It's official...

Today Tim and I went snowshoeing up a trail in Dry Canyon. We stopped at an area with a beautiful view of the mountains where the stone reflected the pink of the sunset, and Tim started taking off his gloves unexpectedly. He got down on one knee and pulled a ring from his pocket. As he placed it on my finger, he said, "Laura Dickey, will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the world?" I started crying of course and after a few moments of consideration I said, "I would love to marry you. Yes!" We then kissed against the backdrop of the setting sun, and it all would have made a terrific ending to a movie, except I'm six months pregnant (which makes embracing head on a bit difficult), and we both had snot-cicles hanging from our noses. Nevertheless, it was a perfect ending to a lovely Christmas day, and I couldn't be happier.

What was I thinking?

Cami reminded me (in response to the post below) that there are ever so many lovely things about winter in Boston. Quoth she:

"I think you're being a little closed-minded about Boston winters. Here are some other things to love:
*free salt washes whenever you drive on the freeway
*the quiet slow pace of snowstorm drivers- you can start and finish a good book WHILE you drive!
*the mad rushing mob in grocery stores before a big blizzard
* the frigid humidity that permeates ever piece of clothing and membrane you have on your person
*The dirty polluted snow that accumulates by the T tracks
* The T absolutely disregards any sort of schedule on particularly nippy days so you can enjoy the cold while you wait for a bus that really isn't coming.
*Oil heat that is so ridiculously expensive people keep their heat set low and open the fridge just to feel the warm air inside.

My fingers are too cold to type anymore."

So there's that.

Top 10 Things I love about winter in Boston...

#1. My super awesome, super warm, could-kick-the-crap-out-of-any-other-coat-on-the-block, water-and-wind resistant, sleeping bag coat. Thank you times infinity to those who made it happen.
That's the end of the list, as there is nothing else to love about winter in Boston.

Actually...

Erin recently sent me a blog post about a woman who had some romanticized notions about being a mom. Before she had a child. I've decided to confess some of my preconcieved notions about being pregnant. Before I was pregnant.

1. I, *Laura*, will not get morning sickness. Honestly, I truly (I'm not kidding... truly) thought that because I didn't get car-sick or nausiated from roller coaster rides, I would be spared from the humiliation and inconvenience associated with frequent regurgitation of partially digested food stuffs. Ha ha ha. Ha... ... Haauuuuuuck. The truth is that I secretly detest every living human who only has to taste their meals once.

2. Even if I, *Laura*, experience morning sickness, I will exercise one or two hours every single day. Yep... I will tough it out... I will jog / swim / cycle / do yoga / lift weights / do 600 kegals every hour ... even though turning my head too quickly or listening to upbeat music makes me run for the nearest ladies' chamber. Sure, I will be super-awesome-exercise-obsessed prego woman. In an alternate universe.

3. I will eat 10-20 servings of fruits and vegetables a day, drink only water, skim milk, or 100% fruit juice, and stay far away from preservatives and everything evil about processed food. Actually, I will eat anything (thrice-fried chicken... an entire bag of colored marshmallows... antifreeze...) that sounds remotely tolerable. And I will drink Diet Coke if it is within arm's reach... even if it belongs to the stranger sitting next to me who clearly has tuberculosis.

4. Despite having severely decreased energy, I will make an effort to look pretty every day. Ha ha ha. Ho ho ho. He he he. My blow dryer hasn't been plugged in for 21 weeks; hairspray and all other fragrance-weilding substances have been banned from the house; my makeup has been neglected so long that it's growing several species of molds.

5. Even if I'm exhausted and feel like I've been hit by a truck, I will remain professional at all times at work; in fact, nobody will even know I'm expecting. Actually, I've managed to terrify every female of child-bearing age in the microbiology department out of having children in the next century or two. It is difficult to remain professional when relaying stories related to public vomiting, pregnancy-induced incontinence, and sleep-preventing pelvis-kickings. It's also difficult to remain professional when I see a tasty-looking bit on somebody's lunch tray, and instead of saying, "That looks good," I say, "That looks good. Can I have it?"

6. I will never, ever, under any circumstances, pass gas within a radial mile of another human. I don't want to talk about it.

Everyone's a winner, of course, because I have socialist tendencies...

Dear readership,

Thank you ever so kindly for humoring my call for abstracts... I mean wedding announcements. I loved all of them, and they made me laugh heartily. Also, thanks for all the exaggerated and far-too-generous compliments like "smart" "pretty" and/or "will probably someday find the cure for Restless Leg Syndrome." You guys are the best. I couldn't choose just one, so I'm posting all of them, in random order. Enjoy.

