Last Saturday

On winter Saturdays, we stay in. That's a time for the girls to have uninterrupted play time and to enjoy each others' company until they no longer enjoy each others' company.  That point usually comes between 9 and 11 a.m. 

Richie and I clean up and strategize.  Breakfast is usually more elaborate than usual and late. Saturdays are great.

This Saturday, The girls played with their Playmobil setups for over an hour. They had a long plot-line involving an interrupting bird:

Nota Bene the Interrupting Bird

Another Interrupting Bird - this was Mazie's setup. Vivian's intrusion into the photo made Mazie a little angry.

Then they played Bananagrams for a bit.  I don't think they played by the instructions.

Bananagrams

 

Bananagrams: potty words edition

It's cute. I don't know if this next picture makes it more or less cute. I'm thinking less cute, but they were giggling so much - mostly over the word, "Toooet." It was still pretty cute.  No matter what, I really enjoy watching them enjoy each others' company. When I got pregnant with Vivian, I immediately had several days of buyer's remorse.  I went on a walk with a good friend who has four kids.  She told me: You are going to give Mazie her best friend in the whole world. It'll be hard for a bit, but you will never ever regret having two kids. This couldn't be more true. (The formatting is messed up so I hope this post is not too hard to read.)

 

 

Maine-ho!

The rain in Maine falls mainly on...everythang.

I'm in Maine.

I have an interview here.

Today was a big day. It started on Marta. I tried to work on my laptop all day - planes, trains, and automobiles day - with mixed success. I concede that a lot of refreshing ideas regarding things I'd forgotten about my project since September popped up and reworked themselves into my new post-data-analysis schema.  But I digress.

I flew into Boston, rented a car, took a wrong turn immediately out of the car rental exit, went down a toll tunnel for which I had no toll...and saw the Tea Party Ship Museum! My recovery strategy was to get out of the car and make no sudden moves. In addition to a tea party ship museum, I found that there is also a post office in downtown Boston, so I mailed a package.  I mailed the package so I could get cash back.  I needed cash back so if I got stuck on a tunnel-bound toll road, I could pay my way. I don't know why I got stuck on a tunnel-bound toll road.

Then I had the privilege of driving through New Hampshire - a petite and proper state with good drivers. I could tell immediately by its decorum that it is neighbors with Maine. It was evening by the time I left Boston, so I saw very little of New Hampshire that didn't happen to be reflective or neon...which is very little of already-tiny New Hampshire.

Some things about Maine I can tell even in the dark. For one, there is lots of history - as advertised on signs. Maine is (also as advertised on a sign) both "The way life should be," and "Open for business."  Gorham, Deering, Falmouth, Kennebunk...its towns have a distinct hundreds-of-years-old Anglo-Native flavor. Next, the people are friendly. Their accent is not dissimilar to mine. Maine is full of trees. The license plate reflects the tree-filled nature of the state. The state enjoys a pun, although I noticed that "Main Street" lacked the punny extra "e."

I drove to my destination without further incident. Once in my hotel room, I got all my things settled, being careful not to touch my clothing or my bag to the floor or bed. I made the rounds through the building and discovered an exercise room (!!!).  Then I called Richie.

I told Richie I was unduly worked up over my travel to a brand-new place.  I didn't sleep last night, and I am not tired at the usual time tonight.  He told me to turn around three times and go to sleep (because that's what dogs do).

So what did I do? What was my human equivalent of turning around three times? I went to the Maine Mall.  I got Converse sneakers half-off for Mazie (Vivian's size was not represented there).

I find it embarrassing that the activity I do for comfort and settling down when I get to a new beautiful cold city in the damp dark is...shop.  Because DSW in Portland, Maine is almost identical to DSW in Atlanta, Georgia.  Because the smell of new shoes is practically universal. I can attest that the smell of new shoes is consistent along selected samples of the Eastern Seaboard.

