Not only did Obama get twice as many votes as Clinton in South Carolina today, and not only does he manage to respond with grace and wit and brains every time somebody says something bad about him, and not only is he turning the Democratic party into something intensely exciting...
but get this: at barackobama.com, the "Republicans for Obama" stickers are on back order.
I can't help myself. I have a ridiculous crush on this man. So do a lot of people, apparently.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
MRSA
I thought I would end up with a huge scar on my face.
So I almost didn't keep the appointment with Dr. Armstrong, a surgeon who my main care provider, a nurse practitioner named Angela, had said would probably want to lance and drain the small lump on my cheek, just to be on the safe side. Angela had also prescribed an antibiotic, because she was pretty sure the lump was the result of a staph infection. My facial-scar-fearing self was hedging my bets: I could skip out on the blade-wielding Dr. Armstrong for now, and just take the antibiotic. It would probably work, the infection would clear, and I would escape the scar.
But then the lump got bigger-- within just a few hours-- and I remembered the other thing Angela had said, about MRSA: methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus, a strain of staph that does not respond to many antibiotics. It had rung a bell, a huge one, because I'd been hearing reports over the last few months about MRSA getting into people's blood and killing them swiftly. But, she'd assured me, it's not always a big deal, not even close, not if you catch it early.
Dr. Armstrong poked at it for a while but wielded no blade, which seemed like a good sign, and sent me home with a second antibiotic to take. This was Tuesday afternoon.
It was the wee hours of Wednesday morning when something started to seem really drastically wrong. Lea woke up crying at about 4:15, so I went down to tend to her. I was in no pain, but while she nursed away, I started to notice that my face felt weird. Fat. I touched my cheek and promptly had a panic attack. The whole right side of my face had ballooned. Now, I don't swell easily. Nothing swelled during pregnancy, or when I had my wisdom teeth out. My one serious food allergy causes no swelling. So this is unusual for me, and therefore very scary.
I drove myself to the ER, and there again, they kept mentioning MRSA. They took blood and took a culture of the oozy stuff hanging out in the tiny opening of the lump. "We have to admit you," the doctor there said immediately. "We're putting you in isolation." Well, shit.
The next notable thing was when the nurse brought forms for me to sign, indicating my consent to be put under general anesthesia, receive a blood transfusion, be resuscitated, etc. And yet: nobody was acting like it was an emergency. "They're going to take you down to surgery to lance it," Lisa, the nurse, said, "probably today." Huh? How could it possibly be any day other than today? How can you admit me at five in the morning and say MRSA and not do something immediately??
I kept asking questions. I got a lot of sympathetic smiles, but nobody said much except "No food or drink-- you're pre-op."
I started to reason with myself: if they're not rushing around, it's not an emergency. I am not in imminent danger of this bacteria getting into my blood and making me suddenly and gravely ill. Still-- nobody could tell me so.
"I'm really scared that this is going to get bad," I kept saying to Lisa.
"Well, they're just gonna find out what it is, and then we'll see," was her response.
Finally Dr. Armstrong came in. He said what everyone else had said: it's almost definitely staph, very probably MRSA, and they're going to cut it, drain it, and keep me on strong antibiotics until it's gone.
"I'm really scared that this is going to get bad," I tried again. "Is there a risk that this is going to spread throughout my body?"
"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully. "Is there a risk? Well, sure, there's a risk that if a lot of unlucky things happened simultaneously, this could make you pretty sick. Similarly, there's also a risk you could get hit by lightning. We're doing what we need to do to prevent this from getting bad."
Whew, OK. Now we're getting somewhere. My mood improved drastically, even though the IV antibiotic I was on was teaming up with my empty belly to make me miserably nauseated.
Meanwhile, Brian had scrambled to piece together round-the-clock childcare for Lea. She had school all morning, and would go home with our friend Lindsay until Brian's mom arrived late in the afternoon. This way, Brian could be with me. My mom was on her way, too.
The procedure got delayed, of course, and by the time they wheeled me down to surgery I was frantic. I got into a fight with the nurse-anesthetist (more on that later), so instead of counting backwards from ten, I heard myself going on a little bit of a tirade. Everyone's words sounded buzzy. I fell asleep.
Brian got word about a half an hour later that everything had gone fine, that they'd been able to remove a whole lot of infected fluid from my cheek without having to make much of an incision at all. What I remember is waking up, thinking for a split second, "I feel great! It must've gone ok!" and then thinking, one second later, "Wait, no, I feel horrible! I'm going to puke." And I puked.
They took me upstairs and I puked some more. Then I started shaking, and hyperventilating, and no matter what they did I just kept vomiting. The nurse pumped my IV full of one anti-nausea medicine, then another, then another. Apparently the second one can cause mental confusion and disorientation, which is a relief because otherwise I would have no explanation for the fact that at one point, I was pretty sure that there were raccoons in my room. Another time, it turns out, I told Brian "she's getting too heavy, you'll have to take her, I can't hold her anymore" while holding my empty arms in a cradling position.
