Confession

The soul calls weight upon weight unto itself.
And in so little time
I am here again.
Barely able to lift my head after digging into its depths.
Wishing for bare feet as my echoing heels at once announce and condemn this sinner's presence.

Certainly, that old woman in her silent pew could see the guilt spilling over,
If only she lifted her head.
But she loudly whispers her beads and clicks her worn shoes against the kneeler behind,
Convincing the dark church of her non-judgement, while I seem to feel the halo pulsing under her black wool hat.

The heavy curtain retracts at my touch--or does it welcome me, ushering in the prodigal, not to lose another moment of grace?

"Bless me, Father, ..."
Contaminating the air, filling that small box with evil words, revolt upon revolt against Divine love.
They linger for a moment, then crumble.
How many words have crumbled against the panels of this stall, smashed to nothingness by the form of the sacrament, washed away by penitent tears?
At the name of Jesus, the devil runs away.

"Thunk!" The window of mercy has allowed its miracle.
The curtain is drawn and morning light falls in through colored glass.
Still the loud whispering, still the darkness, but a new stillness.
"Grace abounds all the more"* and I renew my promises.

My love returns to find His never changing.
An infinite distance spanned in the period of an old woman's prayer.

Soft footsteps hurry by and I lift my head to watch God's instrument of grace ascend the altar.
He gave his life to serve the Church:
To serve the Creator and the creature, the Redeemer and the sinner.

His alarm also calls at dawn, but it calls a battle-cry:
Contend with the evil in those you must also love!
Bring Christ to these broken hearts!

Must not his valiant heart hate my sins more than I?
Is he not burdened? Is he not weary?
Why does he not stoop?

The Lord calls sinner upon sinner unto Himself.



*Rom 5:20

Fifteen!

You know the joke... three snotty young women--a brunette, a redhead, and a blonde--walk into a bar and order drinks from a new, inexperienced cocktail waitress.
Brunette: I'll have a G and T.
Waitress: Excuse me? What is that exactly?
Brunette: Duh-huh! It's "gin and tonic."

Redhead: I'll have a Smith and Kearns.
Waitress: I'm sorry, what is that?
Redhead: Duh-huh! It's "kahlua and cream."

Blonde: I'll have a 15.
Waitress: Umm, I'm not sure I--
Blonde: Duh-huh! It's a "seven and seven."

So the connection is, I would not be posting during this (very busy!) last week before spring break if I had not been tagged by Portia Bean.
I have time to read her blog, so I guess I have time to post the tag...!

So here we go: Forty-nine
(otherwise referred to as 7x7)

Seven things to do before I die:
1. Get married and have children.
2. Climb a mountain in South America.
3. Correspond with letters.
4. Visit Poland.
5. Compete in a triathlon.
6. Return to the Philippines.
7. Learn Portuguese.

Seven things I cannot do:
1. Pull-ups (my upper body strength has always been very limited).
2. Allow precision of vocabulary to slide when I'm engaged in an argument.
3. Conquer my pride (it's difficult for me to think of things I cannot do!)
4. Run on a treadmill (I need to be outside when I'm running)
5. Keep track of my belongings (i.e., leave an area with as many items as I came with)
6. Play volleyball (I'm afraid of the ball; it hurts my arms--#1 on this list might be related)
7. Make my brain work past 11pm.

Seven things that attract me to … my Other Half:
I am not yet married (see #1 of "Before I Die")

Seven things I say:
1. Holy cow! / Good heavens!
2. I don't kah-no (phonetic pronunciation of "know").
3. Oh, please...(as in, gimme a break)
4. Out loud, dramatically (specifically, when speaking of reading or reciting something)
5. Are you hungry? / Would you like some tea? (apparently, Chestnut says I always say these things to him...maybe because I always see him around mealtimes?)
6. What are you thinking about? (Chestnut says I always say this, too--but it might have to do with his tendency to become quiet and thoughtful)
7. God bless.

Seven books I love:
1. Late Have I Loved Thee Ethel Mannin
2. A Right to be Merry Mother Mary Francis, P.C.C.
3. On the Incarnation Saint Athanasius
4. Father Elijah Michael O'Brien
5. James and the Giant Peach Roald Dahl
6. Come Rack! Come Rope! Robert Hugh Benson
7. Kristin Lavransdatter Sigrid Undset

Seven movies that I’ve loved:
1. Return to Me
2. Princess Bride
3. Braveheart
4. Just Like Heaven
5. Pride and Prejudice (the 6-hr A&E version)
6. Life is Beautiful
7. Dave and the Giant Pickle

Seven people to meme:
1. Whiskey
2. Erin-Roommate (what the heck; let's keep trying!)
3. WindMillTilter
4. Anna-Not
...and that's enough for now because 15 minus 7 equals 8, and 4 is half of 8.