As my final move in settling down, I did a g-chat with my friend Elizabeth in the Midwest and then with my friend Joelle in Kenya.  AMAZING TECHNOLOGY that I will never take for granted - that ability to communicate across continents is nothing short of miraculous.  

Now I feel sleepy. Sufficiently far away from whatever's going on in the parking lot to ignore it. And I miss my family as I always do when I'm away from them.

Girlies

The Queen Mother

Of all bad words...

Kept coming up in conversation yesterday.  It was as if the universe fated us to have that discussion with our girls.

Here's what I mean:

The girls piled out of the bus yesterday and made their way up the leaf-strewn hill of our shared yard toward home.  They do this every day, sometimes looking at the ground, sometimes charging straight ahead. Sometimes telegraphing kid messages to other bus kids. If I am able, I pop out and greet them. Yesterday something else was going on, so Vivian popped into the house first, slamming open (kid skill) the door and immediately shedding all vestiges of the school world right there in our galley kitchen.

"Mama, a fifth grader on the bus was telling me to put my middle finger out like this." And she demonstrated - not an actual bird, just a clumsily extended middle finger.

"Oh. Who told you to do that?"

Mazie bursts in, progressing as far as the threshold between kitchen and dining room before shucking her school stuff onto the floor. She picks up where Vivi left off: "Mama. It's a fifth grader who always gets in trouble and Miss Lewis is always having to move around on the bus. I told her not to do it."

Vivian: "I didn't do it that much."

Me: "Okay, that's a hand signal that's very insulting in our culture. You shouldn't do it unless you want to make someone very very angry. For your purposes, that means NEVER. Do you have any homework? Oh, yeah, FRIDAY!"

Mazie: "What does it mean, Mama?"

Me: "Let's talk about it a little later."

LATER:
We went on a woods ramble with some family friends and their three second graders. Here we are playing in the stream:

Isn't it idyllic?
Then we went to the tree swing.

Isn't it sweet?  Doesn't that tree say "95 XMAS"?  Well that's sweet and all but our precocious little people read the entirety of both trees, and if you look extremely closely just below the hole in the second tree, you may be able to make out the word "YOU" and possibly even discern a more colorful word just before the "YOU."  Yes, the tree told our kids to F YOU.

The kid in the stripes noticed it first.  He got this really impish naughty look on his face (he's good at those) and said, "Umm...that tree has the F word on it." We tried to move on, but soon everyone noticed.  The other dad said, "Oh, yeah, that's not a cuss word.  It's actually an abbreviation for a song." Then he says in singsong voice, "If you see, Kaye, tell her I love her so..."

Hey, that's a good one!

Okay, so we moved on down the trail. The females of the bunch reached the road and the car first, so we were waiting around for the menfolk to catch up.  We happened to be hanging around at roughly the same place as a couple of teenage guys with bikes.  The teenagers took off on their bikes after a bit.  One of the girls pipes up, "I just heard those boys say the F word. Did you hear it?" Same cute expression.

BWAH!  It's not going away!

Then, guess what we watched for our Friday Christmas viewing?  A Christmas Story.  We made it to the scene where Ralphie loses the lugnuts, and Mazie paused the movie and asked me to skip it.  She was actually afraid of hearing the slanderous word we'd always skipped in the past (what excellent, sheltering parents, you must be thinking) - even though Ralphie doesn't actually SAY it.

It's hard to know how to handle exposing your kids to the world. I realized we are at a place in life where this word is turning up so much that it's time to explain all about it. It's hard to know what parts to explain and how to do it. I tend to go with being as direct and honest as I can be. 

I said, "Okay, girls. This word has come up several times today, hasn't it?"  Yeah.  "Well, would you like to know about it?"  Yeah.  "Okay.  You know how there are a lot of words for bottom?  You've got bottom, and butt, which is slightly more rude.  Then there's even a cuss word for it - that's 'ass.'"  At which point they discussed the contexts of "Ass" including Bible contexts versus everyday life.

