Deja Vu
I used to sleep on a waterbed. They are pretty nice, but I got tired of it. So now I have an astronaut mattress. I remember one night when we had the waterbed it started leaking in the middle of the night. It sounded like our big dog, Buddy, was just standing by the bed peeing, but never stopped. Then when I started to roll over to get up and see what was going on my hand landed in a suspiciously wet cover. It wasn't Buddy, it was just an old worn out waterbed mattress. It was Buddy last night.
We were in bed last night when all of a sudden I heard water running. I knew it wasn't my astronaut mattress. There was Buddy, making a great big puddle in the carpet. I got up and put him outside, and Keith dug out the carpet shampooer. He complained because I threw a towel down on the puddle. He told me to take it outside and leave it there. He cleaned up the puddle with the carpet shampooer, but today he says the house still smells like dog pee so now he wants to clean the carpet in the livingroom and bedroom again. I think he just did them a week ago, but now he's going to do it again I guess. Thanks, Buddy.
I hope he doesn't make a habit of peeing all over the place. He's getting old, but I didn't think he would need doggie depends. Keith is convinced his days are numbered. He's only 13, but for a big overweight dog that is pretty old. That would be 91 in people years. I've heard of dogs getting a lot older, but I think big dogs wear out quicker than little dogs. I wish Budd was a little tiny dog like Little Dog. He would be so cute if he was itty bitty. Not that he's not cute, but he's huge. Not Great Dane huge, but still, huge. A big fat dog.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
What You've Been Missing
Moving can be hard. Our favorite neighbors moved about a month ago. Most of our neighbors are ok, but they were the cool neighbors. He reads the Cud, so Hi, John! When they were trying to sell their house my husband said when people came to look at their house he was going to go out on the front porch in a dirty wife-beater, drinking a beer, scratching himself, and let all the dogs out so they would start peeing and pooping and barking and sniffing each other like dogs do. Our neighbors would never have sold their house if he had really done that.
They did finally sell their house, but I know they miss us. At least, they miss my husband's cooking. Not only does he cook, he cooks like an expert. Not surprising since he's been cooking professionally pretty much his whole life. Unfortunately, professional cooking means large quantities of food, so there is always plenty of food for 'samples' for the neighbors. Samples are usually a meal in themselves.
So just to rub in what they've been missing, Saturday my husband cooked a 12 pound pork roast, macaroni salad, corn, oriental slaw, cranberry sauce, and sliced tomatoes. It was commpletely nummy. Eat your heart out, John.
Moving can be hard. Our favorite neighbors moved about a month ago. Most of our neighbors are ok, but they were the cool neighbors. He reads the Cud, so Hi, John! When they were trying to sell their house my husband said when people came to look at their house he was going to go out on the front porch in a dirty wife-beater, drinking a beer, scratching himself, and let all the dogs out so they would start peeing and pooping and barking and sniffing each other like dogs do. Our neighbors would never have sold their house if he had really done that.
They did finally sell their house, but I know they miss us. At least, they miss my husband's cooking. Not only does he cook, he cooks like an expert. Not surprising since he's been cooking professionally pretty much his whole life. Unfortunately, professional cooking means large quantities of food, so there is always plenty of food for 'samples' for the neighbors. Samples are usually a meal in themselves.
So just to rub in what they've been missing, Saturday my husband cooked a 12 pound pork roast, macaroni salad, corn, oriental slaw, cranberry sauce, and sliced tomatoes. It was commpletely nummy. Eat your heart out, John.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Face Off
Today's Medical Monday is about as science fictionish as you could get. There is a doctor in Cleveland who is taking applications for an experimental surgical procedure. A face transplant. The doctor had to fight kicking and screaming to get approval, but they are finally ready to pick the first contestant on the Face is Right. But there is another doctor in England who is planning on giving someone a whole new look, so there is going to be a race to see what medical team is first.