Eventually, after several hours of dry-heaving that involved noises Brian described as "like Gozer from Ghostbusters," I fell asleep.
Things got better. My mom arrived, my swelling started to go down, my nausea eased away, and I could finally eat something. Still: it sucks to be in the hospital. I mean, it's just the most rotten place to be. Everyone had to put on gloves before coming into my room, which freaked me right out. I felt like I had the plague. I smelled bad, and I got reprimanded for taking a shower when I wasn't supposed to. I had to keep a hot-water compress on my face, and twice, a clamp came loose, the compress burst, and warm water soaked my whole bed. The IV kept jabbing into my flesh every time I bent my arm, which made using a breast pump excruciatingly painful. (Seriously, that was the most painful part of the whole experience. More on that later.)
Sometime on Thursday I got a visit from the hospital's infectious-disease specialist. She confirmed that all the tests had come back indicating MRSA. She said we'd basically have to scrub our entire house down with bleach and disinfect every cut or scrape, but that otherwise, we shouldn't be alarmed, because MRSA is everywhere. So wait. We shouldn't be alarmed? I'm just now coming to the certainty that, no, we don't need to be alarmed as long as we are careful. As long as we wash our hands frequently and pay attention to any broken skin, life can go on as usual. I don't like knowing that there's a strain of bacteria out there that can spread so fast and laugh in the face of so many otherwise-powerful drugs, but I'm calming down. Fear of germs is no way to live.
Here's the other thing. MRSA exists most likely because of overuse of antibiotics and possibly even antibacterial hand sanitizers. The bugs are outsmarting the bugspray, in a sense. The infectious-disease specialist told me this as she was slathering Purell on her hands, while my body was being pumped full of antibiotics. I remarked on the irony, and she nodded and acknowledged that yes, it can be a vicious cycle, and that's one of the things that's scary about this stuff. (Although, to be as accurate as possible, my understanding is that using antibiotics to treat bacterial infections was never the problem; the problem has been many people's insistence on taking them-- and some doctors' willingness in prescribing them-- for viral infections, for which they are essentially useless anyway.)
They kept me in the hospital until mid-morning on Friday. By then, the swelling had gone away entirely but there was still-- and IS still, as I type on Monday afternoon-- a spot on my cheek that is firm and well-defined and very obviously still full of fluid. This is disconcerting, though I am told it's normal when they drain something out of your flesh for something else (harmless fluids) to fill it back up and take a while to dissipate. I go back on Friday for a follow-up. I am ready for this to be done.
OK, so the other story, which might invoke some eyerolls from people who are sick of hearing me talk about it, but: I am a nursing mother. This is a fact. This is a part of the biology of my body right now. We'll leave aside for the moment Lea's diet, because I knew she wouldn't starve, and the wrenching emotions of having to stop nursing suddenly, because I would have had them being separated from my kid under any circumstances. Let's consider just the effects on my body, and it's still more than enough to make me absolutely livid about the way it was handled. Please, pretty please, oh health care professionals of Abingdon: understand that I am lactating. The fact that you don't think I need to be at this point does not make a difference. Here's what I expect from you:
(1) I expect you not to badger me about the reasons my 14-month-old is still nursing.
(2) I expect you to look for a nursing-friendly medication whenever possible. [NOTE: I did NOT say that I expect that one will always exist. I also do not expect you to advise that it's ok to nurse unless you're really sure it is. I'm not a fool. I know I need treatment, and I know sometimes that means no nursing. But let's start with a little creative problem solving and see if there's an alternative, ya know? Let's make that a priority.]
(3) I expect you to understand that stopping abruptly is not only incredibly painful, but puts me at a pretty high risk for a breast infection, which, I dunno, doesn't sound like something we want to mess with in my current state, so I'm going to need to pump. A lot.
(4) I expect you to find someone who can offer guidance on using a pump around the clock, since this is a matter of necessity, and I've never had to do it before.
(5) Seriously, I expect you to KNOW that this is a matter of necessity, that the milk needs to be dealt with somehow, that I'm not just being a stubborn hippie.
(6) And especially you, nurse-anesthetist, I expect you not to shake your head and say "You just gotta get over this nursing thing, honey, the time has come. This will be a good way to break her of it, since you're separated anyway. You know she's just gonna get more and more attached and spoiled, so this is a good thing." Right. I wish I hadn't been slipping under sedation. My tirade could have been a lot snappier, I bet.
In sum:
LEAVE YOUR PIMPLES THE HELL ALONE. YM magazine was right, girls: don't pop them. It's not just about scarring. If it bursts the wrong direction, or the skin breaks, and you happen to have been exposed to MRSA (which remember, is everywhere), you could be in trouble in a hurry. Last Sunday, I had a pimple. I don't remember intentionally popping it, but I was scrutinizing and messing around with all the little blemishes that had sprung up over the weekend. Monday, I had a pimple that felt a little funky. A little firm. Tuesday, I had a marble-sized lump. Wednesday, I was in the ER, and then in an isolation room, and then in surgery, and then barfing my brains out and seeing raccoons and swollen with poisonous milk and scared out of my mind.