~Cami is a borderline genius stay-at-home mom whose progeny will, undoubtedly, one day harness the power of the atom:

Ryan, Ben, Joaby, Judd, BJ, Clayton, Richard, Mike, Josh, Kevin, Anthony, Eric, Nate, Tyler, Jeff, Mace, Collin, Metchuin, Adler, Mark, and Chris skeptically (and in some cases bitterly) announce the marriage and alleged commitment of

Laurita Thirty-Three Dickey
to
Timothy Shinobi Hanley

Who is himself an incredibly secretive person, and even Laura is still not sure of his origin. The couple will declare their everlasting love and nuptials on the 29th day of December, exactly 10 years and 7 months after the fateful day she cancelled another such an event. Despite his Mormon appearances and missionary magnetism, Tim’s a heathen, so the wedding will be in a gargantuan house, not the House on the Hill (you know you were scanning for that). Before you leave for the wedding, please check Laura's blog for any last minute adjustments/ changes/ cancellations. Gifts are non-returnable. A lavish reception will be held on the bluff above Tony Grove lake in the deepest sink hole. Bring your crampons and descending gear (but please, no ascending gear). Anyone with a bone to pick with either the bride or the groom is welcome to attend the reception.

Laura, despite her bevy of ex-boyfriends, has turned into the quite the Spinster of late. She started out okay, graduating from Moun’N Crest High School way way back in 1996 (before the interwebs and cell phones and Facebook and such) where she participated in the feminine sports of diving and sprinting and had a boyfriend on the basketball and football teams. But then she went on to USU and got a useless degree in Engineering and studied dirt. Eww, gross. After her nerdy degree she went traveling, which is okay if you go to cute places like Lake Pal and Hawaii and Thanksgiving point, but she went to Japan and Thailand (teaching English and kindergarten, respectively) where she was chased by wild rabid dogs and little old Japanese ladies shouting, “Gaijin, Gaijin!” Afterward she went to BYU, but before you sigh in relief, it was to major in Microbiology, aka little bugs. Double ewww. She got very dirty and sweaty there as she obsessed about her bikes and finding trails. As if she didn’t even care about finding her EC. When she found herself still a Spinsty three years later, she moved out to Boston and threw away every chance of happiness by being accepted into a doctoral program in Cooties. But against all odds, she found love there through the Erlenmeyer looking glass, and it was Tim on the other side of the lab.

Timothy presumably graduated from high school somewhere in Massachusetts (probably near or in Weymouth), since it is almost confirmed that he is enrolled in the same Cooties Doctoral program as Laura, and plans to finish medical school once his doctorate is complete (I know, I’m confused too- it sounds redundant- isn’t a doctor a doctor?). My ears are burning just from divulging that much information about him, since he will now probably find a way to send virtual Chinese stars over the internet to kill this document and protect his highly private life.
The couple is registered at Sunrise Cyclery, Café Rio, and Thermo Fisher Scientific. Showers were thrown by the makers of the clean room (with a little help from OSHA), and ensured that the bride and groom weren’t infected with RSV and The Aids.

Mike is a hilarious teacher of mostly uninspired high school students. He was trained as a technical writer, but I assure you is capable of much more beautiful prose than the following:

Laura Leigh Dickey of Millville, UT and Tim (insert last name) of (insert place of birth) are getting married at (insert location) on (insert date and time). The bride is a graduate student of infectious diseases attending Boston University in Boston Mass. where she met the groom, who is a medical student at (insert school here). After wedding the couple intends to (insert life plans here).

Michelle is a libarian who lives in sunny southern CA., and I not-so-secretly covet her life.

Mr. and Mrs. Dickey are pleased to announce the marriage of their daughter, Laura, to Tim H. son of a father and a mother. Their wedding will take place on December 29, 2009 in Utah.
The bride grew up in Cache Valley and received her bachelor's degree right here in Logan, Utah. After pursuing other interests which may or may not have included psychic reading and a failed career at a scrapbooking magazine, Laura moved south to pursue her Master's Degree at Brigham Young University. In Provo, she enjoyed a vivacious night life including hiking the "Y" and the BYU Creamery. After successfully receiving her Master's degree, she decided to abandon Utah and get her PhD in immunology at Boston University. Here she met Tim.

Tim H. was raised on the South Shore in Boston and spent his youth skipping rocks and studying for the Harvard entrance examinations. His hard work paid off when he became youngest rock skipping champion in New England history. At the age of 22, Tim graduated from Harvard, went on a world tour, and pursued interests which may or may not have included managing a Jiffy Lube, competing in an iron man, and ice sculpture. Tim is currently pursuing an MD/PHD at Boston University and is researching a cure for the AIDS.

Mr. and Mrs. H. will make their home in the Greater Boston Area.

My sister Karen is beautiful, cheerful, and probably seems like a very good sort of girl. But I can tell you that she is mostly pure mischief, is perfectly capable of scandalous impropriety, and can get you laughing so hard you'll pee your pants.

Dave and Lynette Dickey of Millville are pleased (read: shocked out of their pants and slightly apprehensive) to announce the marriage of their daughter, Laura Leigh, to Timothy Hanley of Boston, MA. The couple will be married on December 29th, 2009 at the Riter Mansion. (Read: Not the Logan LDS temple where I have it on good authority that they do not under any circumstances allow the NON-members ((read, The Atheists)) to attend).

