Remembering lifelong friend Michael Kramer’s warm humor and strong commitment to justice

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From left: My husband Burton, Bobbye Goldburg, me, Michael and Zina Kramer.

When attorney Michael Kramer died on March 28, many community leaders across Michigan mourned our loss. That including retired Michigan Gov. Jim Blanchard, one of Michael’s dear friends, who delivered a eulogy at Michael’s funeral, telling lots of funny stories from Michael’s long life, describing his strong commitment to justice—and concluding with: “Michael Kramer—generous and kind, fun and hilarious, a loyal citizen of America, a memorable person, a wonderful person—my friend and yours.”

So, now, what can I say about this lifelong friend?

Well—without Michael Kramer my entire family would not exist.

It’s true! Michael was my late husband’s best friend since he and Burton were five years old.  When I was a senior at the University of Michigan, Michael was dating my roommate. They introduced me to Burton.

Losing Michael feels like losing another piece of the man to whom I was married for 56 years.

Michael Kramer made us laugh. What a supreme gift that is. With his wisecracks and ability to laugh at himself, he brought joy not to just Burton and me, but to a legion of friends.  Several hundred of them attended his funeral at Ira Kaufman last week.

Michael’s son David, who spoke beautifully, inherited his dad’s sense of humor.  The Kramers are lifelong, loyal Democrats. Wife Zina worked in the Blanchard administration for Doug Ross at the Dept. of Commerce. She raised funds for many Democrats over many years.   (For more about Zina, read “Sam Kramer’s Bar Mitzvah is a Victory for Holocaust Survivor Zina Kramer and Family”)

Approaching the microphone at the funeral service, David Kramer observed the full house of mourners.  He quipped, “I’d say something about the size of the crowd today, but we’re not a Trump family.”

David’s sister Lisa inherited her dad’s sense of humor, too.  She conceived the grandkids’ nicknames: Samarama, Maxerbaxer, Maddie Baddie and Syder Bidder.

Michael faced serious complications with his eyesight over the years. They didn’t stop him. He developed a successful legal career and also served on and chaired the board of Oakland University among other community involvements.

But friends loved Michael most for his sense of humor and wisecracks. When especially happy with a meal, Michael would tell his server, “You’re in the will.”

This was sometimes followed up with, “There’s nothing in the estate.”

Michael’s driving ability was dubious, perhaps due to his lifelong vision problems. Bump shop owners loved him. At Starbucks recently, Michael ran into Autometrics owner, Larry Smith, who said, “I’m glad to know you’re alright.  We haven’t seen you in six months.”  (Likely because in recent years Zina drove when possible.)

Michael and pals adored playing golf together. BFFs Curt Slotkin and Barry Shapiro both said Michael “either hit the ball a mile or whiffed it.”  Upon whiffing a shot, Michael would claim, “I’ve never done that before.” Once he hit the ball so hard it ricocheted back at him.  Burton video’d Michael’s golf swing; they both laughed about it.

Burton, a good golfer, loved playing with Michael, David and Curt at Franklin Hills CC, Burton had plaques made with their names. Burton nailed the plaques to trees along the seventh hole in honor of his foursome, whose balls landed there so often. (Nevertheless, both Burton and Michael served as president of FHCC.)

Some years back, David Goldburg went fly-fishing with Michael. Casting his rod, Michael snagged the boat captain’s hat. The captain dislodged the fly and returned it to Michael who promptly caught the captain’s hat again.

David recalls the captain’s reaction. The captain said to Michael, “If you f— the way you fish, I don’t know how you ever had a family.”

Kramers celebrated big birthdays at the Cheeca Lodge in Isla Morada, FL. Getaways included a night at a dive bar featuring the band Big Dick and the Extenders. Dick encouraged revelers to stand up and tell brief jokes, preferably off-color. I’m a decent joke teller, but my best jokes require set up. Burton insisted I take the mike. Some 30 seconds in, Big Dick shooed me off the stage. I returned to our table, mortified.

That same night, the Shapiros recalled, our group was ready to leave. Kramer cousin Kathy Goldberg was missing. She was found in the ladies’ room, trying to convince some strippers to give up their lascivious ways. I’d guess her suggestions were about as well received as my joke.

As teens, Michael and Burton cruised Woodward Avenue from Royal Oak’s Totem Pole to Bloomfield Hills’ Ted’s Drive-In, picking up girls. Their aliases: Burt Fay and Mike Kellogg.