"So.  It's the same with the word F-!-@-K.  It's the cuss word for 'mate'.  There are lots of words for the same thing: Make love is my favorite because if you ever mate, you need to love the person and I love your daddy.  Another one, that's more like 'butt' - commoner and less personal - is "Have sex."  But the cuss word (like 'ass') for the same thing is 'F*&$'.  That's why you never hear Daddy or I say it - it's a really bad word and people in our culture use it as the dirtiest word." I hope I did okay. They seemed satisfied with that explanation. They actually listened intently the whole time I was talking.  They also did a lot of nervous nodding. So, who knows.

Just when I thought I'd gotten it all worked out, Mazie still wanted to skip the scene.  I told her that Ralphie doesn't actually say the word.  She still didn't want to watch it.  I told her to just trust me, and stick with it.

She was delighted with how A Christmas Story handles the F-word. I've never seen someone so appreciative of the "-dge" sound. She laughed her relief and shot me a smile. My sweet modest child.

What of Vivian, you ask? Conjure that impish naughty look...that's Vivian. My other sweet modest child.

So, MERRY X-MAS 2012.  Here we come!

When the role is called up yonder

I thought I'd write a bit about the research I'm working on right now.

Things to know:

1. We have to do research as part of our curriculum.  It's called "Discovery Phase." If someone in my class says they're "On Discovery," it means their schedule is a bit more relaxed, but who knows where they are or what their day looks like.  Some people do bench research in the lab, others travel the world, and still others are sifting through data.  Lots have clinical components of their projects.  It all depends.  
2. I am working with a research mentor with whom I am incredibly thankful to be working.  He's - ahem - a research badass AND a nice person, the best combination of qualities to have in a mentor.  
3. Why's he so great?  He does work I admire and that I'm interested in - the public health impacts of global climate change.  He's an emergency doctor, so of the same clinical ilk.  He is a skillful mentor in that he lets me struggle a bit but not so much that I run aground.  He's available and supportive, and guides my activities at a reasonable level.  
4. There's a style point, too, which is that he's cognitively and creatively brilliant, which definitely comes in handy when problems need solving. 
5. I'm working on a survey-based research project exploring peoples' opinions (much-speculated-about but little-studied) regarding environmental sustainability in the context of healthcare.  
1. Questions: do people esteem env sust in the context of healthcare? If so, how does that esteem compare with other priorities?
2. Do populations of stakeholders (consumers, practitioners, managers) have appreciably different opinions?
3. Lots of other stuff...too much to catalog here.
6. The numbers we aimed for were ambitious (thanks to Jeremy, who pushed the goals higher than I would've). But my results beat even Jeremy's ambitious goal.  So that's cool.
7. NOW I'M ANALYZING the data...trying to see whether our data supports or refutes our hypotheses.
8. And it's hard. First, there are the vagaries of Excel and JMP, my programs of choice.  How do you code for a missing value? How do you get JMP to recognize your numbers? Which analyses are appropriate for your data type and what you're trying to ask?  Oh, man, it's complex
9. And THAT is why this:
10. has given me so much trouble this week.  See those little blue and green icons?  Well, they make a huge difference.  If you choose wrong, your analyses go all haywire.  I fiddled in this program for a total of two weeks before Dr. Beau Bruce finally showed me why I didn't have access to the analyses I needed.  I just kept fishing around in the stupid/smart program trying to find options it wouldn't show me because my nominal (red)/ordinal(green)/continuous(blue) choices were busted.  
11. Humbling computer programs, humbling computer programs. 

Okay, I'll stop there and maybe add something funny later on so readers don't drop like flies. Thanks for hanging with me.

When the Role is Called up Yonder - Johnny Cash rendition - is what I'm listening to. It works for a day like today.

Spelling Bee - ZIP!

This is Mazie, running - ZIP! - away from the camera. She's hard to pin down in number of ways.

