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Pathology

2009-02-25T00:01:00.000-08:00

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.

Status

2008-11-11T18:10:00.000-08:00

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 an Island.

2008-11-11T17:48:00.000-08:00

I am an Island.
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.

Anatomically Incorrect

2008-11-10T20:38:00.001-08:00

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.

Thinkingless

2008-11-10T20:17:00.000-08:00

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.

Spongiform Bovine

2008-03-27T11:50:00.000-07:00

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.

For those who are Wondering

2008-03-26T12:12:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-26T12:00:00.000-07:00

#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.

A Complaint and a Plea

2007-06-30T23:33:00.000-07:00

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.

Fried Noodles

2007-06-26T17:46:00.000-07:00

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.

The Wind Blows Through Me

2007-05-28T21:16:00.000-07:00

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 Eyes

2007-05-27T22:30:00.000-07:00

Find more of my photos on Flickr.

Fulfillment Deferred

2007-05-16T12:26:00.000-07:00

Oh, I am so tired of waiting.

Deferrment Fulfilled

2007-05-16T12:21:00.000-07:00

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.

tongue-tied

2007-05-05T20:56:00.000-07:00

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.

Yellow Bells and Daffodills

2007-04-06T22:19:00.000-07:00

They're here. I'm so glad.

Sleeping Like a Baby

2007-04-06T21:52:00.000-07:00

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.

Annabelle Attacks

2007-04-03T23:16:00.000-07:00

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.

HeartSpring

2007-04-03T14:06:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-03T14:01:00.000-07:00

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.

Spring Break Blues

2007-03-27T10:47:00.000-07:00

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!

Bullishness

2007-03-23T16:52:00.000-07:00

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...

Toxic Chemicals in Use

2007-03-16T23:17:00.000-07:00

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 In!

2007-03-10T13:08:00.000-08:00

The College of Veterinary Medicine at Washington State University is pleased to offer me membership in the Class of 2011!

Vet School Interview

2007-02-24T00:25:00.000-08:00

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?

My Clothes Hurt.

2006-11-13T18:20:00.000-08:00

My clothes are hurting me. They pull on my shoulders and push on my skin and remind me that everything hurts. That's what I hate about November.

It's not just clothes. My seatbelt pushes on me and the desks at school punch me in the leg when I walk by, and it keeps hurting and hurting.

Once, I think it was in October or maybe September, I sat still in a hot bath and for 15 minutes I didn't feel any pain. I think that was a lifetime record. At least a decade's record. But now it's November, so no more pain-free quarters-of-hours for me, until at least June, I would think.

It's the weather. It hurts me. That's what I hate about November.

Gone with the Wind

2006-11-12T00:19:00.000-08:00

I HATE wonderful books. Why should they be so heart- wrending? Why should I have stolen hours from my life over days and weeks, late into schoolnights, in preference to my studies, to have my heart broken over people I don't even like? Who can like Scarlett? "One of fiction's great idiots," my mother called her the other day. Throughout the first 700 pages I was angry with Scarlett, and now, at page 733, I'm just heartbroken for her, and that is not fair!

And then, who can help liking Rhett? During the first 400 pages I swear, my heart almost pitter-pattered over him. But I don't even want to like him. The last 300 pages had me on a rollercoaster ride of I-love-him-I love-him-nots over Rhett; I'd thought that it would be easy to not love a man like Rhett: not only is he a scoundrel, unscrupulous, cruel and cowardly, he's FICTIONAL! And here I am, pouring my heart into cyberspace, tears rolling down my face, glasses fogging up unromantically over poor Captain Butler's unrequited love. Why? Not because he's dashing, charming, rich and mysterious. There's something so NONfictional about Rhett, unwritten but not untold, raw.

It's midnight and the unrequited love is mine, the sheer idiocy is mine, the pain of heartbreak is mine, and the distinction between fiction and nonfiction has vanished. Because everything that Scarlett is is REAL and everything that Rhett is is TRUE and they are both made up of what I am and what YOU are and so the heartbreak is just as REAL and TRUE as any, and it's MY heartbreak, and it really hurts.

Dinner Parties of Yore

2006-11-03T13:13:00.000-08:00

I rarely think of my time in California as "the good old days." And really, I'm not thinking that way now, either. But there are a few things I miss, and one of them is friends. Friends who attend dinner parties. I used to host parties several times a year and have easily 20 to 50 guests. Now in order to get any guests at all, I have to borrow my sister's friends. Don't get me wrong -- I like my sister's friends. But it would be awfully nice to have a few of my own. The kind that will actually hang out, do stuff, come over for dinner, whatever.

One of my favorite memories is of the infamous Menlo Park Tortilla Party. We ate legendary tacos, wrapped burritos with my own homemade tortillas, and blended strawberry margaritas to our hearts' content. And there were lots and lots of people. Everyone, in fact. And a pinata. With a tilde, even. I'm too lazy to go find an n with a tilde right now. The important thing to remember is: John Fedak (Large Polish Guy) + Blindfold + Baseball Bat = DANGER!

I loved the small parties too, like the one where we played Trivial Pursuit and Peter said to the other team "Are you people Feigning Ignorance!?!?" He just couldn't believe they didn't know the answer to "on what continent does the equator run through 7 countries) right off the top of their heads. He doesn't know he's extraordinary. I mean, Lisa was on the other team, and she's pretty extraordinary herself! But if you don't have a political map of the world emblazoned on your brain, you might have to think about whether it's Asia or Africa. And is Eurasia a continent for Trivial Purposes? Which is it? Are you Feigning Ignorance!?!?!?

I loved the Christmas party where we Roasted Chestnuts on an Open Fire. We had no idea what we were doing. But they turned out to be quite yummy!

I loved the Halloween party where I made witches' brew and it steamed mysteriously all night. It was cold out, so I made my favorite Golden Potato Soup, which is almost mashed potatoes with lots of really good stuff mixed in and it makes you happy. To accompany the soup I served the famous Beaudry-family Dinner Rolls, and when Santosh arrived to find them all eaten up he grieved the loss of the precious "bread-rolls," as he always called them. Ivo brought Cathy, dressed as a Cat, and now they're married. Steve dressed as a dead person, I think, and made little Nathan the Bumble Bee cry. I was myself at age 8, complete with pigtails and bare feet. And the whole garage was transformed into a bean-bag lounge with George's Ginormous Bean Bag. And, that's the night I met Conrad, aka Superman, now one of my favorite friends.

One of the last parties of that era was the Spring Chicken party. It was springtime, and I served my mom's Oven Fried Chicken with Hot Baking Powder Biscuits and Fresh Mashed Potatoes. So it was Spring Chicken and it was Good. And most importantly, there were people. Lots of people. And the people were my friends.

And now, I'm lonely.

Tomorrow, people will come, and I'll make calzones, and it'll be reminiscent of the first Calzone Party of Almost Mythical Proportions, which included All Three of the O'Neills in One Place at One Time, the Literary Treasure "Ode to a Calzone" and Head-Banging that Left us All with Perfect Posture the Next Day in Church.

But it won't be the same. I just wish I didn't have to borrow friends. They are nice friends. But I'd like to have a few of my very own again.

Heard in the Hallway

2006-10-30T13:52:00.000-08:00

Professor: Moles everywhere!
Botanist: They're wonderful!
Professor: They're terrible! They stick to your respiratory tract and goop things up!
Botanist: That's true....that reminds me of something.
(returns to her office, emerges with an old, dog-eared book.)

Question: What was the book about?

Wire: a Wardrobe Essential

2006-09-17T01:13:00.000-07:00

My Grandpa is, well, thrifty. He uses things until they are worn out. Or, rather, until they disappear. Not because they've been lost, or someone has stolen them, or thrown them away. They disappear because they have actually been used until there are no atoms left in them. Seriously. Some things appear to exist continually, but in reality, each fiber, each molecule, yes, each atom, is actually replaced through time until the thing now is not at all the thing it was at its creation. Take Grandpa's belt. Yesterday, I was standing in the kitchen waiting for Grandpa to get the front half of his body out of the refrigerator so that I could find whatever it was he was looking for in there. It was the pork and beans right in the front. But the point is, while I was waiting, I was left to look at the back half of him, and my eyes settled on his belt. What used to be a belt. It's still partly a belt. But it's composed not so much of leather anymore, as of other elements such as, well, duct tape, of course, but also less common belt-making materials like the common staple. Staples. Hmm.

