Friday, October 15
Thursday, October 14
Farm Cat
These are just a few of the cats who live at our farm. Most of them are too shy to be caught, let alone cuddled. But here I'm holding Buffy, my grandma's latest pet. He's about 6 months old. When he was a baby his tail got pinched, so it's a little on the short side and has a 90 degree turn right at the end.
Fried Noodles
Despite having been (figuratively) dropped on my head and then (metaphorically speaking,) stomped on, I now have only the faintest scar and the slightest ache to remind me.
Despite it, I made pan-fried noodles tonight. Sesame, with mushrooms and onions and broccoli.
Certain changes in the "weather" aggravate the ache, make it sharper, like the pain in the knee of a rheumatic sailor. The wind changes and a whiff of sea air sets the past before my eyes. If I can't shut my eyelids fast enough the ache skips right through them into my mind and from there settles on my heart like that same old sailor settling into his chair after combing the beach all day.
The weather changed this afternoon. Despite it, I fried noodles. I ate them, too.
Tuesday, April 1
Back to Books
I've been reading books in earnest, for the first time since vet school. The scope of my current interests is so wide, and one thing leads to another so immediately, I can't seem to stick with just one or two until I'm done, which is becoming a problem.
It was bothering me that I had never read Crime and Punishment, so I checked it out of the library. I read half of it within days, and then abandoned it, though I was enjoying it, for lighter things. Just because, well, life is heavy enough without Dostoevsky, you know? I'll finish it later. I need a chart of characters and their nicknames, though.
When I want lighter things, I generally go for children's literature. This way I avoid poor quality adult stuff, but still get easy reading. Fortunately/unfortunately my latest venture led me randomly through the juvenile lit section at the library to Meindert DeJong, author of Newberry Prize Winner The Wheel on the School. I grabbed a couple of his books and cracked one open, to find a charming and alarmingly true-to-life story about barnyard violence between chickens. Chickens can really have it out for each other sometimes. The story (Along Came a Dog) was really lovely despite the blood and gore, so I was willing to move on to the next DeJong. The House of Sixty Fathers is a historical novel based on DeJong's own experience at war during the Japanese invasion of China. Now this was a traumatic story. I gave up Crime and Punishment for this horrifying tale of a child's apparently unending journey through loss, near drowning, starvation and every kind of peril?? I pushed through and loved the redeeming ending. I guess DeJong couldn't help it if it was a true story.
In the light non-fiction realm I am in the middle of Coop, a memoir my Michael Perry, who grew up on a dairy and sheep farm in the Midwest and has returned to the land with his small family. It's riotously funny, especially if you have ever participated in the artificial insemination of a cow, but even if you have not. It's also tender and important. I love it.
I am ALSO in the middle of Charles Petzold's book Code: The Hidden Language of Computer Hardware and Software. This book is making me smarter by the page. I am 84 pages in to 382, and have traversed the concepts of codes in general (braille, morse, etc), electricity in general (volts, amps, circuits, grounds), switches, telegraphs, numbering systems (base ten, base eight, base four, binary) and how to add and multiply in each of them, and have finally arrived at the bit, which allows encoding of information in formats like the UPC code... and allowed Paul Revere to use his famous "one if by land, two if by sea" code. Among other things. When I get to page 300, I will finally understand the job I did at Oracle for several years, which centered around Unicode (j/k) (well, yes, my job did center around Unicode, but I did understand it. I don't have to wait for page 300. But I will understand it better! Maybe I can get my job back. j/k again. Sort of.)
In the car I am listening to At Home, by Bill Bryson. This book came highly recommended by my sister Katie and my mom. Talk about a chronicle! By way of exploring the history of his own home and why modern homes are the way they are and have the things they have, Bryson seems to have exhaustively listed and elucidated all the ways in which life was horribly difficult from prehistory through the Victorian era, with slight improvements to quality of life appearing only at and after the turn of the 20th century. All I can say right now is that I am exceedingly glad I am not a Victorian house servant. I do recommend the book with the caveat that you should expect long accounts of drudgery. Passages about food are very interesting, as are those about clothing, and particularly about laundry and chemicals. Poor house servants.
Other reading since January 2014:
Socrates in the City, ed. by Eric Metaxas. An excellent collection of talks given by brilliant people, about Life, God, and Everything.
Glacial Lake Missoula and its Humongous Floods by David Alt. I read part of it. Always a fascinating subject, especially if you live in/visit Eastern Washington!