Personally, I don't know if I would try it. I mean, my face would have to be pretty messed up for me to want to let a doctor sew a dead person's skin on my face. On the other hand, the article about the Cleveland doctor had an interview with one man who was badly burned in a car accident. One of the side effects was the fact that his whiskers can't grow through the skin grafts, so his face is just one big ingrown hair, infected and full of puss. He has to constantly go back to the hospital and have it worked on.
The doctor said the new face would still look mostly like you, because how you look depends on things like the shape of your jawbone and cheekbones. So you wouldn't look like a dead person. At least not all the way. I mean, if the person had a mole or birthmark you would end up with that. Still, I would have to be pretty messed up to try it. If the transplant failed you would end up with absolutely nothing for a face, and that would be worse than a burned up face.
Today's Medical Monday is about as science fictionish as you could get. There is a doctor in Cleveland who is taking applications for an experimental surgical procedure. A face transplant. The doctor had to fight kicking and screaming to get approval, but they are finally ready to pick the first contestant on the Face is Right. But there is another doctor in England who is planning on giving someone a whole new look, so there is going to be a race to see what medical team is first.
Personally, I don't know if I would try it. I mean, my face would have to be pretty messed up for me to want to let a doctor sew a dead person's skin on my face. On the other hand, the article about the Cleveland doctor had an interview with one man who was badly burned in a car accident. One of the side effects was the fact that his whiskers can't grow through the skin grafts, so his face is just one big ingrown hair, infected and full of puss. He has to constantly go back to the hospital and have it worked on.
The doctor said the new face would still look mostly like you, because how you look depends on things like the shape of your jawbone and cheekbones. So you wouldn't look like a dead person. At least not all the way. I mean, if the person had a mole or birthmark you would end up with that. Still, I would have to be pretty messed up to try it. If the transplant failed you would end up with absolutely nothing for a face, and that would be worse than a burned up face.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Just Call Me Squish
I need new shoes. Not like some people who already have 200 shoes but just saw a really cute pair of pink heels with little bows that she absolutely has to add to her collection. I mean the shoes I wear every day are falling apart. It started when I discovered I could stick my fingers between the soul and the bottom of my left shoe. I didn't really care. As long as the soul wasn't flopping around where I would need duct tape to hold it in place. But now that shoe has started talking back to me. I guess there must be an air pocket that opened up somehow, because now every time I step on my left foot I can hear air squish out. It sound like shoes do when they're wet, how they get that squishy sound, but that stops when they dry out. Only these shoes aren't wet, and the sound never stops. Well, it does when I sit down, or stand still, or take them off, but other than that no. I guess my career as a ninja assassin is over.
I need new shoes. Not like some people who already have 200 shoes but just saw a really cute pair of pink heels with little bows that she absolutely has to add to her collection. I mean the shoes I wear every day are falling apart. It started when I discovered I could stick my fingers between the soul and the bottom of my left shoe. I didn't really care. As long as the soul wasn't flopping around where I would need duct tape to hold it in place. But now that shoe has started talking back to me. I guess there must be an air pocket that opened up somehow, because now every time I step on my left foot I can hear air squish out. It sound like shoes do when they're wet, how they get that squishy sound, but that stops when they dry out. Only these shoes aren't wet, and the sound never stops. Well, it does when I sit down, or stand still, or take them off, but other than that no. I guess my career as a ninja assassin is over.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Ants In My Pants
Well, school finally started. Do you know what that means? It's almost November. Do you know what that means? It's almost time for NaNoWriMo. That's National Novel Writing Month. I started a story last year, but didn't get past about page 20. This year I plan on doing a lot better. I already have a story percolating about a woman who discovers her sister was killed to cover up a group of corrupt cops. I just went over to their web sight to make sure it was okay to already be working on the plot and characters. It Is! Yay Me!
Well, school finally started. Do you know what that means? It's almost November. Do you know what that means? It's almost time for NaNoWriMo. That's National Novel Writing Month. I started a story last year, but didn't get past about page 20. This year I plan on doing a lot better. I already have a story percolating about a woman who discovers her sister was killed to cover up a group of corrupt cops. I just went over to their web sight to make sure it was okay to already be working on the plot and characters. It Is! Yay Me!