Fay and Kellogg mischief goes way back. Once Burton dared Michael to back up his parents’ car. Michael promptly took out part of the front porch.

Burton, on the other hand, was a good driver. His sister Anita recalls that as a young teen Burton figured out how to hotwire the family car. He and Michael would cruise to Robin Hood’s restaurant. Anita says, “Sometimes Burt drove in reverse so the added miles didn’t show on the odometer.”

Michael was known for his wit, his legal prowess, his love of friends and family, his fashion. He wore colorful matching cashmere sweaters and socks. When friends commented on his style, he said, “You only live once, baby.”

Beloved Rabbi Ammi Hirsch says, “Laughter is courage. It takes courage to laugh at yourself. To laugh is to affirm life. Laughter is a sign of resilience. It means we’re fighting back.”

Michael kept us laughing to the end. Supported by his loving and ever patient wife Zina, Michael fought back against cancer as hard as he could, as long as he could.

Godsigns readers know how blown away I am by the Universe’s ability to astonish us. Burton, who liked to arrive at a party early and leave early, predeceased his best pal by just under two years. While on earth, the twosome spoke every day.  Zina says the day before Michael died, he kept talking about my husband, his forever best friend Burt.

That day, Zina says, at Royal Oak, MI’s Corewell Hospital, Michael was visited by a therapy dog.  Burton adored big dogs, especially Labrador Retrievers. Our first Labs were Duke and Alfie (in honor of our sons’, David’s and Andy’s, initials). Labs reflected Burton’s easy-going temperament, though my husband had a tough edge when needed.

The therapy dog that visited Michael was mostly Labrador retriever, part Pit Bull. Therapy dogs at Corewell come with their own calling cards. The name of the therapy dog that visited Michael just hours before he died: Burt.

Our friendships truly have spanned our lifetimes. Here we are, much younger, on the porch of our Charlevoix home, from left: Burton, Bobbye Goldburg , Zina and Michael Kramer, me and David Goldburg.

In 2023, Michael visited our farm in northern Michigan. He and Burton, his friend for 70-plus years then, sat enjoying the view of what was then named Carpenter Lake and is now called Lake Burton.

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The miracle of memory: How a smell, an object, a sound—and even an old hat—can bring back memories.

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As no doubt happened with fires in California and disasters everywhere, sadness brings people together. Such was the case two years ago when I met Ken Levanti, owner of Florida’s Sarasota Trophy Shop.

I’d taken some of our family trophies to be updated with that year’s winners. My late husband, Burton, went by many titles: President, CEO, philanthropist. But his favorite title was Grandpa. He loved arranging activities for our grandkids. These included family tournaments. He had winners’ names engraved on gold-plastic trophies he bought several years ago from Ken’s store.

Two years ago, following our family visit to Sarasota over Christmas, it fell to me to have trophies updated with the latest winners. Our family’s favorite contest was New Years Eve Bingo. For years Burton was our official caller, wearing his beloved Stetson hat.

This past New Years Eve, sons David and Andy took turns wearing Burton’s cowboy hat and calling out numbers. Our full card winner was Beau, at 6 the youngest member of the FarbFam. When Beau read his card off, I was impressed by his accuracy. Beau was not merely over the moon; he circumnavigated the sun with delight.

Which brings me to Ken Levanti. After Burton died, when I took our trophies to be updated, Ken was working the counter. I mentioned losing my husband and started to cry. Ken said he’d recently lost his wife and business partner, Sheree. He, too, choked up.

Ken with Sheree

Ken shared a story about Sheree, who’d recently died of ovarian cancer. Sheree loved elephants. Shortly before she passed, her friend took her to an elephant rescue ranch. She’d loved the experience and returned home with spirits revived.

To honor his late wife, Ken had gotten his first tattoo. He pushed up his sleeve and showed me. An elephant image included Sheree’s initials.

When Ken and Sheree married in 1986, she joined him in the business. Working together to build the company and raise two kids took most of their time. Son Dan grew up to become a detective sergeant and SWAT team member. Daughter Sara has two children of her own. Ken and Sheree had little time off to relax or travel.

Ken was recently reminded of another story about Sheree. The couple had been fixed up by friends on a blind date. (Burton and I met that way, too.) It was 1984. Ken and his dad had just bought the business.