So just don't do it. If you absolutely must intervene on the pimple life cycle, wash your face and hands beforehand AND afterwards. Dab on a little Neosporin for good measure.
Carry hand sanitizer with you. Don't use it all the live-long day; just use it after you've touched something like a towel at the gym or pool, or anything else that is likely to have come in contact with someone else's body fluids.
Above all, just pay attention to any broken skin. If it starts to seem weird, get it checked out. Keep your appointment with Dr. Armstrong. Don't mess around.
So I almost didn't keep the appointment with Dr. Armstrong, a surgeon who my main care provider, a nurse practitioner named Angela, had said would probably want to lance and drain the small lump on my cheek, just to be on the safe side. Angela had also prescribed an antibiotic, because she was pretty sure the lump was the result of a staph infection. My facial-scar-fearing self was hedging my bets: I could skip out on the blade-wielding Dr. Armstrong for now, and just take the antibiotic. It would probably work, the infection would clear, and I would escape the scar.
But then the lump got bigger-- within just a few hours-- and I remembered the other thing Angela had said, about MRSA: methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus, a strain of staph that does not respond to many antibiotics. It had rung a bell, a huge one, because I'd been hearing reports over the last few months about MRSA getting into people's blood and killing them swiftly. But, she'd assured me, it's not always a big deal, not even close, not if you catch it early.
Dr. Armstrong poked at it for a while but wielded no blade, which seemed like a good sign, and sent me home with a second antibiotic to take. This was Tuesday afternoon.
It was the wee hours of Wednesday morning when something started to seem really drastically wrong. Lea woke up crying at about 4:15, so I went down to tend to her. I was in no pain, but while she nursed away, I started to notice that my face felt weird. Fat. I touched my cheek and promptly had a panic attack. The whole right side of my face had ballooned. Now, I don't swell easily. Nothing swelled during pregnancy, or when I had my wisdom teeth out. My one serious food allergy causes no swelling. So this is unusual for me, and therefore very scary.
I drove myself to the ER, and there again, they kept mentioning MRSA. They took blood and took a culture of the oozy stuff hanging out in the tiny opening of the lump. "We have to admit you," the doctor there said immediately. "We're putting you in isolation." Well, shit.
The next notable thing was when the nurse brought forms for me to sign, indicating my consent to be put under general anesthesia, receive a blood transfusion, be resuscitated, etc. And yet: nobody was acting like it was an emergency. "They're going to take you down to surgery to lance it," Lisa, the nurse, said, "probably today." Huh? How could it possibly be any day other than today? How can you admit me at five in the morning and say MRSA and not do something immediately??
I kept asking questions. I got a lot of sympathetic smiles, but nobody said much except "No food or drink-- you're pre-op."
I started to reason with myself: if they're not rushing around, it's not an emergency. I am not in imminent danger of this bacteria getting into my blood and making me suddenly and gravely ill. Still-- nobody could tell me so.
"I'm really scared that this is going to get bad," I kept saying to Lisa.
"Well, they're just gonna find out what it is, and then we'll see," was her response.
Finally Dr. Armstrong came in. He said what everyone else had said: it's almost definitely staph, very probably MRSA, and they're going to cut it, drain it, and keep me on strong antibiotics until it's gone.
"I'm really scared that this is going to get bad," I tried again. "Is there a risk that this is going to spread throughout my body?"
"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully. "Is there a risk? Well, sure, there's a risk that if a lot of unlucky things happened simultaneously, this could make you pretty sick. Similarly, there's also a risk you could get hit by lightning. We're doing what we need to do to prevent this from getting bad."
Whew, OK. Now we're getting somewhere. My mood improved drastically, even though the IV antibiotic I was on was teaming up with my empty belly to make me miserably nauseated.
Meanwhile, Brian had scrambled to piece together round-the-clock childcare for Lea. She had school all morning, and would go home with our friend Lindsay until Brian's mom arrived late in the afternoon. This way, Brian could be with me. My mom was on her way, too.
The procedure got delayed, of course, and by the time they wheeled me down to surgery I was frantic. I got into a fight with the nurse-anesthetist (more on that later), so instead of counting backwards from ten, I heard myself going on a little bit of a tirade. Everyone's words sounded buzzy. I fell asleep.
Brian got word about a half an hour later that everything had gone fine, that they'd been able to remove a whole lot of infected fluid from my cheek without having to make much of an incision at all. What I remember is waking up, thinking for a split second, "I feel great! It must've gone ok!" and then thinking, one second later, "Wait, no, I feel horrible! I'm going to puke." And I puked.
They took me upstairs and I puked some more. Then I started shaking, and hyperventilating, and no matter what they did I just kept vomiting. The nurse pumped my IV full of one anti-nausea medicine, then another, then another. Apparently the second one can cause mental confusion and disorientation, which is a relief because otherwise I would have no explanation for the fact that at one point, I was pretty sure that there were raccoons in my room. Another time, it turns out, I told Brian "she's getting too heavy, you'll have to take her, I can't hold her anymore" while holding my empty arms in a cradling position.
