A Christmas Chinese adoption story - that also happens to be ours

New Year's resolution No. 1 - must blog regularly. My personal blog: not-so-bad. My fitness and writing blogs: in need of major TLC.

So here we go - first post of the almost new year is an easy one. The hubby and I wrote an article that was published last week in his The Sentinel-News. It speaks for itself. As if Christmas didn't bring us enough reasons to celebrate. Here's the top of the article. The link in this graf will take you to the whole thing (with lst year photos). The ending made my mama (and others) cry. Happy tears, of course. And below is a photo of our girl taken this Christmas - my how she has changed!

By Steve Doyle and Stephanie Erickson Doyle

We’d never spent a Christmas season more than six inches apart from at least one member of our immediate family – until last year.

We find ourselves nearly 8,000 miles away – literally on the other side of the world. We sit not by a decorated tree but in a chilly, dimly lit and officious conference room.

Santa would not to be seen for two more days, but we are there with two other families to receive the most precious, unique and everlasting gift a person ever could receive: a new baby girl.

This office is in Nanchang, China, a 2-hour flight southeast of Beijing, and on this gray and drizzly afternoon a woman we’ve never seen – and likely won’t again – walks into the room and hands us a 9-month-old girl swaddled in layer upon layer of clothing.

Though we had not met this little girl, we had traveled so far in so many ways and had given of ourselves for this moment: to gaze at her lovingly in wonder as she stares right back, not smiling, not weeping, just giving a peaceful look of familiarity.

We recognize her from her pictures because of her chubby cheeks and round head that has almost no hair. She sits on our laps and quietly looks about, as much as her clothing allows, or nibbles on a sugar wafer brought for that moment. Other families and their babies are abuzz around us, but we are caught in a strange aura of intimacy.

There are no carols playing, no angels singing, nothing merry and bright, but the essence of Christmas – love and miracles – could not be more alive.

This is the story of this gift, the Miracle of Savannah.

A Beloved Photographer, Remembered a Decade Later

I can't believe it's been 10 years. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was so damn hot. Some weekend filler for the paper - lots of old tractors at some kind of tractor show. That was Central Illinois for ya. It would be the last time I would go out on assignment with Herb Slodounik, one of the hardest working journalists I've ever known. I remember helping Herb lift his hundreds of pounds of camera equipment out of the back of his car, the sweat pouring off of him and we'd barely gotten started. He was bound and determined to shoot up until the very end.

I was the medical reporter then, and Herb also was determined to live. We spent a lot of time talking about the latest herbal drink he drummed up, and whether or not I thought it work. "Of course it will, Herb. Drink up."

But, in the end, the cancer got him. His thousands of photos, though, they live on forever. And 10 years ago this week, when he died, those photos took on an even more special meaning. I even have a photo of his fungal-covered feet. I swore secrecy but it's too funny not to share. We were writing a Lifestyle front on nail fungus. Yea, poor Herb had a bad case of it. The doctor didn't have any patients in his office for Herb to shoot. So he fessed up and kicked off his shoes. His bad boys were plastered, close-up, right on the front of the Sunday section.

Below is the article I wrote for the newspaper after he died. I "reprint" it here today in his honor. We miss ya Herb!

Herald & Review (Decatur, IL)
July 25, 1998 Section: News Page: A1
Memories of photographer endure for H&R colleagues
STEPHANIE ERICKSON
H&R Staff Writer
DECATUR -- By putting nearly 180,000 miles on his little gray Mazda and thousands of rolls of film into his camera, Herb Slodounik became a familiar face across Central Illinois. On Thursday, the 57-year-old Herald & Review photographer died after a nine-month battle with cancer.
Slodounik, who during his 28 years at the Herald & Review photographed everything from Mikhail Gorbachev to quiet neighborhood scenes, worked diligently until just four days before his death.

``You only meet a few people like Herb in your life,'' said Herald & Review Editor Peggy Bellows. ``He came to work every day he could, he never used his illness as an excuse to do anything but his best.'' ``He really wanted to live. He'll be an inspiration to me for a long time.''

Sharon Slodounik, who married Herb in 1984 in the James Millikin Homestead, said Herb fought until the end. "Even Monday he was trying to exercise on the treadmill to get strength in his legs,'' she said. ``As much as he was deteriorating, he didn't sit and whimper about what was happening to him. He was treasuring the time.''

``Part of me is gone and my heart is broken,'' she said. ``When I was having a real hard time, Herb would say `You're going to be fine. You are a strong person.' It's because of Herb I am a stronger person. He made me stretch and grow.''