Mazie won her class spelling bee. Now she has the opportunity to exercise her spelling prowess in the larger school-wide forum after winter break. Usually, this kid is uncompetitive. Usually, she'll drop out of a contest before she'll try to win. I know she can spell. To me, her win in the spelling bee must mean that she is drawing upon some well of confidence in spelling that I didn't know she had.  I wish I could have seen her...spelling.

The real reason I'm sharing this is that Mazie has seized on this opportunity to progress to the next spelling bee level by devouring words. When she hears a challenging word in conversation, she'll take a moment to shut her eyes and formally spell it out. Most recently (at breakfast) it was "Euphemism."(We looked up "crikey," which is a euphemism for "Christ.")

Mazie: Euphemism.  U-
Me: Upp, Nope, it's an eu- word.
Mazie: "Oh.  Okay.  Euphemism.  E-U-P-H...
Me: E
Mazie: E...S?
Me: You're at the '-mism' part.  M.
Mazie: M-I-S-M.  Euphemism.
Me: Great!  e-u-p-h-e-m-i-s-m.
Mazie:  E-u-p-h-e-m-i-s-m.

But the really great thing is that she's interested not just in spelling the words, but also what they mean.  I am super excited about this as a lover of words who eternally wants to share my enthusiasms with my children.

Again and again my children have shown me that I cannot simply barf enthusiasm on them and expect them to carry the torch. How many times have I gushed about a decaying log, an ant bed, or insect eyes to see them glaze over and turn away? I wish I could say, "Oh, yeah, my kids are just sponges, they can't get enough of learning. They just beg for more."  That would feel good.

Instead, their enthusiasms are their own. Vivian's enthusiasms generally relate to playing mama and baby lion and to food. She loves science and math on her own terms. More than anything, she loves to arrange things and make nests. She's a very cozy child.  Mazie is into magic tricks, film class, and clowning. She loves to read but loves to write less.  She's lukewarm about math.

Both kids adore science. If Mrs. Ryan, their English-accent science teacher were here right now I'd hug her neck.  She apparently has a knack of conveying both information and a sense of the utter coolness of it all. She makes them laugh, makes them think, and apparently makes science class better than Cats.  AMAZING! Thank you, Mrs. Ryan, for doing what you love and doing it well.

But words?  Mazie is finding her own way to words.  I got her a block of SAT flash cards last year to carry on a tradition that helped me, begun by the amazing Bootie Wood of St. Simons Island Challenge Class fame. She had a weekly, predictable vocabulary test over 5 "Challenge" words taken from an SAT prep book.  Those words, learned early and well, have served me amply since then.  Once you have a starter vocabulary, building is easier.

Last night I spied that block of flashcards, by themselves on top of a bookshelf, gathering dust. "Mazie," I said.  "I forgot about these!"  And I brought them down to display the box to her.

"Oh, YEAH, Mama! Those are GREAT!"

What? Okay, I'll take it...spelling bee, here we come! ZIP!

As owls go

My girls are owls.  Little bodies with big heads and big eyes, reading. 

Mazie and her best friend played rocketship at Wiggle Time today.  They pretended they were on the moon, and then got out and explored.  They found dinosaurs.

Vivian's favorite thing today was beginning a book called, "How Santa Claus Got his Job."  She didn't finish, so she's not sure yet how Santa got his job. 
Tonight we laughed and laughed about animals getting confused.  There is nothing like an incongruity to make Mazie shoot milk out of her nose.  If you see a picture of them laughing, it's because they usually are laughing. Presently, I am relishing their little-girlness. Their thoughts have little self-consciousness and no feminine competition in them.  May they never acquire these. 

Shirley gave our family an Elf on the Shelf a few years ago, and I am currently making ample use of it to surprise the girls with little pre-Christmas treats.  I know they know it's me...but they absolutely don't let on.  Amazing. 

This is a sweet slice of time - the girls are still girls.  Little girls.  I know we're on the cusp of something larger, more independent, more complex.  May it be at least this wonderful.

Back with my family

Reading "Mutts" together

Getting tadpole water

The dude abides

Building the foundation for a fort

Family woods time

Wakie, wakie!