That put me in mind of grandpa's long underwear. Not something I really like to think about. But a while back when he was gone on a bus trip to Tuscon, which is not where he ended up, by the way, I collected all his clothes and subjected them to a couple of long trips through the washing machine. If I couldn't recognize an object as a known article of clothing within 30 seconds or so of studying it, I discarded it (shhhh, don't tell!), but if it still gave the general impression of some thing I'd heard of, such as long underwear, I kept it. This long underwear, well, most of it looked pretty ok. It was the union-suit type, which buttons up the front. But this set was missing some buttons. Now, I've known plenty of men to replace buttons, particularly less visible ones, with safety pins. And at first glance, it seemed grandpa had taken the same course. But upon closer examination, I found that he'd gone a step further, back to the basic element, the essence of the safety pin: wire. His long underwear was wired together. With wire. Wire. Grandpa stores wire of various gauges and tensile strengths, and also rust-levels, in strategic places across the farm. If you need a piece, you're sure to find one to your exact specification within 20 feet of where you stand. Just check the nearest fence post, and if that fails, try the lower branches of a nearby tree. You should find several loops of wire at the ready for reuse. Safety pins, on the other hand, are not so easy to come by. You might even have to find Grandma's sewing box, or at least venture into the house, to find one of those.

Perhaps the most important article of clothing in Grandpa's wardrobe is that garment known as the "coverall." Grandpa has many pairs of coveralls. Some long sleeved, some bibbed, some insulated, some light-weight. What do they have in common? They share an ever increasing ratio of duct tape to original textile content. Duct tape appears at first in certain zones, particularly in the thigh region, where tools are apt to cut or tear at the fabric, and hay bails chafe at the skin, and at the knees, where hours of crawling under farm machinery take their toll. Since duct tape is basically indestructible stuff, it is natural that the areas between duct taped zones wear out long before the tape itself, and soon the taped zones begin to merge. In the end, a garment entirely composed of duct tape and entirely devoid of the cotton which gave it its shape emerges and stands free, grease-covered, manure-covered, beloved.

Life or Death for the Zinnias

2006-09-17T00:41:00.000-07:00

After a couple of weeks of relaxation california-style, I'm back home and adjusting to life in Chattaroy. Where it's already freezing at night, so that I have spent several hours in the last two days building an elaborate tent around my dad's zinnia bed to preserve it from the frost. Dad can't bear to lose his zinnias to the September frost when October will roll around nice and warm and pose no threat to the blossoms. I remember the time that Great-Grandpa Beaudry was amazed at our flowers having lasted until Thanksgiving, and I think Dad's been trying to repeat that performance ever since. Never mind that the weather of that fall has not been repeated since. Anyway, Dad is in Reno for a visit, and that leaves me and Grandpa Nordhagen to protect the zinnias. I wouldn't have put much effort into it, but Grandpa was determined, and since I was here, there was no escape for me. A structure resembling a tent, formed from 8-foot steel t-posts formed into cradles for a pine ridgepole, various tarps and many lengths of orange bailing twine, now squats over the flowerbed like a clumsy giant attempting to protect Thumbelina. It's quite possibly a lost cause. The other possibility is that because I spent so many hours erecting this monument to floral preservation, the weather will remain warm just to spite me. Whatever the weather does, I'm not unwrapping those flowers. Let them huddle in the dark until Dad gets back on Monday... I can't bear another hour of Grandma's insistent "Now be careful, don't break off that flower stalk!" at 30 second intervals, and followed regularly by Grandpa's "Honey, we may ruin a few, but we're saving hundreds!." The first 20 iterations on this included my interjection, directed at Grandpa: "She's just saying we don't need to break more than we have to." For the next 20, I turned my efforts to calming Grandma: "Don't worry, Grandma, I'm being really careful, not many are being hurt." That was yesterday. Today began with a call from Grandpa, just wondering if I'd uncovered the flowers, but not too much, because it'd be colder tonight. Early afternoon brought the old green pickup roaring into the vicinity for a load of water (yes, water), and as I opened the gate for it to head back to the water spigot at the barn, Grandpa stopped and reviewed the entire flower/frost situation again, exhorting me to wrap those flowers up tight. Before sunset Katie and I went out to secure the general floral well-being, and found our ears turning toward the road as a green-pickup-like din announced the presence, yet again, of our grandparents. Had they come solely to ensure that the flowers were properly attended to? Did they really have that time to spare, between the escapades of their cattle and the county-wide efforts at herding the bovine rebels back home several times a day? No, in fact they'd come for more water. Water is instrumental in keeping the cows home. It's complicated. I'll tell you later. Anyway, we further discussed the dangers of ice crystals and the potential of the southwest wind to aid us in averting catastrophic zinnia death while the water barrels were filled, waved good-bye, and went back to tying tarp to tarp to fence to post to house to brick to log to tarp until, well after dark, we retired to the comfort of hot fudge and scrabble by the wood stove. Let the flowers live or die, I wash my hands of the whole affair.

Cesarean Satisfaction

2006-06-25T15:46:00.000-07:00

Several months ago we started watching one of the cows -- a very small heifer (a heifer is a cow who's never had a calf) who looked hugely pregnant. Since grandpa doesn't keep track of these things, we had no idea how pregnant she really was. We discussed inducing labor to get the baby out before it got too big, but we waited, instead. And waited, and waited. Finally, three weeks ago, after nearly every other cow had calved, she went into labor. And went nowhere. She pushed for hours, and then my dad called and said they were going to have to try to pull the calf. That means, yes, you pull on the calf to get it out. You reach inside and loop chains around the calf's legs, and then brace yourself against the cow and pull as hard as you can. Well, a couple of neighbors came down to help, and they pulled and pulled, and that calf just would not come. We told grandpa it would have to be a c-section, but he just couldn't get used to the idea. Those vets, they charge a lot of money! They pulled some more and we all heard a big popping sound. They stopped pulling. Who knew what that sound meant. Had they broken the baby's legs? The mother's pelvis? Had the chain just slipped and popped? We called the vet and arranged to meet him at the clinic with the cow. This was friday night... of course Miss Shorty had to wait until the weekend to go into labor. Dad ran home for his truck and then back up to the neighbor's for a trailer. Shorty wouldn't get up, so they dragged her (she's that small) into the trailer. With lots of prodding at the clinic we got her up and out, tied her to a panel in the clinic barn, and went to work. We had the whole county there... my dad and I and two neighbors and the vet and the vet tech. We were all doubtful as to whether that baby was still alive, after hours of labor. The doctor reached in and found a pelvis so small that only the calf's front feet fit through it. The head is supposed to follow the front feet, and there was just no way. It had to be surgery. And so, a few minutes later, the doctor pulled out a calf by its hind feet, its head smacked on the floor, we all held our breath, I cleared the mucus from her mouth, and she breathed... and then so did we. I rubbed her down and she was much healthier than anyone had expected. To make the rest of this long story short, mama's fine, baby's fine, she's a pretty little girl, and the pair are now known as "Shortcake and Strawberry." So, in the end, I'm satisfied, and even grandpa is, too. Now he calls baby Strawberry "a miracle, you know."

Easter

2006-04-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

On Easter we were talking to Jakob on the phone. He's almost 5. He said "At church today I got a Easter egg but I learned about Jesus but I got a Easter egg and it had jelly beans in it!"

Andrew, who's 3, told us that "Jesus died. But he had a lot of blood."

I've heard that several kids, ranging from age 6 to 13, want to know whether Jesus has two birthdays, since he came alive on Christmas and on Easter.

My sister-in-law Ari is taking an MCAT prep course. They got out early to watch the Superbowl, but they had a test on Easter Sunday. Whatever.

I've discovered that a lot of people don't even know what Easter is. All this talk about the Easter Bunny and no talk at all about what bunnies symbolize. For those of you who don't know, Easter is the day that Jesus was resurrected after having been crucified. He died on Friday, rose on Sunday.

Cow in the Kitchen

2006-04-14T22:41:00.000-07:00

You know how some women like to decorate their kitchens with cute-ified little geese, or pigs, or cows? Well I don't like that. I decorate my kitchen with the real thing. Fiona the tiny twin calf came to my house on March 10, and stayed in a box in the kitchen for 10 days. She had to be taught to drink from a bottle. She started running a fever, and have to have nasty injections. She "scoured," which means her digestive system was unhappy and I had to deal with the consequences. Let's just say I washed about 50 loads of towels in those ten days. Most frustrating, she didn't grow. At two weeks of age she'd gained one pound.... 35 pounds to 36. Eventually Fiona moved outside... on the patio or in the yard when it was sunny, and in a large kennel in the garage when it was raining or dark and cold. All in all, she was here until the day after she turned one month old. She weighs about 45 pounds now, and is in a pen with two other orphan calves up at the farm.

I miss her a lot; she loved to scamper around in the yard and play. She gamboled like a lamb. She liked the dogs. She sucked on my pajamas, my fingers, my shoes, my nose, anything she could get her little lips on. She learned to eat grain and walked around with bits of it stuck to her nose. Once she took off running so fast that when she tried to make a turn she totally wiped out in the dirt. That was pretty great. She learned to climb the back steps because she wanted to come in the house and get more milk. She loved the fresh spring grass. She ate all my tulips. Now, she's in a muddy corral, and it makes me sad.

