brady who?

To set the scene: We had stopped by to visit a patient, and with our huge infectious diseases team (six people) arrayed behind me, I was answering the patient's mom's very intelligent questions. We'd covered treatment course and prognosis, and I thought the conversation was going quite well.  And then I was stymied by this question:

Patient's mom: Is this the same thing that Brady had?

Me [mystified--was she referring to the patient's sibling? A family friend? Had I met this Brady before and completely forgotten?]: Ah . . . I'm afraid I don't know Brady.

Various members of the team [good-natured laughter]: She's talking about Tom Brady!

Me: Oh!

[Pause. I had heard of Tom Brady. I even knew he played for the New England Patriots. But that was about all I knew.]

Me: He had an ACL repair? And an infection?

Team [more good-natured laughter]: Yes! It was all over the news. You didn't hear about it?!

Patient's mom [kindly]: Don't worry. I didn't know, either, but that's what everyone's been telling me.

It could have been worse. Tom Brady is pretty much the only current football player whom I'd be able to associate with the right sport, much less the right team.

If you need information about your child's infectious disease, I might be able to help. But information on the medical conditions of celebrity athletes? I'm afraid you're out of luck.

(photos from 1. Josh McElwee's Flickr photostream and 2. Sports Illustrated)

hello, hello!

I've missed you!

I just finished a crazy-busy period and am about to start another. I'll be on our hospital infectious diseases service for two weeks, being a real doctor (or at least pretending to be one). I'll do my best to stop by here now and then!

We're having a wintry spell 'round these parts. We've had lows in the 30s and windchills in the 20s and even snow yesterday! I don't mind.

I've been able to enjoy this lovely new coat, fittingly called
the "First Frost Coat," which I love for its pretty pale gray color,
polka-dotted lining, and toggles.

Turns out it's delightfully cozy.

I have reason to drink extra cups of tea and hot chocolate

in my favorite mug.

And the kitters

are snug in their beds.

(Yup, Isabel's bed = my bed.)

Hope you're enjoying whatever season it happens to be in your corner of the world!

mouse tales

One of the many features of East Coast life to which I'm adjusting is the ubiquity of mice. I'm sure we had them back in California, too, but either they were better at hiding than Boston mice or they were fewer in number because I never saw them.

I've learned that mice live in my building since Isabel once killed one in our apartment while I was sleeping (very tidily, too, as she does everything). Fortunately, I'm not scared of mice or other rodents (unlike worms, they're not slimy, they have legs and eyes, they scurry rather than wiggle, and they can even be kind of cute). When I found the little corpse in the morning, I did shout, "Isabel! You killed a mouse!" She looked back with an expression that clearly said, "Duh!" But I otherwise remained quite calm and even disposed of the mouse myself, in many layers of plastic because I did refuse to touch him. My friend, Irene, noted that I'd prevented his remains from ever returning to nature.

I've not seen any other mice or signs of mice in our apartment and figure they're wisely staying away from both Isabel and Maisie. In contrast, my friend, Daisy (who is also a California transplant and volunteers with me at the animal shelter), doesn't have cats and lately discovered mice in her home when they began nibbling voraciously at food items in her pantry and basement.

Daisy just sent this e-mail update regarding their mouse problem:

"We caught a total of eight as of this morning. On average, one a day since we laid down the traps. How many more do you think there are? Do you think we should surrender them at the MSPCA [animal shelter] instead of setting them free in the woods? Nathaniel [Daisy's 11-year-old son] thinks when winter arrives, we should keep them inside till the spring."

You see, Daisy and her family believe firmly in a humane approach to dealing with their mouse population. I offered (jokingly) to let them borrow Isabel or Maisie as an alternate solution, but Nathaniel deemed this plan too cruel.

Those sure are some lucky mice.

If I were a mouse, I know where I'd be heading about now, as the temperatures drop and food becomes scarce. I hope that the current residents aren't advertising what a great gig they have going . . . .

(photo on Animal Actors, Inc. Yes, one can apparently hire mouse actors to pretend to be wild mice.)

happy ending

We've followed our small and sprightly hero through his compelling saga . . .

Part I: Scrawny and not hungry.