I have missed my family so much!  I'm grateful we're back together, and for having some warm days left in the year for rambling in the woods and such with minimal outerwear.

Campers

Two campers.

This is where we camped.

Road trip!

Couldn't get Mazie's crayfish in focus...she caught three!

I love a man who tends the fire with his hatchet.

Guy Palmer paw-pawin'

9.5.87

Sweet days; meteorological summer has ended and fall has begun.  Richie attended open house for Mazie's class tonight - parents only, so I got to stay home with the girlies. 

Mom and Pete have been married for 25 years!!!  Can you believe it?  I can't.  It seems only yesterday we were all donning our coral-colored attire and feathering our hair.  I wish I had access to those pictures.  Pete was looking very handsome - but kinda greeny gray as well.  Mom was a vision of curls and ruffles, the hourglass of her waist accentuated by a princess waistline and a sweetheart neckline.  Ahhh,  9/5/87.  What a day. 

Weddings come and go, but there may never be another time when all those Kullatives are all in the same place with all those Esteses ever again.  My uncle Chip under the same roof as my cousin Rob.  My Cousin Sherri there with my Uncle Bob.  Some of the precious people who were there that day are gone now - and that makes me sad.  Oh, how I miss Grandma Kiddie and Pop-pop!  Mrs. Carl, too.  Some people we just don't see that much any more.  Ritty?  Is that how you spell his name?

When my mom and Pete got on that little airplane to fly to Jacksonville, my mom in her sendoff dress of turquoise and gray flowers, I was still buzzing from the day of excitement that had begun with breakfast at The Meadows'.  The Meadows' was a sprawling rancher with wrought-iron detailing and a direct route up a live oak so that the Meadows' dogs could climb on the stately old roof.  Then my hair had been done at the plaza that held Winn Dixie (The Beef People) with the other ladies of the wedding party.  I had hated that feathered hair-do passionately although everyone else doted on how perfect it looked.  I think I may even have cried about it - acted sour at the very least.  Amy was instrumental in convincing me that I was not the shell-shaped horror I imagined I was but rather, a thing of Aqua Net beauty.  Next we all got dressed without disturbing our hair.  The ceremony was a blur.  There was singing - lots of singing.  I held flowers.  I will always remember Pop-pop saying loudly in his Oklahoma drawl, "Her mother and I do."  His voice rang through the chapel.  I wish I remembered more about it, but I don't. 

About midway through the reception I realized I didn't care about my hair anymore.  I was having too much fun.  There was a raucous bouquet toss in the back yard of Polly's house...wasn't there?  I think there was at least one injury.  It was really, really fun.  Lots of people, lots of food, and nobody interrupting my path to the dessert / cake tables.

Some images stand out very clearly, like my mom and Pete getting onto the airplane.  I waved and waved, feeling gleeful, and then went back to our house with Mimi.  That night I cried hard - probably coming off of an extended sugar high.  Mostly, I think I wanted to go on vacation too.  Mimi comforted me with a combination of cut-it-out and it'll-be-okay that is only comforting coming from Mimi.  I knew she didn't mean the part about cutting it out.   Poor thing was probably ready for some shut-eye.  The other thing that stands out clearly is the unbridled happiness of that day.  Everyone was having fun, slapping each other on the back and giving big hugs.  Loud talking and big smiles. 

Thus began our life together - our own little bunch of three.  In years gone by, I have cast aspersion on American weddings for being huge orgies of consumerism.  Now I realize that - no matter how much or little one buys for a wedding - that they're unique opportunities for familial cohesion.  Most everyone you love and who loves you is there, possibly - no, probably - for just that once in a lifetime.  It's important not just for you but for everyone else. 

Mom and Pete had a beautiful, happy, playful wedding.  I felt the love then and I feel it now.  It was really and truly an incredibly happy time.  They were happy, I was happy, and everyone around us was happy, too.  That's what I call a precious time. 