Laura was born and raised in Cache Valley. She enjoys (read: lives for and would cease functionality without) biking, hiking, skiing, canoeing, reading, writing, and even on occasion, dancing (read: you should see her sweet salsa moves). She graduated from Mountain Crest High School in 1996. (Read: like 5000 years ago in Utah marriage years). She went on to attend Utah State University, graduating with a degree in Biological Engineering; Brigham Young University with a Master’s in Gross Diseases; and she is currently working her hiney off obtaining her PhD at Boston University, researching and finding cures for such things as Restless Leg Syndrome, Swine Fever, and the Aids. (Read: Laura was smarter than you on her first day of kindergarten)

Tim was born and raised on the East Coast. (Read: I don’t actually know where he is from.) He also enjoys biking, hiking, running, and reading. It has also been rumored that he has an affinity for board games (read: is the only human on planet Earth to ever beat Peter Jones at Trivial Pursuit ((read: he was welcomed into the family IMMEDIATELY))). He graduated from high school at some point and has since then obtained more schooling than anyone else you have ever met or heard of. He is the smartest man in the universe. As a side note, he has also managed to fascinate and capture the heart of one of the most delightful women of my acquaintance. A feat not easily done. (Read: Seriously.) (Also read: Like I said, smartest man in the universe.)
Laura and Tim met and fell in love while donning stylish space suits (read: if you can find love in your heart for someone in one of those things, it’s destiny) and discussing the mysteries of life, including, but limited to, the instability and moodiness and down-right selfishness of... certain bacteria. After the wedding, they will reside in Cambridge, MA and continue yet some more education. (Read: shocker).

The happy couple are registered at The Bombay House, Whole Foods, R.E.I, and Babies R’ Us. (Read: Ahem.)

Angie is a textbook editor by day, and an eyelash modeler by night. She also has superpowers, but I can't tell you what they are:

Once upon a time there was a girl named Laura. Laura had very shiny hair and was a very pretty girl. While growing up, she learned 6 different languages and drew up the plans for the remodeling of the capital building. Since she was such an impressive girl, she was showered with much praise and fame throughout her high school career where she excelled at quantum physics and fencing. After graduation, she got her undergraduate degree in modeling with straight A's in classes such as "How to look good in skinny jeans 101" and received top marks on her thesis entitled "Catwalk techniques from the 14th century". She decided people might think she was shallow with a degree in modeling so for graduate school she resolved to find a degree that would show off her mind as well as her body. She was quickly accepted to Boston University because of not only her grades, but her stunning modeling portfolio which included a few semi-nude shots (which she shared with pride).

Whilst in graduate school she met a boy named Tim. Tim was always considered by his friends and family as one "top-notch" guy. He was offered a role in several high-profile movies (which are not named here due to contract privacy clauses) but turned them down as he was too busy developing superior agricultural techniques to assist food shortages in third-world countries. Tim enjoys designing medieval costuming for traveling renaissance fairs as well as writing scripts for the theater. Tim not only excels in the arts, but he has also dabbled in the sciences as well and is currently working on a cure for male pattern baldness. Tim also was accepted to BU where he met the love of his life Laura. When he met her, he immediately stole a small piece of her hair and found she had perfectly compatible genetic codes which meant they would have children who not only looked like Greek Gods, but would likely be smart enough to solve global warming and resurrect all the extinct species on the globe (that's right people, we're talking DINOSAURS here).

Joanne is a left-brained expert in European economics and financial ummm... stuff. She is really, really smart and probably the most responsible human I've ever met. And I've met my mother. She really likes fish sticks, but will dip french fries in tartar sauces in a pinch. She found the following poem:

It takes a lot of frogs to find your princess or your prince,
But their love at first sight has been growing every since.
Together, their days have been filled with laughter
So join Laura and Tiim as they live happily ever after!

Erin studies super dangerous mutant viruses. Her goal in life is to make me look like a very bad dresser and disinterested student.

Dave and Lynette Dickey, of somewhere outside of Logan, Utah, are pleased to finally, and hopefully actually, announce the upcoming wedding of their daughter, Laura Leigh Dickey to Timothy Michael Hanley. Laura and Timothy will be married in a small, private ceremony in Logan, Utah on December 29, 2009 (but not at the Logan LDS Temple).

The bride was raised in Logan and graduated from [Fill-in-the-blank] High School and Utah State University with a B.S. in [Some-kind-of] Engineering. She then went on to hold several jobs in several locations over the next few years. She returned to school in 2003 and is still working to complete a PhD in microbiology at Boston University in Boston, Mass.

The groom grew up in Weymouth, Mass. and graduated from [Fill-in-the-blank] High School and Harvard University with a B.S. in Political Science. He worked as a research technician for the next many years before returning to school in 2004. He is currently working to complete both an M.D. and a PhD in microbiology at Boston University in Boston, Mass. and plans to finish in 2012 before going on to do a residency.