Judy Tatham, former police reporter at the Herald & Review, said she was one of the first people Herb talked to when he suspected he was ill. ``He was worried about missing work and the impact on his family, but he never expressed self-pity,'' said Tatham, who is retired and living in Arizona.

The last click of Slodounik's camera came Sunday, when he painstakingly completed an assignment in Nokomis, capturing an auctioneer surrounded by Spanish-American War items.
That last roll of film was one of more than 35,000 processed during his career at the Herald & Review.

``I guarantee it that scrapbooks all over Central Illinois are filled with his pictures,'' said H&R Chief Photographer Dennis Magee. ``That's his legacy.''

Bob Strongman, former chief photographer at the Herald & Review who retired in 1981, hired Slodounik in May 1970. That year, after studying in San Francisco and working at newspapers in Montana and Iowa, Decatur became Slodounik's permanent home.

``Herb was very meticulous,'' recalled Strongman. ``And he was always trying something new -- new techniques, new equipment. We always laughed and joked about various assignments and results and critiqued each other. I enjoyed him very much.''

Kelly Huff, an H&R staff photographer, first met Slodounik in 1978 when Huff was a teen-ager applying for an internship. ``He came across as a professional and real sure of himself,'' Huff said. ``He didn't think twice about giving you direction.'' Huff, like many photographers, gobbled up the tips Slodounik bestowed upon him. ``He was a master of lighting and seeing shapes and images,'' Huff said. ``He was able to make you laugh, make you cry, make you think about it. He was never one for the glitz and glamour to become a national icon award winner. He was the steady rock that kept this photo department going. He will be missed.''

Sharon Slodounik said Herb even provided tips to vacationers snapping photos. ``I'd say `Honey, not every one wants to take a better picture,' '' she said.

Magee said, ``Two things were vitally important in Herb's life. First, by far, was his family. Second was his work.''

Slodounik leaves behind three children: Aaron, Rebekah and Hannah.

``When I was discussing with them that he was going to die, Rebekah said, `Who is going to give me lectures on how everything works? Who is going to help me choose courses in college?' '' Sharon said.

The children, she said, looked to Herb for guidance.

``And he was tender and playful,'' she said. ``He knew how to become childlike with them. He would point out the little things -- the beauty of the Earth, the beauty of a first bud. The things that he loved he tried to teach to his kids.''

Magee, who began working with Slodounik eight years ago, called him a ``workhorse.''
``To keep going, day after day, after 28 years, is a remarkable thing,'' he said. ``He really loved being a photographer and he was honestly doing the best work of his life the past four to five years.''

Some of that work put Slodounik, a native of Bronx, N.Y., right in the middle of the friendly competition among photographers.

While covering the aftermath of Decatur's 1996 tornadoes Slodounik ``got up every day and shot my butt off,'' Magee said. ``He was just glowing, white hot. Although he didn't say it, I think he enjoyed making me look bad all week long. All those years of experience -- he was just smarter than me.''

One of the most stirring images was that of two friends embracing, which in 1997 earned him first place for a photo story or series in the Illinois Press Association contest.

Those who found themselves in front of Slodounik's camera also testify to his precise ways.

``He was an absolute perfectionist,'' said Bill Requarth, a retired surgeon. ``It had to be just right. He knew exactly how to set the lighting and after he got it all set he'd go back and change it.''

Although they met during a photo shoot, Requarth and Slodounik became fast friends due to their common interest in stock trading. Slodounik struck up conversations with his subjects almost as naturally as he photographed them.

Requarth also admired Slodounik for being Internet-savvy.

``He was a very avid user of the Internet and he understood how to do it,'' said Requarth, 86. ``He often gave me Internet references for me to look up on various subjects.''

As he battled cancer, Slodounik also turned to the World Wide Web to learn more about the disease that had been robbing him of energy, researching the latest treatments and joining discussion groups.

``He was really a student of that disease,'' Requarth said.

Co-workers at the Herald & Review also remember Slodounik for a myriad of idiosyncrasies, from goofy sailor-type hats to a hand-held computer that he insisted was the key to an organized life.

Bob Jelks called Slodounik conscientious.

``He was a person that whatever he did, he did it wholeheartedly and he did it right,'' Jelks said. ``And he was a very, very intelligent man. You didn't start talking about something you didn't really understand or he would check you on it.''

For years Slodounik periodically sought the pampering of Jelks, a masseuse at His Hands Massage Therapy at the YMCA. After being diagnosed with cancer, some of Slodounik's handball friends paid for him to receive weekly massages to help his circulation.