Aside from selling trophies, Ken had romance on his mind. His second date with Sheree took him to a Halloween party. Friends suggested he dress up as the Big Bad Wolf, but he declined.

Then—Sheree showed up that night wearing a red cape, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood.

Recently, Ken came across a box of mementos Sheree had stored in their garage. Inside: Sheree’s red cape.

That red cape, and our trophies, weighed on our hearts. They were our equivalent of Marcel Proust’s taste of a madeleine in “Remembrance of Things Past.”

A smell, an object, a sound can bring back memories. They symbolize the joys and the heartaches of a long-term marriage. Joys and heartaches that. years later, we’re blessed to recall.

Preocupied with business and family, Ken and Sheree had little time to travel. Ken plans to rectify that soon with a trip to Sicily, where his great-grandfather was born. Also on the agenda: travel to Las Vegas to see the Eagles.

For now, Ken remains very involved with his family. Sheree was a devoted friend and protective mother, he says. “If you were her friend, she’d do anything for you. But piss her off and you were dead to her.”

Ken tries to fill the void left by Sheree’s death. “The hardest thing I do now is try to be a mom as well as a dad to my kids. I wish I could have one more hour with Sheree just to thank her. Moms don’t get enough credit.”

Amen to that.

Thanks, Ken, for sharing Sheree with Godsigns readers. And for commemorating many happy times in the Farbman family.

Burt was sporting his cowboy hat when he was holding Beau some years ago. Now, Beau is old enough to have won at our family Bingo tournament!

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Celebrating three messengers of hope

This is about three amazing people who are all connected.  Two live in Michigan and one in Australia.  All three are messengers of hope.

GodSigns readers know I believe good things can come from bad things. That can be hard to remember when you’re in the slough of despond—where I was mired in the early 2000s. In the middle of stage 4 uterine cancer treatment, I met an angel named Pam Good.

Pam founded Beyond Basics, a company that provides professional reading tutors to elementary and high school students. Our family funded Pam’s first school. While I was in treatment, my husband Burton taught photography there.  I wrote about Pam some years ago under the headline: “Pam Good and Friends Change Detroit’s Destiny One Kid at a Time”

Back then Pam introduced us to her friend Jack Krasula. This past summer, I was overjoyed to attend Pam and Jack’s wedding.

Jack Krasula at WJR

Jack, an entrepreneur, started a YouTube channel. Through AIP Speaker Series, Jack sends out frequent essays on spiritual matters.  They have Christian overtones.  While I’m not Christian, I find the essays meaningful and thought provoking.

Though our access routes differ, Pam, Jack and I share a belief in God. For me, it’s a little like driving to northern Michigan via I-75 or more scenic back roads.  The destination remains the same.

Having founded, run and sold an IT services company, Jack began TrustInUs, LLC, devoted to the concept “With God Anything is Possible.”  In his weekly show on WJR radio, he’s conversed with over 1000 of his heroes.  These include guests as diverse as NBA star Dave Bing, who was mayor of Detroit; Mother Antonia, who lived in a Mexican jail so she could minister to pimps and drug dealers; and preacher Nick Vujicic, who was born with no arms or legs but has preached to millions worldwide.

Jack’s also had a lifelong passion for autographs.  In third grade, his teacher, a nun, assigned him to write to senators and governors, requesting signatures.  Instead, Jack chose to write to his “heroes”: Ernie Banks, Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays—all Baseball Hall of Famers.

Over the years, Jack has collected autographs, most accompanied by personal philosophies, from legends as diverse as poet Robert Frost and inventor Thomas Edison {“dyslexic,” Jack says. “Thrown out of school in third grade.”).  From Albert Einstein (hand-written in German).  Winston Churchill (“loved cigars and loved to drink”).  Bill Wilson, founder of the 12 Step Program. Nelson Rockefeller.  Henry Ford.  IBM’s Thomas Watson. Britain’s Margaret Thatcher.  And thousands more.

Jack’s dozens of albums of autographs are often accompanied by videos of famous people he’s interviewed.  Most include their philosophies of life.  Jack plans to make them available online.

As for Pam, the program she began 20 years ago has a remarkable track record.  Beyond Basics brings students up to grade level reading ability within 6 to 13 weeks of intensive coaching.  Pam now has 300 employees who work in 52 schools throughout Michigan.

