Ed Friendly, television producer and thoroughbred horse owner, helped create the hits Little House on the Prairie and Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In has died from cancer.

The show Laugh-In, that he co-created, won several Emmys. Ed served as an infantry captain in World War II. His jobs included advertising, radio and later television director, director of sales for ABC, contract producer at CBS and he eventually became NBC's vice president of special programs. Looks like he had all the major networks covered!

Friendly is survived by his second wife, a daughter, son, and three grandchildren.

I don't watch music videos much anymore. My two little boys keep me too busy with all sorts of activities. Watching TV is not one of them.

This morning I had a moment to flip through the TV stations while my boys were splashing in puddles in the back yard. And I landed on the perfect station, playing the perfect song and video by Rob Thomas -- the guru behind the band Matchbox 20.

The music was uplifting. The words were inspiring. And as always, I interpreted my own version of reality from what I heard. Of course, it involved cancer.

What a perfect start to a rainy Florida day.

Think about this:

let it go,
let it roll right off your shoulder
don't you know
the hardest part is over
let it in,
let your clarity define you
in the end
we will only just remember how it feels

our lives are made
in these small hours
these little wonders,
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
but these small hours,
these small hours still remain

let it slide,
let your troubles fall behind you
let it shine
until you feel it all around you
and i don't mind
if it's me you need to turn to
we'll get by,
it's the heart that really matters in the end

our lives are made
in these small hours
these little wonders,
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
but these small hours,
these small hours still remain

all of my regret
will wash away some how
but i can not forget
the way i feel right now

in these small hours
these little wonders
these twists & turns of fate
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away but these small hours
these small hours, still remain,
still remain
these little wonders
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away
but these small hours
these little wonders still remain

Visit iTunes to listen to a 30-second clip of this song -- called Little Wonders, from the Meet The Robinson's movie soundtrack.

Those of us diagnosed with cancer are not the only survivors of our diseases. Our families and friends and caregivers and even employers and co-workers survive right along with us. Sure, the facets of our survivorship vary tremendously -- but we all survive the wrath of cancer in our own unique ways.

My two little boys have spent the past two years surviving breast cancer -- my breast cancer. And while they still don't fully comprehend the magnitude of such a disease, they do understand cancer is a sickness. They understand it took my hair, made me feel sick, left me with scars, and they religiously comment on every pink ribbon they see. They call the ribbons cancer.

I am often asked how my children handled my diagnosis, my treatment, my emotions. They handled it all well, I think, and as time passes, they do better and better. In fact, cancer seems to have vanished into thin air for Joey, who will turn six on Wednesday, and Danny, who is three and a half years old. I know this because of their answers to a few questions I asked them last night, on the eve of 2007.

What was the best thing you did this year?

Joey: Swimming in the pool.
Danny: Being at school.

What was the worst thing that happened this year?

Joey: Getting that boo-boo on my foot, when it scraped on the driveway.
Danny: The cheetah that was chasing me.

What could you have done better this year?

Joey: Learning to ride my bike without training wheels.
Danny: Watching Ice Age.

What would you like to work on during this new year?

Joey: Building a better stick house.
Danny: Drinking milk.

What was the scariest thing that happened this year?

Joey: When I thought there were monsters in my room.
Danny: When there was a cheetah in my room.

What was the funniest thing that happened to you this year?

Joey: When Jack (uncle) and Bud (grandpa) tickled me.
Danny: When the cheetah was chasing me.

When I say the word Daddy, what do you think about?

Joey: Someone who makes me laugh.
Danny: no reply -- he was distracted by the movie Ice Age.

When I say the word Mommy, what do you think about?

Joey: I don't know.
Danny: no reply -- still distracted by the movie Ice Age.

What do you wish for 2007?

Joey: I wish I could fly.
Danny: I wish I could slide on a sleigh.

And that's a wrap. Not one mention of cancer. Not one response concerning endless medical appointments, my drastically different hair, or the port -- they called it a stone -- that was removed from my body in September.