``He said, `Bob tell me who they are.' But I think he knew.''

``It was the least we could do,'' said Bob Ohlsen, a Decatur attorney who played handball with Slodounik for about 25 years. ``We liked him a lot.''
Ohlsen says he'll never forget the image of Slodounik stepping onto the handball court.

``The first thing he'd say is `No mercy,' '' Ohlsen said. ``He could really rally from behind, and he'd walk out of there whistling because he knew he'd had a great game.''
While Slodounik usually sought Jelks' care each Friday morning, his last visit was on Tuesday.

``After the treatment we talked,'' Jelks said. ``I felt like it was the last time. I prayed for him and said `I love you.' We held hands and his strength was so incredible. I'll never ever forget that moment. And I'll never forget him.''

Jelks said he asked his friend if he had fulfilled his dreams.

``Yes,'' Slodounik responded. ``I got to be a photographer.''

A yellowed application to the Herald & Review revealed Slodounik's career objective: ``To be one of the best photojournalists in the U.S. and to enjoy my work and take pride in a job well done,'' he typed. ``I want to work with a growing organization in a creative atmosphere that uses pictures well and is dedicated to responsible journalism.''

Although accolades did not motivate him, dozens of Illinois Press Association and Illinois Press Photographers Association awards made their way into his collection of photographic memories.
Life magazine published one of his photos twice. It was entitled ``It's grate, but is it art?'' and showed two little girls peeking into a ventilation grate in a museum.

Among the nearly 1.3 million frames Slodounik snapped over the years were the 1974 Norfolk & Western Railway Co. explosion and the ice storm of 1978. Slodounik also shot nearly every Decatur Celebration ``and more city festivals than you can shake a stick at,'' Magee said.

Tatham said, ``One of the things I'll treasure for the rest of my life was a picture he took of me shaking hands with Mikhail Gorbachev.''

Facebook reunites us

When I left my first newspaper I just new I'd stay in touch with everyone forever. They were my lifeblood. Heck, we'd gone through back-to-back tornadoes together (and I don't just mean covering 'em - for the second one we all "hunkered down," as they say on the Weather Channel, in the press room). We'd gone through two deaths in the newsroom - a longtime photographer who died of cancer and a young ad rep who was murdered. And a host of just once-in-a-life time experiences with photographers and other reporters, from ice fishing in the middle of Central Illinois-turned Siberia to watching a doctor stretch a kid's bone, the first time that procedure had been done in the U.S. When I left, they threw me a frog leg fryin' party and I bawled my eyes out and just knew I'd stay in touch with everyone forever.

Then came the next paper - new faces, new stories. People left, new people filled in the desks around me. I went on a pub crawl on my last night there - the amazingly hopping and hip downtown Greenville, S.C." - with my new "gang" and I bawled my eyes out but I just knew I'd stay in touch with them all forever. And the newspaper climbing continued, and pretty soon, as happens in life, memories and people faded. A few stuck, of course, I'm embarrassed to say usually because they hunted me down.

Fast-foward to 2008. Enter the social networking Web site Facebook. A friend talked me into signing up. And, then, one by one, they appeared. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning every time I found a new one. "Steve!" I'd yell, "it's my old editor!"

"Which one?" he'd say.

Not only that, my ridiculously huge high school class - 600-plus - has been reunited, well, much of it anyway, thanks to Facebook. And the coolest thing - there are no more cliques. I can finally fit in with the band news and everyone else.

I never realized how much I missed everyone. Geez I really missed them. And I'm glad their back.

Sam Zell himself speaketh

Sam Zell himself, by the way, is a billionaire. He took Tribune Co., including the Orlando Sentinel, private at the end of 2007.

So from the horse's mouth today ... this article from the Baltimore Sun.