The Chosen by Chaim Potok. I read this once a decade or so. It never gets old. I don't know what to say about it so I will quote a review from the back of the book: "It makes you want to buttonhole strangers in the street to be certain they know it's around... It revives my sometimes fading belief in humanity. Works of this caliber should be occasion for singing in the streets and shouting from the rooftops." - Robert Cromie, Chicago Tribune, sometime prior to publication of my copy in 1967. You want to know what it's about? Two Jewish boys from different sects, baseball game, wartime, Zionism. And it's serious about those things. But that's not what it's about.
Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. I re-read and totally marked up and underlined and wrote in the margins of the first two "books." There are four. I only stopped because I was reading Crime and Punishment, and then I got distracted... I need to finish. As far as I am concerned, this book is the BOMB. It is based on talks that Lewis gave over BBC radio between 1942 and 1944. He'd been asked to explain to Britons what Christians actually believe, and instead of starting with "Jesus Christ is the Son of God who Died for our Sins..." he started with "That's my seat, I was there first..." and then "It looks, in fact, very much as if both parties had in mind some kind of Law or Rule of fair play or decent behaviour or morality or whatever you like to call it, about which they really agreed." From there he spends 30 pages working from the Law of Nature through its consequences before he presents Christianity, and he is so eminently clear and logical it's just compelling!
And some from the last several months:
In December I re-read A Tale of Two Cities. That is, I listened to it in my car, I've read it a few times, but this time just killed me. Hearing it, and hearing it voiced by an excellent reader, changed it for me. There were times when I needed it to end, because the violence was so unspeakable, and it just kept going. But that also seemed right. Because it WAS that way. Ooh. And oh, beautiful Sydney.
Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell. I think once every 20 years is about right. SO different this time --I first read it just after I graduated from high school, and missed so much. Much richer this time, much more disturbing, Scarlett that much more maddening. Rhett too. And Ashley! Be a man, Ashley! This time around I wanted to learn a lot more about reconstruction in the south, too. Hmm. I should do that. The picture in this book is sure not what I was taught in school.
Kon-Tiki by Thor Heyerdahl. You can't beat a real-life adventure story like this one! Hey, let's float on a raft across the ocean! And they did it! Read it!
That's not everything, of course, but I really should go to sleep.
It was bothering me that I had never read Crime and Punishment, so I checked it out of the library. I read half of it within days, and then abandoned it, though I was enjoying it, for lighter things. Just because, well, life is heavy enough without Dostoevsky, you know? I'll finish it later. I need a chart of characters and their nicknames, though.
When I want lighter things, I generally go for children's literature. This way I avoid poor quality adult stuff, but still get easy reading. Fortunately/unfortunately my latest venture led me randomly through the juvenile lit section at the library to Meindert DeJong, author of Newberry Prize Winner The Wheel on the School. I grabbed a couple of his books and cracked one open, to find a charming and alarmingly true-to-life story about barnyard violence between chickens. Chickens can really have it out for each other sometimes. The story (Along Came a Dog) was really lovely despite the blood and gore, so I was willing to move on to the next DeJong. The House of Sixty Fathers is a historical novel based on DeJong's own experience at war during the Japanese invasion of China. Now this was a traumatic story. I gave up Crime and Punishment for this horrifying tale of a child's apparently unending journey through loss, near drowning, starvation and every kind of peril?? I pushed through and loved the redeeming ending. I guess DeJong couldn't help it if it was a true story.
In the light non-fiction realm I am in the middle of Coop, a memoir my Michael Perry, who grew up on a dairy and sheep farm in the Midwest and has returned to the land with his small family. It's riotously funny, especially if you have ever participated in the artificial insemination of a cow, but even if you have not. It's also tender and important. I love it.
I am ALSO in the middle of Charles Petzold's book Code: The Hidden Language of Computer Hardware and Software. This book is making me smarter by the page. I am 84 pages in to 382, and have traversed the concepts of codes in general (braille, morse, etc), electricity in general (volts, amps, circuits, grounds), switches, telegraphs, numbering systems (base ten, base eight, base four, binary) and how to add and multiply in each of them, and have finally arrived at the bit, which allows encoding of information in formats like the UPC code... and allowed Paul Revere to use his famous "one if by land, two if by sea" code. Among other things. When I get to page 300, I will finally understand the job I did at Oracle for several years, which centered around Unicode (j/k) (well, yes, my job did center around Unicode, but I did understand it. I don't have to wait for page 300. But I will understand it better! Maybe I can get my job back. j/k again. Sort of.)