Monday, September 12, 2005
Tips For Crooks
Time for another Medical Monday. This one goes out to all you people who watch Cops to see if any of your friends are on. I have two ways to avoid leaving fingerprints behind. The first one I learned from watching Hawaii 5O. There is an acid or enzyme or whatever in pineapples that will eat away the ridges on your fingers if you expose them long enough. I don't know if you could just go to sleep with a baggie full of pineapple juice duct taped to your hands, or if you have to actually handle large amounts of fresh pineapples for an extended period of time, so don't blame me if the police still come knocking on your door.
The other way I learned when I was working at the factory. Apparently, some places are so worried about getting stuck with bad checks that they fingerprint you before they will let you write a check. One of the ladies at the factory had apparently handled so many cardboard boxes that she didn't have any fingerprints left. So if you are thinking of a life of crime, you might want to spend 5 or 6 years tossing boxes around in a factory. It would probably help if they were full of pineapples.
Now you know.
Time for another Medical Monday. This one goes out to all you people who watch Cops to see if any of your friends are on. I have two ways to avoid leaving fingerprints behind. The first one I learned from watching Hawaii 5O. There is an acid or enzyme or whatever in pineapples that will eat away the ridges on your fingers if you expose them long enough. I don't know if you could just go to sleep with a baggie full of pineapple juice duct taped to your hands, or if you have to actually handle large amounts of fresh pineapples for an extended period of time, so don't blame me if the police still come knocking on your door.
The other way I learned when I was working at the factory. Apparently, some places are so worried about getting stuck with bad checks that they fingerprint you before they will let you write a check. One of the ladies at the factory had apparently handled so many cardboard boxes that she didn't have any fingerprints left. So if you are thinking of a life of crime, you might want to spend 5 or 6 years tossing boxes around in a factory. It would probably help if they were full of pineapples.
Now you know.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
A Crush And A Dream Man
I forgot when I put in my two cents on what Mom wrote to write about my girl crush. I guess you can call it that. There is a girl at work that I really look forward to seeing. I have never talked to her, but she seems really nice. She has that girl next door charm with a touch of tomboy thrown in. She's the kind of girl that might have been a cheerleader, or at least hung out with the cheer leaders. Even bullies were probably nice to her.
I just don't think this really classifies as a girl crush because I'm not lusting after her or anything, I just think she seems nice. For somebody I've never met, or talked to, or really know anything about. Plus there is a guy at work that I think would make a good match for her. He has a little Fonz in him, but more of a Fonz Junior. He's also on the young side, probably just out of high school the both of them. I don't know anybody's real name at work, but I've given some of them nicknames. They are Joni and Chaci.
I know how much Mom enjoys hearing about other people's dreams, but I had a weird one the other night, sort of related to this. I had a dream I was dating a rich black lawyer. His whole family was rich, he wasn't some boy from the hood who made it big or anything. I don't know where that dream came from. He was really nice, and in my dream I met his parents and sister, and they were all very nice. They seemed ok with him dating a white woman because I was actually tanned a darker color than his sister. I think I was having a harder time with the fact that he was rich than the fact that he was black. They would sneak to parties and social events by lifting up manhole covers and cutting though the sewers. They called it their underground railroad.
I forgot when I put in my two cents on what Mom wrote to write about my girl crush. I guess you can call it that. There is a girl at work that I really look forward to seeing. I have never talked to her, but she seems really nice. She has that girl next door charm with a touch of tomboy thrown in. She's the kind of girl that might have been a cheerleader, or at least hung out with the cheer leaders. Even bullies were probably nice to her.
I just don't think this really classifies as a girl crush because I'm not lusting after her or anything, I just think she seems nice. For somebody I've never met, or talked to, or really know anything about. Plus there is a guy at work that I think would make a good match for her. He has a little Fonz in him, but more of a Fonz Junior. He's also on the young side, probably just out of high school the both of them. I don't know anybody's real name at work, but I've given some of them nicknames. They are Joni and Chaci.