And this just in ...
Annoucing the birth of John Charles Remstad! He emerged today, February 27th, weighing in at 8lbs, 14-1/2 oz, after 32 long and hard hours of labor. Both mother and baby (as well as father!) are fine, and all are happy that it's over!
Little John has the distinct privelege of being born on the same day as the widely renowned (in smallish circles)"Big Vic" Vincent.

Welcome to this crazy world, John!

Let it Snow

Weekend blizzard

We went for a walk after I felt like I had gotten a sufficient amount of schoolwork done on Sunday.
By that time, the plows had been through a few times; instead of getting our trousers snowy, we concerned ourselves with not slipping on the ice underneath the fine layer of fresh snow.
It was cold, but very still and very white and therefore, very pretty. Everywhere we walked, people were outside of their houses, digging vehicles out from underneath the snow drifts, anticipating Monday morning.
Sacred Heart University was open today--no cancellations, no delays.
Stamford school district, however, had the entire day off! Luckies....
And there's still snow on the ground, and it's still a bit chilly outside.
The storm conflicted with the original weekend plans, but it turned out to be a good time of balancing academic productivity with old-fashioned relaxation.

Prayers requested: first big exam of the semester this Wednesday, followed by a difficult meeting.

Could You Embrace That?

I said to God again,

“Beloved I need to love you – every aspect, every pore.”

And this time God said,
“There is a hideous blemish on my body,
though it is such an infinitesimal part of my Being-
could you kiss that if it were revealed?”

“I will try, Lord, I will try.”

And then God said,
“That blemish is all the hatred and
cruelty in this
world.”

~St. Thomas Aquinas

I have come to love the three children in the family whom I help out during the week. They are like younger siblings to me. Different events have inspired this realization.

Once, when Andrew's physical therapist was on his honeymoon, a substitute came in to conduct the weekly aquatic therapy session. I knew that Andrew's regular PT, Scott, had informed this substitute about all of his patients, and that she was an experienced, competent therapist. But I was nervous for the entire hour, knowing that she did not know Andrew like I did, praying that she wouldn't push him too hard or expect too much, hoping that she would praise him sufficiently for how hard he was working under these altered conditions.

I marveled at how Andrew's super-capable and energetic mother, Kris, was able to send me off to the club pool with him a few days after I started working for the family.

When I arrived at their house today, Andrew's older brother Henry greeted me with the news that his mom and Andrew went to New York for a consult with an orthopedist. Henry and I sat side by side in the dining room doing our respective schoolwork, then we played a board game until the rest of the family came home. Henry is the oldest at 11, but is still so young and innocent. A few months ago, he was temporarily home alone. I was with his mother when he called her cell phone in a panic: there was a woman ringing the doorbell and he was afraid to open the door. Apparently, she kept would not go away, but kept ringing the doorbell. My heart ached for him as I listened to Kris' sympathetic but calm instructions to go into the master bedroom, close the door, and put the T.V. on for 10 minutes until she returned home. He'll be a teenager soon, but for now, his parents are his stronghold and he knows where to place his trust.

The youngest, Ellen, 6 years old, trudged in the door first this afternoon, leaving shoes and jacket in her path as she ambled farther into the house. When she heard my voice shouting "hello?" from the living room, she immediately switched gears, scurrying in to pounce on me, hug me, and hang off my elbows, begging that I play with her next. She can be a disciplinary disaster sometimes, but somehow, a bond has been formed. Although she squirmed away in the shower when I tried to scrub shampoo through her hair, five minutes later she was giggling as I wrapped the bath towel around her in a bear hug. I smiled later on this evening as she shouted repeatedly, "Can I have Oreos now? I ate the red part of my pizza. I did. Look. Can I? Can I please have some Oreos?"

And then things happen that makes me wonder why children have to lose their innocence. Henry, Andrew, Ellen, ...eventually they will face extreme ugliness, evil, hatred. Somehow, someday, they will be exposed to the cruelty of the world outside their loving home. Hopefully, they will be shocked and horrified; but also, I pray it will not cause them doubt or anxiety.