Fiona Comes to Visit

2006-04-14T22:32:00.000-07:00

on March 10th I drove up to the farm to check on things. Calving season was getting started and the cows required frequent checks. I drove up along Hamilton road so I could check the south fenceline, where cows often go to calve. Sure enough, there was "Feisty" with a wet, wobbly baby. As I got closer I detected the two front feet of another baby on the way... twins! It was snowing and raining and mudding and sunshining, as it does in March, and as I watched, baby number two plopped right out into the mud. What a welcome to the world. Twin girls. I called for help and got started rubbing the babies dry. Strangely, Feisty showed no interest in them, while another cow, Jumbo, insisted on cleaning the babies and (you won't like this part) eating the afterbirth. I kept swatting her away and eventually we got the calves somewhat dry. I got wetter and wetter. These babies were teeny tiny, and it soon became clear that they couldn't be left alone with their mama. So after a lot of rigamarole, we ended up carrying the calves in our arms and trying to get the mother to follow, up to the corral. She didn't have enough milk for two, even if she wanted to feed both, so the big twin stayed with Feisty, and the little one came home to my kitchen.

Chantilly, Discontinued

2006-04-14T22:31:00.000-07:00

Scroll down, back a few months, and you'll see a picture of my calf, Chantilly. Well, she died. Just up and died, soon after that picture was taken. Don't know why. Just died.

Revival, RPMs, and Respect

2006-04-14T22:10:00.000-07:00

Time to bring back the blog.
Yeah, I know it's been a year or so. Whatever. We'll just start with today.

Today I took my car to the Subaru dealer for an oil change. I had a couple of questions for the service manager. For instance, why is there a pattern of recurring corrosion on my battery? And why, when last I was there, did they not properly clean that up, even though they charged me for cleaning it? I also wanted to ask about the possibility of uneven tread wear on my tires. My friend Sam had noticed it. I said to Tom, or Bob, or whatever his name was, that I had replaced two tires at different times. Before I could continue and explain that I was already fully aware of the ramifications of running a 4WD with a limited slip differential on tires with differing diameters, he interrupted loudly with "[ignorant girl!] On These Cars, when you replace One Tire, you replace All Four Tires..." So I interrupted him right back with "I Understand that Running my Car on Tires of Different Diameters...blah blah blah and I Also Understand that the Manufacturer States the Range within which the Diameters are Close Enough blah blah blah... and I Have Measured the Tread and Diameters of All of the Tires to Ensure that they are Acceptable blah blah blah." So then he shut up. I said, "so could you check out that wear pattern for me?" and he said "well uneven wear can only be an alignment problem and..." and I said "and how much would that cost me?" and he said "$99" and I said "Why?" And he said "Because tire alignment here costs 99.95" and I said "Yes, but why? I'm sure I can get it done for considerably less elsewhere, so that's what I'll do." For some reason, at that point he started being nice and acting like I was not an ignorant girl. He said they would really spend some time on that "battrie" as he called the battery, and make sure it was done right. When I came back to pick up the car, he had sure enough spent some time on the battrie, and had had the guys replace one of the bolts and check the levels, etc. And my car was cleaner than they'd ever made it before, and then even vacuumed inside, which they've never done before. So, the moral of the story is, show me some R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

Worms

2005-08-23T19:55:00.000-07:00

I just counted 18 cats in the semi-feral "family" at our farm. Goodness Gracious, how will we ever catch up. The activity of the day was to rescue them from certain death by starvation. The method was to de-worm them. They are emaciated because roundworms in their tummies are eating up their food. Not very nice. Not usually like that. So, armed with a bottle of liquid de-worming medicine and a couple of cans of soft cat food, I went to work. I divided the cat food into individual snacks and laced each portion with the proper dose of medicine, adjusted according to the size of the target cat. With 5 portions at a time on a dinner plate, I entered the fray: those few cats who are not terrified of humans attacked the plate immediately. My grandma and I used a spatula to keep one cat to one portion, as much as possible. That was interesting, and left approximately 2 doses on the plate. Apparently only 3 of the cats were not too terrified to approach the plate. Now, grandma used whatever she could find (metal pans, her feet) to fend off those bold kitties while I coaxed some of their terrified but desperately hungry siblings to eat their portions while I stood at arm's length. 5 down, 12 to go (one is too young for medicine). We repeated this process with another plate of 5 portions, but the less-terrified cats, having tasted the yummy treats now, were only slightly cautious as they approached for seconds. We swatted and kicked (gently of course) while mewing and cajoling the next set of fearful felines. Cali, a beautiful calico who never lets me pet her, came back again and again and didn't seem to notice my hand on her back at all. Ramses, who has never been touched by a human in all his two years, remains untouched but managed to get at least his fair share off the plate. And so it went, until finally I'd administered 13 doses of de-wormer, one each to Cali, Mama, Buffy, Tiger, Peanut, Ramses, Heidi, George, Tommy, Tommy II, Blue Monster, Fancy (aka Mona Lisa), and Goldie. I could not get the black kitty to come near, and I never saw Toby or Toby II or Hilda. These cats, by the way, have names not because they are pets but because we need ways to refer to them other than "you know, the one that looks like the mama cat but doesn't have the white mark" and "that light orange one that looks egyptian" and "that stupid blue-grey tomcat that's beating up all the others." So far this year I've found homes for Blue Kitty (offspring of the Blue Monster) and Toby III, and I've had Heidi spayed and Ivan neutered (and he moved to my house) and now Peanut is going to a new home, and I have vouchers to get Mama cat and Cali spayed next. I have to admit that we do have a special fondness for George (he's fixed, so not a problem), and Heidi and Goldie and Buffy and Mama. We would like Fancy if we could catch her and tame her, but we can't. But she's awfully pretty.

2005-08-22T13:01:00.000-07:00

Orphan

Sign and Song

2005-06-17T15:37:00.000-07:00

There's a sign at a business on Northwest Boulevard that has said, for several days, "Every new beginning is another beginning's end." It's a paraphrase of a line from the song Closing Time: "Every new beginning is some other new beginning's end." Well, that's patently untrue! It's not even remotely logical, nor does it comply with human experience! I was so pleased when today I drove past the sign; someone has changed it to read "Every new beginning is another beginning."

Antipolynomialism

2005-06-17T14:55:00.000-07:00

I object to the polynomial invasion of my mind. Unwanted polynomials interfere with my thoughts, rendering me baffled and bewildered, unsure of my own identity. Last night I dreamt a polynomial poem. It was a poem (or a polynomial?) in the fourth degree, and it was truly beautiful. If only I could remember it and write it down for you. I know, dubitable as it may sound to you, that that polynomial poem was really another attempt (by the math faculty of the universe) to gain control of my faculties, to make me believe that math is a good thing.

2005-05-19T18:27:00.000-07:00

Bumble

2005-05-15T20:24:00.000-07:00

Checking the Herd

Chantilly

2005-05-15T20:15:00.000-07:00

This is my baby calf, Chantilly. I got a halter for her, I'm going to tame her and feed her apples and she will follow me around.

Hot Wire

2005-05-15T20:10:00.000-07:00

This is what I look like after I try so hard to avoid the barbed wire that I touch the electric wire instead. Ow! Gosh! Sheesh!

Spring Pine

2005-05-14T19:48:00.000-07:00

The pine trees are in bloom. I know, you don't think pine trees have flowers. Well, they do. And they are just starting to spread pollen everywhere. Soon there will be a fine yellow dust on everything. Everything.

2005-05-14T18:54:00.000-07:00

Lilac Blooms

2005-05-14T18:53:00.000-07:00

Wild Berries

2005-05-14T18:48:00.000-07:00

Love Birds

2005-05-14T18:46:00.000-07:00

Bleeding Heart

2005-05-14T18:42:00.000-07:00

Dandelion

2005-05-14T18:41:00.000-07:00

Carter

Garbage

2005-05-14T18:27:00.000-07:00

My Grandpa keeps everything. Everything. And my Grandma gets tired of keeping everything. And we get tired of it too. When they used to have pigs, the pigs ate all the food garbage. Everything that could be burned was burned in the wood stove. A lot of things are still burned in the wood stove, but when it comes to food garbage, well, grandma fills her bucket and carries out to the field and buries it. In the field. With a broken shovel. OK, um, my grandmother is 80 years old and she has to carry her garbage into a field and bury it! So, my mom checked to see if the garbage truck goes by the farm. And it does. So, she asked my grandma if she would like to have garbage service. Grandma's first question: "Would they take food garbage and tin can lids?" My GOSH! The poor woman didn't even KNOW that they accept food garbage! Then she said she doesn't know if Grandpa would approve. I'm pretty darn sure he wouldn't. But if she does get garbage service, Grandma says, she'll try to sneak stuff into the garbage can! Needless to say, we are getting her garbage service. And if Grandpa objects, my advice to Grandma is to say "Hey! That is MY garbage, so you just leave it alone!!"

2005-03-24T00:29:00.000-08:00

Ivan-Honey

Report Card

2005-03-23T23:29:00.000-08:00

I got my second-quarter grades today:

Chemistry: 3.8
Physics: 4.0

Very satisfying.