In the car I am listening to At Home, by Bill Bryson. This book came highly recommended by my sister Katie and my mom. Talk about a chronicle! By way of exploring the history of his own home and why modern homes are the way they are and have the things they have, Bryson seems to have exhaustively listed and elucidated all the ways in which life was horribly difficult from prehistory through the Victorian era, with slight improvements to quality of life appearing only at and after the turn of the 20th century. All I can say right now is that I am exceedingly glad I am not a Victorian house servant. I do recommend the book with the caveat that you should expect long accounts of drudgery. Passages about food are very interesting, as are those about clothing, and particularly about laundry and chemicals. Poor house servants.
Other reading since January 2014:
Socrates in the City, ed. by Eric Metaxas. An excellent collection of talks given by brilliant people, about Life, God, and Everything.
Glacial Lake Missoula and its Humongous Floods by David Alt. I read part of it. Always a fascinating subject, especially if you live in/visit Eastern Washington!
The Chosen by Chaim Potok. I read this once a decade or so. It never gets old. I don't know what to say about it so I will quote a review from the back of the book: "It makes you want to buttonhole strangers in the street to be certain they know it's around... It revives my sometimes fading belief in humanity. Works of this caliber should be occasion for singing in the streets and shouting from the rooftops." - Robert Cromie, Chicago Tribune, sometime prior to publication of my copy in 1967. You want to know what it's about? Two Jewish boys from different sects, baseball game, wartime, Zionism. And it's serious about those things. But that's not what it's about.
Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. I re-read and totally marked up and underlined and wrote in the margins of the first two "books." There are four. I only stopped because I was reading Crime and Punishment, and then I got distracted... I need to finish. As far as I am concerned, this book is the BOMB. It is based on talks that Lewis gave over BBC radio between 1942 and 1944. He'd been asked to explain to Britons what Christians actually believe, and instead of starting with "Jesus Christ is the Son of God who Died for our Sins..." he started with "That's my seat, I was there first..." and then "It looks, in fact, very much as if both parties had in mind some kind of Law or Rule of fair play or decent behaviour or morality or whatever you like to call it, about which they really agreed." From there he spends 30 pages working from the Law of Nature through its consequences before he presents Christianity, and he is so eminently clear and logical it's just compelling!
And some from the last several months:
In December I re-read A Tale of Two Cities. That is, I listened to it in my car, I've read it a few times, but this time just killed me. Hearing it, and hearing it voiced by an excellent reader, changed it for me. There were times when I needed it to end, because the violence was so unspeakable, and it just kept going. But that also seemed right. Because it WAS that way. Ooh. And oh, beautiful Sydney.
Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell. I think once every 20 years is about right. SO different this time --I first read it just after I graduated from high school, and missed so much. Much richer this time, much more disturbing, Scarlett that much more maddening. Rhett too. And Ashley! Be a man, Ashley! This time around I wanted to learn a lot more about reconstruction in the south, too. Hmm. I should do that. The picture in this book is sure not what I was taught in school.
Kon-Tiki by Thor Heyerdahl. You can't beat a real-life adventure story like this one! Hey, let's float on a raft across the ocean! And they did it! Read it!
That's not everything, of course, but I really should go to sleep.
"Look at the balloons!! Look at the doggie!!" she cried, pigtails bouncing, and she twirled in circles as her voice rose ever higher...
We had flowers! We had cupcakes! We had... balloons! Oh yes, the balloons, look at the balloons! I clapped my hands and skipped across the room. "Look at the balloons!"
My sister laughed, and then apologized immediately. I'm sorry, she said, but with your little voice, which I would NEVER make fun of, and the skipping.. it's the like the story Mom tells..."
I cut her off. She's telling a story from my baby book. I was three years old. My mom said "Emily, look, here comes Gaugie (my great-grandmother) and I responded, in great excitement, "Where's the doggy?? Where's the doggy??" It was apparently the piercing quality of my overwhelmingly excited little voice that everyone remembers. And I remind my sister of myself as a tiny child.
Now I'm 39, not 3, and I am not supposed to skip and clap about balloons or doggies. Never mind that the pink and white and polka-dot balloons (which I've always considered a big luxury) were the perfect complement to the other decor for our younger sister's baby shower, which I'd worked so hard on, or that my entire career is based on dogs. I'm not supposed to get so excited. I'm a grown-up now. I'm not supposed to be delighted by fields of wildflowers, or by frogs, or snakes, puppies or kittens. It doesn't matter how I feel. I'm not supposed to let my voice betray my emotion. And I probably shouldn't feel so much, either. If I feel awe-inspired, I should be careful not to act that way. The proper response to joy is apparently to remain still and smile sedately, like a lady, and lying in the dirt to get a closer look at something wild is simply not attractive.