Their worries are so pure right now. Andrew became distressed on Sunday when he did not participate in the closing hymn at church. Henry ran across the street to the neighbors' house Saturday to report his parents were lost, because he did not see them resting on the living room couch. Ellen threw a mild tantrum last week when I could not stay to blow-dry her hair before bedtime.

I cannot imagine these beautiful, happy children having to fight on the harsh battlefields of high school pressures and college temptations.

I know I would go after anyone who tried to harm these kids. How difficult to raise children in this world!

But then, kissing the blemish that is "all the hatred and cruelty in the world" ... this is the greater challenge. God loves His creatures even when they pervert His creation. And I am a perverter just as much as the next sinner. I contribute to the world where children lose their innocence and build up barriers to love. Yet God continues to offer His grace and forgiveness "as we forgive those who trespass against us." The challenge is to go and do the same.

Could you embrace that?

Italian family

While in Connecticut, I've become an adjunct member of Frank's family. The problem with being so busy, though, is that there are spans of time where I am not able to see much of them.
I receive remarks such as, "What you don't like us anymore?" from Frank's brother John Paul, or "Hey, stranger! I'm so glad to see you're still alive," from Angela, his fiancee. Last weekend after Mass, Frank's mother came up to me in the vestibule with her eyebrows raised: "I miss you," she said, very sincerely, almost sternly.

So this past week, I found a half hour to stop by the house and say hello. It continually amazes me how welcoming the family is to me--my entrance was as joyous as a long-lost friend, and as comfortable as a daughter of the house. After greetings and hugs and expressions of gratitude that I came, I was immediately led down into the basement to inspect the rennovations being done on John Paul and Angela's future apartment.

And yesterday, for the first time since before Thanksgiving, I was able to attend Sunday dinner at Sharon's house. It was Tony's first invitation: Sharon said it was his baptism into the Marchetti Sunday dinners. :)
Not everyone was there--only about half of the family could make it--but the Marchetti grandchildren were all present, which makes up a lot of the bustling and noise and laughter that draws everyone together. And of course, the political theory and religious updates and critique of culture were all loudly put forth and thrown around the table.
Sometimes I put my two cents in when I feel the need (usually every possible viewpoint is already represented!) but generally, I like to sit back. Literally. I sit back in my chair, look around, smile, and thank God for these good people who have welcomed me into their hearts.

I am blessed with this special sort of familial support, even living so far from the stronghold of my parents' love and encouragement. They can never give me what I receive from my true family--not even close--but their generous love and concern surround me like armor and prepare me for another week.

And so the week begins...

Angelic Painter

Went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art today to check out the Fra Angelico exhibit. It's only there until tomorrow, so we had to get down there!

It was beautiful. Not as good as seeing the actual cell walls at San Marco in Florence, but it was well worth the time, effort, and admission donation.

We took the train down from Stamford. There was short-lived apprehension while I located my ticket for the conductor in one of my many pockets on the way down. I then handed it over to Tony for safe-keeping. We are alike in many ways. Unfortunately, some of those ways are all too uncomplementary: first of all, both of us are lacking in sense of direction, although I seem to be able to muster it when I'm making an effort. Today, however, it was discovered that we share the inability to keep things from getting lost. Either that or it's contagious. Whichever way it works, he lost my ticket--although he did not lose his own, which was interesting. He ended up paying for my train ride (a second time) when we got back on the train this afternoon to go home ....
Memories of Paris with lovely friend, Alissa: Buying a ten-pack of subway passes ... half an hour later, looking in every pocket I own, frantically searching, but laughing with my friend at the irony of it all ... Alissa being in charge of "all important documents except the passport" from that point onward ...
I used to think it'd get better as I get older. Maybe not.

But as I mentioned, the exhibit was worth the trip. I told the family I babysit for on Saturdays all about it, and I think they're going to try to make it after Mass tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I shall plan another trip to Italy.

How Can I Keep from Singing?

Back on a schedule and into a routine.

I am so excited about this semester. It's going to be so much work, but it's all relevant to the work that I'll be doing when I'm finally out in the field (funny that there's that distinction, even at this level of education!). And much of the difficult stuff is group work; my group consists of my three closest friends at school; so instead of being busy and not being able to see them, I'll be forced to see much of them over the next 5 months!

Two large breaks--spring break and Easter break--plus a few less credits scheduled in order to give us time for our projects ... all this contributes to my relief that this semester may not be dreadful.

Add to that the latest gift from St. Anthony: "...out of the blue clear sky."

I can't stop smiling.

How can I keep from singing?