Ivan the Terrible

2005-03-19T23:46:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time there was a Terrible Cat. He was terribly ugly, had terribly long and tangled fur, his ears were terribly mangled, so much that one of them was just gone. And finally, all of the small rodents in the vicinity found him Terribly Frightening. And so, he came to be known as Ivan the Terrible Cat. Ivan had beautiful blue eyes. Well, they were blue, anyway, but they were crossed. Which added to the generally terrible impression. Oh, and he smelled terrible, too.

A fair maiden once happed upon Ivan during a walk in the country (OK, so he was in the yard at my grandparents' house, where he had taken up permanent residence, and I am not exactly a fair maid, I guess, but, well, you know, it makes the story so much nicer to read). This fair maid greeted the Terrible Beast as if he were a babe in white cotton (rather than a tomcat in mats of cat hair, dust, hay, weeds, and that smell that tomcats have, you know)and took him in her arms (and suffered only minor injuries when he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her). She wrapped him in satin (shoved him into a wire chicken cage) and held him close (stuck him in the trunk of her car) as she cried over his wounds (sang along with the radio all the way home).

The Terrible Beast, you see, had terrible open wounds behind each ear ...or what once were ears... and at this point it become impossible to romanticize, so forget the parenthetical interjections of reality; I'll just get on with it:

I took the cat home to my parents house completely against his will, and put him in a dog crate on the front porch. I don't know if you've ever smelled a tomcat in all his, um, glory, but it's not a smell you want to introduce into your house, really, if you can help it. So, there he sat on the porch, until I could take him in to the vet. But I didn't want to spend money on an office visit when I knew what was wrong with the cat's ears: mites. Ear mites are lovely little critters that live in the ears of some dogs and cats, and make things generally so miserable that the host would rather scratch his ears OFF of his HEAD than continue having ears with mites in them. This cat, who my grandparents actually call Whitey, not Ivan, has through the years lost large portions of his ears to fights and mights. I mean mites. He had such huge open wounds behind his "ears" on that day that I just couldn't let him continue to suffer. I wanted the vet to see him just to confirm that all I needed to do was treat the earmites, and that there was not any permanent damage or infection deep inside the "ears."

So, I just brough the cat to the clinic, and at lunchtime asked one of the doctors to take a peek at him. All went well until I tried to get him (the cat, not the doctor) back into the kitty carrier. The cat refused, bit, scratched, writhed (wrothe?) and sprang out of my arms. He took off down the road. The vet said "uh oh, is he hard to catch?" and went off to lunch. So, I followed the cat. I followed him and followed him and then I thought I had him when he crawled into a little hole in the ground... which turned out to be the entrance to a narrow culvert that ran 60 feet under the road -- UNDER THE ROAD -- and came out on the other side. A culvert, for those of you unfamiliar with the term, is a drain pipe that goes under something, like a road, to divert water in a way that will not harm the surroundings or make the road flood or collapse or whatever. Culverts come in all sizes. There are culverts big enough to walk through. I mean, for a human to walk through. This particular culvert is big enough for a cat to walk through. It is big enough for me to enter head first on my belly, and to crawl through on my belly. Like a soldier in the jungle. But that would have been a ridiculous thing to do. My friend Jess and I set about making a plan. "We have a live trap," said Jess, "but I don't know how to use it." "We could throw rocks into the pipe to scare him out," I said, "if we had a way to catch him at the end." "We could use this net," proposed Jess, pulling out a butterfly net. A BUTTERfly net??? Well, ok. So, I positioned myself at one end with the net, and Jess started sending rocks in from the other end. The cat completely ignored the rocks. I could peer in the end of the tube, and see the cat silhouetted against the light at the end of the tunnel. He never budged. Really, it's impossible to send a rock very far into a pipe that small -- it will always hit the side and bounce before it gets too far. Laws of physics, you know. So, I wanted to get a bb gun. Don't hate me, I wouldn't have cocked it too much, just enough to sting, you know. OK, so I probably wouldn't have done that even if I had a bb gun, which I don't. Finally, I had a bright idea. I called Jess down to my end of the culvert, and had him take over the net. “I’m going in!” I declared. Jess looked at me in disbelief. I think he tried to talk me out of it. But my mind was made up. I was gonna get that cat, come heck or high water. I got myself down to the far end of the pipe, and peered in. Stuck my head in a few inches. Smelled dusty. No high water here lately. In went my shoulders. Down went my head. I eased down onto my belly and began pulling myself forward with my elbows against the corrugated metal. My shirt caught on a ragged tear in the metal and I heard a ragged tear develop in the cotton. I pushed my body forward with the toes of my boots, and then pulled myself up with my elbows. Toes, elbows, toes, elbows. As I dragged my body across dead leaves and dusty gravel I thought to toss a handful of pebbles toward the cat, in hopes of scaring him toward Jess. I succeeded in filling my oxygen supply completely with thick dust while the cat just looked me in the eye, glaring from 30 feet away, his position directly under the center line on the pavement above. I coughed. Elbows, toes. Getting tired. Elbows. Toes. Cough. Belly. Head down in the dirt. Breathe. Cough. Elbows. Toes. Pull. Push. Yell at the cat. Yell to Jess. “I’m coming! I’m almost to the cat! (Only 20 feet to go!) Cough. Scoot. Cough. “He moved! Jess! He’s coming toward you!” Oh, he stopped. Cough. Elbows. Toes. “I’m almost to the cat! Only 30 feet to go!” Elbows. Toes. Head and shoulders knees and toes, knees and toes. “Jess! I’m almost there! Only 50 feet to go!” ... only 40 feet… only 30 feet… only 20 feet… move, cat, move, please, run out of the tunnel. Why are you so smart? I can’t even see the butterfly net waiting to snag you, why can you?? “I’m touching the cat, Jess, but he won’t move toward the net!” Shove, Cough, Scoot, Elbows, Shove, Toes, Shove “Here he is, Jess! Are you ready? Here he comes!” Shove, Shove, Fight, Push, Shove, GET IN THE NET NOW, CAT! Jess: “I got him! You ok?”

I stuck my head out the end of the tunnel and wormed my way around so I was face up. I was lying on a pile of old dirty snow in the entrance to the culvert. I was covered in dust, in old leaves, in who knows what. Jess said to wait, he’d help me get out, after he locked the cat up inside. I lay in the culvert, breathing. Coughing. Jess returned. I smiled up at him with my best smile, hoping he could see it through the filth. I handed him my glasses, and he proceeded to try to pull me out of the culvert. It was not to be. The pipe at that end was crimped so that the opening was really not quite as wide as my shoulders. I was willing to sacrifice my arms to get out of the pipe, but it also happened to end less than a foot from a chain link fence, the base of which was buried a foot under the ground so that it could not be bent up. There was no way to get me out of that culvert. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, looked up again at Jess and went back into the tunnel. Pull with the toes. Push with the elbows. Toes, pull. Elbows, push. Head down, pull, push, toes, elbows. Cough. “Jess, can you see me yet?” Cough. Scoot. Repeat. Cough. Scoot. Repeat. “I see you, Emily!” Only 40 more feet, maybe!” Cough. Scoot. Repeat. Cough. Scoot. Repeat. Belly to the ground, face to the dirt. Cough. Scoot. Repeat. “You’re almost here now, Emily! Only 40 more feet now!” Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. “Only 20 more feet now, Emily!” Repeat. “Watch out now, you’re about to go over a tear in the pipe, it’s really jagged!” Lift body over torn steel, sucking belly up into ribcage. Quite a feat, that. “10 more feet!” Scoot. Cough. Breat—no, Cough. Scoot. Pull with the toes. Push with the elbows. “Jess! Am I there yet?” “Just 10 more feet, Emily!” Inches are multiplying. I’ve moved 10 inches. No, that was just 10 centimeters. No, that was just 10 millimeters. “Just 957,358, 294, 176 millimeters to go, Emily! You’re almost here!”

At some point, I’m not sure how much longer it took, I began to see my surroundings brighten from blackness to a sooty grey, and then suddenly I was in the bright blue, half falling out of the end of a big piece of corrugated steel pipe. Jess just looked at me. “That was one of the most impressive things I have ever seen.” Was that a compliment?

I trembled a little as I tried to walk back to the clinic. My vocal chords, apparently caked with dust, refused to vibrate, so I sounded half-dead when I talked. I was shocked to see my reflection, and when I ran my hand through my hair, well, my hand just stuck there.

But we’d bagged the cat. The Terrible Cat.

While the Terrible Cat waited at the clinic, I went home and showered. At that point, I wanted to send the cat back to the farm and forget the whole thing. Jess insisted on checking out his ears, and then the ladies decided to shave him. The cat, not Jess.” We took off hair inches thick, all mats. It came off in one piece, like one dreadlock. Now I had a cat with goop flying out of his ears, and no hair, except on his head, tail, and legs. Terrible.

I took him home, and pondered what to do with him. I needed to treat his ears for 2 weeks, so I couldn’t take him back to the farm. And I couldn’t put him out on the porch, because he had no hair and it was the dead of winter. So, he lived in the garage, happily ever after.

Or, not.

This story only gets worse. It will be continued….

Living Vicariously

2005-03-19T23:41:00.000-08:00

Apparently, there are those who are living vicariously through my blog, and apparently, their lives have been quite dull of late. I will try to do better.

2005-02-15T12:46:00.000-08:00

Crocus

Inner Workings

2005-02-02T23:17:00.000-08:00

Today I watched her inner workings rhythm flowing lifeblood rich in color.

I saw her inner workings broken failing lifeblood flowing rich in color to the floor.

Today I watched him working rhythm cutting stitching lifeblood in his hands.

I saw him working, lifeblood rhythm mixing bovine life with inner man.

Wanna-be-a-Vet-Even-More

2005-02-02T21:24:00.000-08:00

Today was better than last Wednesday. Everyone seemed to accept my presence this time, and believe that I am really serious about this. The best thing today was watching the repair of an abomasal displacement. That's when the cow's fourth stomach gets filled with gas due to weakening of the muscle wall, and it kind of floats up out of place above some other stomachs and things, and causes problems, including reduced food intake. This was one seriously skinny cow. Anyway, to fix it, you have to get the cow on her back with her legs straight up in the air. The cow is awake and has just a local anaesthesia, I think. Then you just cut her open, pull out that stomach, stick a tube in it and suck out the gas, and then put it back in and sew her up again. Simple as that! (If only it were as simple as that sounds). I also went along on a farm call today. Like a house call, you know. We were checking out a goat. She probably has CAE, which is an interesting retrovirus. I researched it when I got home but I won't bore you with the details of what it is and does. I saw a couple of tumors removed from dogs... one from a leg and one from a mammary gland. I didn't watch any kitty declaws, because I think they are mean. The kitty that was done just after I arrived this morning managed to get the bandage of one foot when she woke up, and she just went crazy, and was bleeding everywhere. I don't know if you know what it feels like to wake up from general anaesthesia, but the cats and dogs just feel horrible when they wake up, and then to have things wrapped around your feet, and stitches in your tummy, well, it's rather frightening. Not to mention that you are nauseated and don't have any idea where you are, and your body is shaking inexplicably. Poor little creatures.

The things I like the most are like removing tumors, fixing up the cow, stuff like that. Because it is truly necessary, and it helps the animal. Not like declawing. I guess I will have to get used to the idea of declawing.

I also helped euthanize two little schnauzers today. They were really old, and one had a huge tumor on his hind leg. The other apparently was in a lot of pain as well. It's a strange feeling to have a warm, frightened creature in your arms, and to feel the life leave it in just a few seconds. You're left with a warm, motionless bundle, and you almost want to wake it. I managed not to cry. But I did very nearly cry when I watched the dogs being put in the owners' car to be buried at home. Their mama-person was just sitting in the car crying, and it's impossible not to ache for her.

Dr. John asked when I was coming back, and I said that they had only scheduled me for two visits. He said I am completely welcome to come back whenever I want. So, I hope to be there at least once a week from now on. And Dr. John and his wife are going to take me horseback riding next week.

I stopped at home on my way home (Chattaroy on my way to Spokane) and visited, and then here at my own home I worked out and am about to hit the books.

I had such a very good day.

Wanna-be-a-Vet's Life

2005-01-26T21:17:00.000-08:00

I thought you'd like to hear about the highlights of my day today:

1) I watched as a poor little white kitten was spayed and then declawed. All four feet were declawed, which means this cat is now completely defenseless against any danger, and will never catch a mouse in her life. Note: If you must get your cat declawed, stick to the front claws, which are the ones that ruin furniture. And then never ever ever let your cat go outside. Do you know how they declaw a cat? They grab the claw with a pair of pliers (pretty much) and tear it out of the toe, basically. And then they glue the hole shut.

2) I became an expert in spaying dogs, as I watched the procedure on a black lab, a st. bernard, and then a great dane. You can really see a lot of detail when you're working on a great dane.

3) I got a hole punched in my finger by a kitten who didn't want an injection and made that very clear.

4) I spent a good deal of time comforting Tipper, a large shepherd mix with an abcessed tooth. They pulled the tooth and drained the pus, but when Tipper woke up there were no pain meds that could comfort her. She would cry less if I held her paw. Finally, after several hours, I had a chance to go sit with her, and she lay her head down on my lap and went to sleep. Poor thing.

5) I watch a male cat get a catheter. Now there's a pleasant little procedure.

6) Here's the best one!! A pregnant mare came in. Two days ago she slipped and fell. Yesterday she had a hard time getting around, and wouldn't come at feeding time. Today she was better but the owner was worried that the baby might have died from the fall. So my favorite vet got to examine the mommy and baby to make sure all was well. This is not so simple as an ultrasound. This means putting on a long plastic glove, and just reaching right up inside that horse to poke the baby around with your hand. Baby kicked, everyone is happy. The foal is due to arrive in about 6 weeks.

If this was just way too much detail for you, well, that's why you're
not the one on the way to vet school!

To the Vet

2005-01-25T22:56:00.000-08:00

Carter got an ear infection last week, so we got to go to the vet. It was great! I love going to the vet. I wish Carter didn't have to be in pain, though. But I got to use the otoscope to look down in his ear! I couldn't see much. While we were there I asked if I might be able to come in and observe the doctors, and they discussed it in their weekly meeting and then called me and said yes! So, tomorrow and then next Wednesday I get to spend the day there, following the doctors around. I can hardly wait. I'm afraid I won't sleep well tonight, because of the anticipation.

Grandfather Fudge

2005-01-08T23:48:00.000-08:00

At dinner tonight I was totally blindsided by the revelation that my grandpa, my farm grandpa who I've never seen prepare any kind of food whatsoever, has been making fudge since he was a little kid. Not that any of us have ever seen him do it. Until now. He recited the recipe and instructions right there at the dinner table, off the top of his head. Apparently his mother taught him to make fudge. Well, I lost no time. As soon as we'd finished eating I gathered up the ingredients, measured out the amounts he specified, made him measure out the the amounts he had only approximated, and set to cooking it. Over the wood fire in the very same wood stove that his own mother had cooked on, and probably made that same fudge on. I stirred while grandpa monitored the boiling and periodically checked it for doneness. He did this by dropping the hot mixture into a cup of cold water. That's the old way. Now we read a thermometer, and when it gets to the line marked "soft ball" we stop cooking. Well, grandpa's way is to drop the molten candy into the water and see whether it forms a soft ball. Ah, authenticity. Once it was done we stirred and stirred until it stiffened, put it in a glass dish, and waited. And scraped the bowl and licked the spoons.

It was the greatest thing, making my grandpa teach me how to make his fudge! Of course I already knew how to make fudge and what soft ball means, and all that, but that isn't the point. Now I have made my great-grandmother's fudge with my grandfather, and over a wood fire.

Baby and Blanket

2004-12-30T22:51:00.000-08:00

Here's my niece Amy with the blanket I made her for Christmas. Aren't they both pretty?

2004-12-30T18:13:00.000-08:00

Sleepy Dog

2004-12-30T18:02:00.000-08:00

Wingspan

Bald Eagle

2004-12-30T17:46:00.000-08:00

It's bald eagle season, because the salmon are spawning in the rivers here. This eagle was sitting in the treetop directly behind our garden yesterday, and in this picture had just taken off in flight. To have Bald Eagles in the backyard makes me almost grateful for the pine-bark beetles that killed out the top of this ponderosa pine -- it's a great place for birds, especially birds of prey, to sit and survey the area. Which means we can sit in the family room and watch them. Because it was late afternoon, the picture came out very dusky and you can't see that this Eagle has its adult plumage, and therefore looks like what you would recognize as a Bald Eagle. Juvenile eagles do not have mature plumage, with the familiar white head, until they are 5 years old.

Report Card

2004-12-18T23:25:00.000-08:00

OK, are you ready? I think you'll like my report card:

Biology: 3.9
Chemistry: 3.5
Physics: 4.0
avg: 3.8

Pretty good, don't you think?

5 a.m.

2004-12-16T05:00:00.000-08:00

So, it's 5 a.m. and my headache is mostly gone, and I am very queasy-tremory, so I think I'll try to go to sleep.

Downtime

2004-12-16T04:05:00.000-08:00

What kind of website needs almost 10 hours of downtime nearly every single night? What are they doing, manually reconstructing the whole thing every night, like elves in a cobbler's shop, busily busily cutting leather and setting tiny cobbler's nails? It's not like they're running any complex or sensitive software, or like patches come along so frequently that they just can't keep up. It's a stupid community college website, where you can only get any information (like your grades!) between 6:30 a.m and 9:00 p.m. daily. 9:00 p.m.? What the heck? I tried to register for classes recently and couldn't because it was after 9:00. Who has time to do this stuff in the daytime? Isn't the greatness of internet services that you can use them nearly any time at all? Do you see Amazon shutting down every night? If the illustrious institution that is Spokane Falls Community College could realize any sort of profit by actually making things convenient, I am sure they would find a way to shorten their maintenance windows. Don't they want me to pay my tuition today? I'm right here, awake, willing to hand over my credit card number, and they won't take it. Because the system can't be awake while its administrators are asleep!?

One Small Child

2004-12-16T03:45:00.000-08:00

I met Caleb last night, finally. He's 2 months old, and over 10 pounds. Pretty good for a baby who should be only 3 weeks old now! I came into the house, hugged Jakob (Andrew came to the airport with Erik to get me, so we had already done our initial catching-up: "Gween means... go! Wadd means stop! Mistoo Bill is a big big man!"), hugged Ari, and took possession of the child Caleb. As the baby settled into my arms as if he'd been awaiting my arrival so that he could finally relax, Erik eyed me with envious suspicion. "How is she doing that!? I can't even hold him!" Apparently even the magical Aunt Merly can't even make Caleb happy -- just his mommy, and now his dear Auntie Emily. Caleb accompanied me on my tour of the new house, reclining in the hammock of my arms, considering with me the deep red paint on the walls of the master bedroom, and declaring it satisfactory. Back downstairs he drifted off to sleep, still in my arms, and Ari in her amazement was compelled to pull out the seldom-used (just a couple of times a day) video camera to record for posterity the fact that Caleb likes me. And so, even if he cries every time I look at him for the next 5 days, I will be content with his sweet welcome as a nearly perfect, though too long in coming, introduction.

3 a.m.

2004-12-16T03:30:00.000-08:00

It's 3 a.m.. How are you supposed to end a sentence with an abbreviation like that? I am in Reno, having arrived last night after a ridiculously long day of travel. I had two plane changes and an almost 2-hour delay. Ivo came to the airport in SF to lessen my woes, and while I gave him medicine for his headache, I failed to take any for my own. This is a recurring failure on my part. Somehow I persist in the belief that the headache won't get any worse, and once I get to where I'm going it will go away, and I really don't need to infuse my body with foreign substances. The only over-the-counter drug that works on these headaches is Excedrin, and that has the rather unfortunate effect of imparting to me a serious case of the queasy-tremors, which can last hours and hours. I just got up and took two anyway. At this point the queasy-tremors would be a joy, comparatively speaking.

I know you think that people with migraines lie still in darkened rooms, and naturally you wonder why I would instead sit at a computer in a cold room, squinting at the too-bright computer screen, which my brother has set at some ridiculous screen size so that he can have 20 applications and every web page known to man open on it at the same time, in consequence of which the letters I am now typing are very nearly invisible to the naked eye. Well, I have no explanation. I just couldn't lie in that darkened room any longer. There are migraines that produce pain so severe I cannot even move without help, and those send me to the hospital, where after I lie perfectly still for several hours on a rolling bed, listening to the cries of the baby whose eardrums are about to pop and the struggle of an old man who has no idea what medicines he has taken today and is therefore being reprimanded by a nurse who practically threatens not to treat him at all if he can't be responsible enough to bring a list of medications with him to the emergency room, as if before he came he should have made a packing list and ticked off each item: "list of drugs that help me remember who I am and why I have undertaken this trip to the hospital to be treated like an unwelcome child, check." Oh, uh, I was saying, after I have lay perfectly still listening to the cries of the baby whose eardrums... uh, after I have lay there, a doctor I don't remember ever seeing comes over and says, as if he'd been comparing my complexion to a series of paint chips, "oh, good, you're much less green now!"

Why was I telling you this? Oh, because there are headaches that are that bad, so bad that I have to crawl to a telephone to whisperingly wake someone somewhere who might be willing to drag themselves out of bed, drive to my house, get me in a car, leave me at the hospital, and come back on their way to work to deposit me back into my bed. Several hours later, after whichever creative treatment the ER staff-of-the-migraine bestowed upon me has made me feel either better or worse, I emerge from my room feeling either like life was never better, or like I should go to Sherwin-Williams to have them match a paint color to the green "blush" that remains on my cheeks, despite Happy Doctor's delight at my recovery and my readiness to take on the world. If I paint my surroundings green, maybe I will believe that I am not so green myself, in comparison.

I don't think I am green right now, though. As I said, this headache isn't that bad. But you know those Excedrin commercials that claim you'll start feeling better in just 15 minutes? They're just not true. I mean, maybe they are for your casual headache sufferer, but for me, the Excedrin kicks in about an hour and a half after I swallow it. From that point forward my headache lessens gradually and my queasiness increases proportionately. So far It's been 45 minutes. Help.

Two Kitties

2004-12-13T00:04:00.000-08:00

Raggedy Ann in the foreground, Lizzie in the background.

These are my foster-kittens. They're on their way to become Christmas presents. Raggedy Ann has a cold, so I need to get her well so they can be adopted. Would you like one?

It has been So Much Fun having them at my house. They came from our farm, and are part of a long and loved lineage of farm cats. These babies are actually related to the cat we just lost this year, at the age of 18.

They've been here two days now, and they've decided that I am mom, or at least a close enough approximation. They follow me from room to room, are constantly underfoot (lots of bruised kitty-toes), and climb all over me. If I leave the room, Lizzie cries. It's so sweet. A few minutes ago she took a flying leap off of my desk onto my face, and neatly sliced my nose right open. She was just trying to pounce on the kitty she saw looking back at her from my apparently too-reflective glasses. They walk on my keyboard, they play the messages on my answering machine, one of them even sent an instant message to a friend of mine who, not being fluent in Cat, let alone kitten-talk, was a little unsure how to interpret "4444444444444444-." I believe it meant "this button sure is springy."

Carter loves the kittens and really wants them to play with him. But he invites them to play by bouncing like Tigger and barking rather loudly. The result is a furry fury of hiss-spitting don't-you-dare-touch-me-or-I-will-remove-your-eyeballs-from-your-head. After a while Carter curls up on his bed, sighs deeply, and goes resignedly to sleep.

A couple of hours ago I found the refrigerator door wide open, and Raggedy Ann inside helping herself to a snack. How did she DO that??

Two Cities

2004-12-12T23:20:00.000-08:00

I'm reading A Tale of Two Cities. I remember loving it when I read it during a break when I was in college. But now, I'm perplexed. I read about the first one third of the book tonight. And most of it, I don't remember at all! I remember enough parts here and there to convince me that I really did read it. But gosh, no wonder I never seem to know anything! When I read novels, I totally lose myself in them. I read them with my heart, I think, and not really with my mind. So then I'm left with impressions. I couldn't tell you the names of the characters, or much about the plot. But I could tell you how I felt while I read the book. And that is not really a lot of help! You can't win Jeopardy that way! Books I could tell you a lot about are ones I read in childhood, and read 10 times over. Little Women. Little Men. Anne of Green Gables... all 8 books. Meet the Austins. A Wrinkle in Time and all its relations. Fox in Socks. :-) You know, all the great literature.

Party of Three

2004-12-12T23:05:00.000-08:00

I had a Christmas Party. It was to be an evening of elegant desserts and fine wines. I invited about 20 people, and after all the RSVPs came in I was expecting 8-10. So, all day yesterday I baked. I made Angel Cookies, and then I made the dough for sweet rolls, which later became cream cheese chocolate chip rolls and raspberry cream cheese rolls, and then I made a Red Velvet Cake, and then I made another Red Velvet Cake because the first one just wasn't quite right. Then I made a cheese platter, and I even found a huckleberry riesling. Dessert was to be served just after 7:00. Around 7:30, my first guest, Kristi, arrived. She and I chatted and waited and chatted. At 8:00 we started watching a movie, just for something to do. At 8:20 my sister Katie arrived. And then no one else came! The table was full of beautiful pastries and fruits and nuts and cheese, and it just sat there. Finally, we just started eating. I called my cousins to see if the boys could come over and eat, but they were out, high school dance and stuff.
So, Katie and Kristi and I had a party of three.

It was pretty sad. I mean, we had a nice time, but gosh, how come nobody showed up?

Then today, my mom's friends and my aunt and uncle had to come over and eat the stuff. In my head I could not help thinking of that as a "pity party." They came over to take pity on me.

*sigh*
:-/

Finally.

2004-12-10T22:53:00.000-08:00

Finally, I'm done. I finished final exams yesterday. I'll let you know when I get my "report card." But I think, after all my moaning and complaining, I did fine. I attribute that to all the hours of studying about which I moaned and complained. So don't try to tell me there was nothing to worry about! :-)

Pain, it is so nice

2004-12-08T22:00:00.000-08:00

Here's what to do when you are trying to study for a chemistry final AND a physics final and you have 10 hours left and you are in pain. Pain that hurts. First, eat. You think that eating will help, perhaps you just ache because you are lacking in nutrients. Eating does not help. Then, take one Excedrin and one Tylenol, a nice combination because the caffeine in the Excedrin will help you stay awake to study. An hour later, when the pain is worse instead of better, take 2 Aleve. Get a hot water bottle for your feet, because being cold makes your muscles tense and that hurts. A half hour later, get a heating pad for your back, which hurts. The heating pad might distract your brain from the pain signals, maybe. But no, not really. So, eat homemade tapioca pudding. Tapioca pudding really should help, it is so silky and creamy and vanilly. But, no, not really. Really you eat too much of it and get a stomach ache. So, then, just try to keep studying, ignore the pain and the stomach ache. Then, give up, and go take a hot shower. Stay in there until all the hot water is gone. You will feel better while you are in the shower, at least. Then you will sit down to study some more, and within 20 minutes you'll hurt just as much. And you will not be able to take any more pain relievers until tomorrow, and the tapioca pudding will be all gone and you will forbid yourself to make another batch. And there will be no more hot water for your second hot bath of the day, or for another shower. And it will be 10 o'clock, and you will have many many more chapters of Physics to study before you sleep. And oh, Chemistry, too.

Cookie

2004-12-03T20:52:00.001-08:00

I have just invented a new cookie recipe. I use half Crisco to reduce the cholesterol of butter, and half butter to reduce the hydrogenatedness of Crisco. Actually I use half Crisco because cookies made with all butter taste buttery but tend to spread too much during baking, while Crisco causes them to maintain some height and fluffiness. I use one third all-purpose unbleached flour to maintain lightness, and two thirds "white whole wheat" flour, which is whole wheat milled from pure soft white wheat (bread flours are hard red wheat), which adds nutrients that are removed from the usual white flour, and deepens the flavor of the cookies. I use half brown sugar for chewyness and carameliness, and half white sugar for structure and whiteness. I use double the vanilla of most cookie recipes, and half the salt. And some eggs and other requisite ingredients for structure and texture. I add chocolate chips or whatever sounds good, and then I roll the individual spoonfuls of dough in ground almonds, so that after baking the cookies have a toasted almond crust. Patent Pending. Code is proprietary and available as "Recipe" for $500/mo under N/D and subject to licensing agreement. Technical support at additional cost, and I will blame any problems you have on operator error.

6 years ago today

2004-12-03T01:15:00.000-08:00

6 years ago today I broke my back. It hurt.

Comfort

2004-12-02T20:21:00.000-08:00

When the days are short and the nights are cold and the days are cold and the nights are long, there is one way to survive. I call it "Self-Comforting Behavior." I am quite good at it. For instance, at the moment I am eating a warm cinnamon roll which I have just baked from a multipurpose bread dough that I made ahead from scratch. Each day I bake something a little different using the same basic dough. It's very comforting. I am eating that cinnamon roll while wearing my new footie-pajamas. The kind babies wear. Target has grown-up sizes, and I am floating in fleecy-jammie-ness each evening. I sit in these fleecy jammies indian style on my couch, surrounded by textbooks. I am working genetics problems. Many many punnett squares. Punnett is a comforting word, in itself. If you do not feel that genetics is comforting, simply draw punnett squares and observe how nicely structured they are. Think of white pea blossoms and purple pea blossoms and Gregor Mendel working away in solitude in his monastery garden on a quiet evening, counting peas. I am sure that counting peas must have been very comforting for him; a meditative kind of work. Think also of how these names go together: Mendel, Mendeleev, Mendelssohn. Brilliant men, all three.

I comfort myself further with an abundance of twinkle lights. Their warmth counters the drafts and drifts and keeps Jack Frost at bay. My table, too, is adorned with twinkle lights, lending their sparkle to the crystal and glass grapes that grow sullen away from the sunshine. These lights and small mimickers of the sun sit atop my new blue, beautiful sky blue, winter sky blue table cloth. This cloth sets my Christmas dishes in the sky; upon each plate sits a small bird, in painting really, but ready to take flight from the stoneware with my slightest breath. Each plate is a golden nest, a resting place for sweet slumbering birds who, because they are storybook Christmas-time birds, have hibernated there on their plates, as if they truly were only painted on the stone, in their box, in the closet, in waiting. Now that the darkness has come I've set my table, in waiting for my guests. Out on the table where my small birds can sing, can breathe the crisp coldness of their blue-sky tablecloth, from whence momentarily they will, I am sure, depart in a flurry of wings, feathers, and twinkle lights.

I do hope the birds will wait until my guests arrive, will burst from their places in a glory of song just when I've invited my guests to come, sit. Oh, that would fill me with comfort for many days, that remembering of the feathers, the lights, the flurry, the glory, the shared wonder of my guests and me, the swelling of my heart inside my chest.

Grandpa on Algebra

2004-11-22T21:07:00.000-08:00

I went to the farm yesterday to haul some firewood up to the house. Grandpa and Grandma are both having trouble getting around, and I didn't want them out and about. Afterwards we sat at the table and talked for a while. Grandpa asked me how school's going, and what kind of problems they have me doing. When I replied that my physics course includes a lot of algebra and trigonometry, he shook his head: "that stuff's not fer normal people! I had some algebra when I was in the seventh grade. I couldn't make any sense out of it! Then she explained it to me, and then it was easy. They give you two numbers, and you have to find the 3rd. And it's not addition, or subtraction, or multiplyin', or any o' that-- it's somethin different. I couldn't figure it out at all, but then she explained it to me, and then it was no trouble for me, but that's not for normal people!"

Told You So

2004-11-22T21:04:00.000-08:00

I told you to ditch your textbooks! While on Thursday I understood next to nothing about the content of the 4 chapters of Physics I was to be tested on Friday, on Friday I earned a 90% on that very test. Why? Because the curriculum library is my friend. Yay for high school.

Awake.

2004-11-18T23:26:00.000-08:00

I'm awake. I know, it's not even midnight, but in my new life as a "non-traditional student" I am usually asleep by now. I think most of the problem is that I can't breathe. I caught a cold on my trip to CA, which all in all turned out much better than I expected, despite my stuffysnifflitis. I had a great time with Nathan and Amy (and everyone else, too).

Today I spent 7 hours at a table in the library studying physics. Here is a little piece of advice: Never bother with your college-level textbooks, at least not until you're in upper division courses. Here I am in Physics 101. The text is ridiculously dense, and so convoluted it's hard to parse the sentences, let alone figure out how to set up the problems. Having spent 4 years as an Education major working in an academic library, one most valuable lesson from that time sticks with me: The Curriculum Library is Your Friend. Just remember that one principle. The curriculum library is a special, secret room in the library. If you're not in the school of education, you probably have no idea that this room exists. But this is a room full of two kinds of treasures:

1) Children's Literature. This will preserve your sanity. When you can't study physics any longer, find a corner and read Strawberry Girl or something sweet like that. It'll just take an hour or so.

2) Text books. I know, you don't think text books qualify as treasures. But these are textbooks written for every stage UP TO university level. What that means to you: Basic concepts, same information, none of the high-falutin language that makes college texts impossible to love. High School Physics is EXACTLY the same as Physics 101, except they don't try to confuse you.

So take my word for it: The Curriculum Library is Your Friend. Ditch your textbooks.

Oh, one more reason to use textbooks-for-kids: "A beetle is sitting at the top of a bicycle wheel with a diameter of 0.75 m. Assuming the wheel turns counterclockwise, what is the angular displacement of the beetle before it is squashed?"

Ugh.

2004-11-10T22:10:00.000-08:00

"Ugh" seems like the best way to express myself tonight. Just ugh. but I'll try some other words too. I have waited so long for this weekend to come... 4 day weekend, I get to see my little Nathan and even littler Amy. But I don't want to go. I'm too tired, too overwhelmed, have too much to do. Why go to California to do homework? Can't I just wait for Christmas, when they'll come here? Couldn't Christmas just come sooner? In some ways it feels like the quarter is almost over. Short week this week, then one more week, then Thanksgiving... REALLY short week. Then another week, then finals. See? Almost done. But how I get from now to then, I don't know. I wish all my classes were like Biology. But tonight not even Biology was fun. It was just long, and now I am supposed to process just that much more information. I think my CPU usage is at 100% already.

Breathe.

2004-11-10T17:08:00.000-08:00

My Chemistry professor was shocked and appalled today when she learned that I am taking 3 science courses with labs this quarter. Yes, my first quarter back in school. She and I sat down to figure out what I need to do in order to get a 3.5 in her class. It's within the realm of possibility. She says I have more understanding of the subject than some of those who are scoring higher than I am. She likes my questions and the way I think. It seems like I've always been that way. People think I'm smart. I appear to be intelligent, I ask good questions, I make good connections. I fit right in with the rest of the Nerdhagens. But when it comes to working out problems on paper, I fail miserably. Why?

I noticed this afternoon that when I start getting stressed about a physics or chem problem, I stop breathing. I used to do that at work, too, when I was very stressed. Which used to be all the time, of course. I think breathing is nice, so I'd like to continue the practice of it. Lack of oxygen to the brain is not going to help me get past my remedial algebra level. My algebra book might, if I had time to open it.

Kitty Sitting

2004-11-08T23:25:00.000-08:00

As if there weren't enough cats in my life, now I am kitty sitting. My sister is adopting the stray that's been hanging around her apartment. He's a very pretty cat, and I think he's about 7 months old. I haven't been around growing cats enough in the last several years, so I really don't know how to estimate. gftr <= That was him standing on the keyboard. At the moment his name is Fitzwilliam. As in Fitzwilliam Darcy. If you don't know who that is, just don't worry about it. Katie says his name might change anyway, as his personality comes out. For tonight, he's at my house "in isolation" from Gus, the cat who already lives at Katie's. Gus belongs to Julia and has been watching "Fitz" through the window for weeks now. Carter desperately wants Fitz to play with him, and Fitz really wants Carter to go away. Carter barks, wags. Fitz growls, wags. When a cat wags, that's not a good thing. Tomorrow he goes to the vet for a checkup, and then, if all is well, home with Katie.
So much for studying Chemistry tonight.

Calico Cat

2004-11-07T23:12:00.000-08:00

Tabby Cat

2004-11-07T22:57:00.001-08:00

Toby Cat

2004-11-07T22:57:00.000-08:00

Toby-Cat
Any black cat with white on his chest and face and feet is named Toby. That's just the way it has always been.

'Nother Farm Cat

2004-11-07T22:56:00.000-08:00

Farm Cat

2004-11-07T22:50:00.000-08:00

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.

How it Works

2004-11-04T19:35:00.000-08:00

Here's how it works:
1. Get up, go to school.
2. Go to library, try to think.
3. Go to cafeteria, fail to buy food. Have no money. Forget PIN number for ATM.
4. Go back to library, try to think.
5. Go home, eat leftover sandwich.
6. Sit at desk, try to think.
7. Go to grocery store.
8. Go home, sit at desk, try to think.
9. Get a glass of milk.
10. Sit at desk, try to think.
11. Get a glass of chocolate milk.
12. Sit at desk, try to think.
13. Set a limit order to get rid of some stock. Must diversify.
14. Try to think.
15. Go to kitchen, put butter and brown sugar in the kitchenaid, turn it on.
16. Sit at desk, calculate the specific heat of water as 4.18 J/g-K, even though I can just look it up. Calculate it anyway.
17. Go to kitchen, put eggs in the kitchenaid.
18. Sit at desk, figure out that the heat required to raise the temperature of 250 grams of water from 22 degrees C to 98 degrees C is 7.9 X 10-4 J. Great. Now I know.
19. Go to kitchen, mix flour and stuff into the glop in the kitchenaid. Add oatmeal. Eat some of the dough (got milk?). Put the rest in the fridge, didn't really want cookies anyway.
20. Return to desk, make a blog entry.
21. Stare at Chemistry book, try to think...

Problems, Problems, Problems

2004-11-04T17:36:00.000-08:00

Problem #1:
A 2.200g sample of quinone is burned in a bomb calorimeter whose total heat capacity is 7.854 kJ/degree C. The temperature in the calorimeter increases from 23.0 degrees C to 30.57 degrees C. What is the heat of combustion per gram of quinine? What is the heat of combustion per mole?

Problem #2:
A 1900kg car experiences a combined force of air resistance and friction that has the same magnitude whether the car goes up or down a hill at 27 meters per second. Going up a hill, the car's engine needs to produce 47 hp more power to sustain the constant velocity as it does going down the same hill. At what angle is the hill inclined above the horizontal?

Problem #3:
a) What are the reactants and products of Glycolysis, Krebs Cycle, and Oxidative Phosphorylation?
b) Where do the NADH and FADH that enter Oxidative Phosphorylation come from?
c) How many ATP molecules will be produced from one NADH during Oxidative Phosphorylation?
d) Using your answers for a-c, now trace the path of a single electron from the event at P680 through Photosynthesis and Cellular Respiration to its final resting place on the ________ molecule.

Roasting on an Open Fire

2004-10-24T14:05:00.000-07:00

I'm studying in front of the wood stove. No one's around, except me and the dogs and the chicken. Bijou. She's almost well now. Mom's at book club, and Dad is gone fishing. This morning when I woke up the house was 63 degrees. Too cold. I've kept the fire going as hot as I can. This reminds me of high school, when I huddled in front of the same wood stove doing problem sets... Just fewer chickens and more dogs.

Lost Puppy

2004-10-21T14:42:00.000-07:00

My back hurts from toting 25 pounds of Lost Puppy around on my hip.

Little Boy Blue

2004-10-18T22:55:00.000-07:00

Caleb James Nordhagen

School Days

2004-10-17T20:06:00.000-07:00

I am plum tuckered out. I think all I do anymore is study, and study some more. I hope I get used to it soon.

Caleb James Nordhagen

2004-10-16T22:56:00.000-07:00

Baby Caleb was supposed to arrive at Thanksgiving. But I guess he was in a hurry, cuz he arrove today. There was no stopping him. They tried all day to stop him, but at just about 5 o'clock this afternoon he made his appearance in the wide world. He's 40 days early, which means there's some concern for his health, especially for the next 3 days. His lungs aren't really ready to be breathing air. But while he was expected to weigh between 4 and 4.5 pounds at this point, he's 5 lb 5 oz!! And he's 17 1/2 inches long. So his good size should help him out. I wonder if he's ready to try eating? I hope so. Caleb's oldest brother arrived 20 days early, and the next one was 30 days early... so I hope the next one doesn't try it at 50 days early! Gosh! The best news is that this evening Caleb was in the regular nursery, so I guess he doesn't need too much special care. We're glad he's here, though we would have liked him to wait a while! Alas, he's here in the world, but he's way down there in Reno.

-- uh, I guess I should mention that Caleb is my brother Erik's third son. Mommy is my sister-in-law Ari, and big brothers are Jakob Peter Nordhagen and Andrew Erik Nordhagen.

Porcupine Quills

2004-10-16T09:53:00.000-07:00

I ran over a porcupine. It was last night, on my way home from my grandparents'. Katie and I had been up there helping cover some hay, and then we stayed for dinner. Grandma was all apologetic about the quality of the food, which we were devouring with great speed. It was soooo yummmmy. All through dinner Grandpa told us jokes. Here's the one about the I-talians and the Viking:

"So there's this ship of I-talians sailing along the coastline of Norway. They're looking for a good piece of land. When they spot a good place to put in they head for shore, and as they approach they see a Viking standing there waving. When they're nearly ashore the Viking heads back into the woods. 'Strange,' say the I-talians. 'Let's send in a scout to see what's in there.' So they send in a sailor and wait, but he never comes back. So they send in a couple more, and wait. After an hour or so more, no sign of anybody. So they send in a couple more, and then a couple more.... finally, the last couple of sailors wade ashore and head toward the woods. Before they get into the trees, one of their comrades comes crawling toward them, breathing hard. "Stop! No! Don't go in! It's a trap... there's two of 'em!!'"

After our red velvet cake we left for home. When you come down toward Chattaroy from the farm, just where the railroad track used to run, the road gets real curvy and hilly. As I rounded a curve, a huge sphere of spikes loomed up in front of me, illuminated with surreal light and detail in my headlights. I braked but there was no time... that porcupine went right under the car, between the tires. Instantly the air in the car smelled of seared quills on a manifold. I stopped and we looked for the ball-o-spikes, but he was nowhere to be found. Maybe he survived with just a VERY Close Shave. But quills were scattered on the road for many yards around. So far I don't think I have any flat tires.

When dad talked to Grandpa an hour or so later, he told him about my needling experience, and then together they relished a fine memory:

(Dad relates the story)
"You know, when we were loggin' out there on the south side of Peone Prairie on a fine day. You started cuttin' down a tree, and all of a sudden it was rainin'! Well you looked up and there was a porcupine in that tree, so scared he'd peed."

So I just dubbed Peone Prairie "Pee-on Prairie" in grandpa's honor.

Scared the pee right outta that porcupine. hee-hee-hee!

Biology and Brown Bread

2004-10-12T20:35:00.000-07:00

Having just written about the pleasures of Jello Salad, let me now explain to you the virtues of brown bread. The thing is, while at Nordhagen family gatherings it is perfectly acceptable to eat Jello Salad, when one returns to everyday life it is important to eat well. This is something I have tried to believe for many years. I have never succeeded. But then, see, I started taking Biology from Velma. Velma is a great teacher, and besides loving Biology, she is passionately opposed to any kind of processed foods and artificial anythings entering the human body. Given her rather exhaustive knowledge of cell biology, this is not surprising. When Velma shows you a molecule, and draws just exactly how those evil corporate food scientists alter that molecule to make everything they put it in taste Sooo good, and then she carefully explains just how your cells will try to deal with this non-naturally occuring substance masquerading as "food," you quite suddenly lose all desire to put that stuff in your mouth. It's not just unnatural molecules, though. It's all the things they do to remove what is actually good for you from the natural stuff, leaving a shell of what God intended for that natural stuff to be, and rendering it incapable of doing for you what it should. Oh, and then there's High Fructose Corn Syrup, the non-fat fat producer extraordinaire.

So the long and short of it is, I've become obsessed with avoiding that High Fructose junk, and White Bread is suddenly my mortal enemy. Give me King Arthur Whole Wheat Flour or give me Death! I've been baking Whole Wheat Bread and sweetening it with molasses. It's So Yummy, and I feel so Happy for my little cells while I eat it.