Mom and Pete got a good start for a long haul.  Mom and Pete, cheers to the airstream of your marriage, and here's to the next 25 years!

Ten things

Vivian is all set up. Not sure what she's working so hard on, though.

Mazie reading Moorchild.

Mazie's favorite thing today: learning about Hurricane Isaac via science lesson and news report.
Vivian's favorite thing today:  finishing work on a secret item that she would not tell us about. 
Richie's favorite thing today (at work): getting to solve a difficult problem that others couldn't solve.
My favorite thing today (at work): laughing at someone's story of an exploding toilet.

I thought I'd go back to what if I only had X things.  10 things.

Circumstance: 
I can have only ten items that fit in a backpack and I will be in the woods in Eastern North America and I need to survive for a month.  I don't know if there's water nearby.  Thank goodness it's summer, I just had a huge breakfast, and I am already wearing clothes and shoes.  (I haven't looked this up and I haven't thought about it for a long time, so I'm liable to say something dumb.)

Big sheet of plastic with mylar reflector on the inside
wide-mouth jug
Metal vessel, preferably with handle
Large simple multi-tool
Snare wire
Fishing line
Hook
Fire Striker or Fire steel (could find stone or flint)
Small bottle of chlorine bleach
Edible wild plants book

It's all this snakebite and edible versus toxic plants talk.  Also, I am First Aid Kit Mom for Vivian's Troop's upcoming camping trip. 

HSV-1 has ahold of me.  Sad times for my sore mouth.  Pooooor kitty.  Poor, poor kitty.

Why toxicology is awesome - see for yourself!

Toxicologists make awesome quizzes...

Although they can't spell.

I have been drooling over this book...then the author came to lecture us on Tuesday.  Sorry, no picture of that!  But what good fortune!

Annnnd...the Georgia Poison Control Center has a fish tank...with toxic fish!  And a rockin' reflection.

Finally, you get to try new stuff in toxicology.

Activated charcoal, for instance.  Thanks, Professor Dayne!

Olfactory Bunny

What I grew up calling an Eskimo Kiss is actually a bastardization of the "Kunik."  It's an Inuit greeting that involves pressing one's nose close to another's cheek and inhaling their scent.  It's a greeting exchanged by people already familiar to one another - like a kiss.  Kunik cousins. 

I call my kids bunnies.  They are positively lapine.  Little soft animals with sensitive noses and big eyes.  Sometimes they just sit in the grass; other times they cavort.  Like bunnies.

If Vivian had a superpower, it would be her sense of smell.  Every night when I tuck her in, she tells me what I smell like.  Sometimes it's really elaborate:  Mama, you smell like a sweet potato with butter on it.  Sometimes I don't smell so good:  Ew, Mama, you smell like old garlic.  Tonight it was: Mama, your cheek smells like face soap, but your breath smells like what we had for dinner.  That would be leftover split pea soup, quinoa, and garden tomato.  Mmmm.

Smells figure prominently in my memory.  When we took a road trip to West Virginia, my mom would roll down the windows and crow about smelling "West Virginia."  West Virginia is the smell of freshly cut grass, dank hollows, and sweet rolling evening mists.  Also, when we drove over the marsh:  "Smell that?  That's the marsh!  Mmmmm...I love it."  The marsh smells thick and dense and salty - both living and dead all at the same time.  My dad had a very sensitive sense of smell - he could smell gum from a mile away and hate it from that distance.  But he loved the Lake Okeechobee smell of sweet rotting citrus mixed with fresh pines.  That was a good one.  My dad wore Drakkar Noir...and Old Spice.  My mom wore Charlie.  I passed a whiff of "Charlie" in Sears one day when I was a fledged adult and nearly fell over.  That singular smell was coming from a table full of different half-off perfumes, and I smelled them all until I found hers.  Wow - there it was, like a freight train of memory.  I still find it amusing that my mom's smell could have a name - an 80's Designer name: "Charlie." 