There truly are more important things in life than cancer for two little boys whose memories of a horrible disease will hopefully fade with each passing year -- until not even a pink ribbon catches their attention.

Happy 2007, Joey and Danny. May all your wishes come true!

I've had the little book, with its glossy plaid cover, ever since it was released in 1991. I was 21 years old and already a fan of well-crafted, powerful words. So it was no surprise I picked up Life's Little Instruction Book: 511 suggestions, observations, and reminders on how to live a happy and rewarding life. And it's no surprise I have kept it with me for all these years, allowing it a lifetime membership on my bookshelf, where I can swiftly pluck it from its spot when I need a little inspiration.

Now in a worn, faded, and tattered state, this book is still one of my favorites. Its words are timeless, its messages are meaningful -- even more so now that I am 36 years ago. Now a college graduate, a one-time working professional, a wife, a mom, a writer, and a breast cancer survivor, the reflections printed in this book speak to me more clearly than ever before.

Here are seven of my current favorites from Life's Little Instruction Book -- written by H. Jackson Brown, Jr. for his college-bound son at a time when he had no idea the road map he provided for his child would come to serve so many others.

• Always have something beautiful in sight, even if it's just a daisy in a jelly glass.

• Don't forget, a person's greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated.

• Choose work that is in harmony with your values.

• Don't be intimidated by doctors and nurses. Even when you're in the hospital, it's still your body.

• Don't use time or words carelessly. Neither can be retrieved.

• Live so that when your children think of fairness, caring, and integrity, they think of you.

• Keep it simple.
  

I have a new friend who is a new breast cancer survivor. She is surviving a new diagnosis, a recent lumpectomy, and the moments leading up to another surgery to further investigate the margins surrounding the tumor removed from her breast. She is surviving the first phase of her breast cancer journey. A phase full of uncertainty and fear and panic. A phase so new and so fresh and so raw, her mind is whirling. A phase that has her grasping for any bit of direction she can find as she navigates a terrifying, unfamiliar road.

My friend is a young wife and mother whose worries are consuming her. She e-mailed me today and asked if I ever have moments when I look at my young children and worry that cancer will take me from them while they are young. She asked if I have always been so sure I will be okay. And so I replied with this candid cancer confession.

I took my boys yesterday for a tour of the University of Florida's Department of Entomology and Nematology. Translation for these little boys -- ages five and three -- involves one simple word. Bugs. They love bugs, hunt for bugs, capture bugs, and reluctantly set them free because I coax them into allowing these itty bitty creatures to continue living with their "mommies and daddies." I have a soft spot for all living beings -- bugs included.

We learned some crazy facts about bugs yesterday -- insects is the proper term really. We learned there is one cockroach that can live for seven days without its head. We learned there are two types of Madagascar cockroaches living in a lab in the very same building we visited that if set free, would reproduce so quickly they would become a major pest problem in the state of Florida. And we learned that of all animals on this planet, most are insects. But not only did we learn some crazy facts, we -- well, Joey -- shared a crazy fact too.

Joey is five years old. He is the boy who remembers much of my breast cancer journey. He is the one who helped shave my head, the one who thought a banana would make my sick tummy feel better. He's the one who would blurt out to people we never knew very well, "My mommy is bald," the one who asked me just last night if the metal thing -- my port -- was still in my chest. When I told him it's gone, he jumped up and announced, "Yeah, it's gone!" Cancer is one of many vocabulary words housed in Joey's brain. And sometimes the word comes up unexpectedly, in strange contexts, in surprising ways. Like today.

Our bug tour guide told us that in Africa, mosquitoes transmit diseases that kill millions of people. But those with sickle cell anemia are immune to the deadly diseases due to their compromised red blood cells that somehow fend off disease. This fact prompted Joey to share with the guide, "Did you know when people have cancer, there are bugs that can kill the cancer?" Our guide listened to this crazy fact and said in a kid-friendly way, "No, I did not know that. Who told you that?" Joey told her, "I don't remember but someone told me."