Please define "weird"

Aaaack! I've been Memed! Which I would have assumed to mean, "attacked by a Portia bean." But it's not that. It means that I've been tagged by Nutmeg to participate in some strange form of self-revelation.

Rules: The first player of this game starts with the topic "five weird habits of yourself," and people who get tagged need to write an entry about their five weird habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next five people to be tagged and link to their web journals. Don't forget to leave a comment in their blog or journal that says "You are tagged" (assuming they take comments) and tell them to read yours.

5 weird habits, by Sephora
Disclaimer: I'm not sure what constitutes "weird." I am going to assume that "weird habits" include my habits that I doubt most others have. For example, the fact that I brush my teeth twice a day is not a "weird habit," since I assume that most people do as much. This, however, is not a proper definition, as one should never define something by what it is not. The use of a universal negative leaves us with the idea "weird habits" are merely the original pieces of individual self-expression. But whatever....

1. I tend to clean kitchens wherever I go. Yes, it's polite to help out in the kitchen when you are invited over, but at friends' houses, that's usually my first destination, where I immediately start doing dishes and wiping counters. At home, I cannot get any other work done if the kitchen is dirty.

2. When I really look forward to emailing someone in particular, I don't let myself do it until I've responded to all the emails in my Inbox. In some strange way, I feel bad that I enjoy writing some emails more than others, so I put my
preferences last.

3. I have much more fun cleaning house, cooking, and baking when I'm wearing a skirt or dress. So while some people save old pairs of jeans, I have a dress with bleach stains on it that I wear with an apron for housework.

4. Bedsheets and towels all must be folded with the right side out. If I fold them the other way by mistake, I have to shake them out and re-fold them.

5. When I'm driving, I don't listen to music until I've said my rosary that day. If I'm tired, I must say my rosary out loud to prevent myself from losing focus or getting sleepy. If I pray out loud, I put my headset on so that I don't appear to be talking to myself. (I suppose I care if people think that I'm talking to myself!)

This tagging business is going to turn into who will actually respond, like those silly questionnaires that people send to their friends. So here is my tag-team:

Most likely to respond: Austin, Texas, the most recent addition to my sidebar, from whom I anticipate continual greatness.

Least likely to respond: Erin-Roommate, who is more busy than I (Recipe: wedding planning, graduate school, independent Arabic study; Mix well.)

Most likely to respond with excuses describing why he won't respond to the actual post: Nevermore, who has more serious concerns and more pressing things to get out of his head and into writing.

Crap-shoots, but I'd be sooo interested to hear from them: Donzilla and Jedno

Scccraape!

My flight was delayed, so instead of arriving in New York at 6:20am, I arrived at 7:45am. Oh, gooh-day.
And there was Tony at JetBlue's baggage claim, looking like 3-in-the-afternoon, as I wearily hugged him and thanked him for saving me from a hideous Metro North train ride. Although I got very little sleep on the plane, I was determined not to nap during the day, so that I could adjust to the 2-hour time loss more quickly.

"So that means you want to do something fun and exciting?" Tony chirped.

"Umm, sure," I replied.

After a lovely breakfast and noon Mass, he suggested ice-skating. I readily agreed.
I didn't realize how prices had risen since I was a child. I remember being able to skate for 4 hours for about $5, maybe an extra $1 or so if you needed rentals (which we never needed, of course!). Tony and I arrived at the rink about 30 minutes before the meager 2-hour public skate slot closed, and the guy charged us $10 each! That didn't even include the rental!
"We're right near Greenwich, remember," Tony reasoned with me. Oh, yes. Where you have to pay rent just to breathe. I forgot.
I was determined to make it worth the money. This was difficult to do when certain aspects of my presentation made me feel like I'd just woken up...all day long:
3 hours of sleep on an airplane
No make-up to hide the dark shadows
Eyeglasses that started making my head ache behind my ears
Same clothes for the last 12+ hours: a wrinkled khaki skirt and a turtleneck too stretched to stay close to my neck anymore

But we had fun. We took the advice of a woman teaching her young daughter how to figure skate, and "pushed through our heels." Still, there were a few close calls in that short half-hour period!

I enjoyed my first day back--no work, no GA work, no school work.

It was a good time spent with a friend who is usually up to ears in work and stress himself. Scraping the ice was a great way to ease into this next semester.

'Tis the Season...

...to receive emails and cards from people I never hear from otherwise.