(sad music)

Part II: Appetite found!

(hungry music)

We left our hero shortly before the kitten adopt-a-thon with high hopes that he'd find his forever mom or dad.

And now, the surprising (or perhaps not-so-surprising) plot twist. As the day of the adopt-a-thon drew near, Glory, his foster mom, realized that she was meant to be the kitten's forever mom!

Okay, she'd been wishing to keep him all along (that's the not-so-surprising part), but she feared her dog wouldn't accept a feline sibling. She cautiously put them together, however, and discovered. . . they love each other!

Part III: Happy ending!

(joyful music)

(photos on Glory's Facebook page)
(music: Chopin's Prelude in E minor, Opus 28, number 4; Waltz in A flat, Opus 69, number 1; and Prelude in C, Opus 28, number 1; all compiled by Eduardo D. Trindade to accompany his Chopin biography)

well-stated in october

Favorite quotations featured on incidentals during the month October.

Richard Ford

"I'm not out dancing in clubs, I'm not a drunk, I've been with the same girl all these years. I'm kind of dull."

- Richard Ford

"I would like to do whatever it is that presses the essence from the hour."
- Mary Oliver

"Life is short and we never have enough time for the hearts of those who travel the way with us. O, be swift to love! Make haste to be kind."
- Henri-Frederic Amiel

"I am still learning."
- Michaelangelo

"Believe there is a great power silently working all things for good, behave yourself, and never mind the rest."
- Beatrix Potter

(photo by Fred R. Conrad from The New York Times)

nostalgia

I acknowledge that this design is creative and eye-catching, . . .

but I'm feeling wistful for the time when advertisements weren't plastered over so much of the physical environment. I'm yearning for those sepia-toned, stylish, more graceful days when the sleeve on my coffee cup; the sides of trains, buses, and cabs; and even the stairs weren't all clamoring to get me to buy something. (On further thought, I don't think coffee cup sleeves existed back then.)

At the same time, I'm not opposed to clever product packaging; in fact, I'm guilty of occasionally purchasing items more for their package design than the contents themselves. Like this tin of candy:

I saw it while drifting through Trader Joe's today and was charmed by its retro look, flip top, and appealing size (about the same as a pack of gum). Plus, even though I generally have little use for candy that is not chocolate, it was "yogurt" candy, and as you know, I'm kind of crazy about yogurt.

Sadly, I've discovered that the candy has the taste and consistency of Flintstone's vitamins and evokes yogurt not at all. Maybe I can figure out a good use for the tin . . . .

a bit of sweetness and light

To counteract the dark nature of yesterday's post, I give you . . .

Shaun the Sheep!

Is he not the cutest thing ever?
(Perfect antidote to thoughts of icky w____s.)

Shaun was sewn entirely by hand by my sister, Sachi, and is the first softie she's ever undertaken. She reports that she used an Etsy pattern but modified it to make up for her "lack of skills," and she "made up" the embroidery to create his face. Seems that she's a natural! She fretted about Shaun's asymmetry, but I think it just makes him more charming.

It's ironic that Sachi and I are both drawn these days to sewing and embroidery. My mom, who is accomplished at both, doesn't regard either pastime as particularly leisurely. Her family wasn't well-to-do when she was young, so she and my aunts sewed all of their own clothing from about age 11 or 12. Store-bought clothing was a rare treat.

In contrast, my sister and I (spoiled girls that we were) never wanted for anything growing up and never had to learn to sew. Now that we're older, we appreciate sewing and embroidery as fun crafts rather than everyday necessities. But I'd say we also appreciate our good fortune. (Thanks, Mom and Dad!)

Shaun the Sheep was originally intended to be a gift for a new baby, but my nephew, Aidan, promptly claimed him as his own. (Not to worry--Sachi's already working on a new softie for the new baby.) Aidan's approbation is particularly noteworthy as he's only ever liked one other stuffed animal in his entire two-and-a-half years of life.

warning: graphic and disturbing content (at least, if you're Ellen or me)

We had some heavy rain today, so I should have been expecting it, but I wasn't. Walking home from the train station, I saw not one, but two dark, tubular forms on the sidewalk, glistening dully in the faint glow of the streetlights. And then the second one wiggled, . . . and I confess, I emitted an audible whimper and hopped sideways.