Yes, I'm a grown-up now, and I'm quite capable of the seriousness required of me. I can discuss theology and philosophy and practice medicine. You can even call me Doctor, if you want. But why shouldn't I still delight in balloons and flowers and doggies and examine tiny dead crabs and seashells? Why is it unnatural that I should punctuate my days with skips and and claps when those are the appropriate markers of emotion? And if my voice were not so "young," would a little childlike freedom from a 40 year old woman be less disquieting?
Monday, October 14
They lived and died together.
3:30 am, 10 or 11 hours since my grandparents died. My migraine is gone now but I've wakened with my heart pounding too hard and too fast in my chest. There's an image from the internet stuck in my head -- my dad, cell phone to his ear (that much is so familiar), standing on the far side of my grandparents' wrecked car. He's small amid all the emergency personnel and onlookers. To consumers of the news he's just another person on the scene of a tragic accident.
The accident happened in front of my great aunt's house; she lives across from the feed store, where Grandma and Grandpa were going to buy cat food. So some of my family, who are always there on Sunday afternoons, heard the accident, looked out, and knew the car -- a distinctive royal blue Plymouth Fury, vintage 1969-ish. They called my dad, so when he got to the scene my grandma was still trapped in the car by her foot, and conscious. Grandpa had already passed.
Grandma's sister got the news from the news. Before the names were released she saw the car. No one else has a bright blue 1969 Plymouth Fury.
Those news consumers think this is a sweet story. The first responders found Grandma and Grandpa holding hands in the car. The news story featuring this detail had over 250 sweet comments and 800 likes within 6 hours of the accident. The versions on the other news stations' sites, without this detail, have no likes and no comments. I am glad the people like the story. They're crying and smiling over it. They want to die like that, with their sweetheart and best friend, they say. After being married forever. And Grandpa and Grandma truly loved each other those 60-however-many years, and none of us who knew them are surprised that they were holding hands. Of course the first thing they did was reach for each other.
It's 4:41 am and I'm cooking pasta. All I could manage last night was some hot chocolate, and I'm so hungry now.
The accident happened in front of my great aunt's house; she lives across from the feed store, where Grandma and Grandpa were going to buy cat food. So some of my family, who are always there on Sunday afternoons, heard the accident, looked out, and knew the car -- a distinctive royal blue Plymouth Fury, vintage 1969-ish. They called my dad, so when he got to the scene my grandma was still trapped in the car by her foot, and conscious. Grandpa had already passed.
Grandma's sister got the news from the news. Before the names were released she saw the car. No one else has a bright blue 1969 Plymouth Fury.
Those news consumers think this is a sweet story. The first responders found Grandma and Grandpa holding hands in the car. The news story featuring this detail had over 250 sweet comments and 800 likes within 6 hours of the accident. The versions on the other news stations' sites, without this detail, have no likes and no comments. I am glad the people like the story. They're crying and smiling over it. They want to die like that, with their sweetheart and best friend, they say. After being married forever. And Grandpa and Grandma truly loved each other those 60-however-many years, and none of us who knew them are surprised that they were holding hands. Of course the first thing they did was reach for each other.
It's 4:41 am and I'm cooking pasta. All I could manage last night was some hot chocolate, and I'm so hungry now.
Wednesday, February 25
Pathology
I am pathological. I can't stop destroying my finger. The middle finger of my right hand. When the skin gets dry around my fingernail, I start peeling it, and I just keep peeling for days. It gets deeper. It hurts. I am tired of it. I try to keep band aids on it but every time I wash my hands I need a new band aid. And the waterproof ones I bought don't stay. That's what I get for buying band-aids at the dollar store. But if you used as many as I do, you'd want to get them at the dollar store too.
Also, I am very grouchy today, and yesterday too. Only on the inside, though.
I am not sleepy so I cannot go to bed. So I cannot feel better.
Grouch.
Also, I am very grouchy today, and yesterday too. Only on the inside, though.
I am not sleepy so I cannot go to bed. So I cannot feel better.
Grouch.
