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.