happy halloween!

(photo of Kayleigh and Aidan the Boy [as he refers to himself] by my sister, Sachi)

benevolent visitation (in honor of halloween)

The Little Ghost

Edna St. Vincent Millay

I KNEW her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high—higher than most—
And the green gate was locked.

And yet I did not think of that
Till after she was gone—
I knew her by the broad white hat,
All ruffled, she had on.

By the dear ruffles round her feet,
By her small hands that hung
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
Her gown’s white folds among.

I watched to see if she would stay,
What she would do—and oh!
She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!

She bent above my favourite mint
With conscious garden grace,
She smiled and smiled—there was no hint
Of sadness in her face.

She held her gown on either side
To let her slippers show,
And up the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go.

And where the wall is built in new
And is of ivy bare
She paused—then opened and passed through
A gate that once was there.

(photo by Aëla Labbé, on Flickr)

friday felicitations #31

Happy Friday!

And Happy Halloween!

Any clever costumes or Halloween parties in the works for you? I'm having brunch with friends tomorrow but have no big plans for Sunday.

I admit, I don't even pass out candy because the trick-or-treaters never ring; I think they don't know what to make of the three doorbells for the three apartments in my building. It's just as well because tromping up and down two flights of stairs would quickly lose its charm! Fortunately, my first floor neighbors have an abundance of Halloween (and every other holiday) spirit. They go all out with decorating their yard, playing spooky music, and stocking plenty of candy and more than make up for the rest of us.

The cafe in one of the research buildings at work - my favorite place for lunch - has also been showing its Halloween spirit. All week long, they've offered cookies in Halloween shapes: pumpkins, witches' hats, bats and cats. Yesterday they went all out with fancy cookies and frosted cupcakes embedded with plastic spider and skull rings.

Here's hoping the weekend includes your most-loved treats!

lulu not a lemon

Needing some inspiration to leave my cozy bed on increasingly chilly mornings, I treated myself lately to a new shirt from lululemon. It's now my favorite top for cool weather running.

The fabric is as soft as a baby's blanket and magically keeps me warm in the first minutes of my run and cool once I've warmed up. The style is brilliant: long enough not to ride up or allow cold air in, fitted but not tight. The flattering seams are reflective, and the pretty lavender color is pale enough for good visibility.

Neatly positioned over the curve of the back is a clever zipper pocket, large enough for a credit card or energy gel, with an inner pocket for that essential piece of running gear - the iPod.

Courtney first introduced me to lululemon, which she came to love back home in Canada long before they emerged on the American market. She noted that their athletic wear is expensive but worth the investment, and I agree wholeheartedly. I consider them peerless in quality of materials and thoughtfulness of design. When I envision lululemon's designers, I imagine passionate geniuses, part artist and part engineer, stitching up prototypes in a Vancouver studio and testing and refining them on real athletes until they're perfect.

The creator of this top got it exactly right.

scenes from my neighborhood #5

My beloved Jamaica Pond in autumn.

verve

I discovered Ezra Caldwell's blog in one of those meandering internet side trips that can suck up hours before you know it. First, the terrific photo above caught my eye on this site because it reminded me of how my bed also serves as the congregation spot for bipeds and quadrupeds alike. I followed it to Ezra's Flickr photostream and from there was led to his website and blog. And then I proceeded to read the entire blog from its first entry forward.

Ezra is a guy in his mid-thirties who lives in New York City, is married to a lovely-sounding woman named Hillary, has a great-looking dog named Putney, and builds custom-designed bicycles so beautiful that I'd be coveting one intensely if I wasn't too terrified to ride in Boston traffic. He's also a guy dealing with recurrent colon cancer, diagnosed in 2008. He started the blog originally as a way to keep friends and families up to date after he ran 1300 minutes over on his cell phone plan during the first month after his diagnosis. In the two years he's written the blog, he's gained a number of additional readers, including some who've never met him - like me.

Reading Ezra's blog is heartbreaking sometimes. He describes his experiences frankly and eloquently. As I read his posts from the beginning, I found myself dreading reaching the one in which he announced the cancer recurrence. But although his story is sad, what makes the blog compelling and made me an instant follower is that Ezra's approach to life is so inspiring, and it's obvious that that would be true regardless of whether he was ever diagnosed with cancer.