Tuesday, November 11
Status
What a facebook status just can't capture:
I am 34, single. I'm a vet student in my first year. I'm as lonely as I've ever been, in certain ways -- ways that matter very much. I am heart-broken and hoping against hope. I am practicing patience as I force self-sacrifice. I live at a dark latitude in a cold climate. I find the hubbub of Starbucks unsatisfying as a substitute for the companionship of people I know and love. My heart pounds with sorrow when I look back, with apprehension when I look ahead, and my heart falls into the present as into a pit.
I am learning how to pray. I treasure the quiet company of a cat. I burn candles for their small offerings of light and warmth. I listen to the rain. I try to love.
I am 34, single. I'm a vet student in my first year. I'm as lonely as I've ever been, in certain ways -- ways that matter very much. I am heart-broken and hoping against hope. I am practicing patience as I force self-sacrifice. I live at a dark latitude in a cold climate. I find the hubbub of Starbucks unsatisfying as a substitute for the companionship of people I know and love. My heart pounds with sorrow when I look back, with apprehension when I look ahead, and my heart falls into the present as into a pit.
I am learning how to pray. I treasure the quiet company of a cat. I burn candles for their small offerings of light and warmth. I listen to the rain. I try to love.
I am an Island.
I am an Island.
The waves wash up on every side
deposit the drift
expose my roots like nerves to the salt air.
I am circled above
Lit upon
Scavenged.
The waves wash up on every side
deposit the drift
expose my roots like nerves to the salt air.
I am circled above
Lit upon
Scavenged.
Monday, November 10
Anatomically Incorrect
Oh Hey, So yeah, I started vet school, which is great except that I am Anatomically Challenged. Well, I mean, my own anatomy is mostly okay, but my ability to make sense of a canine cadaver that's been hacked up by first year vet students is not even a little bit okay.
My life for the next month is, therefore, to be devoted entirely to passing Small Animal Gross Anatomy so that at this time next year I will be a second year vet student, and not a first year for the second time.
My life for the next month is, therefore, to be devoted entirely to passing Small Animal Gross Anatomy so that at this time next year I will be a second year vet student, and not a first year for the second time.
Thinkingless
I need something to do besides watch HGTV when I don't want to think. Problem is, blogging involves thinking. I'm going to do it anyway. Besides, things that don't require thinking usually allow for thinking, and the idea is to NOT think. It's a problem. I'm not going to tell you what it is I don't want to think about. But it's not vet school, which you might have thought would be at the top of the list. It's true, vet school sucks and thinking about it is to be avoided, but at the moment it doesn't make me cry.
Today someone suggested I take up a craft such as needlework. Wow. That sounds hard on the neck. And the hands. Needlework is out. At least, needlepoint.
Is crochet a form of needlework? I think I'll bring my crochet stuff down with me after Thanksgiving, so I can either concentrate on difficult stitches or mindlessly create shapeless sheets of dropped and added stitches, over and over until I have piles of useless small textile objects.
And just like that, I'm out of things to say. Guess I'm out of practice.
Today someone suggested I take up a craft such as needlework. Wow. That sounds hard on the neck. And the hands. Needlework is out. At least, needlepoint.
Is crochet a form of needlework? I think I'll bring my crochet stuff down with me after Thanksgiving, so I can either concentrate on difficult stitches or mindlessly create shapeless sheets of dropped and added stitches, over and over until I have piles of useless small textile objects.
And just like that, I'm out of things to say. Guess I'm out of practice.
Thursday, March 27
Spongiform Bovine
I went to the farm to check on Poor Little #51, and after properly draining the fluid from her side discovered that in addition to that pocket, there is fluid (serum) distributed under her skin across the entire left side of her torso. Everywhere you touch you feel and hear a disturbingly unnatural SQUISH. It bubbles around where you push, fluid and gas mixing just as if you were pushing on a soaked sponge. The body will eventually resorb the fluid. Meanwhile, I have a Bovine Spongiform.
Wednesday, March 26
For those who are Wondering
I am re-taking OChem II at Whitworth, a far better school. I have an 88-ish percent at mid-term and must stay at or above an 80 in order to enroll in the vet school this fall. Yes, I have already been accepted and am planning to move to Pullman in August. Meanwhile I am working as a receptionist in a church office, which is very comfortable and pleasant, and affords time for blogging :-)
Cow Poke
#51 is a sweet little cow who had a c-section two weeks ago. She's had some fluid building up along the incision site, and I had planned to go to the farm today to drain it, with specific instructions from the vet as to how to open and disinfect the wound. I called my dad to let him know, and he said "Oh, Grandpa said last night that he'd poked some holes in her and drained it." Sheesh.