Eventually, after several hours of dry-heaving that involved noises Brian described as "like Gozer from Ghostbusters," I fell asleep.
Things got better. My mom arrived, my swelling started to go down, my nausea eased away, and I could finally eat something. Still: it sucks to be in the hospital. I mean, it's just the most rotten place to be. Everyone had to put on gloves before coming into my room, which freaked me right out. I felt like I had the plague. I smelled bad, and I got reprimanded for taking a shower when I wasn't supposed to. I had to keep a hot-water compress on my face, and twice, a clamp came loose, the compress burst, and warm water soaked my whole bed. The IV kept jabbing into my flesh every time I bent my arm, which made using a breast pump excruciatingly painful. (Seriously, that was the most painful part of the whole experience. More on that later.)
Sometime on Thursday I got a visit from the hospital's infectious-disease specialist. She confirmed that all the tests had come back indicating MRSA. She said we'd basically have to scrub our entire house down with bleach and disinfect every cut or scrape, but that otherwise, we shouldn't be alarmed, because MRSA is everywhere. So wait. We shouldn't be alarmed? I'm just now coming to the certainty that, no, we don't need to be alarmed as long as we are careful. As long as we wash our hands frequently and pay attention to any broken skin, life can go on as usual. I don't like knowing that there's a strain of bacteria out there that can spread so fast and laugh in the face of so many otherwise-powerful drugs, but I'm calming down. Fear of germs is no way to live.
Here's the other thing. MRSA exists most likely because of overuse of antibiotics and possibly even antibacterial hand sanitizers. The bugs are outsmarting the bugspray, in a sense. The infectious-disease specialist told me this as she was slathering Purell on her hands, while my body was being pumped full of antibiotics. I remarked on the irony, and she nodded and acknowledged that yes, it can be a vicious cycle, and that's one of the things that's scary about this stuff. (Although, to be as accurate as possible, my understanding is that using antibiotics to treat bacterial infections was never the problem; the problem has been many people's insistence on taking them-- and some doctors' willingness in prescribing them-- for viral infections, for which they are essentially useless anyway.)
They kept me in the hospital until mid-morning on Friday. By then, the swelling had gone away entirely but there was still-- and IS still, as I type on Monday afternoon-- a spot on my cheek that is firm and well-defined and very obviously still full of fluid. This is disconcerting, though I am told it's normal when they drain something out of your flesh for something else (harmless fluids) to fill it back up and take a while to dissipate. I go back on Friday for a follow-up. I am ready for this to be done.
OK, so the other story, which might invoke some eyerolls from people who are sick of hearing me talk about it, but: I am a nursing mother. This is a fact. This is a part of the biology of my body right now. We'll leave aside for the moment Lea's diet, because I knew she wouldn't starve, and the wrenching emotions of having to stop nursing suddenly, because I would have had them being separated from my kid under any circumstances. Let's consider just the effects on my body, and it's still more than enough to make me absolutely livid about the way it was handled. Please, pretty please, oh health care professionals of Abingdon: understand that I am lactating. The fact that you don't think I need to be at this point does not make a difference. Here's what I expect from you:
(1) I expect you not to badger me about the reasons my 14-month-old is still nursing.
(2) I expect you to look for a nursing-friendly medication whenever possible. [NOTE: I did NOT say that I expect that one will always exist. I also do not expect you to advise that it's ok to nurse unless you're really sure it is. I'm not a fool. I know I need treatment, and I know sometimes that means no nursing. But let's start with a little creative problem solving and see if there's an alternative, ya know? Let's make that a priority.]
(3) I expect you to understand that stopping abruptly is not only incredibly painful, but puts me at a pretty high risk for a breast infection, which, I dunno, doesn't sound like something we want to mess with in my current state, so I'm going to need to pump. A lot.
(4) I expect you to find someone who can offer guidance on using a pump around the clock, since this is a matter of necessity, and I've never had to do it before.
(5) Seriously, I expect you to KNOW that this is a matter of necessity, that the milk needs to be dealt with somehow, that I'm not just being a stubborn hippie.
(6) And especially you, nurse-anesthetist, I expect you not to shake your head and say "You just gotta get over this nursing thing, honey, the time has come. This will be a good way to break her of it, since you're separated anyway. You know she's just gonna get more and more attached and spoiled, so this is a good thing." Right. I wish I hadn't been slipping under sedation. My tirade could have been a lot snappier, I bet.
In sum:
LEAVE YOUR PIMPLES THE HELL ALONE. YM magazine was right, girls: don't pop them. It's not just about scarring. If it bursts the wrong direction, or the skin breaks, and you happen to have been exposed to MRSA (which remember, is everywhere), you could be in trouble in a hurry. Last Sunday, I had a pimple. I don't remember intentionally popping it, but I was scrutinizing and messing around with all the little blemishes that had sprung up over the weekend. Monday, I had a pimple that felt a little funky. A little firm. Tuesday, I had a marble-sized lump. Wednesday, I was in the ER, and then in an isolation room, and then in surgery, and then barfing my brains out and seeing raccoons and swollen with poisonous milk and scared out of my mind.
