses and benefits me is part of who I am.  I think I will always be involved in giving and appreciating others who give, whether or not I do it as the working  president of a charitable foundation. 

This is who I am, not what I do.

I’ve mentioned that I have several people in my circle using the Caring Bridge.

One of them just told us: it’s time for the transition to hospice care.

The news is sad because everyone wanted, hoped for, more time.

But the news is happy because the family and the extended circle of love enjoyed years together after the initial diagnosis. 

It’s odd to be hearing this news the day after I wrote about a cancer research fundraising event. (Yesterday I shared my tribute to Susan Simons – she was awarded the Spirit of Nashville Award at the T.J. Martell Foundation Honors Gala earlier this week.  Susan has been a tireless supporter of cancer research, cutting edge treatment, and appropriate end-of-life care.)

It’s a few months shy of three years since my Caring Bridge friend’s diagnosis, but these have been bonus years, featuring some really good days, some of the best days of their lives. A miraculous run, really, considering the early prognosis was for a few months at best.

(Heavy sigh)

These milestones remind me to ask myself, “Is this what I would be doing if I knew my time was short?”

Today my answer is, “Yes.”

Now I can say I’ve been on the same bill as Anita Baker, Dave Mason, Tim McGraw, Big Kenny, Kix Brooks and Ronnie Dunn, Governor Phil Bredesen, Senator Bill Frist, Senator Lamar Alexander,  Mayor Karl Dean, Terry Bradshaw, Michael Bolton, Pete Coors, Ross Perot, Jr.,Frances Williams Preston, Danny Gokey,The Fisk Jubilee Singers, and John Seigenthaler, Jr.

Each of us was on stage at the T. J. Martell Foundation Honors Gala on Monday night in Nashville.

I was honored to help present the first Spirit of Nashville Award to one of my personal heroines in feminism, philanthropy, fun, and the art of living, Susan Simons. (If you’re not a Nashvillian, you might not know that it’s spelled like “Sye-mons” but pronounced “SIM-mons,” as if it were spelled “Simmons.”  I’m guessing the Simons family gave up any emotional attachment to the correct spelling and pronunciation.)

The challenge of this assignment was the two-minute time limit.  Organizers assured me that they were producing this with the precision of a broadcast, and that the time allotment was firm.  I wrote and rewrote to get my remarks down to two tiny minutes.  When a philanthropic biography spans several decades, how does one hit the highlights AND the two-minute mark? Impossible.

So I had to leave off details of all the philanthropic endeavors that made Susan such a wonderful choice as the inaugural recipient of the Spirit of Nashville Award.  And I didn’t get to say what a role model Susan has been to women like me throughout her very public life.  When I was a “girl reporter,” when career women were ”girl” or ”lady” or “female” something-or-others (lady doctor), Susan was a “woman commissioner.” If you were alive back then, you know how unusual and pathbreaking that was, how inspiring that was, what hope that gave women at an interesting time in our social history.

Susan was a gorgeous young executive running a multimillion dollar division of the State of Tennessee.  She was famous because she raised money for Lamar Alexander’s gubernatorial campaign.  Nice girls didn’t have many money conversations back in those days, but Susan specialized in them. 

The Association of Fundraising Professionals chose Susan Simons as Nashville’s Philanthropist of the Year sometime in the last century, and I had the honor of participating on that occasion as well.  Back THEN it was difficult to acknowledge all of her notable and game-changing philanthropic contributions. So many institutions we take for granted in Nashville and Middle Tennessee owe a part of their existence to Susan Simons and her partner in life and philanthropy, Luke Simons.

As a philanthropist, she’s a Pied Piper.  She finds projects and ideas that get her excited, and her enthusiasm attracts others, which makes the collaboration all the more appealing and rewarding.  Some of my favorite philanthropic adventures have been happy partnerships that Susan cooked up and promoted.

At the Awards dinner, Susan was surrounded by lifelong friends and loving family, and she looked like the star of her own movie. The production notes would describe our heroine as a gracious presence, delightful in all her facets, passionate and intelligent, intense yet completely relaxed.

She asked for a copy of my remarks, and I will attach them below.

However, I want to stress that these remarks were not written to be read. They were written to be spoken aloud, by me, in two minutes or less, with stage lights blinding me, two teleprompter screens available to me, and a huge crowd featuring the above-mentioned lineup in front of me.  I used to do this sort of thing nearly every day as part of my television news anchor radio talk show host newspaper columnist life.   I left broadcasting in 1988.  (Gulp)

——————————————————————————————-

Susan Simons is the very first recipient of the Spirit of Nashville Award.

It’s the spirit of Susan we honor.

There’s an old expression here in Nashville:

If you can’t hide it, feature it.

(I heard that from Dolly Parton.)

When Susan had cancer, she didn’t hide it.

And when she recovered, she didn’t hide from the subject of cancer

She didn’t hide from people affected by cancer.

Instead, she made this work a feature of her philanthropy and her life.

Many of you know what Susan has meant to the T. J. Martell Foundation

and its partnership with the

Vanderbilt Ingram Cancer Center.

She is a treasure on the Board…

Where she championed the work to renovate and expand

the Henry-Joyce Cancer Clinic so patients and their families could find a truly healing environment.

She and Luke Simons, her partner in life and generosity, support innovative research on prostate cancer.

And Susan was instrumental in creating

the Alive Hospice facilities, so that every life can be lived to the fullest and best.

In recent days, we lost two members of the Vanderbilt-Ingram Cancer Center board of visitors within hours.