Orlando Sentinel Truths and Myths

Fact: I used to work at the Orlando Sentinel.
Fact: I loved it there.
Fact: I married an Orlando Sentinel editor (see previous post).
Fact: I still love him.
Fact: He's upper management there.
Myth: I had front-page stories because I married what some would refer to as "upper management" (others might call him middle mgmt - he's an AME, call him whatever you like, his name is Steve, by the way, and he'a also a best friend and amazing dad).
Fact: When my stories landed on A1, he had recused himself from front-page voting.
Myth: Upper management at the Orlando Sentinel is NOT enjoying cutting staff positions. At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, it's about killing them.
Fact: Cutting staff is a depressing side effect of TRIBUNE CO. mandates to trim millions dollars from newspaper budgets. Newspapers are running out of other options. Yes, it stinks. Many of my former co-workers are gone, at the Sentinel and at other newspapers. Or are scared they will be next. But you can only cut so much TP from the toiletry budget to total a few million - AGAIN.
Fact: Some people hate the new re-design, some people like it. Some people jump to the parts they like and crumple up the rest.
Fact: The re-design saved money. And probably saved at least somebody's job. For now.
Myth: The Doyle's never talk about any of this at home.
Fact: When we do, sadness strikes, and strikes hard I can barely stand to hear the names when they've been announced, wondering who will next. My husband tears up every time. I suppose now you'll quickly yank him out of the upper mgmt category, eh?
Fact: My husband does not know I am writing this- yet. So don't rip on him if you find typos in my blog.

So, about this blog. What this blog won't be: A Sentinel-bashing blog. As I said, I loved it there. Am I saying that because my husband still works there? Many are screaming yes. Most who know me, know better than that. Was it perfect? No. But I'll never forget one night...Ann, Sean and Sal were arguing over the lead of one of my stories - an important one. I sat there just soaking up every word thinking, "It just doesn't get any better than this." I learned more listening to their 20-minute conversation than I did in some entire journalism classes.

Anyway, there are enough new Sentinel-thumping blogs out there to tickle your fancy, believe me. But we will talk about it from time to time, yes. Because it's our hometown paper. And it's important. Whether you like it or not. Whether you believe changes going on there are spiteful, or simply a result of unfortunate times and new leadership - not new Sentinel leadership. Be smarter and look higher than that. It's easy to be angry - in psychology that's the "easy" emotion. Dig deeper.

Steph's Photobucket Slideshow (click photo) When writer's block strikes, I break out the Canon

Just Steph

So before I begin trying to keep up with my new blogging post goals, let me introduce myself.

I'm Steph. I'm 37 (which dates me - as I mentioned in the previous post I started in newspaper pre-Internet). In fact, I helped launch the first Web site at my first full-time newspaper job, a daily in Central Illinois, the Herald & Review. That was a big BIG deal back then and while I take great pride in that, the Web site sucked, well, compared to what it is now. But it worked. From there I warmed up, moving south to Gannett's Greenville News in S.C., and then warmed up even more when I was recruited to work at the Orlando Sentinel. My newspaper trifecta. But I also should count the Charlotte Observer , where I worked part of college, learned a hell of a lot and probably would have stayed had I not gotten so desperate for those things called Benefits.

Today, I'm a freelance writer (85%) and editor (15%). Editor after editor tried to steer me into editing. But writing is where my heart is. I married an editor so I can just live vicariously through him as needed. And speaking of the editor hubby, if I were to be perfectly honest, he, or our marriage rather, is a big reason I left the Sentinel. I had a hot beat at the time, social services - lots of crazy things happening at the time, such as women getting raped in group homes, that was helping land my stories on A1. My hubby was a front-page decision-maker and had to keep recusing himself. Some newsroom relationships work, some don't (but you can visit Doyle Mania to see what great perks came of choosing the relationship over the newsroom). Now, I am watching former co-workers get the boot, one after the other, due to budget cuts, and wondering ...

So here I am, trying to see if I can make a living at this freelance writing biz. I write about it all - and I credit newspapers for the fact that I can. I had the education beat, political beats, cops beat, I was even an outdoors writer. Mainly, though, I've covered medicine just about everywhere I've been, and I can't get enough of it. So although my recently published book was about true crimes in Florida, I have a secret yearning to find my way back into an OR - just without me on the operating table. Yesterday I interviewed a doctor, the inventor and pioneer of ultrasound guided cryosurgery for both the prostate and the liver. How nerdy am I that I wanted his autograph?

When it comes down to it, though, my favorite writing topic is pretty simple: people. I love watching them, their every move. I used to watch my parents, follow them around, when I was a kid. Write down what they were doing in a special notebook and then hide it. Like I was capturing their secret inner spirits. And when it comes to people, the more down-and-out the better. Sick people, old people, mentally ill people, poor people. That used to be the joke in the newsroom. "Oh, what's wrong with them?" Send them to Steph. Which used to piss me off. What do you mean, what's wrong with them? I love, crave giving a voice to the voiceless. The quieter their voice, the more newsprint I hope I can give them. I get it from my great-grandmother, no doubt, the only white gal on a South Dakota Indian reservation. But I'll save her for another post.