So just don't do it. If you absolutely must intervene on the pimple life cycle, wash your face and hands beforehand AND afterwards. Dab on a little Neosporin for good measure.
Carry hand sanitizer with you. Don't use it all the live-long day; just use it after you've touched something like a towel at the gym or pool, or anything else that is likely to have come in contact with someone else's body fluids.
Above all, just pay attention to any broken skin. If it starts to seem weird, get it checked out. Keep your appointment with Dr. Armstrong. Don't mess around.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Oh yeah, Christmas
In true Abingdon fashion, Christmas began the Friday before Thanksgiving, when the town's Christmas parade was held. It didn't stop for us until we took our tree down three days ago. So we got nearly two months of Christmassy goodness, which in my mind, has no downside. You can not have too much Christmas. That's final.
Highlights:
Driving through the light display at Bristol Motor Speedway, which actually involved driving on the track! Whoa! Even in my anti-Nascar little world, this was pretty cool. That curve was crazy steep! Besides, all this time, I've actually been a devoted consumer of the Official Cheese-Filled Snack of Nascar, so I guess it was just a matter of time before I caved and went to visit the place.
These were the best pictures I could get:
While we're at it, here's some more blurry twinkly-light pictures, from Richmond:
And a house in Brian's hometown with way more lights than any of its neighbors that still managed to look very classy:
Also in Richmond, we took a really nice hike in a nearby state park. We forgot to bring a carrier, but looked like the trail was paved the whole way.
It wasn't. Lea ended up getting carried Cleopatra-style in her stroller for a good portion of the two mile loop.
We saw something cool, especially considering we were hiking on the Beaver Dam Lake Trail:
We stayed in Virginia through Christmas day, celebrating that morning with the Johns family until we headed north to spend some time with Clan Campbell. Unfortunately, something went terribly wrong with my camera either that day or the next, and almost every picture came out looking foggy, so our documentation of actual Christmas is pretty limited. But, I'll leave you with these, and hope the cuteness comes through despite the weird haze:
Contemplating the meaninglessness of the last game of the season...
Highlights:
Driving through the light display at Bristol Motor Speedway, which actually involved driving on the track! Whoa! Even in my anti-Nascar little world, this was pretty cool. That curve was crazy steep! Besides, all this time, I've actually been a devoted consumer of the Official Cheese-Filled Snack of Nascar, so I guess it was just a matter of time before I caved and went to visit the place.
These were the best pictures I could get:
While we're at it, here's some more blurry twinkly-light pictures, from Richmond:
And a house in Brian's hometown with way more lights than any of its neighbors that still managed to look very classy:
Also in Richmond, we took a really nice hike in a nearby state park. We forgot to bring a carrier, but looked like the trail was paved the whole way.
It wasn't. Lea ended up getting carried Cleopatra-style in her stroller for a good portion of the two mile loop.
We saw something cool, especially considering we were hiking on the Beaver Dam Lake Trail:
We stayed in Virginia through Christmas day, celebrating that morning with the Johns family until we headed north to spend some time with Clan Campbell. Unfortunately, something went terribly wrong with my camera either that day or the next, and almost every picture came out looking foggy, so our documentation of actual Christmas is pretty limited. But, I'll leave you with these, and hope the cuteness comes through despite the weird haze:
Contemplating the meaninglessness of the last game of the season...
Friday, January 11, 2008
Books!
I've been tagged by the lovely Liz, and it's a topic dear to my heart so I will happily play along.
One book that changed your life: The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. I started reading this knowing that it was considered a Great and Important Book. It was the first such book that made me realize that Great and Important Books don't have to be stiff, inaccessible, overly cerebral, or depressing. "But," you will say, "Catcher in the Rye IS depressing!" And I will say, no. It is fundamentally sad, but not depressing. It is beautifully sad. It doesn't wrench my heart now the same way it did when I was seventeen (and I've heard it theorized that if you don't read it when you're seventeen, it never packs the same punch), but it reminds me that at its best, fiction writing reflects the rawness of being alive in a way that non-fiction, somewhat ironically, just can't.
One book you have read more than once: Why are all the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? And Other Conversations about Race by Beverly Daniel Tatum. I first read this as part of a fabulous sociology course in college, and it was the most honest and striking discussion of race issues that I had ever encountered. (If you're reading this and you've ever used the phrase "reverse racism" or remarked, wide-eyed, that "white people are going to be the new minority before we know it!" please read the book. Pretty please.) I read it again recently after a conversation with a friend reminded me that when you're a parent it's not enough to be "not racist"; the really important example is to be actively anti-racist.