Jimmy Bradford and Nancy Saturn were special to many of us, perhaps none moreso than Luke and Susan.

On that sad day, Susan told me that there were many sighs and many tears.

But she said she would see us tonight with hugs and smiles.

That’s the spirit of Susan. 

She appreciates the beauty of every moment of life.

She faces the inevitable sadness, and feels it fully.

And then she faces the future with spirit and generosity.

We honor the spirit of Susan Simons with the first Spirit of Nashville Award.

That little gasp you heard was the sound I made when I signed on to Caring Bridge  a few minutes ago.

It’s the second time today I got a message saying that one of my friends had posted a new update.  The first one was such good news that I was going to base today’s post on his message.

In short, my friend’s doctor told him, “live your life.”  The prognosis couldn’t be better.  Maybe another time I’ll have more to say about what he wrote, encouraging us all to remember that everyone has a terminal illness called “life,” and that we shouldn’t wait to live our lives as if we knew that the end was near.

Sailing on such happy news, it was a terrible shock when I opened the second message to discover that my friend Nancy Saturn  made her transition this morning. 

There will be many words written about her lasting contributions to the artistic community, the philanthropic community, the sisterhood of pioneering modern feminists, the fight against cancer, the work to provide dignified end-of-life care, and the many other ways she made a difference in this world.

It was a privilege and a pleasure to know her.  My life is filled with reminders of Nancy and her work.  There’s not a day when my hand or my eye is not blessed by something that came to me through her.

She chose the circumstances of her passing, resting peacefully at home, surrounded by family and friends for the last weeks of her life.  There was much joy and good food and love.

Until the end, she was Nancy, as Frank Sinatra sang, with the laughing face .

Some of you think you’ve caught me red-handed – working.

I’ve had a number of messages (thanks for your sarcasm, your curiosity, your concern) referring to evidence that I’m doing things that look like work.

(Pause)

(Reflect)

(Accept intervention  message)

Maybe you’re right.  I am having more temptation than I expected to dip my toe into…OK, I’ll say it, work.

If this is a meeting, I’ll come clean.  One of my former clients and I talked for over an hour yesterday. She said our conversation helped her a lot. I got high on that.  It was surprising to me what a rush I got from her feeling of becoming unstuck and energetic.

Today when I was just lying in bed, reading other people’s tweets, I saw a notice that the International Coach Federation  Board was having an open call in five minutes. I dialed in, thinking I’d put it on speaker and mute myself and listen like it was the radio, in the background, while I did non-work things.

But the board members who were on the call outnumbered the callers.  I was only the second “civilian,” and the last to join the call.  So I participated vocally.  I admit it. It was work-related.  Work I said I wouldn’t be doing this year.

The Coaching Commons (http://coachingcommons.org) is in the process of commissioning freelance reporting.  I am having a very difficult time keeping my hands off of that. It’s my wheelhouse , for cryin’ out loud!  But my team has been very effective at gently removing my paw.

And I do have some work commitments that have not been put on hold this year because I made, you know, commitments.  I have a quarterly meeting with one of my biggest grantees  this week, and I’m participating in research with another grantee today and tomorrow.

Nonetheless, I hear you.  Thank you.  I mean it.  I guess that’s one of the advantages of making your commitments in public, because you will be held accountable.  If you really mean it, tell people. They’ll bust you if you stray, and I’ve been busted.

Thus endeth the sabbatical lesson of the day.

If I hadn’t already signed up, I might have decided to skip the TED Conference. 

This might shock those who know I love the annual gathering, that it is the one thing that is on my calendar in indelible ink, that I am paid up until 2017.

I’ve been attending in my role as president of The Harnisch Foundation , and we have a number of philanthropic investments including grantees  and projects  that are TED-related.  So, while it’s extremely stimulating and pleasurable, TED is also “work.”

I’ve decided to deviate only slightly from sabbatical – I will continue to make and deepen personal connections with grantees. Seeing the return on our philanthropic investment firsthand is meaningful.  This is hands-on work and I am pleased to do it.

However, I’m going to attend the rest of the TED Conference as a person who is on sabbatical.  That person has never been to TED.  I wonder how different it will be if I’m not constantly on the lookout for ways to apply what I’m learning, and the connections I’m making, to my philanthropic work and my circle of associates?

What if I just go as a person with an open mind and no agenda? 

 (I’m thinking this is probably the way to show up every day, sabbatical or not.)

Is this work, if I write about a fundraising crime?

I was actually reading a showbiz publication,  Hollywood stuff, and wound up reading the case study of a philanthropy in crisis. 

That link takes you to a news story about a fundraiser that the organizers admit they threw together in less than two weeks, and yet they have the audacity to call out, by name, Steven Spielberg and Angelina Jolie for not being accounted for at this event.  It would probably take two weeks to get a message to either of them, much less engage their money machinery to produce a contribution.  And yet they are being publicly criticized for failure to respond to a call they may never have heard.

I can’t tell you how many fundraising pitches I’ve received, or ideas other people have for nonprofit work, containing a list of celebrities or high-profile wealth holders who “should” give to that charity. 

Who wants to be told what they “should” do with their own money?  Does anyone really think public shaming is the way to initiate a relationship with a donor?  Oops.  That is starting to sound more like “work” and less like “imagining how people try to get to Angelina Jolie.”

One of  the greatest joys of my sabbatical so far  has been the freedom from any feeling of “should” and detachment from other people’s expectations.

I see now that I can and must take this freedom and detachment with me at the end of the sabbatical.