Saturday, June 30
A Complaint and a Plea
I want to hike. I want to camp. I want to climb. I want to go. Why don't I? That's the question everyone asks. Well, I have no one to go with. So go by yourself! Ah, it's so simple. Just go by yourself! Someone said this to me today. What I wanted him to say was Come with Me! I'll take you hiking and camping and climbing! Let's go! I didn't expect him to say that. I just wanted him to.
I'm told that if you don't have someone to go with, you just have to "have the confidence" to do it on your own.
What if it's not a confidence thing at all? What if I just don't want to do it myself? Does that lessen my desire to do it? Apparently so. Apparently if I don't just go do it, I must not really have wanted to.
There are reasons not to do these things other than lack of confidence or lack of desire. There are reasons I won't explain here.
But, this to all the people who've ever asked me why I don't or told me to just go do it myself:
I do want to go. Achingly.
Maybe I just can't go on my own. I can't go on my own. Please help me go. Please teach me what you know. Please take me with you, and let me enjoy it with you. I'll be good. I'll try hard to keep up. I won't be able to. I'll do my best. I won't complain. Don't take me all the time, just sometimes. Let me learn. Enjoy me.
I'm told that if you don't have someone to go with, you just have to "have the confidence" to do it on your own.
What if it's not a confidence thing at all? What if I just don't want to do it myself? Does that lessen my desire to do it? Apparently so. Apparently if I don't just go do it, I must not really have wanted to.
There are reasons not to do these things other than lack of confidence or lack of desire. There are reasons I won't explain here.
But, this to all the people who've ever asked me why I don't or told me to just go do it myself:
I do want to go. Achingly.
Maybe I just can't go on my own. I can't go on my own. Please help me go. Please teach me what you know. Please take me with you, and let me enjoy it with you. I'll be good. I'll try hard to keep up. I won't be able to. I'll do my best. I won't complain. Don't take me all the time, just sometimes. Let me learn. Enjoy me.
Monday, May 28
The Wind Blows Through Me
The wind blows through me and whistles as it goes... that lonesome chimney whistle that wind makes on cold nights when there should be a fire in the fireplace, but the firewood is soaked through with rain and there's no one with whom to share a fire anyway. That's the whistle the wind makes as it blows through me. So my spirit curls up on the couch in the dark, under blankets that don't keep the wind out.
My body is surely planting petunias or riding a bicycle or smiling at visitors in the driveway. My spirit crawls further under the blankets, goosebumped and blocking ears against the wind.
My body is surely planting petunias or riding a bicycle or smiling at visitors in the driveway. My spirit crawls further under the blankets, goosebumped and blocking ears against the wind.
Sunday, May 27
Wednesday, May 16
Deferrment Fulfilled
Due (mostly) to my inability to earn B's in upper-level chemistry courses, I will be deferring vet school for one year, and beginning instead in August 2008. I'm just glad I don't have to reapply. If you want to know the details, just ask me. It's a long story and one I don't feel like writing. Suffice it to say that, when life is hard, Chemistry is harder.
Saturday, May 5
tongue-tied
I haven't written in so long. Those who know me say I'm a talker. They know I'm a writer, too. But the times I talk and the times I write aren't the same. Maybe I most feel the urge to write when I can't say what's on my mind. I may not even be able to write what's on my mind, but I can't seem to talk much at all when my words have to be so carefully chosen. Writing can be edited... I'll write and make sure it's all public-worthy before I let it out. I've been singularly tongue-tied for the last several days, and it hurts to be that way. I'm not sure which comes first -- the hurt or the silence. But at any rate, enough of what I've wanted to say these few days has been checked, it seems unnatural to speak much at all. Every word is measured. The thoughts I voice seem out of context. It's not that I have a secret I can't tell. It's not that something is horribly wrong. But there's a grieving going on inside me that can't be voiced, and separated from that grief, words offered to the world shatter when they hit the air. The grief makes the words pliable, and I am comfortable speaking only to those who can hold the grief with me. AF has. TW has. They've also held out hope to me.
Friday, April 6
Sleeping Like a Baby
The doctor gave me a new anti-inflammatory, and now I sleep like a baby. Not because the medicine makes me sleep, but because it makes my pain go Almost Away. I have only a little bit of pain in the mornings now, and when I wake up I feel like I slept. Before, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck in the night. I've got a silly drowsy smile on my face because an hour from now I'll be sleeping like a baby, and it's so nice.