One book you would want on a desert island: A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson. Oh Bill Bryson, how I love thee (more on that later). Bryson does what I want to do: he writes about science, sometimes highly complex science, in a journalistic, fun, but still very brainy style. This book covers everything from the Big Bang to animal and plant diversity to the dawn of human society. It is delicious, but I've never read it from cover to cover in order; I just keep it by my bed and read snippets whenever I feel like it, and no matter where I start, it grabs me and makes me marvel at the beautiful intricacies of the universe.
One book that made you laugh: The Truth (with Jokes) by Al Franken. Franken actually makes me laugh out loud. Very very loud. I want to memorize snippets of his books and recite them to every person I meet.
One book that made you cry: Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. When you read this book, you have to know what's coming, but it doesn't matter. I cried like a baby, and I didn't mind. I think I read it all again right away just to have such a pure and unabashed cry-fest.
One book you wish you had written: A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail by Bill Bryson. Seriously, every single time I read one sentence of this book, the first thing I think is, "Man, I so wish I had written this book!" First of all, the process began by going to Georgia to start hiking the Appalachian trail. I could stop there and still have a jealous fire in my soul for Bryson. But then, he got to spend months researching the history of the trail and the region (hello, my most favorite place on earth!). And finally, he got to write it all up fueled by the genius and wit that is Bill Bryson's brain. Which is where the real jealousy comes in.
One book you are currently reading: Babycatcher: Chronicles of a Modern Midwife by Peggy Vincent. I haven't gotten to the part where she becomes a midwife just yet (she's still an L&D nurse and Lamaze instructor at a huge hospital), but so far, so good. Vincent has a medical background and a decidedly non-crunchy perspective on birthing, which is really refreshing and intriguing, as much of the midwifery literature I've come across is pretty unscientific (on purpose, and that's fine, but I know from my experience at the Birth Center that there is another side to the midwifery coin, and I think this book will come pretty close to that perspective).
One book you are meaning to read: The World is Flat by Thomas L. Friedman. Eric got me this for Christmas a year ago, and I know it will be good, and I want to read it, and as soon as I get over the fact that it's long, I will.
Because I know she will enjoy this homework assignment, and because she needs to blog more, I tag my dear mother. (Anyone else is free to answer, but I'm only going to pester my mom.)
One book that changed your life: The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. I started reading this knowing that it was considered a Great and Important Book. It was the first such book that made me realize that Great and Important Books don't have to be stiff, inaccessible, overly cerebral, or depressing. "But," you will say, "Catcher in the Rye IS depressing!" And I will say, no. It is fundamentally sad, but not depressing. It is beautifully sad. It doesn't wrench my heart now the same way it did when I was seventeen (and I've heard it theorized that if you don't read it when you're seventeen, it never packs the same punch), but it reminds me that at its best, fiction writing reflects the rawness of being alive in a way that non-fiction, somewhat ironically, just can't.
One book you have read more than once: Why are all the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? And Other Conversations about Race by Beverly Daniel Tatum. I first read this as part of a fabulous sociology course in college, and it was the most honest and striking discussion of race issues that I had ever encountered. (If you're reading this and you've ever used the phrase "reverse racism" or remarked, wide-eyed, that "white people are going to be the new minority before we know it!" please read the book. Pretty please.) I read it again recently after a conversation with a friend reminded me that when you're a parent it's not enough to be "not racist"; the really important example is to be actively anti-racist.
One book you would want on a desert island: A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson. Oh Bill Bryson, how I love thee (more on that later). Bryson does what I want to do: he writes about science, sometimes highly complex science, in a journalistic, fun, but still very brainy style. This book covers everything from the Big Bang to animal and plant diversity to the dawn of human society. It is delicious, but I've never read it from cover to cover in order; I just keep it by my bed and read snippets whenever I feel like it, and no matter where I start, it grabs me and makes me marvel at the beautiful intricacies of the universe.
One book that made you laugh: The Truth (with Jokes) by Al Franken. Franken actually makes me laugh out loud. Very very loud. I want to memorize snippets of his books and recite them to every person I meet.
One book that made you cry: Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. When you read this book, you have to know what's coming, but it doesn't matter. I cried like a baby, and I didn't mind. I think I read it all again right away just to have such a pure and unabashed cry-fest.
One book you wish you had written: A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail by Bill Bryson. Seriously, every single time I read one sentence of this book, the first thing I think is, "Man, I so wish I had written this book!" First of all, the process began by going to Georgia to start hiking the Appalachian trail. I could stop there and still have a jealous fire in my soul for Bryson. But then, he got to spend months researching the history of the trail and the region (hello, my most favorite place on earth!). And finally, he got to write it all up fueled by the genius and wit that is Bill Bryson's brain. Which is where the real jealousy comes in.
One book you are currently reading: Babycatcher: Chronicles of a Modern Midwife by Peggy Vincent. I haven't gotten to the part where she becomes a midwife just yet (she's still an L&D nurse and Lamaze instructor at a huge hospital), but so far, so good. Vincent has a medical background and a decidedly non-crunchy perspective on birthing, which is really refreshing and intriguing, as much of the midwifery literature I've come across is pretty unscientific (on purpose, and that's fine, but I know from my experience at the Birth Center that there is another side to the midwifery coin, and I think this book will come pretty close to that perspective).
