I like to find meaning in ordinary life events. Like my dreams, for example. The other day, I had a dream about a friend from high school. In my dream, this friend was a doctor at my local hospital, where all my cancer poking and prodding takes place. It makes sense this guy was a doctor -- last I heard from him, he was in medical school. Where he practices medicine, I had no idea. But maybe my dream was a clue. Maybe it was sign this old pal is right here in Gainesville, Florida.

Nope. I did a Google search and he's in Ohio -- right where we graduated from high school and he attended medical school. Not so much meaning in that dream. That's OK. I'm on to my next life interpretation now.

Ever since I was diagnosed with breast cancer my brother-in-law has been wearing a pink bracelet -- the one that says: Share Beauty. Spread Hope. For almost three whole years, the same rubbery band has been hanging from his wrist. Everyone in my family started out with one of these trinkets of support. And every one of us has since abandoned our pink fashion statement -- everyone except for Jack. He has stood firm in his support. I'm not sure he ever took that thing off. What a guy.

I just read a breast cancer survivor's commentary about the color pink -- about how she hates pink, is sick of seeing pink, is tired of companies capitalizing on the breast cancer color in order to sell products. She calls the color wimpy and too feminine -- and while she accepts that she may just be grumpy about this topic, she is not too happy that pink is the color that symbolizes a serious disease. She would have preferred red or purple, colors that signify strength and power. But pink is what we've got -- and I happen to be okay with it.

I'm okay with pink because I like the color. I'm okay with it because it's recognizable -- and there can't be too many people out there who don't know that pink and breast cancer go hand in hand. To me, the color itself raises awareness. If I buy a pink vacuum cleaner and am reminded of the words breast and cancer each time I suck up dirt from my carpet, then I'm in the loop -- even if minimally. And if it prompts me to check my own breasts or schedule a screening appointment, then I benefit. I'm not sure a green vacuum cleaner would have the same effect. And when I wear my new Key to the Cure t-shirt -- with a pink ribbon gracing the front -- and someone inquires about the shirt, I will have an opportunity to spread some words about breast cancer. Pink doesn't have to be wimpy. It can be powerful.

There are surely companies out there taking advantage of the color pink because it sells. But if sales truly benefit breast cancer research, then it's a win-win situation in my opinion. I am happy that $31 of my $35 t-shirt goes directly to breast cancer initiatives. Sure, the shirt was a bit expensive. But so is breast cancer -- and I have the bills to prove it -- so if simply buying a pink ribbon t-shirt allows me to walk around as a billboard and allows breast cancer research some more momentum, then I am game.

I will wear my new shirt when I run in the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer 5K event in two weeks. And I will wear a bright pink ribbon in my hair. And I may even wear pink shorts. Because I think pink is empowering. And I'm happy it's everywhere -- because it illustrates that breast cancer is everywhere. And that is not okay.

I have a Vera Bradley purse -- a backpack, actually -- that is black with pink ribbons and little multi-colored flowers sprinkled all over the fabric. The print is called New Hope and a portion of the proceeds from the purchase of this bag go toward breast cancer research. Now there is a second print available that also carries hope for a cure. Hope Toile is the name of this bright, cheery, perfect-for-summer, pink bag -- and like the purse I have, part of the sales will benefit the Vera Bradley Foundation for Breast Cancer. Since 1994, Vera Bradley has raised more than four million dollars for breast cancer research and this pattern -- which also shows up on accessories such as umbrellas, wallets, belts, eyeglass cases, and watches -- symbolizes renewed hope for a cure. And while I don't have this purse yet, it is on my wish list for a time when I need something new and fresh and hopeful.