Tuesday, April 3
Annabelle Attacks
Annabelle is a cow. Grandpa named her. Annabelle’s a gentle cow, with dark pools for eyes and a sweet curiosity. She had a baby this morning, so this evening I visited the two of them in the pasture, intending to congratulate the mama and medicate and tag the baby. The usual welcome I give to new members of the herd. But Annabelle was feeling a little protective, and when I unceremoniously threw my arms around her daughter and threw the baby to the ground (no time for ceremony with baby cows, who can run at speed just hours after birth), Annabelle became slightly alarmed. Just enough alarmed to throw herself at me headlong – and by headlong I mean that she threw her rather long head into me with the intent of knocking me clean off the premises. I ducked my head, curled up in a ball, and waited as Annabelle used her head repeatedly against me as a sort of wrecking ball. I sang to her “Annabelle, Annabelle, it’s okay, Annabelle” and gave thanks to God Above that Annabelle has no horns. When I raised my head, my glasses had been smooshed beyond usefulness and refused to balance on my nose, and I attempted to straighten them while sitting on the calf to keep it still and whispering to Annabelle what a good mama she is. Once I could see, and Annabelle could see that I wasn’t out to kill the baby, she allowed me to tag the little girl’s ear. Annabelle’s baby is now officially #26. I let her go without her vitamin shots, for Annabelle’s sake.
Most of our mama cows are cautious but not overly worried when I tag and medicate their newborns. Annabelle, well, let’s just say Annabelle really really loves that baby. Can’t fault her for that. I’ll make a quick trip to the optometrist’s office tomorrow, and all will be well.
Most of our mama cows are cautious but not overly worried when I tag and medicate their newborns. Annabelle, well, let’s just say Annabelle really really loves that baby. Can’t fault her for that. I’ll make a quick trip to the optometrist’s office tomorrow, and all will be well.
HeartSpring
It's Spring outside and inside me. As the ground swells with growth and life my heart swells with hope and I wait, impatiently, for the next bloom, of flower or friend.
Quiz Show
I've taken General Chemistry, 3 quarters, and been graded each time. I've taken Organic Chemistry, 2 quarters, and been graded each time. Yesterday I began Biochemistry. Today, I was given a quiz by my Biochemistry professor on everything I have ever or may have ever been taught in any of my previous chemistry courses. And I will be graded on this. Why? This professor should grade me on what he teaches me. Not on what others have supposed to have taught me. I'm pretty ticked off.
Tuesday, March 27
Spring Break Blues
Today I've got the Spring Break Blues. I should be out adventuring, and instead I'm inside looking out on the rain. I'm in pain and curling up on the couch with a heating pad on my shoulders, and I want to be out with the sunshine on my shoulders. It's much easier to ignore pain when it's sunny outside, or when I've got someone to laugh with. Somebody, please take me out and away from here!
Friday, March 23
Bullishness
Most of the cows are just about to calve, and soon the pasture will serve as nursery to 2 or 3 dozen calves with aunties babysitting and cousins gamboling on the hillsides.
One cow, though, is in heat. A cow in heat has misted herself with her best perfume, donned her most alluring set of spots, and when she swings her hips she turns a bull into 2000 pounds of sheer stumbling idiocy and headlong determination to "attend" to that cow wherever she goes.
Problem: We have 6 bulls on the place. To be accurate, only 2 of them have hit the 1-ton mark. The other four are around a year old and at 300 or 400 pounds each just THINK they are really big and impressive. They should have been steers by now (they shudder to think), but in the backward world of Farming with Floyd, such a thing would never happen.
So, this poor (?) cow has an entourage of 6 bulls, or 2 bulls and 4 young whippersnappers, chasing her around the property for days at a time. You might think we could put the bulls in a corral. You should see what a bull can do to a corral when he decides he doesn't want to be there anymore. You might think we could put the cow in a different pasture. Well, maybe if it were a mile or so away.
As it is the cow plays hard-to-get for several days and the men and boys in chase expend most of their energy showing each other up and telling fabled stories of former conquests before any of them is actually beckoned into the thicket (I wish they were so discreet).
As it is, there remains a strange parade ever-marching, criss-crossing the fields, stopping here and there for a minor tussel among the boys, where one loses a horn and another finds out he's not so big as he thought he was... but he forgets all that soon enough, when a sleek, spotted bovine thing of beauty goes waltzing by...