One book you are meaning to read: The World is Flat by Thomas L. Friedman. Eric got me this for Christmas a year ago, and I know it will be good, and I want to read it, and as soon as I get over the fact that it's long, I will.
Because I know she will enjoy this homework assignment, and because she needs to blog more, I tag my dear mother. (Anyone else is free to answer, but I'm only going to pester my mom.)
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Goings on
One of these days I'll share some Christmas pictures, but until I get around to that, I want to make sure I don't totally fall out of the blogging habit. Originally I was just going to whine and vent about the fact that this week, Lea's eating and sleeping habits have gone totally down the tubes, but that wouldn't have made anything better, so we'll leave it alone. Eventually she will start sleeping longer than one-hour stretches at night again, right? Her molars will come in, right? She will eat more than two tiny morsels of squash, right? Please?
Anyway...
Politics: I heard a speech by John Kerry today that was more moving than any speech he made while campaigning for himself. Probably because he was talking about Barack Obama, for whom he announced his endorsement. The internets are a-buzzing with speculation that Kerry's endorsement adds up to a "death sentence" for Obama, which is stupid and perplexing. Anyway, here's part of what Kerry said:
As someone who has spent the last seven years trying to occasionally give our cringe-worthy President the benefit of the doubt by remembering that the real power belongs to the people he hires to help him make decisions, I am stunned to be able to imagine an America led by a President who I would actually want to set the tone for our nation-- to do more than surround himself with smart people-- to be the energy behind moving in a very new direction-- to define the presidency as a position of integrity and humility as well as strength. It is refreshing and exciting to remember Presidents who have done this, and I love it. I'm getting excited. I admit it. Hope, false hope, whatever. I like Obama, I like what he's doing to the campaign, and I am certain that the Democratic party is improved by paying attention to him.
.
In other news, I have to decide whether or not to start working an 8-hours-per-week grantwriting job. I have an interview scheduled for Monday, but I'm feeling very conflicted by a number of issues, not the least of which is the nature of the job itself. I don't want to get into too much detail, but let's just say the employer doesn't seem to really know what he's asking me to do. (He offered no details about his expectations, for one, and the pay he offered is about one-quarter the going rate for a grantwriter with a little experience in a somewhat nearby big city. Sure, I have a very, very, VERY little experience, and this ain't the big city, but one-quarter?? Really?? Not that that's the main issue here, but it makes me think the guy hasn't really looked into what it means to hire a grantwriter.) In some cases, I think creating your own job can be a very good thing, but in this case it makes me nervous. Nice guy, good cause, but very likely total chaos in figuring out what the heck I'm doing. Not sure about that-- although I could work from home in my pajamas, any hours I want, and adding "grantwriting" to my resume might be worth it in the end... unless it leads to a potential future employer asking how much I made, and then here we go again with the miniscule pay. What to do...?
.
We took Lea to the gigantic playground twice this week (like the one at East Ward Elementary school, D-towners). It was 65+ degrees, which is creepy big-picture-wise, but fun for the moment. I had been really worried about the beginning of her career as a walker coinciding with months of being cooped up inside. So it was a nice little bonus to get out and let her chase the big kids around and play the huge set of chimes and fall down in the wood chips and jump right back up with a grin. Of course, I didn't actually help build this particular playground, as I did at East Ward. And yes. Coating nails with a bar of soap so they are easier for the workers to drive in is helping.
.
We're 3 episodes away from finishing (again) Season Two of Lost before we race through Season Three, in preparation for Season Four to begin three weeks from tonight. I freaking love this show. I sometimes love to hate this show when it makes no sense, but mostly I just love it. Of course, Season Four might be only six or eight episodes long, and that would be heartbreaking, but that's life. As long as someday, in my lifetime, they tie up all the loose ends, and I mean ALL the loose ends, including Adam and Eve, including exactly what the monster is, including a VERY precise history of the Dharma initiative, including how the crap Richard Alpert doesn't age, including how Desmond goes on his crazy time-loop journey. I need answers, Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse! I need to believe that someday you will provide them. That is all.
Anyway...
Politics: I heard a speech by John Kerry today that was more moving than any speech he made while campaigning for himself. Probably because he was talking about Barack Obama, for whom he announced his endorsement. The internets are a-buzzing with speculation that Kerry's endorsement adds up to a "death sentence" for Obama, which is stupid and perplexing. Anyway, here's part of what Kerry said:
Some have suggested in this campaign that Barack is guilty of raising false hopes. So I ask you, I ask you, was it a false hope when Thomas Jefferson said that the United States should make available to every child in our nation a free public education? Was it a false hope when Franklin Roosevelt said that half of our senior citizens no longer had to live in poverty? Was it a false hope when Harry Truman said that every veteran of World War II was gonna go to college on the G.I. bill? Was it a false hope when John Kennedy said we're gonna go to the moon in a decade? My friends, the only charge that rings false in one that tells you not to hope for a better tomorrow! Don't- don't let anyone tell you to accept the downsizing of the American Dream, not in our America, not today, and not tomorrow, when Barack Obama is President of the United States.