Pam visited Burton and me in NoMI during summer 2023, a few days before my husband died.

Pam (top) and me with Nick Vujicic.

Coincidentally, Pam learned that evangelist Nick Vujicic (pronounced Voyavich), whom she and Jack had met, was speaking at nearby Bay Harbor Church.  Pam and I attended.  I was astonished to see a handsome young man with no arms or legs propel his torso back and forth on a riser and speak with humor and grace.

The take-away for anyone lucky enough to see Nick, a world-renowned preacher, is powerful.  You can’t help but be inspired to overcome whatever may be holding you back.  Pam and I met Nick backstage after his talk.  Together we said a prayer for my dear husband.  It eased my heart and, I hope, Burton’s passing.

Back to Jack, who estimates he’s interviewed about 1,000 people on his radio show. These include author Mitch Albom, saxophonist Kenny G and Coach Tom Izzo.  About his program, Jack says, “I’m not the host.  I’m the beneficiary.”

Regarding his personal philosophy, Jack’s observation applies to Pam and Nick as well.  “Service to God is the rent we pay for the privilege of being alive.”

Thanks, Jack, Pam and Nick, for paying the rent and then some.

You are all gifts to humanity.

 

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Jane Fonda on aging: The key to happiness is how we reflect on our experiences afterward.

“My father took forever to die,” Jane Fonda said of Henry Fonda. “I’d sit next to him for hours. I realized I wasn’t afraid of dying. I was afraid of getting to the end of my life with regrets.”

Click the cover to visit the book’s Amazon page.

Henry Fonda died at 87. Turning 87 next December, Jane says, “I recommend thinking about death. We’re lucky to get old. I want to be on my death bed surrounded by people who love me.” Preferably wrapped in a simple shroud, she adds, and buried near (2nd husband) Tom Hayden, “to make it easier for our kids to visit.”

Jane was her outgoing, outspoken self at a luncheon given at Detroit’s Franklin Hills CC earlier this month. She spoke from the heart, without notes, and came off more as a pal than a pampered celebrity. The event benefitted the cardiology department of Royal Oak, MI’s Corewell Health Foundation. The Detroit Free Press ran a comprehensive article on Jane’s talk. So I’ll take a different tack.

As Godsigns readers know, I’ve lately crossed the daunting threshold of 80 years. It’s an achievement I doubted I’d reach 20 years ago with Stage 4 cancer. But here I am, thank God–especially interested in Jane’s take on the A word.

Fonda decided age 60 represented “the beginning of my third act. As an actress, I know third acts are really important. I wanted mine to make sense.” At 59, Jane devoted a year to “researching myself”. She says, “To know where you’re going, you have to know where you’ve been.”

Aside from 29 pages of FBI reports, Jane viewed copious home movies her father had made. Her conclusion? “I was brave and worthy of being loved.”

Jane had spent two years “wondering” if her (third) marriage to Ted Turner would work. “I loved him like mad. He’s the most interesting man.”

She visualized an angel on each of her shoulders. One angel said, “Lighten up. He’s funny. He’s handsome.” The other angel warned, “If you stay with him, you’ll never be who you’re supposed to be.”

On January 1, 2000, Turner dropped her at the airport. “We parted.”

Jane went from living on thousands of acres to living in her daughter’s house. There she had a revelation. “God wants us all to become our true, authentic selves. I realized I don’t need a man. Jesus said, ‘Ye must be whole.’ I knew the search for perfection was toxic.”

Reviewing her life, she gave some advice to her 20-year-old self:

“No is a complete sentence.”

“Problems get better.”

“Don’t drink so much.”

Now, with three grandkids (two in college and a 5-year old), Jane says, “One of the most important things I’ve learned: it’s not the experience, it’s how you reflect on the experience that makes you a wise person.”

I appreciated Jane’s remarks about making “On Golden Pond” with her father, who was dying of heart disease. “I did the movie for him,” she said. “Katharine Hepburn didn’t like me very much. She’d invite me for tea and tell me how to read my lines. She willed me into the scene.” She mimicked Hepburn shaking her fists at her, mouthing, ‘You can do it.’ Jane says she spent many hours practicing her famous flip into the cold water of Squam Lake in New Hampshire.