The couple met during coursework at Boston University in 2006, and they have spent very little time outside of the university since that time. They will make their home somewhere in the cheaper suburbs of Boston after a brief honeymoon in Logan.

Wedding showers will be held by the bride’s family in Utah and by the couple in Boston. They would like to thank their friends and family for their assistance in planning and willingness to hide shocked looks.

One day left

I'm posting the wedding announcements on Tuesday morning. So far I've had several very good entries (Michelle, how did you find out about my career at Scrapbooking Magazine?), but I'm giving Karen (and the rest of my readership, which totals about six people) one more day since I happen to know she's very clever. Ahem.

Solicitation

Okay guys...

This is no ordinary contest (guess how many straws Calvin put down the drain, where Eli hid his toothbrushes, how Jonathan and Jeffrey took another ten years off their parents' lives, or predict how close Joanne is to running out of iron)... to enter you must craft a wedding announcment for me for the local newspaper. Hint: only entries that are humorous, absurd, or mildly scandalous (but clean) will be seriously considered. For examples, see http://hjnews.townnews.com/articles/2009/10/28/milestones/weddings/wed01-10-25-09.txt. Please e-mail entries to laurita33 (at) gmail (dot) com.

Ivy... 5 months ago...

Brief footage of Ivy's introduction to her siblings. Cami, I'll delete these if you want. Can you download them from there?

Ahem...

To the person who:

• Has done 100% of my laundry for the past 3 months, including towels, linens, and kitchen rags (and according to my ridiculously picky specifications)
  
• Has made me dinner a finity times, even if it meant running to the grocer at the last second to buy orange jello and/or Lipton soup and/or butternut squash and/or saltines and/or peach yogurt


• Gives me a ride to school every day, even though it costs a hundred thousand dollars per hour to park at the BU garage


• Has held my hair out of my face many times while I’ve returned my breakfast / lunch / dinner to the good earth


• Empties my mop bucket / throws away my freezer bag (see previous item)


• Drives slowly around corners, and accelerates and decelerates gently, even though he is categorically opposed to driving like a 90-year-old


• Carries my book bag (well… laptop bag) to class (lab) every day


• Dusted my bookshelves… with Pledge


• Cleaned my bathroom, including toilet scrubbing


• Cleaned my kitchen


• Cleaned my living room


• Cleaned my bedroom


• Drove to three different grocery stores in search of banana-flavored ice cream popsicles (the east coast has never even heard of monkey bars… so ridiculous)


• Disposed of the rotten blocking solution in my lab before my safety inspection so I wouldn’t get in trouble
  
• Tells me I look pretty when I haven't washed my hair for three days and clearly look like a truck.


• Watched Grey’s Anatomy with me. Twice. Even though he much would rather empty puke buckets…


• Gives me a reason to keep smiling every day.

Thank you.

Smells like teen spirit

Just some miscallaneous things:

1. A letter:

Dear Corporate America,

I realize that variety packs are neat and all, but why can I not purchase items in a stand-alone fashion (i.e. without being forced to buy other flavors, which in my case go completely to waste)? For example, why can't I buy:

• Only tangerine flavored jello packs?
• Only banana laffy taffy?
• Only peaches and cream Quaker oatmeal?
• Only sour apple jolly ranchers?

I don't want the other flavors - they taste like they came from the dentist's office.

Sincerely,
Laura

2. Tim finds it patently unacceptable that my sisters and I use our toes to pick up small items off the floor. I have asked him to produce evolutionary or religious evidence to suggest that this is not included in the measure of their creation, but he has, so far, failed to do so.

3. I was born with a very strong sense of smell. This has been magnified lately, and I cannot help but shutter at the smelly world in which we live. 24 hours a day, I am tormented not only by the squalid details of living in a city (urine, vomit, people who don't so much shower every month), but also by the smells of "unscented" products like soap, deodorant, lotion, and water. Sick. Can't somebody invent a de-smellifier? I already tried nose plugs, but they severely impeded my ability to breathe through my nose.

4. Tim made Canadian Thanksgiving dinner last night. We invited Cami's family, his sister Jen's family, and his mother. The children all played nicely together (I've never seen such frightening aligators, cougars, killer turtles, and snakes in my life), and Cami didn't pull Tim's sister's hair. Even once. So I guess we're all friends.

Heza, Wonderteen

Dear President Obama,

I am writing to nominate my niece Heza as the Miss Teen USA. Unlike the girls who usually preside in this role, Heza is a wonderful role model for other teen girls. She is a hardworking and bright student, is involved in many wholesome extracuricular activites, is kind to everybody, serves her family and community, and is way prettier than all the other teenagers in America. And she doesn't even smoke crack or marijuana. Seriously, ever.