As someone who has spent the last seven years trying to occasionally give our cringe-worthy President the benefit of the doubt by remembering that the real power belongs to the people he hires to help him make decisions, I am stunned to be able to imagine an America led by a President who I would actually want to set the tone for our nation-- to do more than surround himself with smart people-- to be the energy behind moving in a very new direction-- to define the presidency as a position of integrity and humility as well as strength. It is refreshing and exciting to remember Presidents who have done this, and I love it. I'm getting excited. I admit it. Hope, false hope, whatever. I like Obama, I like what he's doing to the campaign, and I am certain that the Democratic party is improved by paying attention to him.
.
In other news, I have to decide whether or not to start working an 8-hours-per-week grantwriting job. I have an interview scheduled for Monday, but I'm feeling very conflicted by a number of issues, not the least of which is the nature of the job itself. I don't want to get into too much detail, but let's just say the employer doesn't seem to really know what he's asking me to do. (He offered no details about his expectations, for one, and the pay he offered is about one-quarter the going rate for a grantwriter with a little experience in a somewhat nearby big city. Sure, I have a very, very, VERY little experience, and this ain't the big city, but one-quarter?? Really?? Not that that's the main issue here, but it makes me think the guy hasn't really looked into what it means to hire a grantwriter.) In some cases, I think creating your own job can be a very good thing, but in this case it makes me nervous. Nice guy, good cause, but very likely total chaos in figuring out what the heck I'm doing. Not sure about that-- although I could work from home in my pajamas, any hours I want, and adding "grantwriting" to my resume might be worth it in the end... unless it leads to a potential future employer asking how much I made, and then here we go again with the miniscule pay. What to do...?
.
We took Lea to the gigantic playground twice this week (like the one at East Ward Elementary school, D-towners). It was 65+ degrees, which is creepy big-picture-wise, but fun for the moment. I had been really worried about the beginning of her career as a walker coinciding with months of being cooped up inside. So it was a nice little bonus to get out and let her chase the big kids around and play the huge set of chimes and fall down in the wood chips and jump right back up with a grin. Of course, I didn't actually help build this particular playground, as I did at East Ward. And yes. Coating nails with a bar of soap so they are easier for the workers to drive in is helping.
.
We're 3 episodes away from finishing (again) Season Two of Lost before we race through Season Three, in preparation for Season Four to begin three weeks from tonight. I freaking love this show. I sometimes love to hate this show when it makes no sense, but mostly I just love it. Of course, Season Four might be only six or eight episodes long, and that would be heartbreaking, but that's life. As long as someday, in my lifetime, they tie up all the loose ends, and I mean ALL the loose ends, including Adam and Eve, including exactly what the monster is, including a VERY precise history of the Dharma initiative, including how the crap Richard Alpert doesn't age, including how Desmond goes on his crazy time-loop journey. I need answers, Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse! I need to believe that someday you will provide them. That is all.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
And they're back!
After being on the road for seventeen days, we're finally home. It was supposed to be sixteen days. We were supposed to get home last night. Then, about 150 miles from home, Lea threw up. So we stopped, changed her clothes, got back on the road, and she threw up again. Assuming it was carsickness (we'd been on some bumpy roads), we decided to stop in Blacksburg and get a hotel. If Lea's motion sickness is anything like mine, I figured, she's not going to feel better unless she's out of the car for at least a few hours. This was at 10:30 pm, so our options were limited.
We stopped at the Super 8 and Brian drove the last 100 miles to Abingdon to bring the cats home (oh yeah, did I mention the cats were crying in their carriers during all of this?), unloaded the car, turned the heat up in the house, and turned right around to come back to Blacksburg.
Meanwhile...
It wasn't carsickness, but a nasty stomach bug. Poor little kid was vomiting about every half hour, until she was so tired she was sprawled face down on the hotel bed dry-heaving practically in her sleep. She kept looking at me when it happened-- like, "what is happening to me?" It was excruciating.
Anyway. She finally fell asleep at about 3:30 and we all slept fitfully off and on until about 8:30. Then we loaded up the car one last time and drove home. Happy New Year!
We stopped at the Super 8 and Brian drove the last 100 miles to Abingdon to bring the cats home (oh yeah, did I mention the cats were crying in their carriers during all of this?), unloaded the car, turned the heat up in the house, and turned right around to come back to Blacksburg.
Meanwhile...
It wasn't carsickness, but a nasty stomach bug. Poor little kid was vomiting about every half hour, until she was so tired she was sprawled face down on the hotel bed dry-heaving practically in her sleep. She kept looking at me when it happened-- like, "what is happening to me?" It was excruciating.
Anyway. She finally fell asleep at about 3:30 and we all slept fitfully off and on until about 8:30. Then we loaded up the car one last time and drove home. Happy New Year!
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