Of Jane’s relationship with her father, Hepburn said, “He doesn’t know he hurt you. Spence (Spencer Tracy) used to do that to me. You’ve made me respect you, Jane.”

(In my own Golden Pond moment, one of my best trips ever occurred with my son, Andy. In spring of his junior year at Cranbrook, we took a road trip visiting colleges on the East Coast, listening to Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic.” In New Hampshire, we parked the car and climbed over a ridge to see glistening Squam Lake for ourselves. But no, we didn’t jump in.)

(While I’m off the subject, another divergence. I didn’t expect to write a column about Jane but brought pen and paper just in case. She had me from hello. I filled both sides of the one sheet I’d brought. Writing notes, in cursive, focuses my attention. I’m dismayed that schools no longer teach cursive.)

Back to Jane, who’s produced six movies since 2000. After three marriages, she’s finished with matrimony and love affairs.

“Too hard,” she says. “I’ve closed up shop. I get much more done now. I read a lot. I can watch any TV show I want.” She also devotes time and energy to working for “a healthy planet.”

Thanks, Jane, for your candor. For the insights and joy you’ve given us on screen. And for blazing a happy trail for those of us lucky enough to reach our 80s.

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What do Albert Kahn’s masterpieces sound like? Composer Michael Kropf creates new music echoing that creativity.

Dr Forrest Howell playing ‘Albert Kahn,’ a new piano sonata, while images of Kahn designs were projected on a huge screen above him. In this photo, the image on the big screen shows the 9-foot-high light fixtures at the Fisher Building

Composer Michael Kropf was inspired.  Having earned his doctoral degree at the U of M, he knew of the late Albert Kahn—father of industrial architecture.  Kahn designed several buildings in Ann Arbor, including Angell Hall, Hill Auditorium and the Burton Memorial Tower. (Having lost my Burton, the name means more than it did when I attended the U of M in the ‘60s.  But I digress.)

Learning that Kahn, at 14, had been a piano prodigy, Kropf had an idea.  Kropf composes music that “engages with evocative places, personalities and histories.”  He decided “to find a way to place music in conversation with Kahn’s work as an architect.”

That inspired “conversation” took place on Sept. 6 at the iconic Kahn-designed Fisher Building.  And what a conversation it was.

Kropf composed “Albert Kahn” (2024), a beautiful sonata performed in the lobby near the Fisher Theater.  A large screen above the piano simultaneously featured images of landmark Kahn buildings: The Fisher Building, the Belle Isle Aquarium, the now defunct Packard plant.

Before the program, tours of the Fisher Building brought back personal memories.  Working on the College Board for Saks Fifth Avenue, representing the U of M.  Having my hair done for my 1967 wedding at Antoine’s in the Fisher Building.  Frequent visits to Julie’s.

As a correspondent for Women’s Wear Daily, I was besties with Virginia DeVoy, owner of the Fisher Building’s ultra-chic Julie’s boutique.  When Virginia died, to assuage my grief, I wrote a poem about her.  Her gracious sister, Ruth Ruwe, put my poem into Virginia’s casket, allowing me to accompany my friend to eternity.

I also recalled frequent visits to the Gertrude Kasle Gallery on the mezzanine of the Fisher Building.  There I admired world class art by 20th century legends: Guston, Dine, Lichtenstein.  The Kasle Gallery space became the Feigenson Gallery, then the Feigenson/Preston Gallery. At the latter, I lectured about former Detroiter, now nationally renowned artist Brenda Goodman.  I bought the first piece of art sold by Jackie Feigenson, a Michael Luchs rabbit collage, and continued to buy when I could.  (Shameless plug: See my book Detroit’s Cass Corridor & Beyond, Adventures of an Art Collector.)

On October 19, 1988, my son Andy, then 14, and I visited the Fisher Building for an official announcement: the New Center Building would henceforth be called the Albert Kahn Building.  This was the first time Andy understood our distinguished heritage.

Albert Kahn’s older sister Mollie was my grandmother.  Mollie is my middle name.  As a child I thought the name old-fashioned.  Now I understand the important role Mollie played supporting Albert and his also amazing brother Julius.  Julius’ development of reinforced concrete allowed Albert’s designs to be realized.  Today I brag about my middle name. And I’m happy to recommend author Michael G. Smith’s new book, Concrete Century: Julius Kahn and the Construction Revolution.