I hold dear the smell of beer on Pop-pop's kind breath when he hugged me goodnight with his bristle face.  And Mimi's martini lingering on hers.

Ah, smells: the smell of dirt, the smell of hot beach sand, the smell of an old conch, the smell of an oven-hot car on a 105-degree day.  Lunchroom smells, the smell in the parking lot beside MacDonalds.  The warm feral smell of my cat's meticulously clean fur.  The bready smell of my sweaty babies.

My sweaty babies are still my sweaty babies - in summer when we're skimping on the A/C.  When I lean in to smell their cheeks, the crowns of their heads at night, they still smell utterly distinct, utterly like themselves.  Flopsy and Mopsy after a meal of cream and blackberries.  Saturating the air within 10 millimeters of their skin with utter sweetness.

Mazie, absorbed in play.

Sweet Reprimand for Vivian. If my kid whistles in the halls, I really can't complain.

Vivian, reading.

50 things.

I dreamed last night about the taste of wild strawberries that we picked one year on South Manitou Island.  Worthy of their own cross-island expedition, they were tiny but concentrated and as sweet and strawberry-y as I can imagine.  They were shockingly delicious, an entirely different experience from the store-bought giants I had been used to.  I woke up feeling sad and forlorn, but I didn't remember the dream, so I wasn't sure why I felt so bereft. 

Later in the day I went grocery shopping.  I spied a merry plastic bag containing dried strawberries and being sold for about five dollars, which I picked up and bought.  It wasn't until I was putting them away in a cabinet at home that I remembered my dream and realized why I had bought the overpriced strawberries.  It got me thinking about that day and that flavor.  We picked a long time and had barely half a jar to show by the time we got back to the cabin.  Those were the simplest, emptiest, fullest days.  Sweet days.

Okay, now everyone might think I'm really weird.  But I go through this mental exercise all the time, and it's related to that simple feeling I had as a kid.  I think, what if I had to get rid of all but a certain number of things...50? 20? 10? Which ones would they be?  Do we include essentials in the things, like clothing items and soap?  Or are those gimmes?  Does a tub of photos count as 1000 things or one thing?  Is a pair of shoes two things or one thing?  And my books...I'd have to only choose the ones whose actual bodies I loved; others I'd have to jettison and resolve to check out later if need be.  Am I in a survival situation?  Or do I have to go about my normal life?

Here are my 50 for normal life in no particular order.  Since it's normal life I'll give myself leeway in all of the grouping issues above, but I'm not allowed to just go out and buy a bunch of stuff.  I'll say this has to hold me for one year except food, drink, and other random expendables.  The rest has to go.

All purpose soap, toothbrush, towel, leatherman tool, wedding band, U.S. Navy spoon that was Pop-pop's special soup spoon, Mom's necklace, hiking boots, black Danskos, Blue Adidas running shoes, pink Keen sandals, Giraffe water bottle, Bible given by Richie, dolphin Pete carved for me, One backpack, one tote bag, phone (w charger), computer (w charger), driver's license (optional), hair twistie.  That's 20. Tee shirt, long sleeve button-down, two pairs of socks, good jacket, thermal underwear set.  One work dress and one fancy dress.  Running shorts.  My white coat.  Watch.  Strong small flashlight.  Stethoscope.  Small bag of unmentionables.  That tub of photos in all forms: digital, negative, prints.  Now I'm up to 34 or thousands depending on how you look at it.

Just 16 more...and I could quibble about these a great deal.  We're planning for normal life?  Large bowl, glass Atlas Jar.  Boonie hat bought by Pop-pop.  Favorite flowers Richie drew for me.  A certain bridesmaid's gift.  (Gigi, Flau-flau, and Blue blue would be on this list, but they're on M and V's). Bike (with rack).  A coin I'm sentimental about, another button-down shirt, a skirt, another work dress, pillow, sleeping bag, cooking pot, new number two pencil, pen.  Good Poems edited by Garrison Keillor, given to me by Richie.