I am not sure what prompted Joey to make this announcement. Perhaps he was trying to one-up the tour guide, to sound like an expert on one of his favorite subjects. Perhaps his imagination was in overdrive and he blurted out the best story he could offer. Perhaps he jumbled up a story he had heard on the topic of cancer. And perhaps he is just simply hopeful that one day, bugs will help cure cancer. And wouldn't that be nice -- a simple mosquito comes along, pierces the skin, and poof, cancer is gone.

My cancer journey would not be nearly as interesting, as enlightening, as tender if Joey was not along with me for the ride. He keeps me busy and keeps my spirits up. He keeps me grounded and keeps life simple. Best of all -- he keeps me laughing.

We can have teeny tiny self-contained cancers throughout our body and not know it. We can have cancer that the body has effectively stopped. Small undetected tumors that start as cancer but never develop on or spread. This is not written to cause alarm, only to illuminate that cancer might be happening much more often than anyone normally suspects, and in many cases, the body is capable of protecting us from tumor growth and spread.

Skin moles may hold clues to treating cancer, is an excellent must-read article for anyone interested in understanding of how prevalent and self-contained cancer might be for many of us.

For example, moles are cancerous tumors that start but somehow stop, never to become anything other than a mole. As Gina Kolata explains in her article, "Each mole is a tumor of pigment cells that started on a path to cancer and then stopped. The cells do not divide again. A mole is an incipient cancer that halted in its tracks."

The intriguing phenomenon of moles and other small tumors in the body that never go on to amount to anything threatening are being studied by scientists because it appears these little tumors that start as cancer and stop have not received much attention in the past. Dr. David Fisher, the director of the melanoma program at the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, states, "I would bet my last penny that our bodies are riddled with these things."

It gives the reader pause to consider how marvelous the body is at normally taking care of itself that if moles and little tumors are cancers contained. Understanding the mechanisms behind how a body makes that happen could open a wider door into effective cancer treatments and cure. Please read Skin moles may hold clues to treating cancer for more detail.

Our days start early now that Joey is in kindergarten and school begins promptly at 7:45 AM. His daddy gets him out of bed at 6:30 AM so he can have some time to wake to the world before shuffling out the door, and we've happily found that Mister Rogers' Neighborhood comes on at just this time. The same Mister Rogers that first appeared on television in Canada in 1963 and then in the United States in 1967 -- with a gentle man, Mister Rogers himself, spreading his calm but uplifting messages to children and nurturing personalities of kids everywhere.

The last original episode of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood was aired in 2001. And in 2003, Fred McFeeley Rogers died at the age of 74 after a brief bout with stomach cancer. But his legacy lives on as his show -- the longest-running PBS program ever -- still graces the television screen. I remember watching this show with my grandmother when I was a little girl. And now I get to watch it with my little boy -- who can also visit Mister Rogers on the PBS website.

Today, Joey and I started our day with a cheery little song, sung by the man who hated television and joined it only to bring about change -- to use this fabulous instrument to guide children in a positive direction. And here is what he sang this morning -- the song that is still playing in my head as I take on the day ahead of me.

It's such a good feeling to know you're alive.
It's such a happy feeling: You're growing inside.
And when you wake up ready to say,
"I think I'll make a snappy new day."
It's such a good feeling, a very good feeling,
The feeling you know that we're friends.

I hope it's a good day in your neighborhood.

Right now -- at this very moment -- my two boys have turned our living room into a mess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals. They put on their jammies and closed all the blinds and are pretending it's bedtime. But it's actually lunch time, so they have spread out paper plates and plastic silverware and bags of chips and boxes of crackers all over the floor -- on top of all their bedding. I delivered them their lunch platters and lemonade and there they sit, in the room next to me -- chattering away, stuffing their little mouths, full of life. And I am in awe -- of the simple joy that comes from a living room camp-out and picnic, of the beauty these children bring into my life. I am mostly in awe of the fact that no matter what cancer takes from me -- my hair, moments of health, my innocence -- it cannot ever take this very moment from me. And that makes today a happy day.