For several years pre-Covid, my sister Anne and I hosted “Kahnktails” for Kahn family members at Anne’s apartment in New York.  On one of those occasions, we invited Detroit journalist Michael Hodges.  His book Building the Modern World: Albert Kahn in Detroit tells a remarkable story. “… the story of the German-Jewish immigrant who rose from poverty to become one of the most influential architects of the twentieth century.  Kahn’s buildings not only define downtown Detroit, but his early car factories for Packard Motor and Ford revolutionized the course of industry and architecture alike.”

Albert Kahn factories significantly influenced the outcome of WWII. Military vehicles were built at Detroit’s Willow Run Bomber Plant.  There Ford produced B-24 Liberator bomber planes.  When Russia was industrializing, from 1929 to 1931 Kahn’s firm designed hundreds of tractor factories, converted to produce tanks empowering Russia to hold off the Nazis on the Eastern front.

At our Kahntails gathering, Anne and I asked Hodges to talk to us about his work. His words were so eloquent I wish I had recorded them. This recollection will have to do:

Hodges said, “It’s quite amazing that a young Jewish immigrant came to this country at 14 years old, with no money, speaking no English and having no knowledge of architecture.  That young man grew up to create buildings that produced weapons and transport that helped to stop the worst tyrant in the history of the modern world.  I’m not saying someone else couldn’t have done that, but Albert Kahn is the man who did.  And that man is your relative.  You should all be proud.”

That memory, and the gratitude and pride it invoked, flooded my senses as I sat in the front row for the debut of The Albert Kahn Sonata.  I enjoyed a direct view of pianist Forrest Howell’s nimble hands and overhead mages of the Fisher Building, the Belle Isle Aquarium and the Packard plant.

After the performance, Forrest Howell was joined by composer Michael Kropf and filmmaker John Hanson.  I was happy to see how young they were. To see the respect they showed for Detroit, for our history, and for my great uncle.

Many thanks to the Albert Kahn Legacy Foundation for the splendid Kahnversation. (Sorry.  Couldn’t help myself.)  Thanks for all you’re doing to honor a true Detroit hero, one of the greatest architects of the 20th century.

From left: Composer Michael Kropf, filmmaker John Hanson and pianist Forrest Howell receive plaudits after the concert.

 

to learn more about the event: https://albertkahnlegacy.org/events/the-albert-kahn-sonata/

ans https://www.michaelkropfmusic.com/

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The story of Timber Ridge: Sometimes, while creating a special place—we wind up creating our better selves.

Back around 2017, I snapped this photo of the whole family enjoying a “sing along” at what is now called Lake Burton at our farm in northern Michigan, which we call Timber Ridge.

Where we are influences who we are.

The importance of place struck me this summer as Alexis and I straddled noodles in our swimming pool. Alexis is my eldest grandchild. It’s a privilege and blessing when our grandkids become young adults, and we’re well enough to spend time with them.

Burton and I began buying farmland in northern Michigan in 1985. The price was $250 an acre. Burton said, “If we don’t go out for dinner tonight, we could afford another acre.” (Fact check: in those days, at that price we could have dined out twice.)

With an in-town home in Charlevoix, MI, Burton longed to horseback ride in the country. He sought 25 acres with a barn. But as a professional real estate guy, he had a thing for corners. HIs goal of 25 acres turned out to be 225 acres, including a corner of two well-traveled roads. As adjacent land became available, the farm expanded. Most of our land is today farmed by neighbors who grow corn and oats.

Like most significant purchases we made in our 5+ decades, Burton was the driving force.

Usually, it went—
Me: “Too expensive. Too much maintenance.”
Burton: “We’ll figure it out.”

As a boy, Burton had a friend whose family owned a farm near Detroit. Some of my husband’s happiest childhood memories involved spending time on that farm.

Walking a wooded hill one afternoon in 1985, we realized our new farm needed a name. We decided on Timber Ridge. One of us came up with Timber; the other, Ridge. I’m not sure who coined what.

As unenthused as I once was about our farm, I’ve become a believer. Burton was right in recognizing how good it would be for our family. The best times we spend together mostly take place at the farm. At Timber Ridge, our sons compete ruthlessly at Shuffleboard. At Timber Ridge, our grandkids soar on in-ground trampolines and sneak candy from my pantry when their parents aren’t looking.

At Timber Ridge, Alexis and I noodled and chatted in the pool.