Yes, dear reader, I was accosted by worms tonight.

My friend, Mary, has a theory (to which I ascribe) that in addition to all of the rational fears we share (of plane crashes, earthquakes, mountain lions), each of us suffers at least one irrational, more unique phobia. Mine is worms. (Mary's is toothpaste--not while it's still in the tube, but after it's been used and become white and frothy. I think hers is the more difficult phobia since one encounters toothpaste far more often than worms.)

I recognize that worms can't actually hurt you (well, at least not while they're outside of you, and I can't even bear to think or talk about the "while they're inside of you" scenarios), but they make me shudder and cringe on some deep and primal level. It has something to do with their sliminess, their eye-lessness and leg-lessness, their repulsive, wiggly, wormy movements.  Ugh.

I thought I was the only person in existence with a worm phobia, but I learned recently that my friend, Ellen, shares my fear. I am inexplicably comforted to know that someone else in the world understands the Horror of Worm Encounters.

A worm phobia is more debilitating than perhaps you might think. It's particularly a problem when jogging on rainy days. I'm caught between contrary instincts: 1) look down to avoid tromping through puddles or tripping or (gross!) stepping on you-know-whats versus 2) don't look down to avoid seeing you-know-whats. I end up running with my gaze directed straight ahead while trying to scan the ground using my peripheral vision and taking little leaps over anything long and skinny.

My phobia also creates problems in my professional life since my specialty within pediatrics is infectious diseases. I practically flunked the parasitology portion of our microbiology course because I couldn't bring myself to read the textbook chapters or look at the slides in class. Even if I wasn't a wimpy homebody with no appreciation or talent for Roughing It, I'd be ill-suited for a career in global health given that helminthic (the medical euphemism for "wormy") diseases are common in many other parts of the world.

The photo with this post has nothing to do with worms; if it's caused you some puzzlement, I apologize. I didn't even consider including a real photo of worms, but I thought about featuring a cartoon worm with a superimposed "no" (red-circle-with-slash) symbol. Sadly, even the Google image search for cartoon worms proved too disturbing, especially when I thought about how the cartoon worm would haunt me if I looked back at this post in the future. So enjoy the lovely image of autumn leaves instead!

As I write this post, I'm tethered to the living room wall by my ethernet cable, which (thank heavens for small blessings) is at least long enough that I can sit on the couch while typing. Wireless access, I have discovered, is like air or chocolate: easy to take for granted until you no longer have it.

(photo by Scott Catron on Wikimedia Commons)

silent treatment

Apologies that it's been so quiet around here!  First I was away for three days for a conference and was too cheap to pay for hotel internet access.  Now I've returned to discover that my router seems to be on its deathbed. Sigh.

infectious (in a good way)

Do you ever buy a song on iTunes and then play it over and over and over again? Here's my current song:

I first heard it while meandering through blogland (I wish I could remember on which blog so I could give proper credit), and it's stuck in my brain ever since, so I finally bought the single. Now the kitties are probably wondering, "Why does she keep playing that song?"

I've long felt a special connection with Train (even though they don't know I exist) because they're a San Francisco band and I was living in the Bay Area when they started really hitting it big. "Hey, Soul Sister" is from their new album, Save Me Francisco, due out later this month.

What's playing in your head right now?

october bliss

Bliss equals . . .

1. coming home and greeting the girls after a long day. (October 1)

2. the slight, warm weight of a sleeping cat in one's lap. (October 3)

3. a good night's sleep after too many nights of not enough. (October 19)

(photo on Wikijunior: Flower Alphabet)

benevolent postcard studio: october

Ta-da!

Here is the back of my October BPS postcard, featuring the poem by Wendell Berry that I shared a few days ago.

And here is the front!

Inspired by the poem, I drew the heron and wrote the poem's title and poet's name on heavy cotton paper, then embroidered the entire design. (The paper is leftover from printing CVs for my job search earlier this year; this use was so much more fun.)

Here's a close-up of Mr. Heron.