The topic of my hair is often the subject of conversation -- and is a constant reminder that this brown curly hair I have covering my head is nothing like the straight blond hair I was born with, grew up with, was known for. Because my little boys have white blond hair, I am consistently asked by strangers, "Where did your boys get that blond hair?" "From me," is what I want to say because it's the truth -- but that would make no sense to anyone who does not know me, anyone who does not know that my hair -- that once looked much like my boys' hair -- was lost to chemotherapy and returned shockingly different. So sometimes I just chuckle in wonder with these strangers who may not expect an answer anyway. Or I tell them the story -- if they seem to really want in on the details of the mystery. Most people are surprised that my hair grew back like it did. I am not surprised -- I was warned that it might happen -- although it is still a startling discovery each time I look in the mirror, each time I look back at photos, each time I see gray hairs emerging through my dark hair -- gray that only slightly showed up in the midst of my blond locks.

The memory of my blond hair keeps popping up. My husband told me the other day that he had a dream about me -- I was in a restaurant, at a table, by myself. He was walking toward me. And I had blond hair. The rest of the dream is insignificant. The blond hair is significant. And the other day, I pulled my brush out of my purse. It hasn't been used in more than a year -- because I don't brush my curls at all -- and at the base of the brush, wound around the bristles, were long blond strands of hair. My blond hair. My old hair. The same hair I showed my friend who visited from Ohio last week -- the hair that was once on my head, was cut off in preparation of the great fallout, and is now kept in a ziplock bag.

I like my brown hair. I like my curls. But I miss my blond hair. I am sad that I no longer match my children, that I don't look like the bride in my wedding photo, that I will attend my 20-year high school reunion in two years and will wear a photo name tag that looks nothing like me. I like the familiar -- which is why I never wanted to show my bald head, why I covered my head with blond wigs and hats to keep my appearance as close to normal as possible. And then in a strange turn of events, my hair grew back in an unfamiliar fashion -- and somehow the question, "I see where your boys get that blond hair" flip-flopped into "Where did your boys get that blond hair?" It is all still new to me. I know one day it will become familiar and normal and not such a big deal. Some day. I hope.

Hope is the thing
with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without
the words -
And never stops at all. -- Emily Dickinson

In the summer 2005, when Daisy was only seven-weeks-old, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Her mother Emma blogs the beginning of the story on the night when Daisy was having trouble breathing and they took her to the hospital's emergency room.

Emma and Patrick thought Daisy might be suffering from a cold or asthma. Once at the hospital, they were told something much worse. Their little baby girl was suffering from anemia and her spleen and liver were enlarged due to a large number leukemia cells. Daisy had biphenotypic leukemia.

Daisy would need chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant. Her mother blogs A Journal of Daisy Gail's battle with Biphenotypic Leukemia to keep all the people who love Daisy updated on her life and progress. It is a poignant, inspiring and beautifully written blog.

On May 20th of this year, Daisy celebrated her first birthday. The birthday party was held for the friends and family who emailed through the months with encouragement, strangers who emailed and said, "You don't know me but...", for everyone who made a Daisy bracelet, bought a Daisy bracelet, who raised money for Daisy, who gave money for Daisy, who looked after Daisy, who donated blood or signed on with Bone Marrow Donor Registry. Gifts for Daisy were graciously declined as Daisy's family wanted to celebrate those who helped Daisy reach her first birthday.

Daisy is a blog about Daisy, and Emma, and Patrick and Molly -- and the power of love and hope -- and for the gratitude of family and friends and people who came to read the blog about a wee little girl's courageous struggle against cancer -- and life ahead for Daisy.

It seems like common sense to me -- that lifestyle choices can affect a person's risk for contracting cancer -- but apparently, many people are not aware of this. Or they are aware but are not heeding the advice that might just save them from this life-threatening disease. According to Carolyn "Bo" Aldige, president of the Cancer Research and Prevention Foundation, in Alexandria, Va., it's not undiscovered treatments and therapies that are key to fighting off cancer -- it's likely that the toll cancer takes can be reduced by lifestyle changes and routine screenings. Aldige reports that nearly half of all cancer deaths are preventable. And she urges us to consider these facts.