Thank God! I'm grateful we feel that special obligation during the Christmas season to "reconnect" with old friends who have fallen off our individually constructed glory trains.

The last I heard from one of my friends, she was married and expecting a child. This Christmas, after mouse-clicking on the most probable-looking Hungarian by-lines, I reached her holiday greeting, written in English:
"Marcel is one and a half year old, and I am expecting again."
This leads me to conclude that
1. Her first child was a little boy
2. She still knows how to communicate in English
3. It's been way too long since I was in touch with her

The other day, I settled into an antique chair with a pot of tea at my favorite coffee shop (after clocking out, of course!). I pulled out my address book to write some of my own Christmas cards. Wow--I couldn't get past "B" without a self-conscious feeling of guilt. When did it happen? I used to be the one to keep in touch with people. Letters were my main source of contact for several of my friends.

As I started writing one particular card, I wracked my brain, trying to remember when my last contact with this person was. I really had no idea where to start. And then I didn't know where to finish! I ended up digging in my purse for extra paper--the index card I found there was soon packed with extra verbage.

Sighing, I quickly scribbled holiday well-wishes on the next 4 cards, resistant to the idea of composing novels for each of my faraway friends. But it was sobering, realizing how much I could write... how remisce I have been in my correspondence with people in my life who have given me so much.

Which thoughts led me to the drafting of a New Years resolution. I have not yet perfected the actual statement, but it will have something to do with letter-writing and old friends.

Meanwhile, I have a few more Christmas cards to go....

Counting Pennies

Yep, it's that time of the semester again: the END of it.

...where inevitably, I end up sitting on my bed the night before my last exam, counting up all my loose change; then I go digging through every pocket of every article of clothing that I own in order to find more. This way, after my exam the following day, I can proceed to the bank with my Ziploc bag of checks, bills, and coins before I leave for home, plop it on the teller's counter, and declare with confidence, "I have [so many] dollars and [this much] cents to deposit today!"

I've figured out how many bills will be subtracted from my account without me here to replenish it.

I've exhausted every possibility of rebate and refund that I can think of.

Now it's time to take my test, and start my Christmas vacation!

"Life is too short...

...not to celebrate birthdays."
That's what the napkins said at our large family birthday party last night.

Friday was Grandpa's 85th birthday. I called him on Thursday and got my birthday greetings in early.
"Oh, thank you , but you know," he told me, "we stopped counting birthdays after 55."

It didn't seem like it, though, at my Uncle Kevin and Aunt Kathleen's house last night! There were helium balloons wherever a flat surface stood empty. Food filled the kitchen table, drinks and snacks filled the breakfast bar, and everywhere, there were relatives: squeezing past one another in doorways, sidestepping around the affectionate golden retriever, carrying plates to and fro from the kitchen, chatting and laughing and teasing. Interestingly enough, while planning the desserts and setting out food, everyone kept saying that we were "not a big group." It was true. In comparison to most family gatherings, there were not too many present. Several people were not able to make it, for one reason or another. However, those who were there filled the house with conversation and laughter.
I met one cousin's fiance whom I've been waiting to meet for about a year, and two other cousins' girlfriends that I've heard about for what seems like forever.

Grandma and Grandpa sat on the sofa, happy to include in their conversations anyone who ventured into the living room. After dessert, Grandpa opened all of his cards and gifts. One family gave him (updated) framed pictures of each grandchild for their photo collection. As each one was displayed and passed around the room, Grandma got newly excited that the pictures were "theirs to keep."
"This is for us? We get to take this home? Oh, how nice!" she kept saying.
To which Grandpa replied at one point, "Well, that's the whole point of all this--to collect the loot!"
As she admired her granddaughter's picture, Grandma asked, "Now, did Grandma Tallon get one of these?"
After her Laura assured her--on a few separate occasions--that yes, her other grandmother had received one, Grandma asked yet again.
The eldest in that family, Michael, spoke up. "Now, now, Grandma. It's not a competition!"

Soon everything was opened and set aside. Aunt Kathleen told her eldest son to sign the card on the counter before Grandma and Grandpa left. Apparently, he had missed the opportunity beforehand. He's a recent college graduate, more recently real estate certified--complete with the business suit and briefcase--the kind of kid who looks like he's got it all together. He obediently grabbed the card he saw on the indicated counter and added his name to the bottom. His mother's sister was close to tears from laughing so hard as she returned to the living room and told the story. Of course, then we had to pass around the card, at the expense of the poor guy, who just looked on, grinning and shaking his head. For at the bottom of this particular card was scripted, "Love, Rich & Jim," and below that in a different pen, "Bobby."
I guess he didn't stop to wonder why it would make sense for him to sign this card instead of the one from his family--complete with all of his siblings' names on it.
"I just do what I'm told," he said, "Mom said 'sign the card,' so I signed the card!"
"At least you didn't write your name on top!" Uncle Richard ragged.