The whole postcard used a total of three stitches (back stitch, split stitch, and French knot), which constitutes nearly my whole repertoire. This makes my second completed embroidery project. Someday I'll actually go back to embroidering on fabric and finish that tea towel.

The postcard went out yesterday, sealed securely in a plastic envelope. I hope my postcard penpal enjoys it!

[NB: I realize that the use of the word "studio" here is rather grandiose, considering that said studio has so far produced one postcard and is slated to produce only one per month in the coming months, but I couldn't resist because it was such a good derivation of the project name. You know, Benevolent Postcard Society, Benevolent Postcard Studio . . . .]

habits of mine . . .

that would probably drive me crazy about me if I were someone else living with me:

1. Rather than unpacking promptly upon returning from a trip, I leave my suitcase on the floor, sometimes for weeks, pulling out the clean clothing to wear until the suitcase is finally empty and I get tired of looking at it and at last put it away in the closet.

2. Same concept for clean laundry in the laundry basket.

3. I love to eat just parts of things until I'm satisfied and then save the rest for later--even if the rest consists of three or four bites. I do this at home and in restaurants, giving the impression that I am a light eater (which is not the reason I do it) when in truth what I do is eat small amounts constantly.

4. I take too long to take out the trash.

5. Ditto the recycling.

6. I stay up too late at night, either reading many chapters (after promising to read just one) or many blogs (after promising to read just one).

7. Then I set two alarms for every morning, seven minutes apart, only to turn off both and go back to bed for an unspecified length of time.

8. I snore. Very loudly at times, I am told.

9. I lose lots of hair, which seems to accumulate everywhere, including, unfortunately, the bath tub drain.  (Don't worry--it's not that I'm going bald; I have a lot of hair to lose and it apparently turns over quickly.)

10. I tend to be overly self-critical.

(photo on Retro Thing)

divine design

Somewhere in a dusty corner of my brain lurks a vague memory, perhaps from a college humanities course, of Plato's Theory of Forms. Wikipedia provides a good explanation of a "Form" as defined in the Platonic sense:

A Form is an objective "blueprint" of perfection.  The Forms are perfect themselves because they are unchanging. For example, say we have a triangle drawn on a blackboard. A triangle is a polygon with 3 sides. The triangle as it is on the blackboard is far from perfect. However, it is only the intelligibility of the Form "triangle" that allows us to know the drawing on the chalkboard is a triangle, and the Form "triangle" is perfect and unchanging.

I bring up this concept not to launch a weighty philosophical discussion but rather to observe that every now and then, I come across a product design so pleasing in both aesthetics and function that it seems (in my mind, at least) to approach the ideal Form of that object. When this happens I experience a combination of 1) delight and 2) a desire to buy and stockpile several more of that thing (usually I manage to resist).

   

The most recent purchase to evoke such a response was a five-year diary, designed by Tamara Shopsin and published in collaboration with The Ice Plant. It stirs great affection in my bibliophilic, vintage-stuff-loving, paper-goods-adoring heart.

Five-year diaries (just in case you've not heard of them before) contain one page for each day of the year, divided into five sections so that the writer can record brief entries on that day for five years. Upon filling the diary, for example, one could look back at one's thoughts on each September 30th of the last five years. This diary thoughtfully includes a page for February 29th (with two sections for entries, should you start using it during a leap year).

The front of the diary's little dust jacket features this nifty and very fitting graphic. The back includes a Groucho Marx quotation: Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
(photos on Shopsin's General Store)

The diary is covered in the sweetest, slightly nubby, finely striped blue and white fabric. (It's also available in black or red.) It's small and chunky, about 4" by 6" and just over 1" thick.  It sports a jaunty red satin bookmark (as the best books do).

The pages are printed with thin blue lines and old-fashioned serif typeface, reminiscent of classic index cards inscribed upon with a vintage typewriter.

At the back of the diary are sections for keeping a book log and a record of travels, the latter complete with a map for marking places visited.

The diary even has an associated story.  It was reportedly inspired by one kept by a teenager in the 1930s, discovered inside a steamer trunk in New York in 2003. So romantic! (Although she might have been mortified to imagine people reading her diary 70 years later.)