He gets depressed and discouraged sometimes, as anyone would, but through everything, he possesses a clear-eyed focus on the aspects of life that provide meaning: his wife and family, his dog, work that he loves, and simple experiences like riding a bike or cooking and enjoying a great meal (he shares delicious-sounding recipes with hilarious instructions). He's one of those enviable morning people and described scheduling his radiation sessions for 7:15 a.m. so he could get them done and get on with his day. And when told by doctors (because of the location of the cancer) that he couldn't sit on a bike seat, he built a special seatless bicycle that he calls "the assless bike" and used it to ride several miles through Central Park to his appointments.

Regarding the act of blogging, he writes,

Telling the story of this bloody process has been a powerful tool for me in coming to terms with it all.. in understanding it. Telling a story without an audience is just talking to yourself (and there’s been some of that too). Knowing that I can write it down here, and that you’ll read it, is good medicine.

Even now, during a slow and painful recovery after extensive surgery, he makes coffee for his wife and delivers it to her in bed every morning. He manages to remember what makes life good even when it's really terrible. I can only aspire to live with such grace.

weekend notes #34

This weekend I:

* Tried Blu, a restaurant in the Theater District. My favorite: the delicately crisp polenta fries we chose for our appetizer.

* Was enthralled by choreographer Jorma Elo's "Plan to B." The dancing was fast-paced and exuberant, and the music so lush and beautiful that I performed some extensive googling yesterday to identify the piece (the program listed only the composer, Heinrich Ignaz Franz von Biber) and purchased it on iTunes.

* Devoured a sizable chunk of Rick Riordan's new book, The Lost Hero.

* Finally took my camera on my run to capture some of the fall beauty. Photos coming later this week.

* Enjoyed yummy Thai food and lively conversation at yesterday's dinner party. Among the topics of discussion: favorite Broadway musicals, haunting memories of gym class humiliations (I shared a few of mine), and one man's quest to find the best cupcake in Boston.

friday felicitations #30

Happy Friday!

This weekend turns out to be a full one. My plans include dinner and a ballet performance with my friend, Kyoko, on Saturday and a dinner party for work on Sunday.

But I'm also looking forward to sleeping in on Sunday morning. This week wasn't too crazy, but I'm kinda tired. Perhaps (ahem) because I've been less strict about my 11 o'clock bedtime. Time to get back on the wagon.

Have a fabulous weekend!

(pretty photo by feijeriemersma, on Flickr)

if i must punctuate

Yesterday, I received the page proofs for the manuscript I mentioned a couple of weeks ago and spent a few hours peering at proofreader's marks and debating (with myself) the placement of punctuation. After my careful contemplation of commas, this poem, featured on The Writer's Almanac last week, came to mind.

On Punctuation

Elizabeth Austen

not for me the dogma of the period
preaching order and a sure conclusion
and no not for me the prissy
formality or tight-lipped fence
of the colon and as for the semi-
colon call it what it is
a period slumming
with the commas
a poser at the bar
feigning liberation with one hand
tightening the leash with the other
oh give me the headlong run-on
fragment dangling its feet
over the edge give me the sly
comma with its come-hither
wave teasing all the characters
on either side give me ellipses
not just a gang of periods
a trail of possibilities
or give me the sweet interrupting dash
the running leaping joining dash all the voices
gleeing out over one another
oh if I must
punctuate
give me the YIPPEE
of the exclamation point
give me give me the curling
cupping curve mounting the period
with voluptuous uncertainty

(photo by h. wren, on Flickr)

impulsivity rewarded

You know how stores enticingly arrange products en route to the checkout counter, in hopes of luring shoppers impulsively to add extra items to their carts?

Well, generally, I'm a champion at resisting. I leave the lip balms and eyeshadow primers untouched at Sephora. I'm not even tempted by the nail clippers and mini bottles of hand sanitizer at CVS.

But at Trader Joe's, especially if chocolate is involved, my resolve is rather less durable. A few weekends ago, after the cashier had already yelled, "Next," I whisked a bag of Dark Chocolate Nutty Bits into my basket. I was intrigued based on the description alone: "sweet crunchy nuts, smooth dark chocolate and a hint of Fleur de Sel." (At the time, I didn't even know what Fleur de Sel was but rashly gambled that it must be something good.)