While we were having cake, Grandpa quieted everyone with his paternal declaration:
"Well, you can have all the food, you can have all the gifts, you can have all the decorations and all that ... but what means the most to me is looking around and seeing this beautiful gathering of all my people. Thank you. ...And there will be no further speeches."

A good time was had by all; everyone left between 10:30 and 11pm, and I went up to bed. I coughed, tossed, turned, repositioned, and popped cough drops for about an hour. Then Aunt Kathleen brought in a vaporizer. It had a miraculous effect: almost as soon as she plugged it in, I stopped coughing and got a good night's sleep!

When I awoke and looked out the window, I did a double-take: 3 inches of snow covered the ground, and more was falling. Although it was beautiful, I was worried about my drive home.

A firm grip on the wheel, a good deal of prayer, and some windshield washer fluid found me safe in Stamford for the 10am Mass.

What's that?

Finals this week?

...Oh, yeah!

But it was worth it.


"Without a family, man, alone in the world, trembles in the cold."
~ Andre Maurois

If you cook it ...

My personal continuation of the weekend so adroitly coordinated by Nutmeg and her DH....

As it turns out, I gradually became aware of a large and larger gathering of friends and friends of friends from That--College's Beloved Class of '02. Where? Well, ...where else? Washington D.C.--the capitol of reunions, the bastion of traditions, the city of national pride, where the free and brave congregate.

Even if they're from Canada.

(ahem).

In their cars and on the planes, they came to celebrate a Saturday Thanksgiving together. So I was not going to be absent.

I landed in Newark around 3:30pm (this particular airport is in the state of New Joy-zeh) and promptly rented a car to transport my body a few states away, to Virginia. ...to the home of a beautiful little Irish lady, who happened to be spending her Thanksgiving with the rest of her daughter's family in Ojai, California. (Two of her grandchildren hosted the rest of us in this, her Virginia home).

By the time I sorted my way through traffic and road-signs hidden by the darkness, it was after 9pm. But I was received with open arms by dear friends both seen and unseen these past 3 years. Represented: Maryland, Massachusetts, New Mexico, Kansas, Washington, California, South Dakota, Alabama, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Michigan, Connecticut, Washington D.C., British Columbia and Ontario ... ex-couples having beers together, meeting new significant others ... students and professionals rehashing old arguments surrounding life and its meaning ... the undistinguishable mix of alumni with honorary class members ... current friends of old friends ... definitely an evening worthy of attendance.

After a mandatory farewell breakfast at the local "Pete's" substitute of Vienna, Virginia, it was on the road again! We dropped my car off at Baltimore's airport and I joined the Stamford sisters to continue the journey up to Connecticut. We chose to drive the round-about 6-hour route through Pennsylvania, rather than spend 8 hours on the 4-hour route through NYC. It worked out splendidly. I arrived home to my apartment shortly after 6:30pm, ready for the 2 and 1/2 weeks of school ahead!

Sore from the soccer game, sick from aireborne pathogens on the airplane, attacking my helpless Echinacea-Goldenseal deprived self.

Shower ...

tea ...

goldenseal ...

bed.

"Family" Holidays

"Have you decided yet where you'll be for Thanksgiving?" my mother asks, three days before the holiday. Ah, yes; she's learning my style. One advantage (disadvantage?) of being single is that plans can shift an infinite number of times, depending on which direction the traffic is moving, or who I meet at Mass that morning, or what line I'm in at the grocery store. I don't really need to decide what I'm doing, since no one will be disappointed with wherever I end up. :)

I know for sure I'll be spending the night in Stamford tomorrow night, with "the girls." We'll actually be able to hang out, instead of spending hours sitting silently at their kitchen table, each of us typing away on a computer or reading a book or grading papers.
"So I'm thinking maybe I'll just pack for the whole week and weekend," I tell Mom. "They have an air mattress. I might as well take advantage of several days' vacation."
Why come back to my lonely apartment when I have these great friends just 30 miles away?