One cow, though, is in heat. A cow in heat has misted herself with her best perfume, donned her most alluring set of spots, and when she swings her hips she turns a bull into 2000 pounds of sheer stumbling idiocy and headlong determination to "attend" to that cow wherever she goes.
Problem: We have 6 bulls on the place. To be accurate, only 2 of them have hit the 1-ton mark. The other four are around a year old and at 300 or 400 pounds each just THINK they are really big and impressive. They should have been steers by now (they shudder to think), but in the backward world of Farming with Floyd, such a thing would never happen.
So, this poor (?) cow has an entourage of 6 bulls, or 2 bulls and 4 young whippersnappers, chasing her around the property for days at a time. You might think we could put the bulls in a corral. You should see what a bull can do to a corral when he decides he doesn't want to be there anymore. You might think we could put the cow in a different pasture. Well, maybe if it were a mile or so away.
As it is the cow plays hard-to-get for several days and the men and boys in chase expend most of their energy showing each other up and telling fabled stories of former conquests before any of them is actually beckoned into the thicket (I wish they were so discreet).
As it is, there remains a strange parade ever-marching, criss-crossing the fields, stopping here and there for a minor tussel among the boys, where one loses a horn and another finds out he's not so big as he thought he was... but he forgets all that soon enough, when a sleek, spotted bovine thing of beauty goes waltzing by...
Friday, March 16
Toxic Chemicals in Use
In my brain, that is. OChem is killing me. Here's the deal. Any vet school prerequisite that I complete after I've been granted admission has to be completed with a 3.0 or higher. No problem, right? I can count on two fingers all the times I've earned less than a 3.0. Why would I have any trouble getting a 3.0 in OChem? Well, because it's OCHem. Still, had I completed OChem one quarter earlier, there would not be a problem. Life would be good. Even with a 2.5 or so, I would still have easily been admitted. My cumulative GPA would have made OChem a blip on the screen. But since WSU decided to admit me a month before I would have completed OChem, now anything less than a 3.0 means either retaking the course over summer, or having the offer of admission rescinded. So OChem is killing me.
I'm trying SO HARD. I think most people don't get it. Don't understand that I am really not getting this stuff. That I can't find anyone to really sit down and help me. Everyone seems to think someone else could do it, or that I don't really need help as badly as I think I do. They smile and say "oh, you'll do fine. I know you can do it."
I study in every way I can find. I buy extra books and flashcards and study guides. I ask for help from the professor, from classmates, from friends, from tutors at another school. I study and study. And I've improved all the way from the high 3o percents to the low 70's! Well, super. a 73 is just the same as a 37, at this point. Both are failing grades where the vet school is concerned.
I tried to study today and succeeded only in lying in front of the wood stove staring at my books. I have three more study days before the final and honestly see very little point in studying at all. I've emailed my professor twice in the last three days and had no response. I've called ten times and got his voicemail. I called my friend, a Chemistry Professor at another school, but he has more important things to do. Which is okay, I mean, whichever things he chooses to do are the more important things, right? I just wish he would choose to help me. I need help.
OChem is killing me.
I'm trying SO HARD. I think most people don't get it. Don't understand that I am really not getting this stuff. That I can't find anyone to really sit down and help me. Everyone seems to think someone else could do it, or that I don't really need help as badly as I think I do. They smile and say "oh, you'll do fine. I know you can do it."
I study in every way I can find. I buy extra books and flashcards and study guides. I ask for help from the professor, from classmates, from friends, from tutors at another school. I study and study. And I've improved all the way from the high 3o percents to the low 70's! Well, super. a 73 is just the same as a 37, at this point. Both are failing grades where the vet school is concerned.
I tried to study today and succeeded only in lying in front of the wood stove staring at my books. I have three more study days before the final and honestly see very little point in studying at all. I've emailed my professor twice in the last three days and had no response. I've called ten times and got his voicemail. I called my friend, a Chemistry Professor at another school, but he has more important things to do. Which is okay, I mean, whichever things he chooses to do are the more important things, right? I just wish he would choose to help me. I need help.
OChem is killing me.
Saturday, March 10
I'm In!
The College of Veterinary Medicine at Washington State University is pleased to offer me membership in the Class of 2011!
Saturday, February 24
Vet School Interview
I interviewed at WSU's College of Veterinary Medicine on Wednesday, and will be notified by the end of next week if I am accepted. Are you nervous?
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