I took the bag to work on Monday for my snack drawer and sampled a Nutty Bit when next feeling peckish (a daily occurrence around 10:30 a.m.), and oh my gosh. They are so good. The balance of mildly sweet and mildly salty makes them dangerous, as one could eat them continuously.

Fortunately, I am a model of self-restraint.

never say never

I've mentioned before my love of moop.

Well, look what moop has created now!

A most stylish and handsome backpack.

I've never considered myself much of a backpack person.

But this one . . . I think this one might change my mind.

october bliss

Bliss equals . . .

1. making spaghetti carbonara on a fall Sunday evening
while listening to the Pride & Prejudice soundtrack. (October 2)

2. dill havarti. (October 18)

(cozy photo by jbrownell, on Flickr)

well-stated in october

Quotations featured this month on what maisie knows:

"To the absolutist in every craftsman, each imperfection is a failure; to the practitioner, obsession with perfection seems a prescription for failure."
- Richard Sennett, The Craftsman

"You wouldn't worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do."
- Eleanor Roosevelt

"Never confuse movement with action."
- Ernest Hemingway


(photo of beautiful quilt by crazymomquilts, on Flickr)

weekend notes #33

Ah, the weekend. So treasured and so fleeting.

This weekend I:

* Tried another new ballet class, this time at a brand new studio in Brookline. The teacher was upbeat and humorous, but Celeste and I actually found the class a bit too easy. In a strange way, it was reassuring to be reminded that classes can be too easy because far more often, the opposite is true.

* Spent a couple of hours discussing themes in Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. I just started tutoring a high school sophomore in writing and literature. My tutee is bright and diligent, and I'm enjoying having reason to use dormant skills and read classics, some for the first time. Next up is Macbeth, which brings back memories of reading the play in my own high school English class. We performed dramatic readings; I had the part of Lady MacBeth ("Out, damned spot! out, I say!").

* Baked cheddar biscuits after I was reminded of this recipe when I ran across it on this beautiful cooking blog.

friday felicitations #29

Happy Friday!

After being away for the first part of the week, I'm a bit disoriented today. I find myself repeatedly surprised that it is, in fact, already Friday. It's a more pleasant state, certainly, than thinking it's Friday only to realize it's only Thursday!

Yesterday, I stumbled upon this excellent essay by Sloane Crosley, posted on The New York Times blog. Ms. Crosley reflects on the lesser popularity of cats as compared with dogs and the stereotypes about cat people. "Did you ever hear the one about the spinster found dead in her pink bathrobe, surrounded by golden retriever puppies?" she asks. "Me neither." Referring to this photo of a supermodel with cats, she muses, "Do you have any idea how attractive and cool you have to be to live in Manhattan and own that many cats?"

Although a friend cautioned her against writing about cats because people would "think [she's] crazy," the topic is obviously an evocative one: the essay was yesterday's most frequently e-mailed post. (Ellen came across it, too, and forwarded the link with the subject line, "You MUST read this!" Thanks, Ellen!)

Ms. Crosley posits that people are uncomfortable with the "private, exclusive loop of affection" between cats and their owners. A corollary of this theory occurred to me today: cats are the introverted homebodies of the pet world, and their people tend to be, too. Envision a dog with her owner and you think of them mingling at dog runs, jogging through parks, browsing at the mall (if she's a frou frou purse dog - or in northern California, a dog of any size), all activities in the public sphere, in keeping with the highly social nature of dogs (and, generally speaking, dog owners). Picture a cat with his owner and you probably see them snuggled on the couch at home, reading or watching TV.

One does not imagine a cat person as likely to be the life of the party, the captain of the football team, the President of the United States. President Clinton and Socks might seem an exception, but a trusted source reveals that Socks actually picked Chelsea (not a seeker of the limelight) rather than Bill, and that Socks was later supplanted (poor guy) by a Labrador named Buddy.