However, a unique family longing comes with every holiday season. As a college freshman, I only started feeling homesick when I was helping to set the tables for our campus-wide Thanksgiving dinner. There's something attractive about the prospect of living close to my family again. Something very exciting about the possibility of actually helping to plan the holiday schedule ... maybe someday hosting everyone in my own home.

It's interesting how we "create" some sort of family wherever we go. It's as automatic as squinting when it's bright outside. That's why there's this choosiness when it comes to deciding what to do for the holidays. First choice is the familiar, second choice is the next most familiar. Indecision comes when two different second choice-types of "familiar" are both available.

At least Christmas break is only 3 weeks away... :)

Chop!

I've been needing a hair trim since July. That means my last trim was not in July. My last trim was in May, right before the Remstads' wedding.

Finally, I set aside some time this past Saturday. Thaisa sits me in her kitchen, turns on Seldom Scene, and asks me the million-dollar question:
"How much to you want taken off?"

"Ummm," I run my fingers slowly down its impressive length. I haven't had it this long since sophomore year of college. "As much as necessary to make it not-yucky again. See how it frays down here?"

"Ok, ...so 2 inches? 3 inches?"

"Let's make it 3!" I say it enthusiastically, with mock courage.

She arranges the top layer of extra hair on top of my head, and soon I feel strips of my lower layer being separated out, followed by the crisp: shwick! of the scissors.

"Ummm ...?" I whine.

"Don't hate me...!" she cries back in a whisper.

"I don't hate you. I trust you," I assure her, reminding myself of all the haircuts this woman was responsible for at That Anonymous College. "Thank you so much for doing this. ...How's it looking?"

"Well, ..." she pauses. "Um. It really needed to be trimmed."

"Yeah. Ok. It's pretty bad, huh? How embarrassing."

"Oh, don't worry. Do you remember when the 'bob' was in? ...just kidding!!"

I chuckle with relief.

Then it's all finished. I can tell by Thaisa's face that it looks really different. She is anxiously waiting for my reaction.
I put my hand up to my head, and thread my fingers from my forehead to my neck.Good sign: I can still fit my hair behind my ears. I go look in the bathroom mirror. The layers are clean and defined. I take a shower; it takes me less than 10 minutes. I dry my hair; less than 5. I tell Thaisa that maybe I want to keep it this length. She breathes a sigh of relief.

I go out with classmates.

"Did you donate it?" one asks.

It's a trim, people. It's still a trim.

Andrew - Gems

Me: Andrew, what would you like to do now? We can read part of one of your chapter books, listen to music, go outside and play, or work on math homework.
Andrew: Let's do some stretches.
Me: Really? You want to do your stretches with me?
Andrew: Yes. I would like to do some stretches.
Me: Wow. I didn't even give that as an option. Let's do it! Would you like to put on some music? Stretches on the bed or on the floor?
Andrew: [pressing 'Play' on his CD player] On my bed.
Me: Great. [lifting his 60lbs out of his power chair]
Andrew: [looking up at me as I carry him the few feet to his bed] Because you're learning how to be a physical therapist. That's why we have to do my stretches. Because ... that's why you're going to be a physical therapist.

- . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . -

The scene is the bathroom, with Andrew laughing hysterically, lying on his back while I dry him off after a shower and get him into his pajamas.

Me: What is so funny?
Andrew: [laughs even harder]
Me: Ok, Andrew. You're really being silly tonight. Hang on, don't move. Let me grab your toothbrush.
Andrew: [still laughing, stops to listen to the Disney CD playing in his bedroom next door. Starts giggling again as I bend over him with his toothbrush]
Me: Ok, no choking allowed. Got it?
Andrew: [attempts to calm down, then laughs a few short bursts] That's what Mrs. P always used to say. No choking allowed.
Me: You ready? [inserting the toothbrush into his mouth] Well, she's right. Choking would be ugly. ...
Andrew: [words muffled by the toothbrush being maneuvered around his mouth] You...are...suh....a swee-hah.
Me: Excuse me? Where did you hear that one?
Andrew just smiles sweetly ...

- . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . -

Andrew: What are you doing this weekend?
Me: This weekend, I will be doing what I do every weekend: STUDYING. Sound like fun?
Andrew: Are you going to study how to be a physical therapist?
Me: Yes, I am!
Andrew: That's good.