Not only is Heza a good example to other teenagers, she has an irrestable personality and is a person whom everybody adores. She'll giggle with you until 2 in the morning (I mean... ummm... 10:30 pm), gallop around like a horse to make children squeal with delight... even get you to start laughing your head off (to the point where you almost embarass yourself by wetting your pants) in the middle of a grocery store isle. She doesn't use her friends to get ahead socially - she really loves them and would do anything for them. She doesn't scream and yell at her parents - she actually helps around the house and willingly plays with her younger brothers and sisters to give her parents some quiet time.

Heza has encountered some difficult situations for such a young teenager. But instead of becoming angry, dying her hair black, and tattooing "H-A-T-E" across her knuckles, she deals with life's challenges by writing, reaching out to family and friends, talking honestly and openly about her feelings, and continuing to shower the world with her loving and compassionate spirit. Really, she's the salt of the earth.

If you decide to leave the decision of choosing Miss Teen USA in the hands of big-hair loving judges who aren't much smarter than most of the current contestants, well then you're missing out. And either way, I will, for the rest of my days, be grateful that I am in the same family of this amazing, classy, awesome, brilliant, hilarious, gorgious gal. That's all.

Sincerely,

A very proud aunt.

Happy Birthday, Heza! I love you to bits, and will personally scalp anybody who ever tries to hurt you. Seriously. Scalp.

Ode to a granola bar. With superfluous italics.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

~ Virginia Woolf

Because I've had a bit of a stomach bug of late, I have been subsisting on applesauce, jello, and rice. Now, I don’t have anything against these food groups, but it’s not like I enjoy eating them… it’s merely about survival (think Donner party). I don’t like food anymore – I hate it, really, and have been yearning for the days when I can say, “That too has passed,” or even, “that was a great character-building experience. So grateful for all that my-buddy-the-toilet-and-me bonding time.”

And today, I had a glimmer of hope. As I was planning a luncheon for a special speaker (my readership, especially Karen, will be super delighted to know that Adolfo Garcia-Sastre, who characterized the 1918 influenza virus and who has made many contributions to the field of negative-stranded viruses is the guest) coming Monday, I saw a picture of a pastry at a local bakery. And I wanted it. Wanted it.

Having forgotten how unbelievably glorious it is to desire food, I put on my jacket and raced to the bakery in question, paid $2.75 for a hand-made granola bar, and sat down. Ignoring dirty looks from groups of chatty medical students who clearly thought I didn’t need my very own table, I took a bite of the crusty, seedy, nutty, sugary, apricoty bar, and…. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it – do you understand? I ate something just because I wanted it and it was (forgive the cliché) heavenly. I know it probably won’t last, but it – that beloved granola bar – has given me renewed hope that I have not forever lost my ability to participate in one of my very favorite pastimes. I sat and chewed and savored, and sat and chewed some more in a very present, zen-like manner, and - no lie - I shed real tears because of the exhilarating sensation of something tasting... umm... tasty.

We'll see if it stays down.

Pride cometh before the fall...

My awesomely awesome former roommate / forever friend Joanne invited me to go hiking two weeks ago (a bit behind on this post). We went to Mt. Monadnock in Jaffrey, NH. Unfortunately, Tim and I drove separately, and due to one of us not being able to tell the difference between "95 N" and "95 S" (which is becoming a recurring theme in my life), we ended up an hour behind the rest of the group.

When we finally arrived, we started up the rather steep hill at the same time as two (ahem) buxom, blond gum-smacking teen beauties who used the word "like", like, every 2-5 words. Envious of their beauty, I was determined to prove that even though I wasn't as young and (ahem) perky as they, my tennis shoes were much more sensible than their flip-flops and I could beat them to the top.

Well... the hill was steep. Very steep. My pictures never capture accurately the quality of steep, but take my word for it. Or at least humor me. After a half hour, and having gained only 25 feet on the annoyingly fit teens, I started to hear my pulse. Not only feel it, hear it. I sat down, and everything went blurry. Tim tells me I fainted about four times.

I eventually regained my composure, and we finished the hike at a much more leisurely pace, which allowed me to see that the hike was actually quite beautiful, with very nice views. And at the top, Joanne and pals were waiting for us.

The blond fellow on the left (below) actually turned out to be an old friend from BYU - he was in my ward and semi-dated my roommate Elise. He was a great hiking companion, and picked wild blueberries all the way down. They were quite tasty. Eric reminded me of my dad in that he kept naming plants we were passing.

Old friend Eric...

New friend Gulish... she taught us a Turkish swimming game when, after the awesome hike, we went swimming at a nearbye lake.

We finished the day by having burgers, fries, and ice cream at Jaffrey Kimball Farms. It was a perfect day - thanks so much, Joanne!

P.S. We never saw the bouncing teenagers again. D&^$ them.

And it's root, root, root for the home team... and other miscellanceous rules.