Our farm was the setting for many lively cookouts at small Carpenter Lake. When Burton died last summer, changing that little lake’s name to Lake Burton was a natural. For many years our family enjoyed barbeques by the lake. Then farm manager, Eric Cherry, played guitar and sang. We all sang along, perched on logs around a campfire.

There are many “45th Parallel” road signs all across the U.S. This one is in northern Michigan and the photo was shared via Wikimedia Commons by Kim Scarborough.

Eric wrote a terrific song, “North of the 45th Parallel”. Our family joined in on the chorus:

I don’t know what heaven is like
But if I had a choice I’d sell you a ticket
Just north of the 45th Parallel.

The song provided the rollicking end to every campfire.

Lake Burton is a small kettle lake—one of many in Northern Michigan formed as chunks of ice broke off from the last glacier to travel this land some 10,000 years ago.

I stroll to the lake every day in summer and sit in the sunnier of two wooden swings. Lake Burton is currently home to about three dozen geese. It’s permanently home to thousands of fish. Burton loved paddling the lake in a green canoe handmade by local artist and boat builder Glen McCune.

In that canoe, Burton relished casting a fly rod, catching and releasing fish. (I consider fishing about as entertaining as watching weeds grow. But I’d accompany him with a book in my hands and a camera, later cellphone, to photograph his newest conquest.)

Lake Burton contains bass, pike, perch and bluegill. (David’s my source for this info. I can distinguish a bluegill from a seagull, but that’s as discerning as I can be.)

Burton’s mother, Edith, taught math at Detroit’s Mumford High School. After her husband, Dr. Sy Farbman, died, Edith could afford to send her only son to camp for only one season. At 11, Burton attended Camp Thunderbird in Bemidji, MN. He earned every badge there was to earn. He learned to canoe with a smooth J-stroke, to shoot a bow and arrow and rifle. He became an expert fisherman. It broke my heart when brain surgery and a stroke robbed Burton of his ability to canoe and fish.

Shortly before Burton died, his best friend since childhood, Michael Kramer, drove north to visit. We transported Burton to the lake in a van. He and Michael sat on chairs, relishing the conversation, the companionship and the view.

These days I accompany my sons on a pontoon boat fishing or towing grandkids on tubes. I‘ve come to realize Burton was right about creating the farm. And the pool that provided me two splendid afternoons with Alexis. And about other matters I disputed at the time.

I only wish I could tell him so.

Another view of the cedar pavilion Burton and I commissioned for our 25th anniversary. The pavilion was constructed by talented Northern Michigan builder Rick Bourgeois.

Back in 2017, Burton and our late dear friend Marilyn Silver posed just as appetizers were served inside the pavilion for a gathering with family and friends.

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‘Pain and joy are all part of being human,’ says my friend Sofia Edmonds in Part 2 of her inspiring story

So many friends showed up at the Midland cancer center to support Sofia that we needed a panoramic lens!

(You have reached the second part of Sofia’s story. And here’s a link back to Part 1 of the story.)

Physically fit, a healthy eater and exercise devotee, Sofia had run in several marathons. She’d been three minutes short of qualifying for the Boston Marathon.

But, then, her energy began to wane, she felt sad and began losing weight. Smells made her nauseous. In September, 2020, during the pandemic, she went for a blood test.

Sofia’s doctor read her bloodwork. “Oh, my God,” he said.

He sent her to Dr. Sam Shaheen, whom she knew. Dr. Shaheen reviewed her results with Sofia and Ron and became choked up.

Sofia and Ron were crying, too.

Previously the quintessence of health, Sofia was diagnosed with stage IV cancer.

“It was like being hit in the head with a bat,” she says.

But Sofia was accustomed to analyzing data and finding solutions. “What’s next?” she said.

A biopsy of the liver.

“Can we do it today?”

“I’ve never been asked that,” Dr. Shaheen said. “But Iet me make some calls.”

Returning, he asked what Sofia had eaten.

“Half a banana. At 11.”

A biopsy took place that afternoon.

Like me, Sofia initially was diagnosed with Adenocarcinoma. There were tumors in her liver, abdomen, lungs and intestines. By the end of the week, she’d had a mammogram, colonoscopy, endoscopy and more tests, but the source was unknown. She was deteriorating day by day.