Identification

Found this in a "break" between projects this evening:

You know you're a grad student when...

you can identify universities by their internet domains.
you are constantly looking for a thesis in novels.
you have difficulty reading anything that doesn't have footnotes.
the concept of free time scares you.
you consider caffeine to be a major food group.
you've ever brought books with you on vacation and actually studied.
Saturday nights spent studying no longer seem weird.
you've ever travelled across two state lines specifically to go to a library.
you appreciate the fact that you get to choose which twenty hours out of the day you have to work.
you can read course books and cook at the same time.
you schedule events for academic vacations so your friends can come.
you hope it snows during spring break so you can get more studying in.
you find taking notes in a park relaxing.
you find yourself citing sources in conversation.
you've ever sent a personal letter with footnotes.
you can analyze the significance of appliances you cannot operate.
your office is better decorated than your apartment.
you are startled to meet people who neither need nor want to read.
you have ever brought a scholarly article to a bar.
you rate coffee shops by the availability of outlets for your laptop.
everything reminds you of something in your discipline.
you have ever discussed academic matters at a sporting event.
you have ever spent more than $50 on photocopying while researching a single paper.
there is a study booth in the library that you consider "yours."
you can tell the time of day by looking at the traffic flow at the library.
you look forward to summers because you're more productive without the distraction of classes.
you regard ibuprofen as a vitamin.
you consider all papers to be works in progress.
professors don't really care when you turn in work anymore.
you find the bibliographies of books more interesting than the actual text.
you have given up trying to keep your books organized and are now just trying to keep them all in the same general area.
you have accepted guilt as an inherent feature of relaxation.
you find yourself explaining to children that you are in "20th grade".
you start refering to stories like "Snow White et al."
you often wonder how long you can live on pasta without getting scurvy.
you look forward to taking some time off to do laundry.
you have more photocopy cards than credit cards.
you wonder if APA style allows you to cite talking to yourself as "personal communication".

plus one of my own ...
you find yourself looking for a space in your planner to scribble in "get the oil changed"

Juice, anyone?

Andrew (9 year-old): Have you ever been to Lucky's?

Me: No, I haven't.

Ellen (5 year-old): It's a restaurant. He's talking about a restaurant.

Andrew: It's soooo great. They have juice-boxes.

Me: Really.

Ellen: Yeah, you put in money, and they play music.



... {smile} ...

rear-ended

My friend Janel is giving me a ride home.

We're stopped at a red light, chatting away. It's 10:15pm, and we've commenced studying for the evening before a big exam. There's a bit of mist in the air, and water on the pavement.

Silence on the road. No cross-traffic, even though the green light seems to be looking for something to pass underneath it. Finally, I see the light begin to change from green -- yellow -- red. We should get our green light here in a few seconds. ... I'll be home in bed soon ...

--BAMM!!--

Rear-ended. What the...?

"No way," Janel says.

I immediately get out of the car.

"I'm so sorry, I slid. Because of the wet. It's slippery. I slid."

I just kind of look at the woman. Slid? I ride my bike on this road and I know for a fact that we are standing on an incline. An uphill incline, that is. Because I know that it really stinks to ride up to a red light at this point in the journey.

But whatever. I let Janel handle things, ...it's her car, right?

I get home and range my neck through all possible motions, do a few chin tucks and rotational stretches, and pray that I can last until Christmas break when Dr. Kania can make sure I'm not mal-aligned. So far, minimal to no pain.

I tell my roommate this evening that if she needs to practice her Upper Quarter Screen technique, I'll be happy to act as "patient." Maybe she can see if anything's busted out of line. She gets all excited about it. Well, of course; I still get excited when people offer to have me look at them. In fact, this Saturday I will be getting my hair trimmed by Thaisa* in return for a Lower Quarter Screen--she wants me to check out her leg. (my hair is out of control...)

Unfortunately, I'm not good with the phone-consults. Someday, maybe.




*Name has been modified from its original version to fit your screen

surfing ... random finds

hmmm ...

Recollection of a story told me by my clinical advisor: a colleague of hers who did "Doctors without Borders" and was stationed by himself somewhere in Africa.

...walked outside his hut on the first morning, and stared for a full minute at the line of people extending from his "doorstep" to the horizon, as far as he could see.

"They had nothing. Nothing like the equipment we have in our labs. But they made do. They figured it out. 'We're so stupid in this country,' he told me. They don't depend on what we depend on."

...one day, as he was working, looked up and gazed down the line--and saw the face of Christ, about a half a mile away. Jumped up and started running ... and kept running for a while, down the line.

Finally returned to his hut to continue the day's work.

Now a PT at a VA hospital down in Florida, he does a lot of great work, including prosthetic rehab; she wants me to consider doing a clinical rotation under him....