Since I made it through the Red Sox-Yankees crucible a couple months ago, Tim invited me to another baseball game - this time against the Orioles. I thought I was in the clear since I don't know a single thing about them (and therefore couldn't possibly cheer for the wrong team); however, I was informed of additional rules for the evening's outing:

1. If started, I mustn't participate in the wave, which is too cheerful.


2. I musn't purchase cotton candy from the nice boys walking around in the stands, since said treat is for children.


3. Above all, I musn't, musn't, musn't sing along with Sweet Caroline*, for reasons that are unclear to me, but seem extraordinarily obvious to him.

I didn't pass, but we had a grand time, and I think he still likes me (at least a little).

*Sweet Caroline is played at every Red Sox home game. The lyrics are displayed on a giant board and everybody stands up and merrily sings along.

Jason and I exchanged our usual greeting.

In search of balance

Somewhere, deep in the dustry corridors of the white matter, I have a vague recollection of *asking* several schools to *allow* me to be a PhD student. In the same corridor, I kind of (really? I mean, really?) remember writing an essay to the effect that I was familiar with the daily rigamorales of research, that I was eager (eager! really?) to jump in head first.

Three years later, maybe even more than half-way done (don't laugh Erin and Chadene... stranger things have happened), I wake up some days without a single notion of why I signed up for this. During a good week, about half of my experiments work. During a good week, my boss doesn't throw firey darts at me with her eyes. During a good week, I don't cry on the train ride home. During a really good week, I don't go to work on Saturday or Sunday. This week wasn't one of them. Tim and I had both had to run experiments yesterday, but we took a three hour break while gels were running and viruses were infecting innocent cells to enjoy the concord river.

We paddled to the Old North Bridge, and had such a very easy time of it that we paddled another mile or two past it. Well... geniuses that we are, we realized when we turned around to head back that the reason the first half of the trip was so easy was because a) we were paddling downstream, and b) there was a rather strong wind at our back. We frantically paddled back to meet not only our 2-hour rental agreement (they charge by the hour and we're students after all), but also to stop our experiments lest another week of work be wasted. We completely exhausted ourselves, paddled in circles at several turbulent points (we're beginners, and if I say the river was turbulent, you must kindly humor me), and pulled up in the nick of time.

Then we went back to work, happier people. Incidentally, I can't move today. Please send food.

I just never gave up faith in myself.

To Aleigh and Michelle (in alphabetical order),

who never stopped believing that I would eventually paint this beat-up

"Polaroid Corporation 25 Years of Service"

rocking chair that I got off the curb across the street.

Michelle, you'll be happy to know that this cushion has *ties* (to ensure the safety of any prospective rockers).

I feel good... I feel great... I feel wonderful (and I'm a good helmet-wearing citizen to boot.)

Yesterday my advisor and I had our regular 'you're the biggest disappointment to the planet since J.J. Abram's new series Fringe' talk. These conversations can be a tad discouraging, so I tend to cling to any and all positive feedback (a survival skill employed by most graduate students I know... at least in my field). This morning's harbinger of kind words was a certificate-bearing woman who was inspecting my person for deformities (in a ritual known commonly as a "physical"). Her ever-so-kind praise:

"You have good blood pressure."
"You wear a helmet while biking? That's a wonderful habit."

"Well...your cervix looks clean."

As an added bonus, the nurse who took my vital stats before the real exam commented that she liked the way my chapstick smelled. See (not to brag), I'm not worthless!

The Art of Processing

Last year Cami and I explained to a disappointed Bryn that "Uncle Chris" was going to be my friend instead of my boyfriend. We tried not to transfer the sad feelings associated with such transitions, and instead focused on the fact that she could continue to be his friend. She seems to have adjusted well, and Peter found this creation on their floor the other day after she had been drawing: (Please be sure to note Tim's beard and Chris's hair...)

* drawing not to scale

To the girl who introduced our family to things like hugging and talking about feelings...

I love you Jill - happy birthday!

Mean ol' thief stole my underwear...

I've been waiting and waiting for the next Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale because I was in desperate need of (ahem) their premier product. Yesterday I bought about a hundred copies of my favorite style, and stopped by school to feed some cells. When I came back to Tim's car (mine kicked the bucket) twenty minutes later, a loose window had been pulled down, and the items (and other miscellaneous purchases) were gone. Gone. Gone. The police filled out a token report, but told me they had bigger fish to fry. So I ask you, my friends and family, to be on the lookout for a petty thief who looks like his undergarments lift and separate.

P.S. That's not actually me in the photo...

This just in: My renter's insurance will cover the cost of the stolen items (~$315, US)... after I pay a $500 (US) deductible.

Time for a makeover

I am completely, ardantly in love with this girl's outfit. Taken at the Andrew bus station, with my non-iPhone. The photo didn't do the outfit justice, so I tried to point out the highlights:

(Incidentally there were quite a few older men who also seemed to really be in love with her outfit...)

Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, USA

When I went to your town on the wide open shore,
Oh I must confess, I was drawn, I was drawn to the ocean,
I thought it spoke to me.
It said, "Look at us, we're not churches, not schools,
not skating ponds, swimming pools,
And we have lost people, haven't we though?"
~Dar Williams

Tim and I spent Saturday riding the coastline of Newport, Rhode Island. The area is famous for the takes-ten-to-twelve-maids-and-days-to-clean mansions, but I can't figure out why anybody cares about all those rich-people houses when there is the ocean to gawk at.

I kept hearing a little crunching sound as I was riding. Not sure what it was...

We stopped for lunch at a sea-side clam shack that had a very sophisticated method for keeping track of orders.

It was grand.

P.S. Does anybody know the proper penance for inadvertantly killing 10-20 snails?

10 blissful years

Happy anniversary to me!

P.S. Does anybody have the announcement?

Vouyeristic pursuits

I spent half the morning with Boston's Geriatric Society* peeping at birds, trees, and flowers. At the cemetary, of course. Yes, family, I have become Dad. Kimberly, this place makes me think of you - I have a feeling you'd love it. I saw hundreds of spectacular birds; unfortunately, most of them wouldn't sit politely for a photo shoot.

*They haven't officially accepted me into their cabal, and insist on giving me dirty looks despite the fact that I clearly have a pair of binoculars.

Dumbo, of course.

I've always been easily riled up by social injustice. My earliest memory of such an instance was when I was 3 years old watching Dumbo being taken away from his mother. I cried and cried when Dumbo visited her in jail and she stuck her trunk outside the bars to rock him because I couldn't think of anything sadder than a child separated from his mother. Now that I'm an adult, I still can't...

I love you, Mom!

Go ahead: try to watch without crying. I dare you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CORf1liT9cE

I don't have to steal Princess K afterall...

Cami said I could have Ivy.*



*For six months, at which time I am to return her, but by that time we'll be living in Barbados... don't tell.

Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks

When I first arrived in Boston, I was a die-hard Yankees fan (meaning that I knew who Roger Clemens was, and could have picked him out of a lineup... if there were three people in line, and two of them were Asian). I quickly learned, however, that being a Yankees fan will get you killed. Dead. In Boston. Tim gave me a Red Sox hat for my birthday last year (for my protection, he said), so now I'm practically a rabid Sox fan. Meaning that I know their colors are red and blue. Actually, I have a crush on Jason Bay, who seems like such a nice boy, and Jacoby Ellsbury, who seems to have superpower running skills. The problem is that while I was a die-hard Yankees fan, I got used to talking about them so I occasionally (read: frequently) accidentally refer to the Red Sox as the Yankees, a practice that I am told is "not that cool" and has not won me any local friends.

Tim somehow got tickets to Sunday's game, but told me that if I accidentally cheered for the Yankees, he would not prevent the masses from chopping me into bits or impaling me, and that if they for some reason spared me, he himself would remove me bodily from the premises.

The game was awesome, and I'm (phew) still alive.

(AP) Boston, MA. Boston University took time off from buzzing about its famous serial killer today for the 15th annual Russek Student Achievement Day. The affair celebrated the work of many of BU’s hard-working students, including first-prize winner Timothy Hanley. Mr. Hanley was honored for his work in the field of HIV research, as well as his community service and positive impact on fellow students and the scientific community. He was last year’s winner of the Corwin award, a highly competitive prize given to students who excel in both academics and citizenship. Mr. Hanley is not only a senior PhD student, but also a medical student, which means he will eventually need to be called Dr. Dr. Hanley, or maybe Drs. Hanley. He was encouraged to apply for the award by Professor Nikolajczyk, whose name no man, woman or child can pronounce. Mr. Hanley presented a talk in the afternoon entitled, “Nuclear Receptor Signaling Inhibits Dendritic Cell-Mediated HIV-1 Capture and Trans-infection.” According to a local Science-to-English translator, he is trying to cure The AIDS.

Students like Laura Dickey, whose research wasn’t far along or curing-the-aids enough to be considered for prizes, were allowed to present posters in a science-fair-esque manner. Ms. Dickey, whose relationship to Mr. Hanley is unclear, said that she regretted that she couldn’t think of any reasons to claim part of his 1500 USD prize money, but would try her best to manipulate him into taking her to Tangierino’s anyway.

Down on the banks of the hanky panky

In fond memory of Lil' Brudder,

and also Frederiquito el Sapo,

in case he didn't survive Caleb's 2nd grade class.

I pretended that my goal was to give Cami and Peter some peaceandquiet, but Actually, I really (really) love frogs and was itching to go see the Chorus of Frogs exhibit at the Museum of Science. Bryn ran around from aquarium to aquarium, bursting at the proverbial seams to see every frog in the building. Calvin, a different kind of nature observer, stayed at each display for 10-15 minutes, intensely studying the subjects.

Calvin looked through this crappy excuse of a microscope for a half hour. He kept asking me to bring him more samples, and figured out how to focus on them using the knob on top. It was beyond adorable.