• Smoking is the most preventable cause of death in the United States and causes nearly one in five deaths, killing about 438,000 Americans each year. Yet 45 million adults still smoke -- 23 percent of them men and 19 percent of them women.
• Poor nutrition, inactivity, and obesity account for one in three of the 564,830 deaths from all cancers. Experts say that excess calories cause mutations that start genes traveling down pathways that cause cells to divide out of control -- and that's what cancer is. According to Aldige, if each person could magically acquire the perfect body mass index, there would be a whole lot less colorectal, breast, and prostate cancers.
• It requires little time and not much discomfort for certain screenings that can detect cancer at an early enough stage that it can be successfully treated. There are already screenings for breast cancer, colon cancer, prostate cancer, testicular cancer, cervical cancer, and skin cancer. And soon, there may be a simple screening for lung cancer too.
• A diet rich in nutrients and vitamin supplements helps maintain health and prevent cancer.

There are some highly effective defenses against cancer -- but they require some attention and effort on the part of each individual. Not everyone will make health-conscious choices -- some for reasons out of their control (lack of access to screenings, for example) and some for reasons I personally do not understand. But maybe that's because I have already had cancer and I know that I don't ever wish for it to return. So for that reason alone, I plan to adhere to the considerations listed above. It seems like common sense to me.

When six-year-old Emily Kearney was diagnosed with Burkitt's lymphoma, her parents thought a pet might cheer her up after she spent five months in the hospital undergoing intensive cancer treatments. Casper, a Yorkshire Terrier, became a dearly loved pet companion and comfort to Emily when she came home.

Emily, now 12, and cancer-free, has new cancer worries. Her beloved dog has been diagnosed with the same cancer she had six years ago. Casper has been diagnosed with lymphoma and is currently undergoing the exact same cancer treatments she had to go through -- receiving the same chemotherapy drug, called cyclophosphamide.

Two weeks ago, Emily's mother Jackie, found the lump in Casper's neck. Both parents said they just broke down when the vet gave them Casper's diagnosis. Emily is heartbroken and scared her beloved pet is going to die from the same disease she fought so hard against as a little girl. Her parents are telling her Casper can make it too, and the family is now cheering on little Casper, who once cheered on a little girl through the same cancer. 

I received a comment today on my Sunday Seven post about how inspiring sentiments help me survive. The comment was from a women who is surviving lung cancer and she asked a question to all readers really -- when will the fear of recurrence ever go away? How do you out there deal with it? So I replied to her private e-mail address and shared my thoughts about fear and recurrence and how I deal with these issues as a cancer survivor. She replied and wrote, your e-mail was so uplifting. I think I just found you on a really bad day and I am thankful that I did. And so I realized that maybe I should not limit my thoughts to just one person when others are surely in her same boat -- my same boat. So here is what I wrote to this one reader who -- like so many others on my journey -- has helped me by allowing me the chance to help her.

Just want to say that I think you are already dealing with the fear-of-recurrence thing because you have been surviving for as long as you have been traveling this bumpy road. So while you survive, you just need to live each day like it's your last and fight for your life at the same time. Someone once told me to think of cancer as a chronic condition -- something we will live with for the rest of your lives. And we just keep treating it, wherever it pops up. And the longer we survive, the more resources there are to help us survive even longer. As for getting through each day, I recommend counseling (I go once per month but at one time I went each week). I also take an anti-depressant (Zoloft) which I do not push on anyone, but for me, it has helped. I went to my oncologist one day and asked him how to live peacefully without worrying constantly that cancer is coming back to haunt me -- he said many cancer patients take anti-depressants to take the edge off so I began the drug and began counseling too. Neither completely take away the fear -- but they help me manage and that's all I can ask for. I also have two little boys who keep me busy and distracted from feeling sorry for myself. And I try to keep busy in other ways too. Helping others with cancer -- or others who just need help -- is healthy too!

Helping others with cancer does help me. It reminds me that I am not alone and that others have fears like me and that collectively, we can all survive better if we lean on one another and borrow from one another and inspire one another.