As for this cat person, I'm happy to be back home and looking forward to a nice, quiet weekend with my girls, especially after the unexpected eventfulness of last weekend. May your weekend be exactly what you're hoping for, whether you're a cat person, dog person, or neither!


(sweet photo by deep_art, on Flickr)

izzy's crazy 24 hours

The story went like this.

Because of Izzy's recent poor appetite and weight loss, she went in last Thursday for an exam and labwork. Sadly, as I'd feared, her labs revealed that her kidney function has worsened, and on Friday, Izzy's vet recommended increasing the volume of her subcutaneous fluids and starting a new medication called mirtazapine. The drug is an anti-depressant in people and also acts as an appetite stimulant, and it's for the latter property that it's used in cats and dogs. Dr. Rollings noted that the medication makes many cats wired but "happy,"an effect that lasts "for about an hour" after the dose.

I picked up the medication that evening and gave Izzy the first dose around seven. Almost immediately, she began to meow frequently, and as I ate dinner, she hopped up and down from my lap half a dozen times. Must be the hyperactivity Dr. Rollings mentioned, I thought.

But as the night wore on, Izzy became more agitated. She walked restlessly around the apartment, still meowing. When we went to bed, she seemed unable to settle down, jumping up and down from the bed, pushing her way under the covers and then poking her head back out, wandering to her food bowl to munch (the medication did seem to have the desired effect on her appetite) and coming back to nudge my hands to be petted.

This went on all night long. She never slept, and she meowed constantly until her voice was raspy and hoarse. Perhaps most upsetting, her meows didn't sound happy at all but rather distraught, as if she needed something but couldn't figure out what it was. Around three in the morning, I even dragged a throw and pillow to the living room to try to get some sleep, a fruitless attempt since I could still hear her meowing and since Maisie woke up, too. (Later, when I figured out what exactly was going on, I felt badly for abandoning Izzy in her distress.)

By five or so on Saturday morning, I gave up on sleeping and starting googling to investigate whether Izzy's behavior represented a known reaction to the medication. I found that restlessness and excessive vocalization are indeed sometimes observed . . . and I ran across mention of the typical feline dose of the medication, one-fourth of a 15-milligram tablet every three days or one-eighth of a tablet daily.

For ease of administration, given the near-impossibility of cutting tablets into eighths, Izzy's medication had been compounded into a liquid. I vaguely recalled reading the concentration on the bottle (15 milligrams per milliliter), and it finally occurred to me to wonder if her dose had been correct. I checked the label, did the math (which I should have been able to do in my head, but remember, this was early morning after a night of little sleep), and realized that whereas the dose on the bottle, and the dose I'd given her, was 0.8 milliliter, she should have received 0.125 milliliter. This meant that instead of 1.875 milligrams, she got 12 milligrams!

I stopped by the animal hospital on my way to volunteering at the animal shelter and spoke with one of the vets on call, who confirmed my calculations and recommended calling the veterinary poison control center. (Until that morning, I'd had no idea that such a service existed.) I consulted with them (for a $65 fee) and was advised to have Izzy examined and possibly admitted since mirtazapine can cause serotonin syndrome, a potentially life-threatening reaction in both animals and humans. So for the second time in three days, poor Izzy found herself at the vet.

She was judged to be stable, thank goodness, and although the poison control center suggested admitting her for observation and IV fluids, the vet let me take her home to watch her in light of Izzy's extreme anxiety around strangers (particularly veterinary ones). Dr. Rollings called later that afternoon to check on her and apologize for the dosing error, which had been traced back to a pharmacy technician who'd somehow translated "1/8 milliliter" into "0.8 milliliter."

By Saturday evening, Izzy had calmed enough to sleep for a few hours before we woke early Sunday morning to catch our flight to Kansas City. The excessive meowing faded away, and I was thrilled to have my girl back to her usual self by Monday.

All in all, I feel we were really lucky that Izzy's reaction to the overdose wasn't any worse. I'm not angry with the veterinary pharmacy because I know that even careful people make mistakes. But I've also learned that I should always double-check the dose and concentration each time I pick up a medication!

back home

But very, very tired!

Heading to bed even earlier than eleven.

Back tomorrow.


(pretty photo by pediculus, on Flickr)

snapshots: kansas city

interior landscape

exterior landscape