After the museum, we went for a picnic at a gorgeous park.* In the top right picture (below), Calvin was telling me that Actually, he didn't need to wash his face. My favorite part of the day was when he pointed to the tree Bryn was climbing (she reminds me more of her mother everday) and said, "Is that tree flowering?" I confirmed his suspicions and a couple minutes later, he touched my arm and said, "Laura, I love that flowering tree." His softer side was later discarded when Tim was helping him "climb" the tree. "Let go, Tim," he said. "I want you to see how brave I am."

*Technically known as the grass in front of Boston University School of Medicine (Tim had to check on something at the lab). At one point, a couple of inner-city fellows came by using language that would have made Eminem blush. One of them noticed us picnicking and said, "Oh, hello children. I apologize for my language." Bryn said, "mmm hmm" and smiled. The man nodded and walked on.

The fast and the very, very furious

I'm a really awesome environment saver, so I usually take the train to work (read: I can't afford to pay $30/ for parking in the garage). There is meter parking right outside the hospital, but you have to move your car every two hours lest the local law enforcement officers fine you $550,000 and/or your firstborn's kidneys.

Anyway, I drove in Wednesday so that I could take a midday foray to my favorite bike shop. (Actually, Tim drove my car to said funland, as he is under the general opinion that I suck at the driving....) As we were returning to school in the tunnel that goes RIGHT UNDER the city, a guy in a huge, nice pickup truck started to push his way into our lane. Where my car was. As we were there first, and had no way of making ourselves and vehicle vaporize so that his much nicer truck could occupy our space, Tim lay on the horn in a very Boston-esque fashion. The man next door (instead of apologizing profusely for nearly bring a swift end to our mortal probations) rolled down his window, screamed obscenities at us, gave us the bird, and continued forcing his way into our lane. Tim stubbornly refused to will our car out of existence, and Sir D-bag*, while looking me straight in the eye, hit my car. I tried to get his licence number, but he backed off and took an exit before I could. The joke is on him. I'm going to get rid of this scrap of metal before the year ends, and his huge, nice truck will probably cost hundreds of dollars to fix.

Remember that story I was telling you about meter parking? Hypothetically, if one were to get an upsetting phone call regarding her ICU-ridden grandmother and needed to gather herself in the ladies chamber for a couple minutes, and arrived to move her car just a couple minutes too late, the following just might be waiting for her:

Of course, two of those violations are for the same offense (expired sticker... dont' worry Mom, I did it online and need to put the new sticker on). Have I mentioned that I'm getting rid of my car?

P.S. Granny dearest is a-ok for now, as the doctors were able to electrocute her heart into beating again...

*Mom: D-bag means "dirtbag"
*Karen: ask Zack what it really means

Colors of the desert

Can you tell I really like my new camera? Colors of the desert part I:

*Beetle by Dad, and elephant by Tim

Tim and the Slickrock bike trail had a couple altercations. Colors of the desert part II (alternatively titled, "Those running shorts really bring out the blue in your calves"):

On a horse with no name

After, careful consideration I decided that it was time for me to introduce Tim to my desert, so we planned a trip to the patch of land in southeast Utah called Moab. I think the trip went well, and they seemed to get along okay, but there were some tense moments when I felt like it was a little awkward. Tim cursed the thinly oxygenated desert air (particualrly whilst running) and seemed to think that the sandstone was a little unforgiving during times of grad-student-meets-Entrada. But he claims that he'll come back next year, and hopefully relationships will continue building.

The night before the big race, we hiked to delicate arch (the one shown on old Utah license plates). Note: my dad wanted pictures with everybody in front of the arch - even Tim. Conspicuously missing is a picture of him and my mom, who was contemplating the mysteries from a less vertigo-inducing vantage point.

In the middle of Moab, above the raging city life, is a very large red rock. I really really really really really really really really (continued ad infinitum) love the Slickrock bike path. It's hot and horrid and cruel and impossible and delicious. Just when you think you can't ride another inch, you realize you have 99% of the trail left to get through. This was the first time I've taken any family members to see my favorite stone. Tim and I did the entire trail (10.5 miles of the most wonderful kind of h*^&), and I think it was love at first ride for him. A violent, bloody, black and purple bruises everywhere kind of love, that is (see future pics).

After the boys ran the race, we allowed them to rest approximately 10 minutes before dragging them off for not one, but three afternoon hikes. Michael's daughter Mary Kate came to Moab and was an awesome desert investigator. She asked questions about everything and took home samples of trees, sand, cacti, rocks, and soil. It was so fun to have her along - I couldn't love that little girl more if she were my own daughter.

Notice the center picture below: The devil (named DAD) made me and Mary Kate climb Broken Arch. (Jill, it's not very broken.)

MK and I were just exhausted after the race. We decided to get a little rest and relaxation while everybody else (including those who ran) prepared lunch.