Wow, this list would be very different if it were a survival situation.  Or if I could buy other stuff.  But what if this was all I had?  How much more could I remember the taste of wild strawberries on South Manitou Island?  How much more time could I spend looking into my family's eyes when they speak to me?  How much more skilled would I become at mending, for instance? 

If there is one interferes disproportionately with the memory of the taste of wild strawberries, it's this computer that I am interacting with now.

What are your fifty?

Machetes. Plural.

I'm terribly sorry for being out of the blogging loop, but I'm just really, really busy. I'm not on Facebook, not because I'm a psychopath, but because I like others' photos too much to have access to them at all times. But here I go with some web talk.

I have just begun a new rotation - toxicology. It promises to be really cool - learning, learning, learning. Toxicologists are the best for nerding out about fascinating effects of different toxins. Our case load includes lots of OD's - intentional or unintentional. Lots of accidental pediatric poisonings. Some mysteries, too. Yesterday there was a mysterious case that I was assigned a chapter of reading for in a book so thick that everyone has to read a chapter then share what they know because the knowledge base on this stuff is so expansive that you can't possibly hold it all in your head. So I was being called the resident expert on Copper poisoning - although I'm pretty sure they were just being nice to me.

So today for toxicology, we had a meeting at the CDC. We drove over separately, me in my family's beloved green station wagon with no A/C. The green station wagon has become a bit of a surrogate barn, and it's a real mess. There are lots of things in it - random things - whose company I am not thrilled to be driving around with. A brief list, just off the top of my head: two bowls with dried remains of yogurt/flaxseed breakfasts, three spoons, one coffee mug, a giant steel ring, Puppy Rug, stuffed Unicorn, several back-packs, wayward girlies' art...etc. Therefore I felt embarrassed when I arrived at the CDC and had to submit to a car search. I ride around with my items knowing that most people cannot see IN my car, and so it's okay. But Maxim, the guard, asked me to pull over, so he could look through my car.

So I'm opening doors, popping the trunk (which has to be propped with a length of bamboo because its hydraulics broke), and making small talk.

 Maxim: "We just have to check out all vehicles to make sure you don't have any weapons."
Me: Ha ha no weapons here! Just a huge mess!
Maxim: Hey, that's a sensible bumper sticker. "I brake for trains." It'd be a shame if you didn't brake for trains, right?
Me: Ha ha. Yeah. My husband works at a steel yard that does rail work. Maxim: Oh, really? (Leaning into trunk now) My dad worked for CSX for yea- Ma'am I'm not going to be able to allow you to enter the CDC in this vehicle.
Me: Ha ha. What?
Maxim: You have machetes. You can't go in with these.
Me: Ohhhh. (walking around to the trunk area). Oh, yeah. Machetes. (Indeed, there they are, beside a cast iron pot and the stuffed unicorn - two machetes.) Those are my husband's. He's a little lost without a barn, so he stores some of the would-be barn stuff in the car. Sorry about that - didn't mean any harm.
Maxim: Well, I'm sorry, I can't let you in. In fact, I'm going to have to write up this incident because you attempted to go onto CDC property with two machetes. (His tone is serious.)
Me: (voice rising uncontrollably) Um - will I get a...a ticket? Or something?
Maxim: No, I just have to write it up. After that, I don't care what you do, you can even go drop off your machetes and then come back.

 So that's what I did. Maxim wrote me up, I took the machetes (and a hatchet and a hack saw that he didn't get far enough into the tangle to see) 1/4 mile up the road and stashed them in some thick kudzu, then came back to the CDC with my same messy car, sans cutting implements. Maxim laughed genuinely when I drove up, checked my car double-safe, then let me in to go to journal club.

Also today, I got to see presentations on relief work in Haiti, on marine envenomations, on the inception of Super Fund, and participate in a discussion about an article about Toxic Shock Syndrome and tampon use. I think I'm in the right place. It was a good day.

Here are the tools when I went to pick them up: