barloweblog

A Typical Evening

2011-10-11T21:34:00.000-07:00

It was a typical evening in the Barlow household. Mom was in the kitchen cooking up a steamy dinner in the wok over the stove with the aroma of stir-fry filling the entire house. I was in the music room stumbling over some Mozart on my flute, Carl was in his room practicing for his next voice lesson by singing a few scales on different vowels. James and Michael were sitting in their dank bedroom with the feverish glow of a Nintendo game on their faces, Miriam was sitting on the couch rumpling some papers around and studying for her next Bio-Chemistry test. Tom was downstairs in the garage clanging, tinkering, and banging on an old Ford, Marie was cleaning her bedroom while listening to some Sarah McLachlan, and Dad was upstairs shuffling through some bills and junk-mail that had been scattered around in his briefcase.

Then it happened. In less than a second the lights in the house and the glow of the television went out, the steam over the stove had stopped, the vibrating notes of my flute came to a rest, the shuffling and clanging stopped, and Sarah McLachlan and Carl had come to a rest as well. Just as it happened you could hear, ”Hey, what’s going on?” and, “What happened?”

Every one of us at the same time emerged from our personal business and informally gathered in the family room, all spouting off various opinions about the loss our electricity.

“The rice isn’t finished cooking.”, Mom piped in.

“I was going to watch Pirates of Penzance.”, said Michael.

We began rummaging on the top of the refrigerator for some flashlights. After we had discovered that the batteries in each of them were bumt out, Marie hauled out from her immaculately clean bedroom s potpourri candles in little glass containers that she had made just last week and began lighting them around the house. Meanwhile, my littlest brother kept complaining about wanting to watch The Pirates of Penzance. My innovative sister, Miriam, had a solution to his problem.

“I’m sure that I have the script somewhere.”

Upon her suggestion she scampered to her room and started throwing books and papers every which way. She finally appeared out from her candle-lit bedroom holding a stapled packet of wrinkled papers high above her head.

“I found the script!”, she elated.

We all situated ourselves at the table andchose parts. I got to be Mabel and the Major General, Carl assumed most major male roles being that he is really the only boy in our family that sings, Marie and Miriam double-cast themselves as Ruth and were all of the Major General’s Daughters, James and Michael assumed the male chorus roles as the pirates and the policemen, and Tom, Mom, and Dad were all going to be too busy to stay awake and sing, so they wished us well and went to bed.

James and Michael began by singing,

“Pour, oh pour the pirate sherry- Fill, oh fill
the pirate glass! . . ..”

By the-time the first scene was through, we had mostly forgotten or simply ignored that we had assigned parts. When it was time for the Major General’s entrance and song, James and Michael were both lying asleep on the Family Room floor.

I, Carl, Marie, and Miriam kept singing all through the night. When we had finished the last scene when everyone gets married, it was about three o’clock in the morning, but none of us were very tired. We all Wanted to keep singing, but of course we needed to sleep to be ready for school the next morning. So everyone went in their own direction once again by brushing their teeth and preparing to go to bed in their own busy way.

Factoidz

2010-12-01T20:06:00.000-08:00

I am now publishing my nerdy writings on Factoidz.com. Here is my first entry.

Bat cave

2010-09-08T22:05:00.000-07:00

I think I'm becoming a bit like a bat these days. I tend to wear black quite a bit and I start and end my days hanging upside down in an inversion table. The life I live in also has some resemblance to a cave these days, and the solitude of that situation is doing me some good. Now it isn't any sort of absolute solitude that anyone needs to worry about. I still see friends and I spent a wonderful weekend with Tom and his family, and I am certainly not depressed. It's just that I am thinking a lot these days about myself, society, my family, my perceptions and my interactions with everyone. I am not really ready to talk about any of it yet. It's all still too uncertain and kind of big, like a dark cave still unexplored. Sometimes, as I venture a little farther into that space, I feel myself change a bit and expand. I'm figuring things out. In those moments, when I feel myself grow, the cave transforms into a chrysalis, or perhaps a whale's belly. When I am either sufficiently developed, of simply tired of where I am at, I'll emerge, perhaps somewhat changed and hopefully for the better.

Miriam's eye view of Bolivia

2010-08-20T12:04:00.000-07:00

I could fall into the easy pace of time in Bolivia where the people sleep until it's warm enough to wake, work hard, eat and sleep again. There are schedules in Bolivia, but they run according to the body and the sun, rather than the clock. It's perhaps the thing I miss most about being there.

I showed up to work today thinking it's Thursday and it's actually Friday and I am still a bit sleepy, perhaps from the jet lag, but more likely from the fatigue of working long days followed by a very long flight home. I had a great time in Bolivia. I am already getting teased about my pictures. I guess in some ways, the photographs I took are more revealing the photographs taken of me. So anyway, here is a Miriam's eye view of the experience.

Dead Baby Llamas in the market.

A Happy Wall

Excellent dental services

Scary mannequins

Ministry of work

Church where we went to get pipe for water project

View from the top of the hill where we hiked to actually start the project.

It was a very long hike. That is Wade looking at the valley below.

I found two of these flowers while we were digging.

They seemed very happy to me when I found them.

Tyler Berg sitting on his shovel while I reapplied sunscreen.

It did not prevent sunburn, it only limited how bad the sunburns were.

Chris Peel explaining to me where the adobe bricks came from.

Scenic view

The shovel balancing act and proof that there were girls besides me on the trip.

From front to back: Jordin, Richard, Chalyce, Megan and Tyler Berg.

I did interact with girls. There just isn't much photographic evidence of that.

Jordin and I washed each others hair and talked ballet (she is a dancer).

Chalyce and I spent a lot of time figuring out iphoto and milling around La Paz together.

Megan and I talked digital textbooks.

I did spend time with girls*.

Tommy taking pictures of everyone while he is standing directly in from of the water source.

After the water project, we went to Lake Titicaca.

Jeff paid my way and claimed me as his date. He jumped in four times. It was freezing cold. I know. He got me very wet.

Tyler Delange also jumped in three times.

And here they both are warming up.

We went to some ruins where I hung out with Nick and his sister Megan (not in photo).

This is a picture Megan took of me at the ruins.

And Tommy again back at camp.

There are a zillion more pictures on Facebook and whenever Tommy uploads his 8000 or so, there will be zillions more.

*I would like to add at this point, that I went to school with mostly men and I work mostly with men, and I have figured out how to participate in male bonding (by discussing making bombs and blowing stuff up) and I am much more comfortable hanging out with men, than discussing them with the girls.

Battleground in Bolivia

2010-08-16T08:59:00.000-07:00

So, I have spent the last week battling poverty in Bolivia and I am covered in battlewounds. I look a bit like an over ripe and bruised piece of fruit when naked. There is a bruise developing on my foot from where a jumper seat in a van got slammed down on me, my legs are covered in bruises as are my arms. I think most of them are from shovels and rocks while digging and filling trenches for the water project we worked on.

Everyone here wants me to say something profound about this experience, and I think that will come, but right now, I am worn down and beat up and there isn´t much I can think of to say. I am leaving La Paz in an hour and when I am done with the flight, I will see Tom.

We hiked a mountain here that reminded me of Tom some. Day 2 in Huancuyo started with a three mile hike that began at 13,000 ft and ended somewhere closer to 14,000 ft. We didn´t know we would be hiking that far. We were going to lay pipe and fill trenches and we thought we would just have to go about .5 miles from camp to a white church where the pipe was stored. When we got there we were told we had to hike to a farther point and when we got there, we had to go to the top of the mountain right to the water source. I was slathered in sunscreen and covered in layers of clothing, but I still got burnt. I am in pretty good shape, but still found it hard to breathe. I didn´t know we would be gone so long and I had no water. I worked for a few hours like that and found myself thinking of Tom.

The specific instance I remembered was a hike up above Yosemite when we climbed to the top of a mountain and there was no trail. I got stuck in a rockslide and everytime I moved, the ground fell out from under me. I called for help and Tom started working his way over to where I was. We were too far apart for me to see him and I didn´t know he was coming. I got tunnel vision. That is the only time that has ever happened and I don´t like it, but it did make it so my entire focus was centered on boulders stably embedded in the ground and I made my way from one to the other with the ground falling out from under me as I went. Just as I was about safely out of it, Tom appeared and took my hand and teased me about finding the most fun way up the mountain. He stayed with me while I was at the top and the helped me pick a safer path down. As I thought about Tom, I knew I would survive the hike and the trench digging.

As I filled in trenches, I thought about a decision I made a while ago to bury my weapons like the Lamanites. As I looked at my bruises, I thought about that decision again. And I thought about Michael a bit and how when we got in a bike crash, his first thought was about my safety even though his own hand got smashed. He was more concerned about my own bruises than his own.

There are big enough battles that leave bad enough wounds that we don´t need to create any more. It is not really the place of one person to fight with another. We have disease and poverty and hunger to fight. Maybe the best way we can fight them is simply through kindness.

I am grateful to have brothers who show me how this is done.

La PAZ!

2010-08-06T15:42:00.000-07:00

I am in La Paz and I´ll post pictures when I have a camera cable again. It is crazy here. They sell dried out dead baby Llamas in the markets. I do not know what one is supposed to do with those. There are clothes on some of them.

I am tired and I should be hungry, but I´m not. It may be from having no sleep for two days or from altitude sickness. I am leaning towards the tiredness. I did get some sleep in the Lima airport, and I was impressed that no one balked when I blew up my air mattress.

I have avoided any major catastrophes so far!

Mostly I am incoherent and so I will stop before my typing denegrates to the same level as my Spanish.

More later!

Finding control

2010-07-27T20:54:00.000-07:00

I am learning to swim laps. I like it except not when I get water in the back of my throat and start choking. It all goes to pieces at that point. But, that is happening less frequently. So there is hope for me yet.

I have started doing physical therapy on my knee. It just wasn't getting totally better and then I saw how my kneecap was a bit out of place. So I crunched it around a bit and got it back to where it looks like the other knee cap. There is some ligament that is really sore after that, but the physical therapy exercises don't feel harmful now, so I might be able to get back to kick boxing soon.

I am reading dating books. They are annoying but possibly useful. I have learned that it does me little to no good to be nice to guys. I just have to be sassy and interesting. I don't think that I can muster being a jerk face, but I am becoming sassier. It is fun. I annoy people now more than they annoy me. I briefly considered trying to adopt a sexy persona when I go to Bolivia since I will be hanging out with a bunch of people I don't know yet, but I decided that I am probably just not that kind of girl because I am prioritizing protecting myself from mosquitoes and the sun over flaunting my sex appeal. So maybe there is no hope for me.

I was reading about basic business planning in developing countries and they said that you must consider what goods and services you can offer and what resources you have to start a business providing those goods and services. For people with few material possessions and barely enough money to feed themselves, prostitution immediately came to mind. Low start-up costs and immediately available goods and services. For some reason, microcredit has not been emphasized in our business planning classes. I am making sure it makes it in though. I do not think prostitution is the means of escaping poverty that I would like to impress upon anyone.

From some odd numerically based email address which did not automatically go to the spam folder.

2010-07-26T12:11:00.000-07:00

Message 1.) Send ya the picture

tomorrow.

(Huh?)

Message 2.) Send ya the picture

tomorrow.

(Oh no!)

Message 3.) Send ya the picture

tomorrow.

(Uggh.)

Message 4.) Sorry it took me so long!

But here is my master piece.

(Emma?)

Message 5.) Torkoise, white,

blue,yellow,red and...

BLACK WITH SPARKLES!

(I can just close my laptop it isn't from

Emma)

(Opened with some anxiety)

By Emma Barlow

Utah

2010-07-24T22:05:00.000-07:00

I have been realizing lately what a strange place Utah is and I don't mean in the eats-the-most-jell-o sort of way. Utah is much stranger than that.

When I moved to NY, I needed a haircut, had no car, and the only place near my apartment was called "Peach Fuzz" and it was a hair salon with an exclusively black clientele. I got the worst haircut I have ever had (besides the one I gave myself in a fit of rage that once) there though they did their best. Before then, I had never known that there were separate hair cutting establishments for different ethnicities. It makes sense that there are given the differences in hair texture and styling preferences, but I had never thought of that. I grew up in Utah, which is a pretty white place.

Now with all that whiteness around, people might think that there is a lot of racism and to be truthful, there are some Mexican jokes that get told. The jokes are entirely inappropriate, but they stem more from socioeconomics than skin color. (That doesn't make them any better.) Those jokes were told about the migrant workers who were poor and sometimes stole things from the houses near the fields where they worked. But I didn't hear any jokes told about the Mexican kids we went to school with. My best friend from K-3rd grade was a Mexican boy. I didn't even realize he was Mexican until we were in high school. He was a nice kid. His parents were cool.

Utah is strange, because even though there are tons of white people there, almost every language on earth is spoken fluently, and fairly authentic cuisine from every region of the earth can be eaten between Salt Lake and Provo. It's because of all the missionaries that go everywhere. And then they come back to Utah, thinking that whatever remote corner of the planet they served in is the best place ever. They tell stories about the places and the people that they loved and they keep eating the food and speaking the languages and they teach their children the languages.

I remember getting my grandparents to speak Swahili and Lingala for me. They weren't fluent in those languages, but they knew enough to survive in the parts of the Congo where the people spoke no French. I thought (and still do sometimes) that going to the Congo would be about the coolest thing on earth. Maybe that's why when I met all of the Sudanese refugee boys who had finally been given a home in the US, I thought they were the coolest people I had ever met. Maybe that's why I was willing to date the Kenyan man I was friends with in Atlanta.

We never actually dated though. He was far too shy and there was a lot of social pressure in Atlanta against black and white relationships. So we stayed friends and he was very nice. That was more than I was able to do with the Black security guard I was friends with. He was from Seattle and going through bad culture shock in the South. He loved that I was from the West and we would talk about the things we liked in the West and he would give me a hug each morning when I walked past the booth he sat in outside the parking garage. And that was all fine until an elderly black guard saw him hugging me and put a stop to it. There was nothing wrong with his hugs. They weren't tight with him all squirming against me because he wasn't getting enough action. They were just light like acquaintances at a party. And he didn't get in trouble because he was a security guard and that was overly familiar behavior. Believe me. There were black girls who went through the metal detectors in halter tops and daisy dukes with navel piercings and the guards felt them all up and down and I never saw a wand come out when those girls set the metal detectors off. Hands were sufficient. No, the hugging wasn't the issue. It was that he was black and I was white and after that day when we got "caught" he called me "miss" and nodded curtly. Now I am not saying that nothing like that would happen in Utah, but what I am saying is I never saw that sort of thing happen in Utah.

When Hurricane Katrina hit and drove the people of New Orleans all over the country, a lot of black people ended up in Utah. They were fed well (though they complained that the "jambalaya" was not jambalaya and I believe them) and they were clothed and helped and when all was said and done, a lot of them decided to stay in Utah and thought that maybe that the storm had been a blessing. And I think the blessing went both ways. I bet it is possible to get some real jambalaya in Utah now.

Grace

2010-07-21T13:53:00.000-07:00

I am a fairly obtuse person and it isn't easy being that way. I generally mean well, but I just plough through life and sometimes forget what another person might be thinking or feeling. Sometimes I don't ask the important questions about the things that a person is really excited to talk about. And sometimes I say all the wrong things and bring up those that hurt the most.

As I drove home from Las Vegas, I was thinking about grace. As I so often do, I started thinking about Kay Whitmore and his kindness to me. Now I may be obtuse, but I am at least a little intelligent and it didn't take long after meeting him for me to realize that Kay Whitmore had been through every experience I could imagine and many that I couldn't and that he had navigated most of them successfully. I viewed him as a source of unfathomable wisdom and he willingly shared his wisdom with me. There was once though, when I think I took things too far and asked a little too much.

Kay Whitmore had a special familiarity with us students. He was our Branch President at church. There were 60 Mormon college students in Rochester and he was sort of the watchful shepherd over our little gaggle. He had dry, wicked humor and would frequently talk himself into a hole over the pulpit. He would give us updates on the married and now expecting past members of our group in colorful anecdotes sprinkled with innuendo. He would give candid assessments of dramatic musical performances put on by the Eastman music students, about whom he was so enthusiastic that they never took offense. (None was ever intended.) And he had a famous speech about gender differences that went like this "Men are like microwaves. You can turn them on and off with the push of a button. Women are like crockpots. It takes a while to heat them up, but once they're hot, well..... they're hot."

I had wanted him to talk to students about how to be successful. Clearly he knew how to succeed. He had been CEO of Kodak and that was more success than most students would ever come close to. Yes, he had been fired from being CEO, but no one and I mean NO ONE (among the people I talked to) thought that he had deserved being fired. He had inherited some really big problems and had proposed some measures to keep Kodak managers and executives honest and they hated those measures and he got fired for them. Pure politics. Someone had to take the fall for the company's problems and since he was the top guy, it was him. Everyone felt that way. So I thought.

I had hinted to President Whitmore that I wanted him to talk to us, the students, about being successful several times. He always asked "And what are my qualifications for success?" and I would say "You were CEO of Kodak. You must have done something right." And he would look into my adoring face, smile, and shake his head.

I got my real chance to set this up when I was asked to organize the speakers for a LDS YSA conference. I had the venue and I didn't know many people and so I issued a formal request. When I did, he looked stoic and he asked me "So you are asking me, as a member of the Church, to do this for the Church?" and I didn't really understand the question and I just smiled and said "Yes." And he nodded and said "All right, for the Church, I'll do this." And I was thrilled. His secrets of success would be ours.

When the time came for his talk, I treated him with all the professional courtesy I could, but I took the liberty of introducing him myself. I talked about all of the service he had done in the Church and that was all fine. But when I got to the CEO bit, he blushed bright red and waved his hand to the side indicating that it was time for me to finish up and move aside. As he looked out at the group of students, I saw fear and embarrassment and I suddenly realized the situation I had put him in. He was looking out into the faces of children whose parents had been laid off by him. He was looking into the faces of people who had seen the very public demise of his career on the local evening news. He was standing there facing failure.

Kay Whitmore gave us the best talk I have ever heard about how to be successful. He did so with humor, grace and enthusiasm. He gave us concrete advice that was instantly implementable and useful.
1. If you can stand it, learn math.
2. Accomplish the most important thing every day.
3. Build in time for yourself so that you don't burn yourself out.

The entire group took notes furiously and asked really good questions. I thanked President Whitmore and gave him the small gift that was provided to all of the speakers and he blushed and took it with much embarrassment acting as though he didn't deserve it.

I saw pure grace though, because after that, whenever his experiences as CEO seemed helpful to someone, he would share them with whoever was in need.

Grandpa!

2010-07-15T22:21:00.000-07:00

I spent an hour talking with Grandpa tonight. We have a special bond that was born when I lived with him and Grandma for a year during college. My grandparents heard the uncensored Miriam that year, instead of the putting the best foot forward to make them proud sort of Miriam that I had been before then. They would ask me for my "cool-collected opinion" of various situations and I'd give it. I'd ask the same of them . I painted Beer steins with Grandma, and attended the book club she hosted for her friends. I did yard work with Grandpa and helped him clean the basement after the sewer line got clogged. He secretly got me a Cummings chocolate Easter egg when they were in season (food of the gods) but told me I couldn't let on to the cousins or he'd have to get them all one.

I love that year. I guess during a time when most late adolescents are getting to know themselves, I was getting to know my grandparents instead. And they got to know me. It was a good year. They learned to trust my opinion and I learned to trust theirs.

Tonight, as I was talking to Grandpa, he talked a lot about Grandma (their wedding anniversary would have been yesterday). He told me about the last time they went to California together, that "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride" was one of his favorites at Disneyland and he told me about their trip to Washington when I was a baby and they came to see me and my parents (and Marie too). He asked how James was and I told him that James is dating a nice girl who is going on a mission soon. I also told him I'd argued with James and not gone for sushi with him and his girlfriend. He said "Well, if she is a nice girl, she deserves to go on dates without you there."

I think he's right.

The effect of etiquette books

2010-07-14T16:52:00.000-07:00

It would be interesting, I think, to study the effects of etiquette books across various social strata. The first time I ever cracked open an etiquette book was when I was was fourteen or so and James was eating mashed potatoes with his fingers. I felt that there was certainly a better way and I went to the authorities for backup. James (age 5) was convinced, and though his manual dexterity was still developing, he awkwardly used a spoon and dinner became much more pleasant for everyone after that.

I have seen etiquette books used in other ways though. For example, when Marie's English students were rude in class, she required that they copy some number of pages (proportional to the offense) from an etiquette book. For some of her students in the hood of Las Vegas, it may have been the only exposure they ever had to basic manners. It would be interesting to determine what influence those exercises had.

I sometimes think I catch a glimpse. For instance, once I was eating dinner at the home of a no longer friend. There weren't enough baked potatoes so I volunteered to split one with someone else and then proceeded to cut the potato crosswise instead of lengthwise. We were in the midst of a hilarious discussion about pumping septic tanks. Bread had been distributed in a manner similar to a football that is passed 20 yards for a glorious touchdown. So I was surprised when the conversation stopped and everyone started staring at me. Everyone. I asked "What?"and they all started laughing at me and told me that any fool knows a potato is cut lengthwise instead of crosswise when it is shared. I expressed surprise that such a rule existed and the etiquette book was procured and the rule was read. I jokingly asked if anything was said about discussing sewers or chucking bread around the room. Neither of those topics were mentioned in the etiquette book so clearly no rule had been broken in either case. The fault was clearly mine.

Etiquette finally started making real sense to me in France. I was staying at the Fondation Mérieux for a week, eating three meals a day prepared by the second best chef in Annecy (which is known for some excellent cuisine). I had the pleasure of eating with some fine and distinguished French gentlemen. They were from a generation where etiquette was important and their plates were kept impeccably beautiful and clean throughout the entire meal. I managed to use the correct utensils and I worked out the timing between talking and eating pretty well. The men thought that I was delightful and charming, but as I watched the way they kept their plates so well composed, I felt like a complete slob. "Aaah" I thought, "it does matter which way a person cuts a potato."

There's no place like home.

2010-07-12T23:54:00.000-07:00

It's good to be home. Mom is doing well post tendon re-attachment and we are hanging out on the couch a lot. We watch movies. Some are better than others. We watched one with Harrison Ford as a scientist curing a disease. That was heartwarming and mildly pleasant. Then we watched The Time Traveler's Wife and we both cried when it was over. We cried in a mourning things lost sort of way. I held mom and she held me and when we were done crying I promptly drove to the nearest Redbox and jammed that movie back into it in an unkindly way, all the while thinking about how it had made my mom cry and it could just die for all I cared (except that it was just a DVD so it couldn't really) and I felt a little vindicated.

Michael taught me a bit about tennis tonight. He taught me an even better way of gripping my racket with a bit of a downward angle so I am not lobbing balls all over any more. He worked with me on the correct swing and preparing for a swing while running and then swinging while I am running. I watched Michael play, and he is beautiful (sorry to say it that way bro, but it's true) while playing tennis. His long arms and long legs extend, graceful and fluid as he swings the racket. He has absolute control over where he sends the ball and the court somehow seems to shrink as he works his way around it. The aesthetic rivals ballet in some moments.

James and I will go for Sushi tomorrow. We will probably discuss concepts of Zen or something like that.

Dad likes what I cook usually, which is nice because cooking is a pretty big responsibility for me right now. I am cooking cuisine that is gluten free, harmonious with a cardiac patient's diet (no fat or salt), and no poultry, avocado, or tilapia (Michael just became allergic to that too.) I have been utilizing herbs heavily and it seems to work out okay in the recipes.

Bolivia!

2010-06-22T15:28:00.000-07:00

I just submitted my application to do humanitarian aid work in Bolivia. It's all Tom's fault of course, as most good ideas are. We had a long heart to heart after I asked him about his thoughts on freezing eggs. He was a little surprised to find out that I felt so strongly abut having children and that I was willing to go to extreme measures for the gamble of having children through my 40s. He suggested that if I was willing to go to those lengths, maybe I would be willing to do some other extreme things to get my life going a bit more that way I want it to. I asked him what he was thinking of and he said he was scared of offending me. I assured him that there was nothing he could say that would be any worse than things I had already thought and that there might be some good ideas in there that I could use.

So he started asking me questions and we ended up talking about online dating sites (which got a boo from both of us), cosmetic dermatology, and travel. He asked what I like doing and I told him service work. So he suggested that I go abroad to do that and meet people with a similar interest. It seemed like a good idea. Then a guy that I play FB Scrabble with, Christian, mentioned that he is going to Bolivia to do humanitarian aid work and so I asked him all about what group and what you have to do to go and he told me and so now my application is in.

I am on a waiting list, but I pitched all of my CDC experience and public health skills and the organizers of the trip thought I sounded useful and that they could use my skills. I'm pretty excited. This sounds really enjoyable to me.

Getting Organized

2010-06-16T12:03:00.000-07:00

I got a desk, filing cabinet, and shredder and went to work. About four hours in, I started reflecting that either Loki was the personification of entropy, or that he somehow got himself written into the second law of thermodynamics. As I tried to dump the second load of confetti from the shredder, the edge of the bag slipped and a breeze was blowing around like snow in the summer time and there was a big mess to clean up. I knew that it was funny the way it had happened and wished I could have been watching it rather than experiencing it so that I could have laughed a bit more.

Later, I was cleaning out stacks of papers in a cupboard and found an old essay about Salvador Dali's painting Cannibalism. When I wrote it (in high school), I thought that the painting was profound, but as I remembered it, it seemed cliché. Little pieces of the woman sitting in the man's spoon and in her own. The essay went into the shredder. I remembered a more recent endeavor in art. It was two Christmases ago and Carl convinced everyone to go out with the children to build snowmen. It was the first Christmas in 20 years with enough snow for that. We teamed up with the little ones and they started asking us to help them roll the biggest snowball. It was fun, collecting all of those little snow flakes and turning them into something substantial. We ended up with some snowballs that were about 5 feet tall and quite round. We all piled them up and had to climb on the picnic table to get the top one on. And then somehow, that wasn't good enough. Hilary was hugely pregnant, and still rolling snowballs to try to get the baby to drop. There was a gloriously pregnant woman and a new baby due any day and that seemed worthy of a celebration. We rolled more snowballs that became a huge stomach and two enormous breasts. We shaped an enormous snow Venus, reminiscent of the stone one found in Willendorf, but with a face. Tom teased us about our fertility goddess and although we didn't worship it, it was satisfying to have a large tribute to the woman bearing the child who would be the newest member of the family.

As I remembered that, I was struck by how much I have changed between the essay on Cannibalism and the Snow Venus. How my views about women and men have changed. I started trying to think of defining moments in my life that brought about those changes in perspective and I couldn't. Defining processes? Yes. Defining moments? ......No. I started wondering if the way that one approaches life can be counted as something definitive, when that approach is causing constant change. Are Michelangelo's Awakening Giant, or Young Slave fully defined, left as they are in the middle of the sculpting process? There is still a lot of extra marble that could fly of of those figures and get blown around as dust in a studio.

And then later as I was cleaning up the dust from all of my organizing, it hit me that there was one defining moment that I could remember. I was six (and knowing what I know now I would bet that it was not too long after I had fallen at school and knocked myself out when I hit the back of my head hard on the black top). I couldn't sleep at night and I was so scared. It seemed strange to me that I was more afraid at age six than I had been at two or four. I was ashamed of how scared I was and wished that I could sleep so that I wouldn't feel afraid. I wanted Mom to stay with me until I was asleep night after night. And I had wet the bed twice, which was something I had never ever done, ever. A six year old doesn't have much to be proud of and sleeping well and good bathroom skills had been two of the best things I had going for me. My little life was flying apart. Mom thought I was jealous and needed more attention. I tried to tell her I was just scared and I didn't even know I was asleep or that I had to go to the bathroom when I wet the bed. It just happened. She asked me what I thought we should do about it and I didn't know.

Later, when I was awake and afraid, I remembered I could pray to not be afraid and I prayed. And then the defining moment came. I felt very warm and very calm and well loved and I fell asleep. Some sort of new material was gathered up into the little six year old person I was. I still woke up three or four times in the night just to check if I still felt that way. I did, every single time until the morning came.

be beautiful!

2010-06-03T13:35:00.000-07:00

I love this a lot and want to share.

It is by Noelle Dass who sells T-shirts and other pieces of art online

Strong and Immovable

2010-05-30T19:58:00.000-07:00

This month, I keep hearing about Julie Beck's conference talk. Everyone is reading it, studying it, and teaching it. It is an exceptional talk. I think that part of what makes it so great is that she sets up a standard for what women should be. I think about Marie when I read it, which is also a part of why I like it so well. My favorite part of it is this quote:

The second general Relief Society president, Eliza R. Snow, said this to the sisters: “We want to be ladies in very deed, not according to the term of the word as the world judges, but fit companions of the Gods and Holy Ones. In an organized capacity we can assist each other in not only doing good but in refining ourselves, and whether few or many come forward and help to prosecute this great work, they will be those that will fill honorable positions in the Kingdom of God. . . . Women should be women and not babies that need petting and correction all the time. I know we like to be appreciated but if we do not get all the appreciation which we think is our due, what matters? We know the Lord has laid high responsibility upon us, and there is not a wish or desire that the Lord has implanted in our hearts in righteousness but will be realized, and the greatest good we can do to ourselves and each other is to refine and cultivate ourselves in everything that is good and ennobling to qualify us for those responsibilities."

It is a relief to have some strong and immovable ideas of womanhood that are broad enough to encompass our varied lives, but specific enough to give each of us direction.

motes and beams

2010-05-04T18:03:00.000-07:00

I have had some thoughts on religion that I want to share.

In Matthew 22, on of the Pharisees asks Jesus

36. Master, which is the great commandment in the law?
37. Jesus answered saying, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
38. This is the first and great commandment, and the second is like unto it.
39. Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.
40. On these two commandments hang all the law and prophets.

I think that it is necessary to love God in every way, because when we do, we trust that His commandments will be for our good even when we don't understand how. That makes it possible to live them.

I think the second law is explained in Matthew 7.

3. And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
4. Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull the mote out of thine eye;and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?
5. Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.

I think that the beam that Jesus refers to is a failure to love others as ourselves. And it is a huge problem to not love others. We can only see how to help others when we love them. By comparison, all other flaws are motes, whereas failure to love is a beam that gets in the way of everything. Not just helping others, but every interaction.

When Jesus said that "On these two commandments hang all the law and prophets", I think he was explaining how we are to save ourselves and others, and that it is simply and sincerely though loving God and mankind. I think that when those two commandments are kept, then keeping the rest of God's commandments follows more easily.

I can think of zillions of reasons that it is hard to love others as ourselves. I struggle with that. It is easy to love my family, but hard to love annoying or dishonest or mean people. It's something for me to work on and it is hard for me, but I am trying to do it. I have a lot of growing up to do.

Politically Correct

2010-04-18T14:49:00.000-07:00

Carroll Barlow

You have already read this as an e-mail but I wanted to post it here on the family blog as a matter of record.

show details 3:46 PM (1 minute ago)

I found this article on the Newsroom Web site of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I thought you might find it interesting. Click on the link below to view:

http://www.newsroom.lds.org/ldsnewsroom/eng/news-releases-stories/apostle-says-religious-freedom-is-being-threatened

Last night when dad and I had our nightly prayer I found myself asking for wisdom in dealing with political issues. I feel that we need to speak up for true principals, be a force of good in helping to preserve them, and be effective in presenting these truths to others. Often I feel that even I can become diluted by the world and its one sided media, carefully teaching us how to think. The adversary is very tricky. I know that we need to understand and hold on to eternal principals. As we are weighing an issue we should test it against guiding principals.
Today when I got home from church I turned on BYU TV and I think at least a partial answer to my prayer was given. This talk from Elder Oaks discusses these very issues.
I know that everyone is very busy and it may be hard to find time to read this devotional. However I think you would feel blessed in doing so, especially in these times. It is wonderful to have Apostles who are experts in their occupational fields along with their spiritual powers to guide us. I often reflect on the love and intelligence of the Lord in guiding his children in mortality. While listening you might grab a piece of paper and take notes.
I love you all. You are my most wonderful treasures. I am so confident in each of you! I thank you for all the good work you are doing. I know life seems hard at times, (It really is!). Stay close to the Lord, stay positive, reflect on your many blessings. Always use your talents to serve the Lord. (what a talented bunch you all are!) Even with all the talent you possess ask that those talents can be expanded so that you can be even more potent in His service. Pray often. Help each other in love and kindness. Strengthen each other especially in your individual families and also the family at large. Thank you for you patience and and unconditional love toward me and dad. Propriety demands that love, we are father and mother. Better than that, however, you have over looked our misgivings and love us still. Thank you!
Have a great week know that you are continually in our hearts and prayers.

Love, Mom Barlow

Catching up

2010-04-16T14:01:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry I have been so remiss in writing, but there really has been quite a bit going on. House hunting, broken legs, spring break and the usual routine of things. I'll try to give the last four months a good summary. First off the winter olympics. After we had two visitors who stayed overnight on their way to the Vancouver Olympics we decided we ought to take the kids since we live so close. We enjoyed seeing places from when I was a missionary there over ten years ago, and getting into some of the festivites.

Tom and the three oldest kids ice skated on the rink after we saw a show of the mascots.

Here we are with none other than the Mountees.

Olympic tattoos. It was at this point that the rain started falling rather thickly. We decided to head home.

Mattie's snowman was picked from her class to be in the city wide school art show.

I (Keriann) went with some friends to Forks, Washington (home of the vampires from Twilight in case you have been living under a rock). I had a great time, although much to the detriment of my nieghbor who was watching my kids when Mattie got the stomach flu. She, her husband all three of her kids ended up getting it. Then it went through half of us. What a friend, eh?!

Tom turned 31, and grieved a bit because he was supposed to have a cabin when he was 30. Ahh well, maybe if we stayed put for more than two years it could have happened.

Love this picture of Sam on Easter Sunday. This was the sunday after Tom and I had been in San Diego for a week doing house hunting, and then returned to Spokane where my brother lives and did some skiing. Mattie broke her leg on the Friday before. Here you can see her splint.

Hazel in one of her Easter dresses.

All the nieghbor kids comparing their loot.

Mattie getting her cast. She broke her tibia, just a crack. We, or she espicially, is hoping it heals quickly.

She now uses both crutches and a wheelchair. She gets around pretty good.

The other exciting thing going on in the Barlow household is some "special" cooking. Tom and I have taken two classes, one on cheese (hard and soft), and the other on bread. Tom is eating a piece of bread we made with cheese we made, with jam we made. MMMMM! It's so good.

Our first loaf by ourseleves.

Grandma's Christmas Cactus

2010-04-03T18:05:00.000-07:00

When Grandma died and all of her belongings were divided between us, there were a few things that nobody claimed. They were to be taken to the DI or to be thrown out. Among these things were a couple of houseplants. One of the houseplants was a Christmas Cactus. I asked everyone if they wanted that plant, nobody did. I couldn't bear to throw it out. Grandma had loved it and taken care of it
Christmas Cactus' are an appealing plant to me. They aren't necessarily the most beautiful plant but they are a rugged and can take quite a bit of abuse. They actually bloom better if you keep them rather dry. The blossoms they produce are quite beautiful. I have a friend that has a Christmas Cactus that started from another Christmas Cactus that started from another Christmas on down to one that came across the plains with the pioneers. Maybe Grandma's Christmas Cactus is progeny of a pioneer plant, I am not sure. I do know that her Cactus is smart. It blossomed lovely blossoms at Christmas time.
A couple of days ago I thought it might be more attractive if I dusted the leaves, as I dusted it I noticed 3 new buds, these would be spring blossoms, just in time for Easter, I think, designating the birth and resurrection of the Savior.

I just wish I could visit or call Grandma and tell her all about it. It would please her so.

That plant once destined for the garbage now has become quite dear to me.

What Did I Do This Time?

2010-04-02T17:57:00.000-07:00

Today A doctor looked at me square in the face and said "You are toughest lady I ever met!
This comment came after he examined my injured foot. Let me tell you about the injury.
Last week, in preparation for making dinner, I sharpened my knife. If you know me well you know I like my knives sharp. After honing it with my very efficient electric knife sharpener, I set to cutting a roast into cubes. I then laid that knife on a crowded counter and some how it fell. I felt the knife strike my foot. It hurt but I was surprised when I looked down and saw it bleeding profusely. It fell, blade first, and cleanly cut my foot above my great toe, horizontally. I began assessing the injury. Stitches would be appropriate treatment. I considered going to the E.R. I thought about the long wait and the 75.00 co-pay. I decided that I would dress the wound myself. After all, it was a clean cut into my foot. Looking through the first aid supplies, I even found Steri-Strips sutchering tape. The decision was made. I would stop the bleeding, disinfect it, close the cut and hold it that way with the tape. I protected my toe carefully not to overuse it or disturb it. The healing went well. I was convinced I had make the right decision.
3 or 4 days later when the wound was sealed I tried to wiggle that great toe. I could wiggle it downward, but not up. This didn't bother me too much, I thought my toe was traumatized and that it would get better. I had gone to water aerobics that morning and it really didn't hurt. After showing my toe to my co- workers, they convinced me to get furthur medical attention. I called my son Tom, the doctor. He told me that I had probably severed the tendon that attached to a muscle in my leg that allows me to raise my toe upward. Yes indeed, that is what happened.
Next Thursday surgery is scheduled to re-attach the tendon. I will be in a cast for awhile.
I just thought I would let you know.
I am tough and gritty, however I am questioning my judgment. The longer you live the more you learn!

Springar fra Bergen

2010-03-22T13:25:00.000-07:00

Men are bending over backwards to do nice things for me these days. I don't even ask them to. It is very strange, but I like it so far. I had an entourage last weekend. I have never had an entourage before. After I purchased my car, two men from the dealership drove my car and an extra car 30 miles to Modesto so that I could return my rental car and drive my own car home. It was not part of the deal to sell me the car. It was after I had already agreed upon the price (after 3 hours of negotiating in which I told them what I wanted to pay and waited until they met me there. I was not an easy sell.) and the salesman just was being nice.

When I got to the rental office, the man there didn't charge me for leaving the car at a different place than the one I got it at (though he had said he would). He was very nice.

Then on Saturday, a guy in the parking lot of the grocery store offered to haul my groceries to my car for me. At first I declined, but then I reconsidered and told him I'd take his help if it was no trouble to him. I was perfectly capable of hauling my own groceries, but if a man wants to be kind to me, I guess I can let him be kind.

No Poker Face

2010-03-18T14:21:00.000-07:00

I have started playing the girl card. It took a lot to get me to pull that one out, but now that I'm using it, I like it a lot. It started when I had no car and the tow truck driver insisted on taking me home. He said he wouldn't do that for a guy, but there was no way he would let a woman walk home at night through a questionable neighborhood. That was nice.

A couple days later (car still in shop), I walked to the grocery store to get a few things. The grocery store is only about a mile away and it is a safe walk getting there....no big deal. However, it was getting dark while I was walking there and there was a big crack in the pavement with raised edges right next to a very high curb. I didn't see the crack and stumbled on it while I was stepping up onto the curb. I stumbled on my right foot, but caught all my weight with my left and jammed that knee and turned my ankle. Nothing serious, but definitely painful. So the next day, I decided to rent a car. It was windy and I didn't want to walk the two miles to the rental place but I had no other way of getting there. I thought about the tow truck driver and called the rental place and asked the guy on the phone to come pick me up. They normally don't have a shuttle service and he had to close the entire rental office down while he came to get me, but he did it and said he would happily take me home when my rental is done. Very nice indeed.

There are other aspects of the girl card I like. It is good to talk to girls about solving problems. When I tell guys about my car problems, they ALL give me a lecture on the mechanics and requirements of an engine (except Tom, who taught me all of that stuff years ago). I have told all of them that two mechanics haven't been able to figure it out, but they keep saying it shouldn't be that hard. So I finally gave up on guys and told some gal pals that I needed advice from a girl (all the guys started to flee until I told them it was about car problems...then they all stayed). Rather than trying to solve the problems with my car, they gave me advice about how to dispose of my current car most profitably and they told me they'd give me rides to wherever I buy my new car so I can pick it up. All of the guys started chiming in that my car should be simple to fix and started giving me a lecture about how an engine works and I told them that was why I needed a girl to talk to.

The "girl card" is not the same as the "damsel in distress card". I can still get stuff done. The man repairing my -80 freezer has absolute confidence in my opinion. He was ready to start buying parts for my freezer based on my assessment until I suggested that maybe he should come in and just make sure my assessment was right. At the end he told me that I'd been absolutely right and he seemed a little proud of me.

Also, my friend Lynda brought her truck to my house and we loaded up all of my old furniture that I don't want anymore and took it to a women who left a violent relationship with one suitcase and then moved across the country. It was heavy, but we did it.

Mysteries

2010-03-15T11:20:00.000-07:00

There is nothing mechanically wrong with my car and yet it won't start. After 3 days, my mechanic told me that no one could figure out what was wrong (second time in ten years and by the way there is no charge) and that maybe the dealership mechanic could. Today it is getting towed to the dealership. Those mechanics there are crooked. They once told me that they needed to replace a $500 part which would cost $300 in labor because a piece of my air conditioning system they had just replaced wouldn't connect to the downstream part. I tried to connect them and failed, but my brother-in-law did it easily, which saved me the $800. Then they wanted to charge me $100 for a spare key which I was able to get from a locksmith for $3.00. I am curious to find out what they say is wrong with my car. I would be fine junking my car and I would be fine driving it a couple more months and trading it in, but this not knowing is terrible.

Possibly worse than that however has been the disappearance of butter in my house. I went through nearly a pound in the past two weeks. As I live alone, I don't even have denial as an option, but I honestly can't account for all that butter. I was going to blame the bread that is in the freezer (in the spirit of denial), but one loaf is fat free and the other only has two tablespoons. There are a bunch of frozen blondies too (yum!) and those had almost a half pound of butter, but still...... I realized this last night and sincerely hoped my fresh out of the dryer jeans wouldn't be tight this morning. They are (of course). Sigh. Not really much of a mystery there after all. Carrot sticks and celery for lunch this week.

Kitchen Calamities

2010-03-08T10:45:00.000-08:00

I would like to say that I made the worst bread on earth yesterday, but that would be giving it too much credit. I am sure worse breads have been made at some point in the history of mankind. The Anasazis probably had sand and pebbles in their breads sometimes and while that would not, in an of itself qualify their bread to be worse than mine, a failed, burned, cornbread full of grit would have been worse than what I made. Bread that fell off the side of a tandoor and got covered in charcoal would probably be worse though that would depend on how much of the charcoal could be brushed off. I also remember witnessing the removal of a loaf of bread from a bread machine that had collapsed and was so full of salt that it tasted like brine and made my hands sting a little. (No one ever figured out how all the salt got in there.) That might have been worse than the loaf I made yesterday, but what I made yesterday was uniquely bad.

I used the America's Best Recipes American sandwich bread recipe because I have found that it's pretty easy to adapt their recipes to gluten free ingredients. I was excited to try my rice/oat/potato flour blend that has been working so well. I added more xanthan gum than usual in an attempt to mimic gluten... perhaps I was also curious about whether one could add too much xanthan gum because I added one Tablespoon per cup of flour. Normally GF recipes are soft and runny compared to recipes made with all-purpose flour. Not this time. After adding all of the liquid, the dough was dry and clumpy like play dough that had ben left out too long. I gathered it into a ball and smashed it all together and decided to see if it would rise. It wouldn't. As the yeast produced CO2, the dough just fell apart in clumps. It was sort of a fast forward version of watching the sedimentary rocks in the desert erode.

I added water to it. The dough absorbed it all and was still dry and still just fell apart as the yeast grew. So I added more water. In total, I probably added an entire cup. This was on top of the cup and a half of liquid already in the loaf of bread which was still very dry, but staying in a ball (albeit a very heavy ball with all that water). How something can be made mostly out of liquid and still be so dry is a mystery to me, but I am convinced that one could lower rising ocean levels or drain a lake with a certain amount of xanthan gum.

The dough was starting to smell a little like yeast, the way rising bread should so I formed a loaf and put it in a pan and waited to see if it would rise. After adding all that water, the size of the dough had grown and there wasn't much room in the pan for it to rise anyway, but I though I'd just see if it would. After a half hour, not much had happened. I took a bath. Still nothing much had happened. I read a few short stories. The dough was cracking and looking like it might start to fall apart again, but it had risen slightly. It was 10:30 and I was wanting to go to bed so I decided to finish up the bread and see how it came out. At 11:30, I pulled a heavy, heavy pan out of the oven and cut into the loaf which was so firm that I didn't even run the risk of smashing it even a little bit while it was hot. The slice of bread fell apart in clumps as I feared it might. I tasted a bit of it and the only possibly redeeming aspect of it was that the flavors of honey and milk and a little salt came through and it tasted sort of like normal bread.

I am scheduled to go to pottery tonight, I haven't used my sack of clay in a while and it is sort of dried out an clumpy. I may have had enough of that last night. I am tempted to stay home and see if I can make a dough that is more like bread than clay.

Kitchen Victories!

2010-03-04T14:36:00.000-08:00

I hacked the secrets of gluten free baking. They depend mainly on 3 ingredients: Rice, oats and xanthan gum. I mix rice and oats in roughly equal proportions but then vary the amounts to control the moisture of the baked good. By adding more oats, it becomes more moist. Adding more rice flour makes the final product less moist. I combine that flour mixture with potato starch in about a 1:1 ratio. Xanthan gum is the real trick though. It binds things together, and thickens them a lot. Gluten free recipes skimp on xanthan gum and the baked goods usually fall. By adding about two teaspoons of xanthan gum per cup of flour, the consistency of the dough/batter comes out the same as with wheat flour and the final texture of the baked good is also about the same.

I am still tinkering with flavors. So far, the biggest complaint about my baked goods has been that they taste a little different than those made with wheat flour. I am not sure if I can fix this problem and it is hard to play with since I can't eat wheat for comparison, but I am not giving up yet.

All I needed to know that I didn't learn in Kindergarten

2010-03-01T07:19:00.000-08:00

I am learning really basic things these days. For example, Marie is teaching me to read literature. As she reads American Gods, she is explaining it to me. So far she has pointed out parallels with Huckleberry Finn, interesting things about various mythologies, and a lot of humor that would have been lost on me otherwise. It turns out that reading literature is a lot like reading science. You have to look stuff up. Except with science, I usually just have to go to a good dictionary and with literature I guess you look all over, but Google and wikipedia make that pretty easy. I am tempted to get an ipad to make it even easier.

The second thing that I am learning is humor. Marie is hilarious. She started out the funniest conversation I have had in a long time by describing what she interprets as a hat depicting the holy trinity of Disney (Micky, Donald and Goofy). There is Donald's bill and then an ear apiece from the other two. She went on and on about the sacrilege of it. And then I told her about my Sunday school lesson and how the shyest quietest girl in the class read a verse from Genesis that included something about how Abraham sat upon his ass. The whole class lost it. So did Marie when I told her. When she was finally able to talk again, she said it was like when she was teaching English and some kid raised his hand and asked whether right then would be a good time to come out of the closet. She told him that he could go right ahead so he announced to the class that he was gay. Everyone knew he wasn't, but there was no recovery. By that point in the discussion, we both had tears streaming down our faces. I don't know how I have gone this long without fully appreciating Marie's wild sense of humor.

Last, but certainly not least, I have realized that I have the romantic prowess of an 11 year old. That was one of those personal truths that I would rather not have be true. However, once I was done being upset over that realization, I decided that it is incredibly empowering. It means that every negative experience I have ever had with males or that is in anyway related to romance or sexuality is no longer valid. I am letting myself go back to where an eleven year old is and relearn how to fall in love. I am possibly more confident and independent than most eleven year olds, which I hope will enable me to do a better job at this the second time around. At present, holding hands and talking about random goofy things are lots of fun. I think that more will follow in response to mutual trust, kindness, attraction, and commitment rather than by pressure or degradation.

Maybe success!

2010-02-22T11:30:00.000-08:00

I think I got a fundable score on the grant my last grant application. The scores came in today. I am not going to go through the lengthy explanation of the strange, recently reworked and somewhat confusing scoring system, but I do know the good side from the bad side and I am close to the end that is good. I have to wait for the council review which will be a couple more months, but I think I might get funded this time. Hooray!

Miriam meets...well... Miriam

2010-02-22T11:17:00.000-08:00

Style set in this weekend. It has trouble written all over it as I seem to have expensive taste. I went to the mall. I haven't been clothes shopping since last spring and the situation was getting dire. My six Threadless shirts could be better described as threadbare shirts (well almost). I was shocked to find that for the first time in my life, I had concrete ideas about what I was looking for rather than just trying on zillions of things until I found something, anything that looked good. I found that I have a set of rules for clothes. Well cut sleeves are a necessity as are clean lines. Ruffles equal automatic disqualification. Sashes and bows aren't quite that bad, but come close. Gathered fabric is okay if it is done in a way that doesn't interrupt the lines of the clothes. None of this was too surprising because those rules match my taste in architecture. What was a surprise is that sequins, sparkles and studs!? are okay (I am almost embarrassed to say so, but I have confidence in my stylish sensibilities, so I'm saying it.) The other surprise was that I look better flat chested than wearing a push-up bra. There are a few outfits that are exceptions, but in general, I think that subtle (in my case very subtle) curviness is best.

I also got my hair cut. I have generally liked expensive haircuts when the price includes the hairdressers sense of style. Not this time. I walked into Aveda at the mall and asked if I could get my hair done. I have often been told that if a stylist is available for a walk-in, it is best to pass on the cut. That was the attitude at Aveda and they assigned me to Tiffany. She was perfect looking. A model of classical beauty. Perfect skin, perfect facial structure, perfect body, and perfect hair. High heeled shoes. She was also washing the towels that the other stylists had used. I could tell she was young, but I also didn't get the Acck-this-will-be-a-bad-haircut sense that always precedes a bad haircut. She gave me scalp massage with scented oil. I had never had one of those before and it was great. She made washing my hair into some sort of relaxing spa therapy and then we proceeded to the haircut. I asked about her age. 18. I asked about her experience. She had been cutting hair for "a while". We discussed what to do with my hair. Neither of us had any idea. At least, not at first. She started cutting my hair and I could tell that the technical skills were all there. Then she dropped her scissors and the comb and the other stylists reassured her that she was doing okay and it hit me that hist was her first day on the job and that she was giving me her first haircut since graduating from beauty school. She was terrified but keeping it together pretty well. So I started directing her on the exact angles and lengths that I wanted my hair. I was surprised that I was able to do that. We both played with my hair and figured out that it needed a lot of texturing and a lot of layers. I made her do my bangs twice and we took them one lock at a time getting them to the exactly right length and the right contours. I was surprised that I had concrete opinions about that. In the end, it was a good haircut. Okay, better than that. It is the best haircut I have had in California. The other stylists were tremendously impressed and Tiffany was beaming. Absolutely glorious triumph written all over her face. I left her a big tip because the haircut cost very little and I have paid a lot more for haircuts nowhere near that good.

Today after our morning walk when I took my hat off, Jenny Vezzani tousled my hair a little and it was as good as when I had started the day. She told me it was the best haircut I have ever had (Even better than Pat's) and I think Tiffany may have her first regular customer.

A day to love

2010-02-11T13:52:00.000-08:00

I like Valentine's Day. It is usually pretty fun. My own personal way of keeping it usually involves pretending that Halloween arrives in February as well as October. In high school, this involved chopping raw meat with my cousin, Eileen while watching the X-files and then making stir-fry. In college, I killed rats in the lab (though that wasn't really in honor of Valentine's day since I killed rats most days), and in grad school, I either hosted parties where we pulverized piñatas of chubby cupids, or went on strange Valentine's day dates that seemed like something from the X-files. In Merced, my approach to Valentine's day hasn't changed much. I get to scare kids when they try to interrupt my lectures to deliver musical Valentine's day telegrams (It is fun to sort of show off that I can be really cranky). And I have also been set up on some strange Halloweenish sorts of dates. At one we ate take-out in the park. There were lighted candles and used condoms (not by us) in the grass. The candles looked more like a seance than romantic, and I could have forgiven that, but when I was told that I didn't even get to keep my own box of take-out leftovers, I knew it wasn't meant to be. On the years when there wasn't a Valentine's Day set-up, I have had some quiet dinners with good friends. This year, I will be in Lake Havasu City watching a fireworks display that includes loads of gas-bombs and other explosions, so I guess that's more like pretending that the 4th of July arrives in February, but it'll do.

Morbidity aside, I really do like Valentine's Day. It represents hope. I joke about wanting to get married so that someone can load the dishwasher while I am getting ready for a trip, or so that I can get a toaster oven (or ten) as wedding gifts. But I have hope that there is more out there than that. I don't think that there would be a national holiday to celebrate toaster ovens. (I could be wrong however.)

The Star of David

2010-02-08T14:29:00.000-08:00

I was studying the Sunday School lesson for next week about the Abrahamic covenant. I wrote down some thoughts about the Star of David that relate and decided to post them.

In Abraham 3:12-14, God put his hands over Abraham’s eyes and showed him everything that his hands had made and there were so many that Abraham could not see the end of them. Then God showed him the stars in the night sky and said to Abraham “I will multiply thee and thy seed after the like unto these…”

The number of the stars was an important part of this comparison, but I think the most important part was the actual stars themselves. In Abraham 2:11, God told Abraham “…in thy seed after thee shall all the families of the earth be blessed…” This has absolutely happened as the descendents of Abraham, particularly the Jews, have spread throughout the earth and have brought with them stability and progress simultaneously. Their influence has been felt directly as they have built strong families and communities, and as they have developed medicine, arts, sciences, technology, and business. The seed of Abraham has also strongly influenced the inhabitants of the Earth in less direst ways. For example, the Constitution of the US was initially modeled after the laws of the Israelites. There were adaptations to make the laws relevant to the US, but the overall concept of the purpose of government came from Israel. Like it or not, that concept of government has become a standard for all other nations on Earth as well. With so much influence (for good in my opinion) coming from the descendants of Abraham, it seems appropriate to me that the Star of David has become a symbol of the Jews. They are a bright and shining people.

The Star has meaning beyond that though. Walter Wright of American Fork, UT pointed out that there are only two places in the scriptures where blood and wood appear together. The first is during the Passover, when the children of Israel put lamb’s blood on the posts and lintel of each door. (He started wondering why that specifically was the sign that would cause the destroying angel to pass and began looking for anything like that symbol in the scriptures.) The other place he found it was during the Crucifixion of Jesus Christ where Christ’s blood spilled from his hands and feet onto the wooden cross. He then observed that if one were to connect the dots, the blood of the Passover would make a right side up triangle, and the blood of the Crucifixion would make an upside down triangle. Placed together, the visual outcome of those two events is the Star of David. From that perspective, the Star becomes a symbol of freedom. The sacrifices of Israel during the Passover brought them political and physical freedom; the Crucifixion brought them freedom from sin, guilt, and death.

To me, the appearance of the Star of David is also an important part of its meaning. One triangle points up, the other points down. The one that points up is the symbol of the offerings made to God by Israel during the Passover. Prayers and sacrifices were given up to God. The triangle that points down is a symbol of the Crucifixion. The Son of God came down to live with the children of Israel and became a sacrifice given to them. The most beautiful part of the symbol to me is that the two triangles are overlaid in perfect symmetry. Placed like that, they symbolize the covenants binding God and Israel.

The Abrahamic covenant is one of the most important made in the scriptures and God gives tokens with His covenants. For example, the rainbow is a token of the covenant that God would never flood the earth again. I think that The Star of David is the token of the Abrahamic covenant. There are three things promised to Israel: 1. Land (Abraham 2:6, 19; Genesis 12:7;17:8), 2. Posterity (Abraham 2:9-10; Genesis 12:2-3;17:2, 4-6), 3. The Priesthood (Abraham 2:9-11;Genesis 17;7). There are three things required of Israel: 1. To bear the priesthood unto all nations (Abraham 2:9, 11), 2. To rise up and bless Abraham as their father (Abraham 2:10), 3. Obey God’s commandments (Genesis 18:19). Three promises in each direction and three points on each triangle. The outcome of that covenant is made clear in Revelation 22:19 when Christ says “I am the root and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning star.” Going back to the beginning where God showed Abraham the stars and promised that his seed would become as they were, it is clear that the purpose of the Abrahamic covenant is to make the children of Israel like Christ.

The Star of David, as a symbol of the Jews, is the symbol of a chosen people, but as a token of a covenant, it shows that all people can become chosen by entering into the Abrahamic covenant. As members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, we believe that when people are baptized with appropriate priesthood authority, they become children of Israel. If they do not already have the blood of Israel in them, they are adopted into Israel. It is why baptisms for the dead are done in a font placed on the hinder parts of twelve oxen. The oxen are a symbol of Israel and baptism is a symbol of burial and rebirth. Through baptism, people are reborn into Israel.

I have thought a lot about the Holocaust as I have considered the Star of David. There is such cruel irony that a symbol of freedom and of a chosen people was used as a mark to captivate and to kill those very people who were chosen and meant to be free. There are many times in the scriptures when it is stated that the blood of the Saints cries up unto God when they are murdered (particularly when they are killed because of their religious affiliation). A Saint is someone who has entered into the Abrahamic covenant and who keeps it. The Abrahamic covenant was sealed with blood at the Passover and again at the Crucifixion. I haven’t quite grasped the significance of it yet, but I think that it is not a coincidence that the spilled blood of Saints cries unto God when they were killed for a covenant sealed with blood.

February resolutions

2010-02-06T02:57:00.000-08:00

1. No more angsty blog posts. (probably) ALmost absolutely. Okay, okay. That's the point of resolutions....they are hard. I can do it! I woke up with the realization that I was venting angst all over my collaborators (all five of them) in addition to my family and friends. I posted to the wrong blog. I deleted that post. I also realize that I should feel just as bad about getting angsty to friends and family as collaborators. (except that y'all are nice to me)

2. Beyond that though. I think I am through with angst (for now). My tantrum broke two nights ago. I realized at 3:00 AM what all the fuss was about. My brain was protesting injury and trauma. It's been through a lot and I guess I needed one final reminder about how bad it has been so that I wouldn't forget and take my brain for granted. I finally got the point and giggled as I thought..."Okay, okay, no more trauma. I promise." Tantrum was done. (It wasn't even the dermatologists fault really but I still don't feel very bad about insulting him. He had it coming!) Reading is better. Frustration is at normal levels. My brain is a happy place. I think it's done getting better. Really this time. If there are other things that have to get better, I think my brain can handle them quietly now.

Pop quiz

2010-02-05T15:17:00.000-08:00

Megan called me today. She pesters Marie to answer questions about the body. Marie does really well, but Meg always follows up with the question "Why?". I told Marie she could call me anytime she wants and I will answer those questions. She finally took me up on the offer.

Today it went like this:
"Mom, why do we need to breathe?"
"Because we need oxygen in our blood.
"Why?"
"It carries the oxygen to our cells and they need it."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Your aunt Miriam would."
"Let's call her."
"She might be teaching right now."
"Let's call her and see."
"Okay."

So she called.

On the phone:

"Aunt Miriam, why do we need to breathe?"
(My heart melted right then.)
"Welllll, when our cells are making energy that they can use, they make a lot of electrons and we need oxygen to accept those electrons and then the oxygen gets turned into water and it makes us have to go potty. And the other reason is that when our cells are making energy that they can use, they produce carbon dioxide and we have to breathe that out."
"And that's why we have to breathe?"
"Yes?"
"Okay, bye!"

Now I am all worried that I told her something wrong and I think I had better freshen up on glycolysis and electron transport because it has been 13 years since I have studied it.

Soulless no more

2010-02-03T13:11:00.000-08:00

I have been throwing a tantrum for two weeks. I am not proud of this. I am trying to stop, but I haven't yet. I know when the tantrum started. I was visiting with a dermatologist. I was trying to get him to give me acutaine. He wouldn't. He wants me to use some expensive cream that has 26% efficacy and 46% adverse events until I am forty. The tantrum began at that moment. I argued the best ways that I could. I pointed out that there are basically no acne treatments that can be taken by pregnant women so why not take care of the problem before pregnancy occurs. This argument didn't work especially since we had just discussed birth control which had turned into a discussion of the immaculate conception during which I made a sarcastic comment which seemed rather offensive to the doctor. (Note to self, no immaculate conception comments in a predominantly Catholic community.) I still do not understand the full impact of my comment (like swearing in a foreign language probably) but I ran it by an ex-Catholic friend who said "You got mad and just went for the throat huh?"

The tantrum continues to be fueled by a consistently imperfect complexion, lost earrings, lost phone charger, faulty memory, exhaustion, bad tech support, and a million other little things. I am probably the most easily frustrated person who exists right now. It's like I have non-stop PMS raised by an order of magnitude. I am aware that the problem is me and not everyone else. That is frustrating too, but I am trying to not take it out on everyone. Marie says that there are just frustrating times in life, but I attribute this (as most things) to brain recovery. I'll take it though. The other night, I felt my brain (I think my thalamus) connect with the left side of my body. Weird, but all the muscles on that side relaxed and I am almost pain free now(Happy day!).

Matt Meyer says I am soulless because I never get frustrated. If his office were next to mine these days, he would probably change his mind.

Heaven and Earth

2010-02-02T12:28:00.000-08:00

Everything I needed to put my purse back together was in my mail basket when I got home last night. A new drivers license and checkbooks were there along with a few bonuses like compensation for some of the odd jobs I have taken reviewing books. All the credit cards had come a couple of weeks before going back to Utah and I was able to get my new Temple recommend the night before I left. I have been pulled over twice (It was okay because I wasn't doing anything wrong. I guess the cops just thought I was hot and wanted to chat or something.) and I went a long time without shopping after the borrowed cash to get me back to Merced had run out, and it has been over a month since I have gone to the temple. All said, I have missed the temple recommend the most.

Temples started making sense to me when I learned the symbol for them. It is a circle inside of a square. The circle represents heaven or the eternities and the square represents the earth. The two shapes meet up at four points, which means that a temple is a place where heaven and earth meet. Our bodies are temples because they are from the earth and house our spirits which are from heaven. Our homes are temples because the most sacred things, like birth, death, and life take place in them. And of course there are temples which prepare us to go back to God someday, where the living do work for the dead to prepare them to meet God as well. I think that temples are also a bit like heaven and earth meeting up because people are on their best behavior there and so kind.

When I volunteered in the Atlanta temple, I felt a little bit like I had the responsibilities of an angel. It was honestly a bit weird to feel so much love for absolute strangers. I kind of felt protective and like I wanted to help them however I could. I haven't felt exactly that way at any other time. I don't have the time to volunteer at the Fresno temple right now, but I love to go as a patron. I see the same sort of caring and intensity on the faces of the volunteers who are there. When I leave, I feel like I take a bit of heaven with me.

I am so eager to go again now that I have a new recommend. I have thought of the first two men in England who were baptized and how they raced to the water to decide who would get to be the very first. I have also thought of our Canadian ancestors who believed that the gospel of Jesus Christ was not on the earth and waited intently for it to be restored. They were finally convinced that it had been by Parley Pratt. I don't think I can really understand their excitement as they received the gospel, but as I anticipate the temple, I think perhaps a bit of their influence may escape the heavens, find its way to earth and give me a little sense of the gratitude and excitement they felt.

Bryce Shelley

2010-01-31T18:59:00.000-08:00

Bryce Shelley came to visit yesterday. He was driving around with his two daughters and they wanted to see where he grew up. Everything has changed so much in this area that it is hard to recognize. Somehow, my parents house has not changed much and so he picked my family to show his daughters how his youth had been spent. He came back today to party with all of the Barlow clan and the rest of the neighborhood. His daughters made new friends and didn't want to leave. While he was trying to get them to leave, I explained to his wife that he was the only kid who ever came trick-or-treating to our house. He would always call before hand to make sure the dog was safely contained and then he would come. He would get a haul of candy because my dad always got king size Snickers bars or something like that and Bryce could take as many as he wanted. He had his daughters to the door at that point and he said that he thought all the other kids were stupid for not coming to our house.

I said, "You know, my dad still gets king size candy bars every year and no one comes since you are grown up. Maybe you could bring your daughters. There isn't even a dog to lock up now."

He asked his daughters if they wanted to come trick-or-treating to our house and they said they did and then they were okay with leaving.

English, My second First Language

2010-01-19T14:20:00.000-08:00

Art history revolutionized my world. I was a visual learner before that class but during it, I learned formal rules for visual communication that resonated with every part of who I was. It was always easier for me to understand pictures than words. Art history both fed and validated that style of learning. Symbolism, which had never made any sense in literature, started making a lot of sense when I started studying Van Eyck. Every object, every color is symbolic of something. It was like learning a new alphabet and a new language.

Later, when I wasn't able to comprehend anything that I read after getting hit in the head, I kept trying to read any way. After six months of trying, I finally started comprehending some of the imagery being described and I was able to hold on to that. I re-learned to read by translating words to pictures and I wrote by translating pictures to words. Clearly not the best approach imaginable, but it was the best available to me at the time.

I am not sad that I learned to use imagery. The scriptures are brimming with it and most people miss that aspect of them. For the longest time, that is all I have been able to understand. It is really wonderful having language too. This hit me last weekend when I went to help with dishes and clean-up after a funeral dinner. I got there a bit early and the family was still eating and talking and looking at pictures. I used to go nuts in those circumstances where one cannot lift a finger to clean up because it will rush the family, but I really just want to start putting everything away and then go home. This time was different. There were women in the kitchen chatting with each other and I looked around at them, Jenny Vezzanni, Laurie Atkinson, and Eva Smith, and I joined in the chatter and felt embraced by it. I thought to myself, "What could be better than talking with these women right now?" I don't even remember what we said, but I enjoyed every second of our discussions. I can't think of a single picture that could have topped it.

Dog Days (nights actually) of Dreaming

2010-01-15T12:02:00.000-08:00

There is a dog in my dreams these days. There are other changes too. My dreams are now full of sounds and dialogue. They are very chattery. I asked Laura about this. She says that it's normal to have lots of dialogue and sound in dreams. It doesn't feel normal, but I guess if it's normal then that's good.

The dog turned up in the first dream I had where there was sound. I was in my bed, and the dog was under the bed growling. I was scared at first, but then it whimpered a little and I realized it was just scared and trying to protect me. It was such a realistic dream that I started wondering how a dog got into my house and what it was scared of. Then I started getting scared because maybe someone else was in my house. I wondered if a door was open somewhere and that was how the dog got in my house. I tried to get up to check the doors and I couldn't move and that was when I realized I was dreaming. I made myself wake up to get out of that dream but I didn't really wake up because I heard the dog growling and whimpering again and I tried to move again, but still couldn't. I really woke up that time and checked under my bed to make sure that a dog wasn't there. I checked the doors and they were all closed and locked and so I went back to sleep.

This is a picture of my teddy bear. I have had it since I was two. I took it to graduate school with me and it would hang out on the radiator or in a chair in my little studio apartment. One time my dad was on a business trip to Binghamton that lasted two weeks and he drove up and spent the weekend with me in Rochester. He reached my apartment before I did and when I got home, he had done the dishes, ordered pizza, and made my bed. He had put the bear on my pillow and so that's where I have kept it ever since.

When Laura and I left Rochester, I shipped the bear to my parents along with my clothes and other light weight items, dropped off whatever else I could fit in my car in Aunt Pat's basement in Mississippi, picked up 5 year old Dru who had not seen me since he was a baby, and then the three of us drove 30 hours straight to Arizona. We stopped there because it was so hot I was not scared of Dru getting out and running off. We stayed in Marie's double wide trailer for a couple of days and then we drove the rest of the way to Utah.

When we got there, I couldn't find some of the things I had shipped, including the bear. I didn't know what happened to it and I was scared it had found its way to Goodwill. This last Christmas, it was in the toy box at my parent's house. I am not sure if its appearance was correlated with my parents cleaning the garage, but there it was. I kept it out of the clutches of sticky children through the holidays (there were better toys anyway) and brought it home.

It made an appearance in my dreams recently too. It went like this: I walked into my bedroom and there was my bear on the floor. It's head, left arm and bib had been severed from the rest of the torso and the stuffing hanging out was covered in drool. I took a breath and thought "It's only a teddy bear, it's okay." And then I realized that the dog had gotten to it and had mangled it. However, I was not angry with the dog, just sad.

I have yet to see the dog that is in my dreams. I have only heard it and seen the results of its actions. After many years of growing up with dogs, I don't really want one, but it seems that I have one anyway even if it is just in my dreams.

Stories

2010-01-14T11:38:00.000-08:00

I have been mulling over stories the past few day. I used to not understand the power of the written or spoken word, and that wasn't because I hadn't thought about it. I knew that the printing press changed everything and that wars were fought over the Bible, but I didn't understand why. I am a little slow, but I think I am figuring it out at last.

I guess it started with the realization that Mormons are perhaps slightly paranoid and then trying to figure out the source of the paranoia. As I dredged through my own memories, I could think of several small instances when people responded negatively to my religion. Teasing, distance, and concern for my soul have been the most common responses, but nothing to really bolster up a healthy need for paranoia. And then other memories came, not of my own experiences, but of stories that I have been told.

Of course the one I heard most as a child was about William Walton Burton walking six miles to see Rachel Fielding and then being so shy he merely asked for a glass of water and walked six miles home. And then when he finally got up the nerve to propose to her, she said he had to marry her older sister too and then when the youngest was old enough he married her too.

(César used to tell me "Sweetheart, you have some strange stories.") I guess that story was one about my ancestors that was considered appropriate for children.

Later I learned about a white haired (some number of greats) grandfather coming out with a white flag, being shot anyway, and then hacked to pieces with corn knives and thrown down a well during the Haun's Mill massacre. Ancestors in the Martin and Willy Handcart companies froze in the mountains because they left for Utah too late in the summer. Widowed relatives nearly starved to death even after making it to Utah.

Every Mormon descended from pioneer ancestors has stories like that, but I started wondering why that should cause paranoia. It was a long time ago that those things happened. But then from another perspective it was not so long ago really. After all, there are still people alive today who knew some of the pioneers those things happened to. They heard the stories first hand and they tell them the same way they heard them. Some of the stories are written down, but reading them isn't the same as hearing grandparents tell it just the way they were told, by the ones who survived.

There are happier stories too. Like when the pioneers were starving and a flock of quail landed there in front of them and the birds didn't even try to escape as they became a winter time feast. Hundreds of letters telling the story were recently displayed in SLC along with feathers from the quail.

Then I started thinking about the Middle East, the unending wars, and I bet the people there have stories too.

And then two of the loveliest, kindest people that I ever worked with, who refused to speak to each other because one was Pakistani and the other Indian. I bet they have stories too.

I have been thinking about stories a lot for the past few days. There is a lot of power in stories, especially when they are told to us. They tie people together like links in a chain that extends through time and travels great distance.

World War II was always a confusing and strange thing to me until it got explained to me with stories. The first stories I heard were the ones about concentration camps. For the longest time I had the strange idea that the war was fought because of the concentration camps, which seemed like even worse places when I realized that they weren't the cause of the fighting. Other parts started coming alive when I saw Grandpa's war medal and asked him what it was. I was shocked when he, the most mild-mannered and quiet of men, started telling me about parachuting out of a plane, escaping the occupied Netherlands through the Dutch underground, and running for his life from men shooting at him with machine guns. Hearing from my grandpa that he had ever been shot at ever, let alone with machine guns, seemed almost surreal. And then the war in the Pacific came to life when I found the name of my Great Uncle, Arno Kerske on the list of people rescued from the Cabanatuan prison camp after surviving the Bataan death march. He hadn't written the story down, but other survivors had. Their stories became especially real as I found some of his medical records and realized that the stories told of him getting beaten until his kidneys came loose were true since kidney failure ultimately resulted in his death. World War II is very real to me.

I have been wondering about stories and their place in a politically correct society. Is it okay to talk about people getting hacked up with corn knives? Probably not, as it makes people feel paranoid. But on the flip side, there is compassion. It seemed that President Hinckley tried to push Mormons in the direction of compassion rather than paranoia as he emphasized the importance of pioneer history. President Monson certainly does that. He is a master story teller and a tremendously compassionate person. Every time he tells a story, it is to move people towards compassion.

Last night, I went to Relief Society Meeting. We have a new RS presidency and the members of it are practical people. The topic of the meeting was choosing books for children. Poverty and illiteracy are high in Merced and children don't get read to very much in a lot of families. A principal from one of the elementary schools talked about good books for children and where to find them and then she gave away books to the people who attended. My favorite part of the meeting was when it was mentioned that President David O. McKay, the prophet, referred to the great masters of literature as minor prophets. He didn't explain why he called them that, but when one considers the power of stories, I think that it becomes clear.

Sweet and Spongy success

2010-01-13T11:12:00.000-08:00

There are two family heirlooms passed among the women on my mother’s side of the family. The first is a mole on the left breast and the second is the making of biscuits and bread. They are a part of all of the women in my immediate family, my Aunt Pat and my Grandma too. I love both heirlooms.

A little over a decade ago, a doctor (while giving me a breast exam) freaked out about my left breast mole because it looked like a malignant melanoma. The mole got removed and replaced by a two-inch scar skirted with suture marks. Although the biopsy of it showed that it was precancerous, I have since missed that mole. But at least I could still make bread.

This last year, it became clear that I have celiac disease or something very similar to that, (which incidentally is a trait shared by some of the women on my dad’s side of the family) and so bread seemed to be out too. Of course I could eat the (as my mom calls it) icky stuff that they call gluten free bread at the grocery store, but it is only marginally better than no bread at all.

I should have mentioned that stubbornness is a third trait among the women of both sides of my family and when all else fails, stubbornness gets us through. (I know that it’s supposed to be “Charity never faileth”, but sometimes charity and stubbornness are one and the same.) So I embarked on a quest to make good bread with as simple a recipe as possible.

The bread my mom taught me to make had fresh ground wheat flour, salt, oil (or applesauce as a substitute), warm water, yeast, and a little sugar. They were all mixed by eye and texture and taste. No measuring spoons used, no recipe, only a knowledge of what each ingredient did, an idea of relative amounts, and what the end result should be like. I wanted to find a gluten-free bread that approximated the same flavor, texture and approach to baking bread and so I tried the internet. There weren’t any I could find there. So I started searching for a recipe in my own kitchen.

I tried many flours and here is a list of their properties in my hands:
Rice- Grainy, not soluble in water
Sorghum- Sweet, very heavy
Amaranth- Great texture, very soluble, smells and tastes like a gerbil cage
Millet- A little heavy, very dry
Oat- Very moist, but light

Initially, I tried using potato starch or corn starch with some of the flours listed above, but they made the bread cakey and starchy. I tried sweet potato starch, which comes out a bit drier and it was better but still not like real bread.

After trying a variety of combinations that I won’t go into, I combined oat and millet flour and it turned out very well. This is basically what I did:

Ingredients:
About 1 ½ cups of warm water. (Use ½ cup with a little sugar to start the yeast.)
1 ½ teaspoons of Red Star active dry yeast (use double if compressed yeast)
About 1 teaspoon of salt
About 4 Tablespoons of applesauce (gluten free baking is high calorie already so I am
trying to cut out as much oil as I can and applesauce seems to work just as well)
1 cup of hulled millet ground to powder (I use a Vita-mix)
1 ½ cups of McCann’s Irish Steel Cut Oats ground to powder.
2 Tablespoons of xanthan gum.

Directions:
Get the yeast started in a small bowl or a glass. Put the remaining 1 cup of water in the mixing bowl and add the salt and applesauce. Grind flours and add them. At this point the yeast should be going so add it too and then mix. At this point, the bread dough should be the consistency of a thick cake batter. Then add the xanthan gum and mix until everything is smooth. After the xanthan gum is added, the consistency should be a soft and sticky dough that sometimes releases from the mixing bowl, but not as well as kneaded wheat bread dough. Gather it up and put it in a greased pan. Arrange the dough into a loaf shape with a spatula or your hand and then wet your hand and smooth the top so that the loaf comes out pretty. Let the loaf rise* until it has grown to a little more than double its original size (This recipe makes a moist bread and so if it rises a bit extra it seems more normal.) Bake at 350º F for about an hour.

This makes good bread. I may fiddle with the recipe a bit more and I think that there is room for improvement, but this is the best bread I have eaten in a while. It makes me feel close to my mom and grandma when I make it.

*The way I let my bread dough rise is to put a pan of water in the oven and heat the oven up just until it is warm (~130º F) and then shut it off. Then when the loaf is made, I put it in the oven. After the loaf is done rising, I turn the oven to 350º and cook the bread.

All in a Night's Sleep

2010-01-12T10:37:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I don't usually do New Year's Resolutions, and this isn't exactly in honor of a new year, but I have one. It results from my new found ability to sleep straight though the night and to wake up well rested. Sound sleep is the best thing ever. It is easy to wake up at appropriate times like 6 or 7 rather than 2 0r 3. I feel good when I wake up. It has been a lot of years since I have felt so good in the morning.

I think that having morning back as a functional time of day brings with it responsibility so I am trying to structure my mornings in productive ways. In addition to my usual routine of getting dressed, getting rid of bed head, applying mascara and eating breakfast, I added a few things. I read the Book of Mormon before I got out of bed. I read about caterpillar stocks after getting out of bed and I prepared a healthy lunch of bite size peppers, carrot sticks, hummus, string cheese, and cherry tomatoes. Today was day #1 of my new resolution. I am trying to add a bit more structure each day. Tomorrow, I think I'll add some yoga.

education

2010-01-08T17:25:00.001-08:00

I want an investing pal. I am learning about the stock market and it is making some sense.

Laura would be good because she knows hot high-end brands that people love, but anyone else would be great too. It's a good time to get in.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

superstition

2010-01-01T13:49:00.000-08:00

There are some days not meant to be celebrated, at least by me. For example, my birthday is practically guaranteed to bring with if a disaster of one sort or another. When I was in school, it was failed final exams, getting my period early and other minor disasters. As I have matured, so have the problems. More recently, my birthday has been accented by collapsed ceilings and flooded labs, grant deadlines, and being double booked for important events by people who have told me the wrong dates. Last time it was a threat of not being tenured unless I accepted more committee work, "Oh, and here is the committee we'd like you to serve on". That evening, I got uninvited from the trip to Fresno I had been asked to come along for with the promise we'd meet up for dinner anyway. Dinner plans were canceled at 9:00 PM and then a long standing friendship canceled the next day. Considering my track record though, it could have been worse. I guess I should be happy to have recognition of my birthday, but I could honestly do without. I do not seek negative attention like some neglected child. I am fine having a quiet, uneventful birthday. In fact I'd prefer it that way. Since that doesn't seem to be in the cards though, I always try to at least spend it with friends so that I can have some moral support. Although my plan must have become obvious since even that didn't even work out this last time.

New Year's is worse..... We used to have huge parties. We'd have 50 or so people over for homemade pizza and doughnuts. We'd watch movies and play games and jump on the trampoline while listening to music and it was great. The demise of our celebrations began the year that Laura ended up in the hospital. Though she had been in to the doctor earlier in the day for some large penicillin injections, she was found around midnight curled in a little ball, burning with fever under a blanket. She was hospitalized for a week and on an IV at home for a couple of months. On subsequent New Years Eves, my mom went into the E.R., then Tom, then my mom again and the holiday spirit kind of got wrung out of us.

We were all together this year for the first time in a long time (except for Michael) so we celebrated. Hilary played with her bluegrass band for the last time before she and Carl move to Tennessee for nursing school. We watched Kung Fu Panda with the children until midnight and then lit off fireworks and went to bed. It seemed best to not invite disaster by doing anything too boisterous and it seemed like we got by okay. Then Carl called with the news that Hilary's dad died last night. Her mom had a late night nursing shift and so no one was with him and no one knows how he died yet. His death is sort of doubly bad in my family because Hilary's dad is also Keriann's uncle. (Barlow boys like Karchner girls.)

We had promised the little girls a cousin/aunt/mom trip to see The Princess and the Frog, and they still wanted to go. If there is anything that keeps adults going through sad times, it is little children. But when we got to the theatre, somehow the times were messed up and the movie wasn't showing. We went to another theatre and it was sold out. That was probably okay though, because half of the girls and one boy were at home vomiting from a variety of illnesses (each child has something different).

Laura is moving into an apartment in Provo today since her car was totalled in a head on collision and we hope that the move goes well.

I got my hair cut by Pat yesterday morning and we discussed our ways of celebrating the coming evening. He wanted something low key, and I just wanted to get through safely. He said I should just keep my fingers crossed until midnight, hoping that nothing bad would happen. It seems like that isn't quite long enough.

suspicious

2009-12-28T19:37:00.001-08:00

The whole family went to Avatar today except Marie, Mike and the little children. None of us were excited about the plot synopsis, but it was AVATAR, so we had to go. Laura and I were the ones who waited for everyone with the tickets. This gave us time to eat a baked potato and look around.

Laura: "Ohhhh. They used papyrus font for the Avatar poster. This isn't going to be good."

Me: "Ya?"

Laura: "It just looks bad. They spend millions of dollars on a film and then get graphic designers who use PAPYRUS. No. What were they thinking?"

Me: (Laughing) "It's like public health."

Laura: " Huh?"

Me: "After learning about public health, you question every statistic the media throws at you. I mean like did they stratify for age, socioeconomic status, and activity level? That kind of stuff. You become suspicious of everything when you know something about public health and here you are suspicious of everything because of the typefaces they use."

Laura: (laughing) "I am suspicious of Avatar."

So we went in, a little late by the time all of the tickets were distributed and we waded through upset people to our pre-assigned seats. About a half hour in, I felt something slide off of my lap and looked down. The sleeve of my coat had shifted and it's a heavy lambskin coat so I thought I might be able to feel a sleeve shifting because it is a bulky coat. I briefly considered that my purse may have slipped off of my lap but I just decided to search around after the movie.

It ended. It was long. At one point, I had looked at Laura and said

"I have to pee so bad."

"Me too. We only have 45 minutes left. "

"Ackkk"

We made it. It had cost the two of us ~$20 to stare at a movie screen for 3 hours and the special effects were worth it. However, Laura's suspicions about the story, characters, and romance were validated. Most importantly, we got to go to the bathroom.

I looked around for my purse. I couldn't find it. I started searching under the seats around me. The girl sitting on my left wanted to get past and I wasn't letting her. I wanted to see if my purse had somehow ended up in her bag. I finally told her I was looking for my purse to see how she responded and she said very sweetly.

"Oh. Well let me get out of your way."

I have no idea what to do when you think someone has stolen your purse, but you are in no way sure. I mean I couldn't just start frisking people or going through their bags. I considered what was in my purse. A credit card, a debit card, a drivers license, temple recommend, Costco membership, various grocery store discount cards and three pieces of peppermint Trident. I had just payed my dad back with my last $20, left my phone, camera and ipod at home and I had even commented earlier that my purse was looking worn out. I let her go past, looked a bit more for my purse, went to the lost and found, and then called and put a hold on my credit card and cancelled my debit card. I panicked later when I realized I didn't know where my keys were, but they were in my backpack after all.

When I get back to Merced, I will get to spend about 3 hours at the DMV, staring at pictures of Arnold Schwarzenegger and it will cost me ~ $20 for a new drivers license.

image

2009-12-26T09:48:00.000-08:00

I stopped at a Del Taco in Elko, NV and pulled on my coat (mostly to disguise the fact that I was not wearing a bra) and went in. I had been on the road for 8 or 9 hours and I was tired and wanted a shower. I caught a glimpse of myself in a reflective surface and was surprised by how pretty I looked. I certainly didn't feel pretty, but I was gorgeous. I looked confident and relaxed and my hair was falling right and the coat made me look well dressed. The girl taking my order looked slightly intimidated by me so I took off my sunglasses so that she could see my eyes. People always tell me that my eyes are my prettiest feature, but I think they are my kindest. She relaxed some. It was a strange experience. So many times I have caught a glimpse of myself and been surprised by how disheveled I looked. Being surprised by my beauty was a first.

I am constantly surprising people. I had lunch with a guy who is a Ph. D. student who asked about my holiday travels. I told him I was headed for Utah and he asked in a sympathetic voice if my family was Mormon. I told him that they were and I am too. He headed into politics and wanted to know if there were any liberal Mormons who were good Mormons. I told him there are, but he started to see that I wasn't enthusiastically grouping myself among them, though I am friends with many. I guess he knew me as a professor and evolutionary biologist and assumed a lot about what that meant.

On the other hand, I was at a Chuck Close/Ansel Adams exhibit and, I surprised that guy because I like Chuck Close better than Ansel Adams. I guess he knew me as a nice Mormon girl and assumed that Impressionists and Naturalists are my favorites. I don't know.

And then another guy was shocked that as a single 32 yr old Mormon I didn't want to marry him. When he finally started listening to me after I explained this, he was surprised by how much I value education and intelligence. It bothered me that he was surprised by that. I felt that I had failed in some way.

I like Moroni 7, especially at the end where it says:

"45 And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

46 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail—

47 But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever ; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.

48 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be purified even as he is pure. Amen."

This is how I want to be and what I focus on most, but that isn't enough. A lofty goal of becoming like God some day doesn't undo the necessity of figuring out what it is to be me. I hate that I am such a surprise to people. I'd like to look like a good Mormon girl who is intelligent and educated and an evolutionary biologist, financially conservative, and who likes art and literature, kind but hard working, forgiving but determined and focused. I don't know how to look like that all at once but I think I came close in the Del Taco.

moving in

2009-12-15T09:12:00.000-08:00

It is amazing how long it takes to become sole possessor of a house that was occupied for 60 years by the same people. I sometimes feel like their tastes are much more apparent in my house than mine are. However, as I get ready for Eileen and her family to visit me this weekend, I feel like I am definitely making progress..... Getting ready for Christmas and planning what to cook and where everyone will sleep etc. And it's weird, but some of the things that help are the mistakes I have made. It's easier to live with my own mistakes than the mistakes others have made. I have had some major condensation problems. I didn't even realize how much water was condensing on the windows until I saw a water stain on the floor and realized that water was trickling down from the window onto the floor. The finish there is ruined and I will probably have to refinish the floor again. I dread standing behind a vibrating sander for 15 hours again. (Honestly, I thought I would never feel still again) However, as I do these projects, my house becomes more and more my own one layer at a time.

What happens when one listens to bad audiobooks.

2009-12-14T12:38:00.000-08:00

When I was growing up, our home was located on the preferred route for escaped convicts to travel from the Utah State Penitentiary to Mexico. I imagine this had something to do with the Jordan River running between The Great Salt Lake and Utah Lake. The river was kind of remote and undeveloped back then and all of the swamps and marshy places probably made it harder to track the escapee. (Since then, someone let their pet piranhas loose in the Jordan River and it turns out that they flourish in that environment, so I don't think it's a preferred route anymore. I could be wrong about the importance of the Jordan River, piranhas and development in the planning of prisoners. I don't run in those social circles and I am not up on their latest travel preferences.) Anyway, that fact was significant only once, which incidentally was when I learned about it. A serial rapist and murderer escaped and for about three days, the manhunt swarmed near my house. A pair of unexplained footprints was found one morning outside of a window at my cousins' house next door and our teenage minds went wild.

There were six of us who were teenagers and we lived on a long, dead end road. We had to walk nearly a mile to the school bus stop that was at an intersection by the home of our nearest neighbor. It was the closest spot where the bus could turn around. We lived in between two towns, and were incorporated into neither, though both towns sometimes wanted us. As a result, we could attend the junior high and high school of either town and between the six of us, we attended all four schools. We usually walked or ran separately to the bus stop depending on how late we were running. I think my cousin John could do a mile in about 5 minutes and he always cut it close. I carried 23 pounds of books in my backpack and I tried to leave a bit earlier.

That morning, we all got ready early and walked together. After a few minutes, Marie started yelling as loudly as she could "HEY! Keith baby! Come and get me because I really don't want to go to school today!" No one else said anything or smiled, and finally as the closest relative closest in age it seemed to become my duty to say "Marie, he might actually be able to hear you." She replied that she was glad about that because she didn't want to go to school and then someone else chimed in that he was a serial rapist on top of being a murder. Marie hollered "Never mind, don't come get us after all." We continued on in silence. As we went along, I was calculating our odds of survival should Keith actually make an appearance. John was a senior in high school and had been suspended twice for fighting. He was strong. Assuming Keith had no weapons at that point, John might be able to take him out alone. Tom was there and I already knew I could trust him with my life or anything else, but he was only 13 and my younger brother and I didn't like the idea of him fighting. I looked for large rocks that I could help out with if it came to that. I wasn't sure if Natalie or Eileen would be able or willing to get involved and I was pretty sure that Marie would come up with some brilliant way of saving everyone because she always comes up with amazing solutions to just about everything. All of my planning was really a backup in case Marie didn't pull off an amazing solution.

Marie's bus arrived first. We all knew it would, but a very small part of me wanted it to arrive last, so that she could stand out there alone and maybe get a little bit scared. She never got scared. I was always scared. Then came Tom's and I was glad my brother was safe. I hoped Natalie's would arrive next; she was the youngest and would have to wait alone. No luck. As we saw the bus that would take the rest of us away, we all had advice for Natalie.

John: "You are close to the Hunsaker's house."

Eileen: "They are usually home in the morning."

Me: "Drop your books and run if you have to."

Natalie's response: "I thought of all of that already."

As we left Natalie standing alone out there, I gave the death penalty some serious thought. I agreed with it. It wasn't so much a matter of punishing the guilty, but that if prisons couldn't keep murderers locked up, then the murderers needed to die so that they couldn't get out and kill more people.

As we were driving away in our bus, we saw Natalie's bus round the corner and we all felt much cheerier.

----

When I went to college, I didn't have a scholarship. I was the only one from my extended social group who didn't have a scholarship. My grades were good, but not perfect. I hadn't known what I was doing and I had missed lots of extracurricular opportunities. It ended up being okay though because I got a two year neuroscience research fellowship and since I graduated in three years, I got paid enough to cover my tuition and books. I ended up in a lab studying the immune system and myelin. I pieced together a project about the immune system and epilepsy and came up with a model of how the immune system caused seizures. It all made sense and we were able to stop seizures and my advisors wanted me to stay in their lab for graduate school and they thought I was a genius. There was a problem with all of that though. I hated killing rats. I don't know what I had expected when I joined their lab. I had known that they killed rats. Once I inhaled a bunch of ether in high school and I nearly hit the floor. I had always thought death was something like that, a whoosh and a thud. I learned it wasn't the first time I loaded a rat into the gas chamber and turned on the CO2. It became absolutely frantic and tried to claw its way out and then, I had to snap its neck, just to be sure. (Shudder!) I hated the smell of rat blood and my hair and finger nails always smelled like it after a day of dissections. I hated hooking up electrodes to rats heads and shocking them to induce seizures. And then, once when I was sucking blood out of a rat's heart with a syringe, I missed the heart, ended up in the liver and it woke back up and started screaming and trying to bite and claw me. I think I would have been done with animal work anyway after that, but the absolute clincher was when I had to dissect out the testes of a baby rat and the mammary tissue of its mother. She was looking for him in the wood shavings the whole time I was chopping him up. After that, when I took out her mammary tissue, a stream of milk ran out of it. I cried for hours that night. The next day there was fungus in the cell cultures, which meant it was all a waste anyway. Later my advisors wouldn't publish my epilepsy work because we couldn't get a patent out of it, and that had been a waste too.

I was completely traumatized by killing rats. It was because I realized that death is more than a whoosh and a thud. It takes quite a lot to kill a body that is healthy, and that has been programmed in nearly every way possible to survive. Death is not painless for the sufferer of it or for the ones who love the dying/dead individual. A heart may go whoosh and thud when a loved one dies, but then there is the long while of wanting to share stories and not being able to, wanting advice and not being able to ask for it, just wanting to be close and not being able to. Even rats desperately miss their loved ones. It seems like it is so much harder for humans. September 11th mopped me up for 6 months. (It did that to lots of people around me too. There wasn't much smiling by any of us until the spring came.) I only went to ground zero because I needed to stay with the group I was with when we were in New York. I felt the same way when Carl wanted to go to a German concentration camp with me. I especially hated the gas chambers. I have a feeling that it wasn't a whoosh and thud sort of experience for the people who died in them.

----

I made the mistake last week of listening to a short story from Ford County by John Grisham which is out on audiobook. I don't actually like John Grisham but his audiobooks are abundant, readily available and cheap and I had a lot of driving to do. The second short story was about the death penalty and it ended cold after a description of the convicted dying as he inhaled sulfuric acid fumes and cyanide. The description matched the deaths of rats in a gas chamber and left me with unpleasant thoughts, emotions, and memories (many of which are unloaded above). Maybe that was the point of the story, or maybe the author was trying to create unpleasant thoughts, emotions and memories because he thinks we (the audience) are lacking our own.

To brighten my mood, I put on some old conference addresses and started thinking about getting my house ready for Christmas. I listened to Pres. Hinckley talk about the power of forgiveness and Elder Nelson talk about the healing power of Christ. Somehow those two talks mingled with the sense of Christmas and it occurred to me that the real reason for celebrating Christmas is because we can forgive. Everyone always emphasizes giving, or being forgiven, but I think that better than either of those is that because Christ was born, we can forgive. That said, I am not sure what forgiveness really is. Once I was mad at a sibling and I wanted to not be angry any more and it was hard to stop. I was reading Leviticus one night and as I read about a sacrifice where a goat gets chased over the edge of a cliff, I felt all of my anger fall off the edge of that idea of a cliff. I have been able to let anger go ever since even if the situation that makes me angry hasn't stopped. I think forgiving is also being able to let go of hurt and that has been harder for me. But as I felt the Christmas spirit come upon me, I felt like I could let hurting go as well and I think I can stop feeling traumatized by death.

Sunday

2009-12-07T09:54:00.000-08:00

Mostly I don't mind being hungry. It is just an aspect of being a celiac. Sometimes people feel bad when they are eating pasta salad or sandwiches around me and they ask me if it is tempting to eat what they are having. Honestly, it isn't. No one would feel bad to skip a meal if they knew it would give them food poisoning and that is basically the effect that wheat has on me. So I don't mind, mostly.

On Friday, I had salad in San Jose combined with interesting discussions about Soviet and Chinese politics. It was good. I was still a little hungry at the end of dinner, but by volume I had eaten the most by far and at some point it just gets embarrassing to keep eating.

The next day, I was chair in a scientific session at Berkeley and perhaps the strictness I felt as I skipped the bagel breakfast trickled though to the session I chaired because I didn't let one speaker go over by a second. I didn't even have to say anything. I think the look in my eye combined with my red painted fingernails as I gave the three minute signal struck terror into the hearts of the speakers.

Lunch followed and there wasn't much that looked safe to eat so I went in search of a salad which ended up being ridiculously hard to acquire. I felt like a hunter gatherer and was grateful for surprisingly intelligent directions and advice I received from students who looked like they had just rolled out of bed and weren't yet quite awake. I was annoyingly late to the business meeting that was put on hold until my arrival. I didn't feel a bit bad about it as I was eating an overpriced salad that barely took the edge off of my being hungry.

After nine hours of scientific talks, I was done. I tried to keep a cheerful and interested demeanor, but there were probably cracks in the façade because none of the students wanted to meet with me over dinner. Honestly, I was grateful. I couldn't have handled any more salad that day. I went home and by the time I got there, it was too late to eat much, so I had a rice flour roll with some almond butter, took a hot bath and went to bed.

I spent all day Sunday baking. Before church, I made oatmeal cookies that turned out pretty well. After church and tithing settlement, I whipped up some almond meal/sorghum flour/ millet flour muffins that were sweet and flavorful without any added sugar, and I took them to a friend whose dietary restrictions are more stringent than mine. Then I made some millet flour bread which was pretty similar to regular bread. All of the recipes are my own and while I was experimenting with them, my house felt like an engine of creation. When I was all done, I called Scott Rowan, a 16 yr old celiac in my Sunday school class who is usually much hungrier than I am. He picked up half of the baked goods I had made and had a huge smile on his face. So did I. My house was warm and the burned scent from hashbrowns that I had charred a week earlier had been replaced by the sweet warm smell of fresh baked goods.

Musica est Dei donum optimi

2009-12-03T13:45:00.000-08:00

There was an ipod on my porch yesterday morning. (Thanks Mom!) I am enjoying it a lot. There are also two new radio stations in Merced! Music is good. I still don't have a favorite band, but that's because there is too much music to like.

Pics and pottery thug

2009-12-02T10:57:00.001-08:00

Here are some pictures of Jude, Carl, James, and Mom that I took during the Thanksgiving break.

Here are three of the first four pieces that I made in my pottery class. Only one is glazed. I had problems finding the others. When I was looking for them I kept thinking that it was like when I couldn't find my car in the MARTA parking garage in Atlanta (because I was on the wrong level). I would almost decide that the car had been stolen and then think about how it had been totaled by a snowplow, and in two other minor accidents and no one would steal it. I finally remembered parking on a higher level than usual and found it.

The bowl on the right has essentially the same story except that it really was stolen. When I had been through every piece of bisque on the shelf, I finally decided to just glance at the pieces that had been dipped in glaze that were waiting for the kiln. It was there. It had been dipped first in blue glaze, then black and then had blue drizzled randomly. It was awful. I almost left it because I figured some student needed a piece to pass a class or something and the bowl itself isn't that great. I kept muttering about the stupid pottery thug who didn't even glaze my bowl nicely and some of the experienced potters in my class just told me to take it back because it was mine and just wash the unfired glaze off and let it dry. At first I wasn't going to, but I finally got to the point of wanting to dip it in red just to be rotten to the student who swiped it and everyone said "JUST WASH IT OFF!" so I did and they were right. I felt lots better.

I am not sure where my other pieces were or have gotten to, but they disappeared and didn't get glazed and then showed up when it was too late to glaze them. So they have to wait until next semester. (One is on the shelf of unfired glazed things ready to go.) My teacher thinks I am great at pottery considering this is my first time really throwing anything. I kind of skipped the ashtray stage and he is impressed. I'm not. I am kind of wondering what hodge podge array of weird bowls I am going to collect before I get any that are really worth keeping.

Anyone want some slightly off center medium size bowls? They are perfect for either eating cereal by the quart, or mixing up a very small amount of batter.

Moving on

2009-11-29T20:10:00.000-08:00

I helped the Shaw family pack their moving van last night. The university that Glen is going to didn't allow much for moving expenses so he rented 16 ft of a moving van. Some of the Lopez boys were there helping pack the van. They are strong (Larry can lift 300 pounds easily) and gentle (there are 11 kids in their family and the oldest boys are so sweet to the little ones..... and to women...though they were kind to me and accepted my suggestions, I could tell that they thought I shouldn't have to help load a moving van....it is something that their mom and sisters don't do...but I am friends with the Shaw's and I needed to be there so that I could give them my time as a token of my fondness for them) and they took especially good care of the possessions that they could tell meant the most to Anna Shaw. We had a good time. We all started swapping stories about how many times we have moved. It seems that moving is something we were all good at.

Moving on is another matter entirely. I remember going through culture shock for the first time and realizing that misunderstanding the people around me was not nearly as bad as being uncertain about how to be the person I was. Being one who drives up the canyon to listen to a river that is larger than the problems of the day is irrelevant in a place where "hiking" is walking down a paved and possibly hilly path in a city park. I started knitting instead and as soon as I got back to a place with real mountains, I realized I hate knitting, and I have never gone back to it.

So much harder than leaving behind the ways of being me, has been leaving behind the people in my life. They become a part of who I am and then suddenly they are gone and the places they occupied become like ghost towns in a Ray Bradbury story, houses conditioned by the habits and personalities of their precious inhabitants that keep functioning as though someone still lived there. It's strange to realize that there are cells in my brain that have been owned by another person more than by myself. As I have tried to sweep away the hollow husks of relationships that are no longer possible, I have found that there is little I can do, or not do to directly deal with them. But there are solutions to everything, even if they come from an unexpected direction.

President Monson is always encouraging people to serve each other. For his birthday, that was the only thing he wanted, that people do kind things for each other. I have been working on doing this. While I have always been willing to serve when asked, that simply wasn't good enough. I had to start identifying needs and addressing them without being asked. I had to look and reach outside of myself to help others. Doing this has changed and mended me. While I am not that different in most ways, I feel as though my hard drive has been reformatted and equipped with a different operating system. It has stamped an identity of "Miriam Barlow" on every cell in my body and that identity is not dependent on a particular location or the company of a particular person. An identity of helping others is something that I can take with me wherever I go, and it is something that I can use in any situation.

My Family

2009-11-26T20:19:00.000-08:00

My 4th great grandfather, Joseph Fielding, was one of the first Mormon missionaries to Great Britain and the second president of the Great Britain mission. When he left to Great Britain he was a financially stable farmer and when he came back to the U. S. he was was completely impoverished. He was able to farm some on Hyrum Smith's land in Nauvoo, probably because his sister, Mary Fielding was Hyrum's wife. But not long after, Hyrum went to Carthage jail with his brother Joseph Smith, where both were killed by a mob. Most of the Mormons then left Nauvoo and headed to Utah.

Joseph Smith's family stayed behind and were the heirs of the physical posessions of the Church, which had been held in Joseph's name. His descendants have held and cared for many sites that are historically important to Mormons. They also hid and guarded the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum until it became safe to provide them properly marked graves.

Hyrum's family left Nauvoo and they became Joseph's spiritual heirs. His descendants have included many leaders of the Church including Joseph F. Smith, George Albert Smith and Joseph Fielding Smith. My grandfather, Joseph Fielding cared for Mary and her son, Joseph F. Smith while they travelled to Utah and then afterwards.

Mary died while her son was still young and though my grandfather cared for him, it couldn't have been a very pleasant situation. My grandfather's journals indicate that he was poor until he died, that his two wives bickered a lot over the few possessions they had, and that it was a generally unhappy domestic situation. Joseph F. Smith was called to be a missionary in Hawaii when he was 15 years old. He had a dream that was very important to him while he was there.

This is how it went: "I was very much oppressed [when I was] on a mission. I was almost naked and entirely friendless, except [for] the friendship of a poor, benighted . . . people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look a . . . man in the face.

"While in that condition I dreamed [one night] that I was on a journey, and I was impressed that I ought to hurry—hurry with all my might, for fear I might be too late. I rushed on my way as fast as I possibly could, and I was only conscious of having just a little bundle, a handkerchief with a small bundle wrapped in it. I did not realize . . . what it was, when I was hurrying as fast as I could; but finally I came to a wonderful mansion. . . . I thought I knew that was my destination.

As I passed towards it, as fast as I could, I saw a notice [which read B-A-T-H], 'Bath.' I turned aside quickly and went into the bath and washed myself clean. I opened up this little bundle that I had, and there was [some] white, clean [clothing], a thing I had not seen for a long time, because the people I was with did not think very much of making things exceedingly clean. But my [clothing was] clean, and I put [it] on. Then I rushed to what appeared to be a great opening, or door. I knocked and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said: 'Joseph, you are late.' Yet I took confidence and [replied]:

" 'Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!'

"He clasped my hand and drew me in, then closed the great door. I felt his hand just as tangible as I ever felt the hand of man. I knew him, and when I entered I saw my father, and Brigham [Young] and Heber [C. Kimball], and Willard [Richards], and other good men that I had known, standing in a row. I looked as if it were across this valley, and it seemed to be filled with a vast multitude of people, but on the stage were all the people that I had known. My mother was there, and she sat with a child in her lap; and I could name over as many as I remember of their names, who sat there, who seemed to be among the chosen, among the exalted. . . .

"[When I had this dream,] I was alone on a mat, away up in the mountains of Hawaii—no one was with me. But in this vision I pressed my hand up against the Prophet, and I saw a smile cross his countenance. . . .

"When I awoke that morning I was a man, although only [still] a boy. There was not anything in the world that I feared [after that]."

To me, this story is mostly about growing up and returning to family and loved ones. Laura told me about this dream shortly after her divorce when she was coming back to our family. It is one of her favorite stories and one of mine as well.

I made my own little trek to Utah so that I could have dinner with my family today. There were 50 chairs set up, and most were filled. My grandfather, who is in his 90's was there, beaming that I had made it. He doesn't see me as often as he'd like. My aunts and uncles all took time to visit with me. All of my cousins fell into the comfortable teasing and banter that we have shared since we were very young. We told our troubles and triumphs to each other and it became clear (as it always does) that while the details of our lives are important, it is only because we want to show our love and support to each other in the best ways we are able.

Decorating for Thanksgiving

2009-11-23T11:09:00.000-08:00

I made a resolution to decorate for the holidays this year, and I plan to stick with it, but I honestly hate looking at effigies of turkeys and yams and I do not plan to put any up any time soon. I might be willing to roast a turkey shaped marshmallow peep over a fire, but that doesn't help with the decorating problem. So I have been tackling it in a different way.

I remember one time Tom Fife was teaching an institute lesson about making our homes holy places and he suggested having good things in them. He showed us some beautiful pictures and books from his home. Though it wasn't his intent, I felt a little bad that I couldn't afford beautiful books or pictures to put in my home. Before I could feel too bad about it though, I had the thought that I pray, read the scriptures, and serve people in my home and that those things make it a beautiful and a holy place. So, in sort of the same way, I am decorating my home with gratitude for Thanksgiving. I have wondered if this was a good idea, because it seems like something Oprah might suggest, but I somehow think President Hinckley might have liked the idea, so maybe it's okay after all.

The gratitude decorating my home these days has kind of floated in the air like a mist, except that it has been warm and bright which is actually nothing like a mist at all. Here are a few of the decorations that have filled my home and made it beautiful.

-Dad's cancer went into remission on it's own after he incorporated heart healthy lifestyle changes, and he is alive and well after his heart attack.

-My brain is almost better. I think the last change I have to go through is adjusting to new ways of dealing with stress. I have been working on this for 3 months and nothing else has turned up, so hopefully this is the end of it. I feel stress more acutely than I used to and there is a sort of buzzing in my head when I get stressed out. From this sort of buzzing feeling, I have learned what stresses me out most. It requires a combination of four things. 1) Having PMS, 2)Feeling rushed, 3)Either being really hungry, or needing to go to the bathroom really badly, and 4)Having to listen to or read boring scientific material about a subject that I don't know very well. Perhaps pulling my fingernails out one by one would be worse than the combination of those four things, but I am not certain of that. However, I am grateful that needing to go to the bathroom badly is among the most stressful things in my life. The buzzing sensation is almost gone too I think. I'll probably find out next time I have PMS.

-I think I finally understand my problems with men. I am terrified of being attacked by them. That's it. I can work with that. I am grateful for the many blessings I have had in which I have been promised that God will protect me, if necessary, by the encircling of angels. They give me the courage that I need to prevent my fear from stopping me.

-I am grateful for Ofelia's exercise classes. They give me something to look forward to nearly every day.

-My writing skills are improving. This enabled me to write a letter that brought back Ofelia's Friday classes after they were cancelled by the gym coordinator. While grudgingly reinstating the classes, the coordinator said "Miriam, I have got to complement you on your writing skills." She did not look happy at that moment. I think I was experiencing the power of language for the first time in my life. I was enormously happy at that moment.

-People keep offering me money to do things that I am already doing anyway. I just got an offer today to review 3 chapters from I text book I already use for my class. I read those chapters every semester already.

-My Mom listens to all of my little worries and concerns and helps me with them. She is planning Thanksgiving for a celiac, a heart patient, and a vegetarian. If Mike were at home, I am sure she would find a way of working with his poultry allergy as well.

-Knowing I am a celiac (which has improved every aspect of my health) and finding the things that make a gluten free life livable (Trader Joe's, Vitamix, millet flour, xanthan gum, vitamins and gluten free peanut butter.) Also, I can eat lettuce again! Salad is awesome.

-Family and friends who love me and give me advice and support and encouragement.

I have much to be grateful for.

Though I haven't pointed these things out to anyone, the people who have come to my home recently have told me how beautiful it is.

New Hobby!

2009-11-17T15:37:00.000-08:00

The stock market is fun! I guess reading the WSJ almost every day has finally done it. I started investing in stocks. It seemed like a good idea because they are one of the best ways of keeping up with inflation. (A financial investor told me this and I assume he knew what he was talking about because he was a VP for Chase or Morgan Stanley of some place like that.) I kept thinking that maybe I should invest in Campbell's soup of hair buzzers or ebay or amazon or something, but secretly, I don't really understand the stock market so I just went for a managed growth fund.

I am treating the stock market like a Vegas slot machine. I am only putting money into it that I can comfortably afford to lose (which means not much). Then I read the WSJ and it is sort of like watching the wheels spin around in a slot machine. Every once in a while I check on my stocks to see if any money is coming out.

I once put four quarters into a slot machine and it was about as exciting as throwing money down a storm drain, except that when you throw money down a storm drain you might hear a clink when the coin hits the bottom and that tells you something about how deep the drain is. All said, I have developed a fondness for storm drains based on that perspective.

The stock market is way better than a storm drain and infinitely better than a slot machine. There is a lot of information to be had from it. Even though I don't really understand it, I do get that it is an indicator of numerous economic factors like economic growth and trade deficits and the federal deficit and interest rates and the weather and the cost saving strategies of housewives. Good stuff in that. So far, it is profitable. I have made $27.00 in two weeks. At some point, I may lose it all and my fondness for storm drains may increase even more. However, I think that the recreational/educational value of the stock market may be ultimately worth it even if I don't make a dime when all is said and done.

Sticky situations

2009-11-16T10:04:00.000-08:00

I dreamed about ice cream last night. I was with some little children, Hazel perhaps since she loves ice cream so much, and we didn't have any spoons so we ate ice cream with our fingers. It was sticky and cold, but very sweet and good. I was as messy as a child and having just as much fun. It was a good dream, but a little uncomfortable because I felt kind of embarrassed too.

I don't think anyone would accuse me of being immature, but a lot of people call me "kiddo" and tell me that I'm a youngster (which is often true because in most professional situations, I am the youngest person by anywhere from ~10-30 years). Mostly people think that I am a "wonderkid" or something, but some people....particularly MDs older than 50 won't listen to me at all because I am a youngish woman.

The students in my Sunday school class (ages 14-17) love me because they see me as someone who is at the same place in life as they are, only I have been there a lot longer and so maybe I really do know what they are going through. They give me as much dating advice as I give them. That is the basic dynamic we have going on in the class. They mostly listen to what I have to say and feel that their opinions are welcome. We frequently have members of the bishopric open the door and check on us when things are getting loud. They look at me with surprise, and ask me if I'm okay, I always apologize and they say "Oh, it's no problem, just as long as you are okay." I am not only okay, I am quite possibly the instigator of the noise. I get bored and the students get bored and Church is much better when we are all having fun and participating in the lesson... even if it does get a little loud. (I know you don't get fired from church callings, but I sometimes worry that I might.)

Sometimes at Church events, I have been asked to sit with the little children, because they are comfortable around me. I mostly make sure they don't hurt themselves or each other, and that they are actively involved in something. I like being there even if my knees are at chin level because the chairs are so small. Good times are to be had at the kids table. Sometimes, the other adults seem to forget that I am also an adult and they look at me with a stern look, put a finger to their lips and say "Shhh". I guess I deserve it if I am the one organizing an anarchy of 3 year olds.

I think that I have been at the kids table my entire life, except perhaps for when I was small enough that the adults wanted to hold me, and they passed me around the adult table. I like the kids table, it's a good place, and a fun place, and I make the most of it. I am also trying to graduate from the kids table and I have been trying for years. My attempts are probably something like when Matty at age two would say "Me do it meself!" and then she would mostly be okay but sometimes she would get really stuck and start crying. Except that I am not doing it myself , at least not anymore.

Lynda Dyas called me last Friday to remind me about a photography class and she asked me about the latest guy that I am going out with and approved. My friend Maria (who gave me the best dating advice of my life....."Your only job on dates at this point is to have fun!") was there and overheard our conversation and when I hung up the phone she asked "Good Heavens Miriam! How many cheerleaders do you have?" I told her I had no idea. Since then I have estimated nearly 200. Collectively, it seems like too many, but individually, there is not one I would want excluded. The list goes from Grandpa, in his 90's, through the widows of Merced first ward, in their 80's, on down through Katie, Megan, Matty and Emma, all under age 8 who ask "Miriam, when will you have children so we can play with them?"

The answer is that I have no idea. I am indefinitely stuck at the kids table and until I graduate, I guess they will have to settle for playing with me instead of my children. We have good times I think.

Hot Body

2009-11-13T10:58:00.000-08:00

The brilliance of Ofelia is that she knows how to build muscle without bulking up. I feel like I have very well developed muscles, but it isn't visibly obvious. It is however becoming thermally obvious. I have not started heating my house yet. I swear that I will once it becomes uncomfortable, but I am not sure at what temperature that will occur. Last night, my house was 58º. My feet were a little cold, and I considered the furnace because 58º seems like it should be cold, but heating my house does little to heat the floor since it isn't insulated, so I just put on socks and I was perfectly comfortable.

When I went to bed, the temperature was dropping, but I have a down comforter which is quite cozy so I wasn't worried about getting cold. I actually woke up in the middle of the night and again this morning because I was roasting hot. The house was at 53º when I climbed out of bed and it was cool, but I just put on some slippers and it felt pretty good after roasting in my bed all night long.

I actually think I would sleep better if my house was in the high 40s or perhaps lower. No, I do not have a fever, just a super hot body.

The Art of Drowning

2009-11-11T14:28:00.000-08:00

I wonder how it all got started, this business
about seeing your life flash before your eyes
while you drown, as if panic, or the act of submergence,
could startle time into such compression, crushing
decades in the vice of your desperate, final seconds.

After falling off a steamship or being swept away
in a rush of floodwaters, wouldn't you hope
for a more leisurely review, an invisible hand
turning the pages of an album of photographs-
you up on a pony or blowing out candles in a conic hat.

How about a short animated film, a slide presentation?
Your life expressed in an essay, or in one model photograph?
Wouldn't any form be better than this sudden flash?
Your whole existence going off in your face
in an eyebrow-singeing explosion of biography-
nothing like the three large volumes you envisioned.

Survivors would have us believe in a brilliance
here, some bolt of truth forking across the water,
an ultimate Light before all the lights go out,
dawning on you with all its megalithic tonnage.
But if something does flash before your eyes
as you go under, it will probably be a fish,

a quick blur of curved silver darting away,
having nothing to do with your life or your death.
The tide will take you, or the lake will accept it all
as you sink toward the weedy disarray of the bottom,
leaving behind what you have already forgotten,
the surface, now overrun with the high travel of clouds.

Billy Collins

Marie suggested I read this poem and I like it quite a lot. My only experience even close to drowning was when I fell over a waterfall. The things I thought of as I was going down were
#1 Getting flipped around so that my feet would go in first
#2 That if I kept my body pulled in as tightly as I could in the center of the main flow of water, maybe erosion would have cleared a smooth path and dug a hole at the bottom.
Thankfully Erosion was on my side and I survived. I was a little annoyed when others who had seen me fall and survive decided to go over the waterfall recreationally.

Since I haven't died I can't be sure, but it seems that perhaps you are less likely to drown if you are actively assessing the current situation rather than reminiscing over good and bad deeds done in the past.

Deadline

2009-11-10T11:30:00.000-08:00

I spent last weekend stoned. It was legal for me to be stoned. (Well, maybe legal, since I think a person untrained in anesthesia was responsible for getting me stoned, but at least legal from my side).

My friend Maria gave me a ride home from the doctors office. She told me that I was cute while stoned. I told her thanks and that no one had told me that before. She laughed and said that she was the only person who had ever seen me stoned. She was probably correct.

I made breakfast for Maria and myself while stoned. It was the least I could do for asking her to pick me up early on a Saturday morning. I did most of the prep before going to the doctors including putting muffin batter in a pan, and preheating the oven, and frying bacon. I can't remember what else we ate. There were eggs I think. I didn't prepare those in advance so I don't remember them. I hope it was good food. I don't remember.

My friend Chanelle came over for breakfast too. I didn't think I would be as stoned as I was and I had missed seeing her and Chanelle is always up at five, and she likes going places for breakfast.....so why not make a party of breakfast? I think it is a bad idea probably to entertain while stoned because my main memory of the event is that I was trying very hard to remember to introduce Chanelle and Maria and that then I was aware that they were introducing themselves to each other.

I think that the anesthesia was badly applied because I remember less and less from the day as it went on, when instead I should have been remembering more and more. I was a little sensible though, because after my friends left, I climbed into bed and slept. I woke up in the evening with a splitting headache and after a few hours went back to bed and slept through the night.

When I woke up the next morning, it felt like someone had put a hatchet into the middle of my skull. I drank a glass of water and ate some carbs thinking that maybe I had a headache from not eating. The headache got worse and worse and at some point, it occurred to me that I was fitting the description of a hang-over. I recalled that drinking lots of water was supposed to help with hang-over, so I drank lots of water. After a few hours it seemed to help some. I think I was still somewhat stoned though because I don't remember much of Sunday either.

By Monday, I was fit as a fiddle and even did step aerobics, though I took it a bit easy.

To me, it seems that there should be a moral to this story, like don't do drugs, or drink a lot after doing drugs, or something, but I don't think that they apply super well to the story because I was simply being medically responsible for myself. However, as I have never reacted like that to anesthesia before, the moral of the story may be that one should avoid medical procedures in Merced. I have five years until I have to get anesthetized again. My goal is to be in a medically developed place before that becomes necessary. The clock is now ticking.

Nerdy enough for this!

2009-11-06T13:58:00.000-08:00

I got good news today! I won the Siemens Healthcare Diagnostics Young Investigator Award. They said that I had done a whole lot of research in a very little bit of time and so I deserved the award!

Not Nerdy Enough

2009-11-05T09:25:00.000-08:00

After I wore a free t-shirt featuring a centrifuge jumping rope, Marie became convinced that I am especially nerdy, which is true. I have discovered however, that even within my own field of research, I am not the nerdiest. For example, I am not nerdy enough to appreciate microbial art. I like microbes a lot, but it is impossible for me to appreciate "art" that has been produced by painting an agar plate with them. Perhaps it is because I know how they smell. Perhaps it is also because I have seen three year olds do just as well with dull crayons.

Dreaming

2009-11-01T14:34:00.000-08:00

I don't think that I have dreamed properly for years. My dreams were always brief and dim and I would wake up after them. Some one's face would appear, or a few words, but nothing in depth or developed. Now my dreams have plots and multiple characters. They start the same way that they used to with a face or a few words, but then when I near the edge of consciousness, instead of waking me up, the dream develops and becomes more complex. I sleep through the night now, which I have not done in many years. To say that my dreams are pleasant and good is simultaneously true and false. The content of my dreams is violent, hellish stuff, but I am not afraid of any of it. As I dream, I find that I relax and sink into a deeper sleep. There is almost a sense of relief that I feel.

Since I have started dreaming, it has become easier to put unpleasant things behind me. I think that I might be capable of handling horror movies now without feeling terrified for months afterwards (though I have no intention of watching any). I obsess over things less and in general, there is less going on in my head and it is easier to concentrate....almost like dreams are making room for new things.

Perhaps what dreams are doing for my head has a physical manifestation as well. I am becoming a good housekeeper. This is not something I have been trying for very much, but I find myself making my bed each morning, dusting the house every week, folding laundry as soon as it is done in the dryer and organizing things in better ways. These changes have been nearly as effortless as dreaming. They just sort of happened and I am only just noticing.

Gal Pals

2009-10-30T10:51:00.000-07:00

I made the most delicious gluten free carrot cake last night. I am taking it to the pot luck lunch we are having for one of the women I eat lunch with. One of the other girls was going to bake a gluten free cake so that I could eat some too, but I told her that was ridiculous because she didn't have the ingredients, doesn't need the ingredients, and getting the basic ingredients is a little expensive when you are first getting set up to cook gluten free. It took some arguing and I finally persuaded her. All of those women take care of me. They give me dating advice and cooking advice and how to look hot advice and they tell me when its time to buy new pants so that people will be able to see that my butt looks good.

Most of them are single and in the dating scene again after nasty divorces. Except for me, the entire group is menopausal. I have learned more knowledge than I ever fathomed existed about hot flashes. They sound really terrible. I have learned which drugs work to reduce the occurrence of hot flashes and their side effects. That knowledge is proving to be valuable.

My friends who I walk with and sit by at church and eat dinner with also turn out to be menopausal women. I never realized this until they started talking about hot flashes and I have all of this useful information. They snap up the info about good drugs readily because hot flashes are really, really bad. The favorite drug turns out to be the one that prevents hot flashes and promotes weight loss.

Sometimes I think that it should seem strange to me that I hang out with a lot of women who are significantly older than me, but as I consider each one of them, I find nothing strange at all in our friendships. They are comfortable and happy and the aspect of living in Merced that keeps me going.

Subtle Creepiness

2009-10-28T16:43:00.000-07:00

Matt Meyer says I have a subtle creepy side, but what does he know? He also says I'm soulless. (Of course these comments come after he invites me to his Oktoberfest, debates whether he should get alcohol free beer for me and I tell him not to bother because a) yuck! and b) it isn't gluten free anyway)

Maybe it's subtle creepiness, or just a slightly evil streak, but there are horrible things I would love to blog about but don't for various reasons. Even though I won't really blog about them, there are enough that I just have to make a list of them. I am sure after reading the list that you will be happy I have chosen not to blog about them.

1) Online dating -I could people rolling with laughter for hours, but I'd have to name names and obviously I would incriminate myself as well. I don't mind that thought now, but I am almost certain I'd regret it in the future.

2)Colonoscopy -Obviously not a choice topic, but many funny stories about it.

3)Pap smears -I'm almost ready to blog about these, but I am mostly certain I'd regret it. Still the facial expressions of doctors just talking about them makes me glad I opted out of the medical field. If I had pictures of doctors faces either giving them or talking about them, I don't think I could resist. Too funny.

4)Job politics -See #1, but I could also lose my job as well.

5) The nightmare I had in which I woke up after weeks of unconsciousness from a dune-buggy accident to find that I was convicted of murder and due to be executed in a week. I was sure I was innocent, but how to clear the charges? People I know in Merced (If you are reading this you aren't one of them) were featured as the bad guys. Marie was the hero. (That part was accurate. Marie is always the hero.)

6)Various people (if you are reading this, I absolutely guarantee you aren't one of them) who inspired #5 and their antics. (Ridiculous, juvenile and funny....See # 1 again).

7)Gay men hitting on women....I am sure it is not PC to mention, but it happens a lot and I don't quite get it.

8)A million and one different ways of doing push ups.. It would get boring really fast, but it seems so inventive while actually doing it.

And finally

9)Organizing my cupboards... See #8.

If you want to hear any of the funny stories just call me. If they aren't in print I can always deny I told them later....

Tom

2009-10-28T11:56:00.000-07:00

Once, when I stepped on a piece of glass and a stream of blood started shooting about 3" out from my foot, Tom took of his shirt, tied up my foot and carried me into the house. Later, when he skinned himself badly in a motorcycle accident, I helped clean up his raw hip and checked to make sure there was no gravel permanently lodged in it.

When he was a mechanic, I brought him sandwiches wrapped in napkins so that he could eat without taking a lot of time to clean his greasy hands. In college, he brought me pizza or snickers if he knew I hadn't eaten all day and especially when I had no money.

I wanted to go camping with him and so he took me camping in the desert and taught me to rock climb without ropes and we both survived. I cooked breakfast and built the fire while he chopped wood.

When I started my postdoc, he gave me $100 because he knew I was flat broke after moving to Georgia. He was pretty much flat broke as a med student with one child and one on the way, but he came up with the money anyway. I sent the money back to him when he was broke and that $100 passed between us a lot of times after. I don't remember who ended up with it.

Tom called me from the distant location of his deployment after Dad's heart attack to make sure I was okay. We talked about how it's terrible when you are away from loved ones and something bad happens. He was tired after working all night. Maybe it helped him to talk to me.

So I shouldn't have wondered much when I came home and found a box of gluten free baking mixes on my porch last night, but I never fathomed that Tom would think of my mundane dietary needs when he is so far away.

I miss you Tom. I'd fly half way around the world to see you right now if dear old uncle Sam would let me.

Competition

2009-10-26T15:03:00.000-07:00

I'm stronger than most girls. It isn't bragging to say so, simply an aspect of being Miriam. I hate this when it's difficult to find clothes that fit but love it when I watch other women struggle to carry a twenty pound sack of rice or flour out of the grocery store. For a while I decided to focus on weight loss rather than exercise in an effort to get more feminine proportions. That only worked until I needed to move a cupboard from my garage into my house. It was a heavy cupboard, but still, I was shocked that my shoulders got noticeably broader after that one move. It was probably good they did, because I just gave up on trying to mold my body a specific way. I decided to work with what I've got and just focus on being healthy. It's a lot more fun this way.

I take step aerobics on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Ofelia, the instructor, thinks it's great that I'm so strong. After taking two months off from working out this summer, I was stronger than ever in about three weeks. She was surprised and impressed. Ofelia is in her fifties, has been a personal trainer her whole life and knows exactly what a person is capable of. She teaches about four classes a day at different locations and often runs or bikes in between the classes. She is solid muscle but cute and feminine at the same time. She knows I show up to her class to work out and she does her best to accommodate that desire.....sometimes a little more than I really want. She has no sympathy for me when sweat is dripping from my face to the floor, or when I am so tired that I come close to tripping over the step.

A few weeks ago, a freshman named Crystal started working out next to me. It was the week that Ofelia moved me up to a 12" step. Crystal was watching me and halfway through the workout, she took her step apart, reassembled it in the 12" configuration and then made a point of kicking higher than me, lifting her legs higher than me and then lifting weights heavier than me. She outdid me, but she had only done half the workout at the maximum height so it didn't count as far as I was concerned. The next time, we both did the whole workout at the same step height. She had heavier weights than me, but had to pause more often than I did. After that, Ofelia decided to push us a little harder and she had us doing kickboxing. Crystal crouches lower than me, but I can kick higher. We are an even match when it comes to lunges across the gym.

As much as Ofelia loves pushing me and Crystal, there is the rest of the class to consider. So to some extent, she leaves me and Crystal to improvise our own ways of pushing ourselves. I add kicks where there are normally just steps and Crystal does the same. I started doing the entire workout, jumping-jacks and all with 2lb weights in my hands, so of course, Crystal grabbed the 3lb weights and did the same, but couldn't quite handle getting her arms in the air during the jumping-jacks and then did push-ups off of her knees instead of her toes. Today, she was looking at my sweaty face and gritted teeth during the workout and I wondered if she has started comparing the relative amounts of our sweat.... maybe she was just wondering if I was struggling as much as she was. The answer was clearly yes.

In that moment, when her competitive nature was entirely visible, I started wondering what I am in for if she ever takes my genetics class. I find myself really glad that I have taught genetics so many times, and hoping just a little bit that she is a social sciences or humanities major.

The slow trickle of money

2009-10-22T16:35:00.002-07:00

Money has slowly started trickling into my lab. (Slow and trickle being more noticeable than money...believe me.) I have secured 1 year of funding for a grad student to work on health care disparities and I get paid for one blessed month next summer. (I think I'll either insulate my attic or go to Vegas....both will pay back right?) Also, an undergrad got a fellowship for $1000 dollars which is about enough to buy half of the supplies his little project will need.

More important than the actual money is the fact that the influx of a little money gives me a little bit of hope that things may be getting better. I just re-submitted a grant. The only major criticism of the proposal was that the resistance genes I am working on make secreted proteins and secreted proteins could change the environment of the experimental cells. Matt Meyer (being brilliant and my friend) came up with this cute way of removing the secreted proteins without touching the cells. (I now love organic chemistry ant THAT is saying something). Maybe I will get that grant, It is a small one, but infinitely more than zero.

Certain collaborators who wish to remain nameless in the blogosphere are meeting with someone from DARPA who likes their work well enough that he occasionally visits to see if they are doing anything cool enough for DARPA to fund. A 10 minute discussion that goes well means lots of money for research. They are choosing to spend that 10 minutes presenting my research to the DARPA guy....(Yes, I feel cool...not as cool as if they wanted me to present my own research, but I guess I feel safer too).

And finally, Pilar Francino asked me to be on one of her grants. The positive aspect of this is that money follows her. The negative aspect is that she collects all of her bacteria from poop. I do not like to work with poop, but at this point I am willing. (Besides which, Leigh ann and I already make jokes about poopcicles. It will only get better if both of us work on them.) The data we get will also be really, really cool.

If my funding situation could move from that of a nearly dry rainspout to one more like a river (and it doesn't have to be the Mississippi, just something a little bigger than an irrigation ditch), I think I could launch the little life-raft I am bobbing around in and maybe set sail from here and head to sunnier shores.

Anyone up for Anarchy?

2009-10-19T12:53:00.000-07:00

I am! One more very onerous rule about submitting grants to our deans who then send them to the grant officers, who then send them to the funding institutions was implemented today. One week before an application of mine that had very positive reviews is to be resubmitted. My last grant application got removed from the review process because the maximum length for biosketches was quietly reduced to half of its previous length (2 pages instead of 4). I might feel guilty about not reading the instructions through cover to cover every time I submit a grant except that they are 200 pages long. 200 pages of rules!!!!! Way too many. Anarchy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Halloween Resolutions

2009-09-30T16:54:00.001-07:00

I never make New Year's resolutions. It seems stupid to me to put off self improvement until an upcoming holiday. If you need to change something, just do it. Halloween however is a good enough holiday that it has inspired me to make two new resolutions. The first is to start decorating my house for the holidays, and the second is to buy fewer shoes.

I really hate decorating my house for the holidays. I feel like Joel Fleischman from Northern Exposure when he tried to put up a Christmas tree and ultimately decided he was too Jewish to really get why one would put a tree inside of a house. Last year I put up a two foot Christmas tree and that was a stretch. I think it will require personal growth from me to decorate for the holidays, and growth is usually good. So I am doing it.

The resolution about buying fewer shoes comes from the fact that as I went to purchase Halloween decorations, I almost decided to go shoe shopping instead. I do NOT need more shoes. I don't even really want more shoes. Clearly shoe shopping has become a comfortable bad habit. No more shoes for a while.

I went to Marshall's to get Halloween decorations because when I was dress shopping a few weeks ago, they had apothecary jars with skull-handled lids. The labels on them said creepy things about Witch Hazel and Cures for Creeps and stuff like that. I thought to myself "If I decorated for Halloween, I would get those." I hoped that they were still there and when I couldn't find them, I went searching for other scary things. I almost decided to get some Ed Hardy sheets with a skull and hearts that said "Love Kills Slowly". They had a matching duvet cover and pillowcases and they were the most scary thing I have seen in a while. After a few moments of fascination with the concept of terrifying sheets, I decided that the point of Halloween is to scare others and not myself.

I found some wooden toadstools and a kind of woodland looking fall potpourri mix that seemed like it might be cute scattered around the wooden toadstools. I also thought I might be able to put the toadstools among pine boughs for Christmas and cover two holidays with one decoration. I wasn't sure that they were really Halloweeny, but they were at least a step in the right direction. So I got them. Then, after purchasing them, I found the apothecary jars I had been looking for near the exit and so I ended up getting those too.

My house is now set for the upcoming holiday! And I didn't even look at any shoes! I feel like a new and improved person already.

Feminism at its finest

2009-09-29T10:52:00.000-07:00

I remember as a teenager thinking that Utah was a misogynistic place because people objected to me taking woodshop instead of home ec. Growing up in Utah, it was hard to separate culture from religion. I am still somewhat annoyed by the attitude that girls should not develop some skills because of gender. However, many things said and done by LDS church leaders have shown that those men are among the finest feminists on earth and clearly promoting the good treatment, development and well-being of women.

The first action that really hit me as incredibly feminist was several years ago when the Church started digging wells in villages in developing nations. Their reasoning for doing so was not to provide safe water, but that in many developing countries, most of a woman's day is spent hauling water. They said that there are better things for women to do with their time and that women needed to develop themselves more than was possible when hauling water all day.

The second was when Pres. Hinckley repeatedly, advised, commanded, persuaded, nearly begged all women to get as much education as possible. I loved it. There were so many people telling me that I should stop going to school and get married. He put a stop to that. Hah!

The third, was when Pre. Hinckley told men that good husbands let their wives spread their wings and take flight.

Many things continue to impress me that Church leaders are feminists. Last Saturday, Pres. Eyring gave credit to generations of Mormon women in the Relief Society for creating some of the finest organizations spun out of the Church. The list included Church Hospitals (LDS Hospital is routinely brought up at international conferences for its excellence), the Church Welfare System (also famous, especially in developing nations), and the Humanitarian Aid System (famous everywhere and the right hand of FEMA in the US).

Even the sticky point that Mormon leaders emphasize the importance of motherhood (which frequently causes Mormons to be accused of misogyny), strikes me as a fine example of feminism. I remember learning in art history and ancient world history that the position of women in society usually degraded as war gods became more important than fertility goddesses. Well, that is certainly happening today as fewer children are being borne and so many nations are at war. I feel personally degraded and angry when people tell me that bearing children is wrong....that it overpopulates the earth and is irresponsible. I feel edified when that uniquely feminine ability is reverenced and praised.

Healthy

2009-09-21T12:00:00.000-07:00

I went in for a physical today (ugh!). They found I had a slight fever and asked if I was feeling okay. Aside from being a little tired, I feel just fine and I figure that the tiredness is even a healthy indication that I didn't sleep much this weekend. I checked out okay with the physical, blood pressure is low cholesterol and lipids are low, good cholesterol is high and that's good I guess, I lost 5 pounds, the doctor thought I was in fine shape.

Honestly though, I feel better than fine. Since giving up wheat, I feel the healthiest I have felt....maybe ever....at least in a lot of years. Beyond that, I think I am better from brain injuries (other than that my hearing is still improving ever so slightly). Maybe that is why I feel so healthy. Whatever the reason, I feel great.

Oh, and the brilliant mathematician I collaborate with did some simulations based on my experimental data. The result of those simulations is that we get to credibly argue that one of the most popular population genetics theories is incomplete and wrong. Hah! What a good way to start the week. (Being an iconoclast is one of the most fun things about my job. Hah!)

My brain is sexier than yours

2009-09-19T16:28:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I hate girls. Especially the ones with large breasts and narrow hips who wedge themselves in between me and the man I am talking to. They are skinny enough to slither in and then their breasts are at eye level with the guy and it doesn't matter what stupid thing they say. They have his attention and I don't anymore. Well that used to be what I thought anyway, but I recently had a change of attitude.

Hilary told me my brain was one of the sexiest things about me and that I should use it accordingly. It took a while, but I decided she might have something there. I read the New Yorker most of the way through each week. I read the Wall Street Journal every day. I can talk movies, politics, travel, current events based on those two things. I am a scientist so I can talk statistics of speed dating, the psychology of flirting, nerve control of head turning while kissing, and oh yes, antibiotic resistance of course too and a few other technical topics like string theory, computers, software, Bayesian inference, optics, wireless networking and so forth. My dad is an engineer who launches rockets and tells me all about it so I can talk outer space, satellites, defense. My mom teaches me about history and theories of government as well as religion. From my sisters, I learn about online teaching, lactation, fashion, graphic design, art, and David Byrne. My brothers teach me about the Navy, nursing, Dubai, South American ecotourism, music and sports. I take pottery, I read books, I work out, I hike, I remodel my house and change the brakes and shocks on my car. My backyard was turned into a productive garden by me. I have roofed houses, poured cement, driven across the country, traveled more extensively outside the US than many Americans and I have many international friends who love telling me about their countries because I listen to them. I have invested a lot into my intellect and I think I can pretty much talk to anyone about anything.

So now, instead of letting a pair of large breasts run me off entirely, I wait for the initial ogling to subside some, resume intelligent conversation and ultimately, the girls with the large breasts disappear.

All I really want

2009-09-19T00:49:00.000-07:00

It's funny, I think that Laura and I are on the same wavelength tonight. Not about Joni exactly, but that song of hers touches on my thoughts of the evening. I am trying to figure out what I want. It's funny that it should be so hard to decide what I want. It seems like it's easy for most people. Somehow it isn't for me. I think it is probably a result of brain injury, but it has never occurred to me that what I want is relevant. I have tried making good and responsible decisions my whole life. It seemed like I never really had more than one option, so I just did the best with what I had.

For example, I am good at evolutionary biology and I enjoy it most of the time, so this seemed like a good educational path. Did I ever want to be an evolutionary biologist? I don't know. It just sort of happened. I think it was the right thing for me to do and in that way I'm lucky. I can remember being a little surprised though when I started applying for positions as an academic scientist. Most grad students want that job badly. It was never my goal to become an academic scientist though. I just did the best science I could and I became competitive as an academic scientist.

I feel like in the last year I have been defining things about myself. What colors of nail polish I want to wear. What kinds of clothes I want to wear. The sort of people I would like to have as friends. What I want to read. What I want to say. How I want my house to look. I think I should have developed this part of myself a long time ago, but somehow I didn't, and this is still a hard thing for me. I struggle to decide what music I want to listen to. It is hard for me to decide how I want to spend my time. It's sort of like how I knitted for three years before realizing I hate knitting. It's so strange that it should take so long to decide that I don't want to knit.

I think I am more capable of making decisions now than I have been before. It's good because I have a lot to make. I want to fall in love, but I don't even know what I want, or should want from a relationship. The only thing I usually think of is someone to load the dishwasher while I pack suitcases. That isn't enough. I could hire the neighbor kids to do that for me for about $5.00. I need a relationship worth more than that, but I have no idea what I want it to be like.

I want to move out of Merced and there are a few different ways of doing that. Going into industry (bad idea in this economy), becoming an instructor (I don't want that), applying for a job outside the US (probably Europe), sticking it out in Merced until I get a grant (that may not ever happen). Do I want to move to Europe? I don't know.

I think that I can have whatever I decide I want, but I am not quite sure how to do that.

dressing up

2009-09-18T11:49:00.001-07:00

On Monday, I found out I needed a dress for Saturday. I hate dress shopping. I have awful t-shirt tan lines, my legs are winter white from wearing jeans all summer and I don't want to wear a dress. So I went dress shopping with a chip on my shoulder. I went to Ross and Marshall's because they are all we have around here and I didn't want to drive an hour to get a dumb dress. There is never anything wearable at either Ross or Marshall's and this was no exception. So I sucked it up, drove the hour and went to Macy's. I eased into the awful evening by trying on a skirt. Skirts are better than dresses. The one I tried on was loose and flowy with ruffly tendrils hanging off of it. On me, it looked like something black that had crawled out of a swamp so I went on to the next one. It was a brown, knee length knit dress with a hoody. I had picked it out for comic relief, and indeed it worked. Standing there in my flip flops, white legs exposed, hood up, I looked like a Ewok. I swear I almost stopped with that one. It would be hilarious to show up to a formal event looking like an Ewok.

Responsibility took over at some point and I went for the next one. It was cute and fit well, but I couldn't get the zipper (located under my arm) to go up all the way. Something about twisting enough to reach it made it impossible to do up. Besides which, I look terrible in black. My reddish skin stands out a lot and I look flustered and morbid all at one. The next several dresses were all black and all had the same effect. Terrible.

So then I went skulking around through the store glaring at dresses as I collected an ever growing array hanging over my arm. Finally a clerk asked me if I was okay and I said "Yes...I mean no. I have to buy a dress and I hate this." She grabbed a few items, ushered me off into a dressing room and then acted like my big sister bringing me piles of clothes and handing them to me in the dressing room. She commented on the colors, the slimming effects, my need for nylons, instant sunless tanner and sexy shoes.

We finally agreed on a purple printed dress with well cut sleeves and a princess waistline. It was the best we were going to do. I brought it home, tried it on with nylons and sexy shoes and found myself asking a very important question which was "Why do dresses always look so much better in a dressing room at a store?" It must be something with the lights. At home, the dress kind of looked like a sack. Which brought me to the second important question which was " Why are all dresses made out of knit fabrics?" It's a terrible idea to do that. They end up looking like sacks.

Despairing, I looked in my closet and found an unexpected coupling of a ruffly skirt and floral top that got hung up next to each other after doing the laundry. I put them on. They looked a million times better than the stupid dress I had on. So I will be returning the dress next time I have two hours to blow driving to and from Modesto.

Note to self: Never buy a dress again...Ever...for any reason.

LDSSA

2009-09-17T08:02:00.000-07:00

I am not a pragmatist. I would love to be one, it's just that things keep getting in the way of that lofty ambition. The latest blockade to pragmatism is my agreeing to be the faculty advisor for The Latter-day Saint Student Association (LDSSA) at UC Merced. It is not good for me to be the advisor of this organization. It draws attention to the fact that I am a Mormon evolutionary biologist and this combination does not go over well with most people. Most Mormons don't believe in evolution (even though they don't know anything about it) and most evolutionary biologists think that a deluded idiot would choose to be a Mormon (even though they don't know anything about it). Born Again Christians and most of the Religious Right hate me for both reasons. At one of their protests against Mormons, held in front of a gathering of Mormons, I found signs saying I would go to hell for both of those reasons and then a third sign saying I would also go to hell for being an independent woman. Maybe there will be a special suite there reserved for me since I am so bad. Anyway, I have dreaded being the LDSSA advisor since the school opened and I have not encouraged the formation of that organization.

This situation changed slightly in the wake of proposition 8. None of the Mormons at UC Merced were enthusiastic about joining in the proposition 8 campaign. We all have gay friends who are really sweet people we care about. I dragged my feet and happily found excuses to not be involved. The campaign was kind of on the edge of my awareness. However, as friends in larger cities told me about Mormons they had seen being assaulted by Prop 8 protesters and then never finding anything in the news about it, I became more concerned. In the news papers, I found articles that were disparaging to Mormons and mostly false. Finally, when a television ad showed missionaries as menacing people who forcefully invade homes, I decided to get involved. It was just such a low blow. Missionaries in coastal California are treated poorly. They get people in cars dumping drinks out on them as they pedal by on their bikes. They get their bikes stolen. They get called all sorts of horrible things and they just don't get too ruffled over it. Producing an ad that might cause greater harm to come to the missionaries, who had been specifically forbidden from participating in politics was just over the top. The people protesting prop 8 argued that marriage for homosexuals had nothing to do with religion and would not affect the freedom of religion, but there they were specifically attacking my religion in a very low way. So I got involved. Many others got involved at that time too.

After the campaign was over, newspapers reported that Mormons were gloating over the victory, but I didn't know anyone who was. Even right after the vote came in, there was a grim silence among all the Mormons in Merced. There is no direct joy to be had from denying others what they want even if it is done as a defensive act.

Then the real backlash against Mormons began and the little handful of Mormons at UC Merced quietly went into hiding more or less as our friends turned on us, calling us bigots and Fascists. Remarkably, the friend who was slowest to turn on me was my gay friend, who I think understands the discrimination Mormons face better than most people. He only turned when there was a broad call by the gay community to single out and bring harm upon the Mormons who had contributed money to prop. 8. He never did anything to me. We just stopped spending time together. I couldn't blame him. When the time came for me to chose a side, I did. He was just doing the same.

Finally, after the backlash died down most of the way, the students wanted to form an LDSSA chapter here, and they needed an advisor, so I agreed. I think that all of us wanted to have a little nucleus of Mormons here, just so we wouldn't feel quite so isolated, and so that we would know who the other Mormons on campus are. There aren't many of us and most of us keep a low profile. After all, even the Mormon students who didn't support prop. 8 were singled out and treated poorly.

So I find myself in a sticky situation now. I am the advisor of a club that is entirely based upon a religious affiliation that I don't go around advertising. But I have a sign on my office door for the society for black engineering students, because there is a demographic here of very bright and hard-working but very intimidated students here. They all happen to be black and while I don't know the reasons for that correlation, the sample size is too large for it to be random. If a club for those students will help them become more comfortable here, then I will support it. I find myself in the moral dilemma that what I do for a club that I am in no way associated with, I must do for the club I advise, so a big LDSSA sign will be going on my door. Soon, my colleagues who haven't realized that I am Mormon will. I will also sit at the club table during new student orientations, so all of the incoming freshmen will know that I am Mormon.

The surprising thing to me about all of this is that I am immensely enjoying advising the LDSSA. Mike Meiners comes down from Modesto to teach us lessons about the parables of Jesus. He is way cool. He has studied the Bible in a fairly serious way and so we get to have some intellectual discussions. They aren't the sort where we are musing over the origins and evolution of life, or how modern events tie into the Book of Revelations, or even much about the history and politics of biblical times. They are more discussions of imagery, symbolism, cross references and allusions, the composition of the text, the choice of wording. It's fun. I also think that everyone in the club is enjoying getting to know more Mormons. There are quite a few Mormons who have stopped by for just one meeting, but then we all become aware of each other and we stop and chat when our paths cross.

Playing in mud

2009-09-15T16:02:00.001-07:00

I started a pottery class last night. My friend, Chanelle recently started going to college again. Perhaps she enjoys my company A LOT, or perhaps she thinks it is a good idea to have a professor as her friend in any class (even if it is unrelated to what I know well), or perhaps she thought it was time to put the potters wheels in my garage to good use. I don't know what her reasons are, but she went to a lot of work to get me into the class. She found the class and delivered the information to me and got the materials list and went with me to get supplies and then called and reminded me about class and we went together. (Quite a friend huh?)

The first thing that the teacher announced is that they have been so frugal in years past that they had a huge excess of funds and so we didn't have to pay tuition for the class. No, I'm not kidding. It was weird but I'm okay with free pottery classes. I still had to fill out a registration card and get officially enrolled and then when I had done that, the teacher gave an excellent demonstration about centering clay and turning out a bowl.

My goal for the night was just to get the clay centered perfectly. I didn't care if I had a piece by the end of the night, and I remembered how critical centering was for glass blowing. I think that all the glassblowing classes Laura and I took payed off because I centered the clay once and came very close a second time. I may be able to get faster at it, but I think I can do it now. Then I moved on to throwing things and worked on bringing the clay up and keeping an even edge of top. I would pull it up and up until it got too fragile and collapsed, or until my long fingernails (which I was informed have to go) got stuck in the clay and tore it. I didn't care when the pieces fell apart, I was playing in the mud and learning at the same time. How much better can it get? I threw pieces and collapsed them and then I would wedge the clay to get the air bubbles and some of the moisture out and then I'd rework the clay over and over again until it got too soft and then I'd get a new piece and start in on that. Everyone thought I was nuts to keep collapsing my pieces, which the other beginners thought were really great. Honestly though, I wouldn't have paid 50 cents at a thrift store for anything I had made so why would I fire it? My goal for the class (besides having fun and hanging out with Chanelle) is to be able to make dishes that I can eat from and that seem cool to others as well. I have a long way to go, but perhaps I'll get there. When I do, you may all get handmade dishes from me for Christmas, kind of like when I got into knitting and made lots of hats. Hopefully the dishes turn out better than most of the hats did.

Autumn

2009-09-14T12:14:00.000-07:00

Autumn is good. I am stylishly wearing gray and brown nail polish and I started pulling out long sleeved shirts to assess my fall wardrobe. I found that most of my clothes are too big and that's kind of nice, but kind of not since it means I have to go clothes shopping.

It has also started raining. I am hoping that it might help some of the farmers successfully finish growing their crops. We just went down to the Church vineyard in Madera and harvested grapes that will become raisins. That farm is almost entirely cared for by novice volunteers who know nothing about grapes, but it always yields a lot of raisins. There are many more than the hungry need, so the rest get sold to Sun-Maid and the money gets used for other charitable causes. We could tell it was especially dire this year because we had to watch a training video about how to maximize the grape harvest. I think they should have made one ages ago. It would have stopped a lot of bickering between the people who think they know what they are doing. I guess it was never worth it though.

Feminine

2009-09-11T10:03:00.000-07:00

I have been contemplating femininity a lot, but I haven't been quite sure what to say about it. Today it kind of came together as I walked up the hill to the science building. There was something being broadcast at many more decibels than was really comfortable to listen to, and when I got close enough to the speakers so that the echos and distortions of sound were at a minimum, I recognized that it was a rebroadcast of the September 11 attacks. I was in New York when those attacks happened. Not the city, but the state, six hours away in Rochester. It still felt very close and way too close for comfort. My mother, sisters and cousins called to check on me that day. Besides the towers falling, I got an inquiry about whether I had been in Central Park when a gang was terrorizing that area and raping women. Thankfully I hadn't been, but the concern for me was still appreciated.

Within a few days of the 9/11 attacks we heard that there was too much blood that had been donated. What the survivors really needed were pillows, blankets and bedding. It didn't have to be new or anything, just warm and clean and in reasonably good shape. I had purchased two new pillows the week before. I couldn't afford anything more but I donated my two pillows and went back to using the old flat ones that had served me so long. At the drop-off site, there was a mountain of bedding so tall that I didn't know how people had put things on top of it. There were many women bringing bedding and whatever other comforts they thought practical and adding them to the pile. There were a few dads there too, with their sons, but mostly women were there.

I remember the effects that those attacks had on women much more clearly than men. At the day of mourning service I went to, it seemed like I had arms wrapped around me by countless women and I can't even begin to remember how many I held while they cried on me. My friend Elaine had a cousin who was with her daughter in the plane that struck the pentagon. Lindsey knew people who worked in the towers, but who hadn't been in them when they collapsed. Bev collected stories from survivors. Julia from Ukraine told me how she sat there thinking that she hated America as the towers collapsed but that she told her friends back home to be quiet when they said that America deserved what it got. Collectively, women agonized over whether their families should assemble for Thanksgiving or Christmas when the apparent risk for having their families blasted apart in a lasting way seemed great. Almost universally, the families I knew decided to reassemble despite the recent attacks. While most mothers left the decision of whether to fly or not up to their children, most of the children decided to risk it so that they could see their mothers, give them support, and seek the comfort of being home and safe. While soldiers were being sent over seas to fight the groups who had terrorized America, or allowed it to happen, women gathered their families and fought the actual terror that had come over America in whatever ways they could.

I read a description of "being feminine" that included doing nails and make-up, reading Vogue, talking on the phone for hours, and cleaning a house to impeccable perfection. I have fond and feminine memories of doing all of those things, and my sisters and mom are in every one. I also do those things on my own, but those memories feel more like chores than me reveling in my femininity.

Recently I joined a canning club where we combine the produce from our gardens and turn it into salsa or jam and then pack it away for later. While we were working we started talking about why women don't run the world and what's holding women back. I suggested that the main reason is that women think raising children is more important than being a CEO. The mom who was there agreed with a smile while the other single woman there said something about THAT being our problem.

I meant that comment about motherhood more as an observation than as an opinion or judgement of what women do or don't do. The epidemiologist in me was just coming out. Since then however, I have formed an opinion which follows: It is entirely impossible for a woman to feel feminine without the presence or context of a family in her life.

However, women I know who have more than two children are literally terrorized for being irresponsible, taking on too much, sacrificing their careers, consuming too much, and overpopulating the planet. The shift in thinking that has promoted this sort of attack has certainly affected the planet much more that the destruction of the World Trade Center. However, there are women quietly fighting those attacks too... as they give birth to and lovingly raise their families.....then send their children out into society to work, contribute, influence, and enjoy........then gather them back to be together again.

Another Fan Joins the Club

2009-09-08T10:45:00.000-07:00

If infants and toddlers were slightly more mobile, there would be hordes of them chasing Dad down the street. Olivia (5 weeks old) just joined the throngs of little ones who go gaga over him. Despite her floppy neck, Olivia was craning her head to get a better look at him and to smile at him. This comes only weeks after Hazel started crying when her mom lifted her from Dad's arms. He claims that their fondness for him simply results from him treating them as though they are as intelligent as adults. He always allows them to see what is going on, provides age appropriate mental stimulation, and explains things to them patiently. Similar efforts by others however, do not seem as successful. This leads one to wonder if there is actually more involved. Perhaps Dad is really a super-hero who simply engineers rocket boosters by day for a fun alter-ego. Please report any sightings of Dad wearing a cape, tights, or a superhero logo and send in pictures too.

Two unlikely occurrences

2009-09-06T09:11:00.000-07:00

I didn't realize that there were 100 miles between gas stations in the Mojave Desert, so when my low fuel light came on, I wasn't too worried until after driving quite a while, a sign came up saying that Needles, the closest town, was 67 miles away. I called Brett to see if there was any little town closer to me that might have gas. I tried Essex. There are a few trailers and a lighted building surrounded by a razor wire fence, but no gas station. Even with the 8 mile detour, I still made it to Needles. The most surprising thing though was that Brett stayed on the phone giving me moral support the whole time. He hasn't even teased me much about it since.

Who has the most allergies?

2009-09-03T10:35:00.000-07:00

Okay family, this should be fun. It's a game of who has the most allergies. (All of the little ones can play too). I'll list mine and then everyone else who wants to play can do so in the comments section. (Laura will probably win. She is the luckiest after all.) I'll give some Claritin-D to the winner as a prize. Maybe we should also have a prize for the strangest allergy too, but Laura will probably win that as well. After that, we should have a survey to see which one of us is the nerdiest ( in everyone else's opinion) and then we can see if the two are correlated.

Mim:

Wheat

Peanuts (but this probably shouldn't count because I eat them anyway. I'm tough. I can handle constricted airways)

Sage brush

Mold & Mildew

Nickel

Most hairsprays

Most perfumes

Anything from Bath and Body Works (besides soap and only because that gets washed off)

Vitamin E

Most mascaras

& Coal Dust

I'll get Mike too since he can't. Maybe Laura can help with this.

Mike:

Poultry ( I think he should get double points for this since he goes into anaphylactic shock)

Coal Dust (It's a guess, but I think a safe one)

Life without wheat

2009-09-02T11:32:00.000-07:00

Eating food with no wheat is not so bad really. When I started living wheat free, I was pretty determined to not try to force other foods to be wheat. I started eating more potatoes and vegetables. I successfully made oatmeal raisin cookies with oat flour from blenderized dry oatmeal. "Not so bad really to live without wheat" I kept thinking.

After smelling warm cinnamon roles at Ikea, I cracked. I almost got the cinnamon roles, then had a vivid memory of how badly my stomach hurt last time I ate wheat and decided I was happier without. However, I decided I had to come up with some more food options.

I attempted to make baking powder biscuits out of rice flour. I figured that gluten is undesirable in biscuits so that might be a good place to start. I ground some Basmati rice and gave it a go. I noticed some problematic differences with rice flour quickly. It doesn't absorb liquids as well as wheat flour, so the dough was looser and wetter. I let the dough stand about 30 minutes and it did get thicker, but it still wasn't quite right. I decided to just move on with it and see what happened in the baking. The biscuits spread out and ended up looking like macaroons. The texture was about right once they were cooked though..crispy outside and crumbly inside. The worst problem was the flavor. I had guessed that the flavor would be off because I was using basmati rice, which has a wonderful aroma that is nothing like wheat. It was worse than I thought though. That wonderful aroma is way too funky for southern cooking. Also, I used shortening instead of butter because it is technically superior and textures usually come out better with shortening. The trade-off of course, is flavor. That trade-off is worse with rice though. The shortening kind of causes a bitter after taste that is just bad.

So the biscuit thing didn't quite solve the cinnamon role problem, so I went and got some sprouted wheat bagels to give the sprouted wheat thing a try. They were in the gluten free section (which is about 6 cubic inches) so I didn't check the ingredients as carefully as I should have, but they had regular flour in them. When I got home, I realized this so those were out. I then got potato starch and some tapioca flour and tapioca pearls.

I made tapioca that night and it was like the best tasting thing on earth. So light and yummy with all the egg whites and sugar folded in. I have eaten far too much tapioca in the past three days, but it is just so good after a month without wheat. I will probably eat more today. My next plan is that I am going to try to force tapioca flour and rice flour to be like wheat and I am going to attempt to make some reasonable muffins (no more Basmati though).

The weirdest thing about going wheat free is that I need to find a new deodorant. I always have to do this when I move and I figure it's because different microbes live in different climates. I didn't realize that going wheat free could have the same effect but I guess it makes sense.

If you have actually read to the end of this detailed and probably boring blog entry, you are patient. Thank you for your patience while I figure out how to live without wheat. Family, you are the best for coming up with gluten free pasta and rye crackers. Mom, the oat flour idea was absolute genius.

News

2009-08-31T10:26:00.000-07:00

I subscribed to a newspaper. (I know, I know. It's a little out of character. Don't pass out anybody. The earth is still spinning.) I just completed my first week and am pleased to have read 4 out of the 6 newspapers that appeared in my driveway.

I have been planning to subscribe to a paper for quite some time. For a while, I was getting most of my news from Yahoo News Feeds which tend to focus on the dealings of movie stars. When I mentioned that some star had just dumped a boyfriend or had picked up a DUI, people would stop taking me seriously as a scientist because intellectuals don't follow that stuff apparently. Oops.

I briefly considered the LA Times and the San Francisco Chronicle but I actually know a little bit about what is going on in California and those papers have so many errors that I think it is safest to assume they are worthless. I am not sure whether it is worse to be uninformed or misinformed, but misinformed people annoy me a lot and I didn't want to become annoying to myself.

I moved on to the New York Times and got a free online subscription to test it out. I was disappointed, I have to say. NYT seems to trivialize everything important and to trump up trivial issues as important. I stuck with it for about two months online, but that was enough for me. The Washington Post was similar to NYT, but it also had the deficit of making me feel poor. There are way too many articles about decorating with white on white or gray on gray, the ten essentials of Vera Wang's daily existence, and how designer nurseries are becoming a commonplace necessity rather than an opulent luxury. I entirely gave up on it when I read something about how worthwhile designer toys are if you can get a small child to prefer wood over plastic. I am still not sure if they were kidding, but by the end of the article I was pretty sure they were serious. (Sorry Olivia, you'll probably grow up aesthetically challenged from Ross and Wal-Mart toys.) Anyway, clearly not the paper for me.

Eventually, I decided that enough was enough and I needed to get the news in some form so I subscribed to the Wall Street Journal without even a test run online. My thinking was that I know so little about economics that I won't know whether WSJ is right or wrong or trivializing important things. I just won't know. Also I thought that if I read about investments everyday, it might make them seem like necessities rather than luxuries which might have a positive effect on my finances. (I still haven't made my first million, but perhaps I will next week. WSJ reports that hair clippers are selling well since everyone is cutting their own hair now. Maybe I will get some stocks.) I guess my awareness of finances is increasing, but I am so miniscule in terms of global economics I am not sure if I can apply my increasing knowledge of them. (I felt that way about evolution for a while too, and look at me now. I am a leading researcher in a field followed by twelve people with a blog about antibiotic resistance that is followed by eight.) I also find I am now following Asian politics. I think that this is probably because they affect global economics a lot. Again, I'm not sure what I can do in response to the changing relationships of Japan, China and the US, but I'll just learn about them for a while and see what happens.

The non-financial news covered by WSJ often seems trivial, but when it is placed next to articles about the imminent doom threatened by weakening ties between the US and Asia, it seems appropriate to cover pointless and often humorous things. Why not get a few laughs while we can still afford the air we breathe (you know before there are taxes on our personal carbon dioxide emissions). I was able to entertain some friends by describing the scandal about Ghadafi possibly staying in Englewood, NJ and the plans in place to keep him from pitching his tent. (It earned its keep last week for that one). I am still not sure what is up with the tent. I have only been following this story for a week after all.

One more really fast entry

2009-08-24T17:58:00.000-07:00

I had Megan and Katie take 10 pictures each while we waited for dinner. Here are some of the best.

The journey home

2009-08-24T10:31:00.000-07:00

There was lightening in the desert yesterday as I left Marie's house. Clouds were rolling in from the north. They were tall and curved in such a way that they looked like white capped waves ready to break across the shores of blue sky in the south. I was listening to African music performed by Béla Fleck and accompanying African musicians. It sort of matched the spiky desert plants and sharp volcanic rock that poked out from the landscape. I marveled at the vocalists whose voices were really instruments holding their own parts and which were necessary for the wholeness of the compositions. I thought about other music where voices are used that way and found myself comparing African music to opera, which turned my mind back to art history lessons and brought up this painting of Sacred and Profane.

Somehow, the desert and the music playing seemed sacred in that moment and my mind then turned to the song "Come, Come Ye Saints", which is my favorite song. It isn't one that I listen to a lot, or sing often, but if I could only keep one song for the rest of my life it would be that one. I think it is because that was the song my ancestors sang as they were driven from their homes in the winter, or massacred, or tortured, or starving. What amazing people they were that after fighting the best battles they were able to through weapons or politics, they finally won by singing that song as they marched West.

By that point, I was about an hour into the drive, and the rain started coming. It made the roads very slippery as the oil that had accumulated on the road during the preceding months rose and formed slicks on the top of the rainwater. I felt my car slipping minutely and slowed down a bit. Cars started rushing past me, for a while, but soon we all came to a stop. No one knew what was going on. All we could see was miles of stopped traffic waiting on that long desert road. I witnessed my seven hour drive stretch into an eight and then a nine hour drive and I was surprised by how enjoyable the time was. I listened to an old conference talk about Joseph Smith that President Hinckley had given and I read "Somewhere a Band is Playing" by Ray Bradbury which is a story appropriately located in the Arizona desert. I watched the rain come down and listened to drops that hit so hard they sounded like hail falling.

When I finally inched my way past the source of the delay, I found that it was a pile of very small scrap metal. Nothing was recognizable. Clearly no one had survived and I suspected that there were still some pieces of human bodies in the pile. I went by as quickly as I could to help get traffic moving again and then passed some more time talking with Laura on the phone. I told her about how long the trip was taking, but how I didn't really mind. After we hung up, I remembered how Mom had said that time passed very sweetly and enjoyably as she sat with Grandma in her final hours. I thought about how I have never minded waiting for funeral processions even if I am running late. Then I realized that even though I hadn't known it, I had been a part of an impromptu funeral procession for two hours that day. It made me wonder if that was why the time had passed so enjoyably. Perhaps when death is present, the time we have on Earth becomes dear no matter how it is spent.

One hour from home and just at the point when I always know that however tired I might be, I can make it the rest of the way, there were two more delays. The calm patience of the evening was still the overriding feeling I had, but I was glad that the delays resulted from lane closures for road construction. I was also glad that I would soon be safely home, with no chance of falling asleep in dangerous circumstances. I arrived just before midnight, and when I finally made it into my bed, I slept soundly the whole night.

Newest Niece!

2009-08-21T23:12:00.000-07:00

I am in Lake Havasu chilling with Olivia! She is great. Very mild, calm, and thoughtful. She is observant of everything. She loves to turn her head towards whatever is going on and then she seems to study what is going on. Her favorite observation of the day was when Katie was throwing a fit about a stuffed dog that was taken away because it was the source of the fight. The fight ended when the dog left the scene of action, but Katie wasn't done.

Katie: "Mommy, why can't I have the dog?"

Marie: "Because Daddy took it away."

Katie: "Won't you get it for me?"

Marie: "Nope, not going to happen."

Katie: "Why won't you give me what I want?"

Marie: "Does throwing a fit ever get you what you want?"

Katie: "How do I get what I want?"

Marie: "By being nice and by changing what you want."

Katie: "But that means I don't get what I want."

Olivia was into this. Obviously so was I. I loved hearing the arguments between Katie and Marie. It's vaguely like listening to the current version of Marie argue with herself 28 years ago.

Gay pickup lines?

2009-08-14T13:00:00.000-07:00

I'm confused.

Laura and I went into a place called "Shop Girls" yesterday. It was both a female clothing store and a post office. We were there to mail some postcards, but took a look at the clearance racks too. The guy running the store asks if we are from around there. We tell him no we are just waiting for the ferry. He tells us that he is a fairy. Then as we are rummaging in a basket of buttons with funny sayings on them, he tells us we should try to find one that says "All cute guys are gay". He encouraged us to move to Port Townsend and sincerely seemed like he wanted to see us later. He was super nice and friendly. From a straight man I would know what to think, but from an openly gay one, I have no idea what he was going for. Thoughts anyone?

We need Laura here!!!!!!

2009-08-10T14:00:00.000-07:00

Laura has here BFA tryout tomorrow and then she gets to run and catch a plane and a bus and a Ferry to meet us in Anacortes or Port Townsend or something. We are having a great time in her absence but can't wait for her to come.

We went to Seabolts that had locally caught fish. While we were waiting for our orders to come, I asked Mattie and Emma to take 10 pictures each. Turns out that they are better photographers than counters but here are the fruits of their labors.

A few from Mattie

A few from Emma

And a couple from me.

We wish that Tom was here too and James and Carl and Hilary and Marie and Brett and Mike. Maybe in January we can pull it off.

The inside of an introvert

2009-07-31T15:00:00.000-07:00

Sketching does not feel optional at this point in my life. There are way to many images in my brain and they need a way out. So I am sketching. I draw things from real life so that I can get better at drawing and I draw things from my head because those are the things I really want to draw. Most of my sketches are pretty sketchy. These are the first two from the inside my head stuff. They have been in my head a long time and they needed out before I could move on to anything else.
The deal with the first sketch is that I am really grateful to Jews who have built families, places of learning, arts, technology, literature, math, medicine, economies, and societies even when lots of people were killing them. In so many ways, they are the rock on which modern civilization has been built.

This one is because the tree of life is always described as a pregnant woman in the scriptures(except not in Genesis) and in one case, Mary specifically. Realizing that made me see that women are more important in the scriptures than I had previously understood. Important references to women abound, they are usually just a little understated.

The agony of acne

2009-07-09T09:09:00.000-07:00

I am not taking any pictures of myself for a while because I have acne worse than I ever have in my life. I should probably go to a dermatologist, but after avoiding the doctors of Merced for over 3 years, and then finally finding a decent primary care physician, I went in with a whole laundry list of referrals I needed. There was the opthamologist to check whether I had a torn retina (I didn't), a GI doctor for a 5 year cancer screen, and an ENT for a hearing check and possible laser surgery on my eardrums (hooray!). I was about to mention a dermatologist even before my face was in this sorry of a state, but the doctor said "I think that's enough for now". I am not sure if this was because the insurance companies look down on primary care physicians who give out lots of referrals, or whether he is concerned about me having too many doctors all at once, or maybe he just thought that I was overdoing it. Probably all of them are legitimate reasons for not wanting to give me yet another referral, but here I am with a terrible complexion trying to find ways of improving it.

I thought about getting a facial but they are A LOT more expensive in Palo Alto than other places. I kept going to spa after spa thinking that one must be reasonable, but they got more expensive every place I checked. When I finally hit a place that charged $760 for a facial, I gave up, went to the grocery store and got a shiny purple package of Stridex for $7.65. It seems to be helping except that my skin is now a beautiful glowing red, yes...more than usual. (I guess the positive aspect of this color change is that no one can tell when I get embarrassed.) If it weren't for the fact that I have to get my whole sewer line replaced next week, I would probably go for a ridiculously expensive facial, but this seems like a good time to exercise some amount of financial responsibility.

Research seems to have started going well in earnest today. I woke up at 3:00 AM thinking about citrate. One should never take citrate for granted and I had been. When I factored citrate metabolism into our results, it all started making sense. We got rid of the citrate and the data are very pretty now.

civilized

2009-07-06T20:38:00.000-07:00

I am in civilization!!!! This is day 1 of my adventures in Palo Alto. While here, I plan to take full advantage of the research opportunities available at PARC (Palo Alto Research Center). I am also keeping in mind that this is the only place in the continental US where single straight men outnumber single straight women. (When Joanna worked in my lab, she decided it was part of her job to get me in a lasting relationship so she worked up all sorts of statistics and models to achieve this, but it always ended with getting me to Palo Alto. As I'm here now, she should be proud.)

I showed up today with a box of lab supplies intended to last a full month if necessary, though the experiments should only take 2 weeks at most. Those supplies include single use aliquots of very nasty bacterial strains that Tom sent me from the Naval Medical Center, San Diego. The Pseudomonas strain is green and smells like grapes. This is a classical description of Pseudomonas, but somehow it's worse actually culturing it than reading about it in a textbook.

After setting up at PARC, I found the home of Richard Bruce, which is where I am staying. He is away until the 9th, and we have only ever met for a couple of hours so there is a part of me that thinks it should be odd staying in his home, but it isn't. It smells like Barry Hall's house (I don't know what smell that is except that it's familiar and comfortable) and is furnished with carved antique chairs and dressers that are cute but not so absolutely perfect that one is afraid to touch them. The walls are decorated with blue willow and delft ceramics and family photos. It is clear from the toys around that Richard and his wife have grandchildren. Several thoughtful things have been done in anticipation of my showing up. I have been directed to towels and bedding and the cupboards that contain things that could be useful to me have been left ajar with directions to use whatever I need. Despite being alone in the Bruce home, I feel warmly welcomed.

After finding my lodging I went to the Stanford Shopping center because everyone in Merced is in awe of the place. In the online ads, they say that you can find anything you need or want there. I wish there was a prize for those who find exceptions because I found two. I wanted to get titanium earrings and some Patchouli perfume from the Demeter fragrance line. I went to every jeweler, every department store, and every cosmetics store and no one had either. It wasn't a wasted trip however, because I got a great haircut while there. I think it's as good as Pat's and cost slightly less and it is only a 2 hour drive to get there instead of the 12 it takes to get to Pat. I may switch stylists permanently.

At the Stanford Shopping Center, I was amazed by the visible display of wealth of many of the people there. I have never seen anything like it before. I have been around people with old money who were good and sensible, and I have been around those who were a little snobby too. I have been around nouveau riche who were good and sensible, and some who weren't but enjoyed what they could do with money so much it was impossible to be anything but happy for them. This however was the first time that I have been around people who seem to not only believe, but actually know that their money and grooming or experience or something has elevated them to be members of an entirely different species along the lines of Homo supersapiens or something. This very clear distinction was not just a product of the way they walked, talked, dressed and carried themselves, or even the fact that their dogs were more perfectly groomed than most supermodels. It was the way that everyone who wasn't an H. supersapiens was simply invisible to those who were. I happened to get in the way of an H. supersapien while I was waiting at La Baguette for my Greek sandwich to get toasted. I happened to be in front of the place where her coffee eventually appeared. Then when I moved out of her way so she could get her coffee, I was in the way of the honey that she wanted to liberally pour into her coffee. I moved out of her way again. It was strange to be in the situation where I was simultaneously invisible, but also in the way of a person. She communicated to me that I was in her way with no bodily sign that she acknowledged my presence and with the fewest words possible. (I honestly don't remember what she said. Perhaps "excuse me" the first time and then with a sigh or some other sound the second time.) There were a lot of people like that today. It was weird. When surrounded by snobs, I sometimes secretly want to do annoying things to upset them, but with the supersapiens it wasn't even a bit tempting. Where's the fun in being annoying if you are invisible?

I am excited for tomorrow. I am going to start generating data!!!! It will be a good day I hope.

Titanium Studs...I think they are kind of sexy

2009-07-01T14:13:00.000-07:00

So, after years of encouragement from Marie, I finally got my ears pierced. My deal was that if I could find a place with titanium piercing studs I'd do it. Amazon has a good selection of titanium earrings too so it seemed possibly worthwhile. The Merced Mall of all places had titanium studs, which made it very easy. I made the girl doing the piercing pull out a ruler and I measured the dots she put on my lobes from every reference point imaginable for about 15 minutes and then finally told her it looked good and let her go. I have so far avoided infection and have finally learned to quit catching my earrings on my clothes, purse strap and pillowcases so they don't hurt anymore.

Other recent acquisitions include 6 t-shirts

Two new pairs of jeans (that are rapidly getting too big)

And a new pair of shoes

Laura said that she'd design me like a cereal box and I think that the predesign stages are ready. (See you in August babe.) I can't wait for some artistic sensibilities to get involved.

The kids outside

2009-06-14T15:13:00.000-07:00

Mattie zooming down the driveway.

Emma's first time going down the driveway on her scooter, without using the breaks and she is

so proud, as is her mom

Emma's Shining Moment

2009-06-13T21:10:00.000-07:00

My neighbor, Kyle, has a nephew in Emma's 1st grade class. Kyle wanted to share with the class what he did at work so he showed up to tell the kids what a pilot does. He needed a volunteer and because he knew Emma was a little down, and because he is just a great guy, he picked her to be his guniea pig. Here are a few pictures someone took.

Yard Stories

2009-06-13T20:26:00.000-07:00

I have had a few requests to see pictures of my yard

since this has been my major spring project. Here it is. I pulled out most of the grass and built a patio and planted a vegetable garden in the middle and flowers on the edges. It is an ongoing project, but hope is visible.

This is the spot where I read. It is good except when my backyard neighbors are in their yard. They are really noisy and say or yell something rude every other word at least. I turn on Catholic masses and sometimes they quiet down so maybe they take the hint. However, they also quiet down when I am explaining to some of my nicer neighbors when I will be out of town, which makes me uncomfortable.

This is the view from where I read which is a Calla Lilly Bed, and which is where the yard stories begin. Jenny Vezzani is a great friend. She is also really great at home improvement projects. She had noticed the grass growing between the bricks of my porch by the screen door for a long time, so one day she just told me that she was going to come over and we were going to rebuild the back porch. We tore the whole thing apart, removed the bermuda grass, leveled it, put down weed cloth and put it back together. I was exhausted and dehydrated and made us stop and finished the project later, but she would have kept going until the whole thing was finished which would have been around midnight.

Good friend huh?

Wait the story gets better.

This is the front of my house. Notice how neatly edged everything is. This is again the work of Jenny Vezzani. She found out I did not have a line trimmer. One day (actually about a week before we rebuilt the back porch) I came home from a long hard day with too many meetings, and the Vezzanis were at my house smiling and waving and edging my lawn for me. Completely unannounced. Completely unexpected. I worked with them until we were done and offered to get them dinner, which they refused because they had lasagna in the fridge at home. Amazing! That meant more to me than I can explain.

Later, the day after my birthday (which in the tradition of my birthdays was a fairly brutal day) she showed up with a line trimmer as a birthday present for me. All criticism and fiascos and general brutality I endured on my birthday were instantly gone.

I have a picture of Jenny but not on this computer so I'll post it later.

This last picture is for you Marie. I took your sugestion and got a decorative grill for my porch. I like this one because it is both a squared circle and a wheel. I like both of those symbols and this also seemed to be about the right shape and size.

Funny thing

2009-06-11T11:49:00.000-07:00

I saw a bunny chasing a robin today. It was weird. I wasn't fast enough with the camera so I tried to recreate it.

Voila.

Saying Goodbye

2009-05-11T19:54:00.000-07:00

Here he is going through security, they stood in that line on the other side of the glass and took a bus to the plane.

Hazel seemed happy just to be there, the joys of naivety, she even cheered up some other sad wives.

After running home to get some forgotten things we had 2 minutes to get pictures and things. This was it. WE sure love you daddy and hope you are warm!

Tulip Festival

2009-04-30T15:30:00.001-07:00

We went to the tulip festival for FHE, we loved it, It's such a great place to live.We also learned the "macro" feature on the camera. Can you tell?

Color Change

2009-03-09T09:31:00.000-07:00

I took the Color Code test again yesterday. I am now red rather than blue. Before I was mostly blue with a little red, now I am red just a few points ahead of blue. Still a lot of blue in me. Have I always been red?

4 Generations

2009-02-03T10:44:00.000-08:00

Here is kind of a goofy picture (I mean, Jude's bawling, Carl is possibly giving Grandpa Barlow a noogie, etc.) of 4 generations of Barlow men. I thought you might like to see it! It has crossed my mind that if Grandpa Barlow can hang on another 25 years or so, we could do a 5 generation picture!

Love,
Hilary