It was October, 2020. The Mayo Clinic and MD Anderson were ready to admit her. Because of COVID, MD Anderson insisted she undergo treatment alone. Mayo allowed one person to accompany her, so the choice was clear. Ron accompanied her to Mayo. Several additional tests provided no clear result.

With Ron by her side, Sofia underwent many different chemotherapies. They included Gemcitabine, Cisplatin, Folinic acid, Flourouracil and Oxaliplatin. One treatment required wearing a pump. Infusions lasted up to two days.

Sofia continued to deteriorate. By the end of November, her liver was 90% destroyed; there were tumors in her lungs, peritoneal area, lymph nodes and uterus. Her swollen stomach caused excruciating pain, but her condition was too poor to risk draining the fluids.

Losing a pound a day, Sofia had stopped checking her weight. “It was too traumatic for my whole family.” By December 24, she was bedridden.

All hands were needed on deck. Her sons, future daughter-in-law, mother and two sisters came to Northern Michigan to look after Sofia. Due to the pandemic, after their flights, they quarantined for 12 days.

“I was so weak I didn’t dare close my eyes,” she recalls. “I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up.” For two nights in a row, to stay awake, she played golf, in her head, at Midland CC.

The smell of food made Sofia nauseous. Her family took turns cooking, in a crockpot, outdoors in winter. Oatmeal was all she could tolerate. Sandra, a friend from Midland, frequently boiled beef bones for 24 hours to create a broth and drove 2 and ½ hours north to deliver it. Ron lost so much weight worrying about Sofia that he, too, looked sickly.

“While Andrew played the piano, Dave rubbed my feet,” she says. “That was one of the few beautiful memories I have from that nightmare.”

Finally, Sofia was diagnosed with Cholangiocarcioma, cancer of the bile ducts—a disease that usually kills within four months. Sofia was still alive—but barely—after two months.

Sofia’s doctors realized “there was little hope.” Her oncologist gave her a choice. Continue with chemo and add a new immunotherapy drug? Abandon chemo and simply try the latter? Or give up and call hospice?

Genetic testing indicated a biomarker that Sofia’s cancer could respond to immunotherapy. Sofia was a candidate for a treatment not yet approved for bile duct cancer. Success was unlikely, however, because by then most of her liver was consumed by a tumor.

Sofia’s choice: abandon chemo and proceed with immunotherapy. The drug, Pembrolizumab, hadn’t been approved for bile duct cancer. But after about a week of infusions, the pain in her stomach, and the swelling, started to decrease.

By the middle of January, 2021, Sofia was feeling better. She was able walk the driveway. “Ron had the brilliant idea to bring me to Florida so I could walk outdoors.” Because of COVID, they didn’t dare risk flying.

On the drive to Florida, the couple stopped in Midland for Sofia’s infusion of Pembrolizumab. Word of Sofia’s visit had spread. The cancer center parking lot was packed. To Sofia’s surprise, about one hundred friends stood in a long line, holding signs of love and support.

In Florida, Sofia felt better each day. She resumed swimming and working out. Her liver regenerated and she could eat normally. She continued with infusions every three weeks and frequent scans.

At the end of 2022, a new tumor appeared in her liver. It was surgically removed. She continued her immunotherapy. In December, 2023, cancer appeared in her lymph nodes and was treated with radiation.

In April and July of this year, Sofia’s scans were clean. Likewise in July. Originally approved for lung cancer, Pembrolizumab has since been officially approved for bile ducts.

Sofia’s philosophical about what she’s been through. “Pain and joy are all part of being human,” she says. “Getting through difficult times makes us appreciate the beauty of life.”

Sofia’s had seven different oncologists. All of them referred to her as “a miracle girl.” She’s graduated from immunotherapy infusions every three weeks to every six weeks.

“I was just lucky there was a treatment,” Sofia says. “At the advanced stage of my illness, if I’d been sick two years earlier, there wouldn’t have been.”

Sofia’s back to exercise and golf. She has a lovely new daughter-in-law, Dani, who’s an “excellent” nurse. Last summer Sofia and Ron hosted 120 people at a joyful dinner on their back lawn the night before Andrew and Dani’s wedding.

To top it off, “on the spur of the moment,” this past June, Sofia ran a 10k.

Thanks, Miracle Girl, for sharing your story. For your determination and candor. And for the hope you inspire in all of us.

Sofia and Ron.

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