I know how much Mom enjoys hearing about other people's dreams, but I had a weird one the other night, sort of related to this. I had a dream I was dating a rich black lawyer. His whole family was rich, he wasn't some boy from the hood who made it big or anything. I don't know where that dream came from. He was really nice, and in my dream I met his parents and sister, and they were all very nice. They seemed ok with him dating a white woman because I was actually tanned a darker color than his sister. I think I was having a harder time with the fact that he was rich than the fact that he was black. They would sneak to parties and social events by lifting up manhole covers and cutting though the sewers. They called it their underground railroad.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
NEW EVENING CLASS FOR MEN
AT ST. CHARLES COUNTY COMMUNITY COLLEGE
WICOE (Women In Charge Of Everything) is proud to announce the opening of its
EVENING CLASSES FOR MEN!
ALL ARE WELCOME
OPEN TO MEN ONLY
Note: due to the complexity and level of difficulty, each course will accept a maximum of eight participants
The course covers two days, and topics covered in this course include:
DAY ONE
HOW TO FILL ICE CUBE TRAYS
Step by step guide with slide presentation
TOILET ROLLS- DO THEY GROW ON THE HOLDERS?
Roundtable discussion
DIFFERENCES BETWEEN LAUNDRY BASKET & FLOOR
Practicing with hamper (Pictures and graphics)
DISHES & SILVERWARE; DO THEY LEVITATE/FLY TO KITCHEN SINK OR DISHWASHER BY THEMSELVES?
Debate among a panel of experts.
REMOTE CONTROL
Losing the remote control - Help line and support groups
LEARNING HOW TO FIND THINGS
Starting with looking in the right place instead of turning the house upside down while screaming - Open forum
DAY TWO
EMPTY MILK CARTONS; DO THEY BELONG IN THE FRIDGE OR THE BIN?
Group discussion and role play
HEALTH WATCH; BRINGING HER FLOWERS IS NOT HARMFUL TO YOUR HEALTH
PowerPoint presentation
REAL MEN ASK FOR DIRECTIONS WHEN LOST
Real life testimonial from the one man who did
IS IT GENETICALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO SIT QUIETLY AS SHE PARALLEL PARKS?
Driving simulation
LIVING WITH ADULTS; BASIC DIFFERENCES BETWEEN YOUR MOTHER AND YOUR PARTNER
Online class and role playing
HOW TO BE THE IDEAL SHOPPING COMPANION
Relaxation exercises, meditation and breathing techniques
REMEMBERING IMPORTANT DATES & CALLING WHEN YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE
Bring your calendar or PDA to class
GETTING OVER IT; LEARNING HOW TO LIVE WITH BEING WRONG ALL THE TIME
Individual counselors available
(Stolen from grouchyoldcripple.com)
More From Memory Lane
I was talking with my husband last night about the flood. We started talking about our favorite memories. Mine was the Red Cross van that would drive through the neighborhood, giving out sandwiches and bottled water to the people rehabbing their houses. You could be busy with a crowbar or hammer, up to your elbows in mold and sawdust, but when you heard the van drive by ringing the little bell you would drop everything and run outside. I remember sitting on a 5 gallon bucket eating a sandwich, looking at the nightmare that was my house, wondering if things would ever be normal again.
I guess people must have started getting tired of daily bologna sandwiches, or there were less people working, because the Red Cross guys started giving sandwiches to our dogs. After all, they were flood victims, too. They would even pour some of the bottled water in a little cup or bowl for the dogs, too. The dogs loved it. Any attention was a good thing, and when you throw in bologna sandwiches the dogs were in heaven.
The funniest thing was next year. The Red Cross didn't come give us any sandwiches anymore, but every time the ice cream truck drove by ringing their bell Buddy would go running to the corner. You could see this look on his face when the truck drove right by him. 'Where's my freaking sandwich?' he wondered.
My husband said his favorite memory was when Buddy ate so many bologna sandwiches he wouldn't eat any more. He said he didn't think a dog would ever turn down a bologna sandwich, but Buddy did. When the Red Cross guys would offer him a sandwich he would just look at them, thinking 'You have got to be crazy. If I ever eat another bologna sandwich you can just shot me.'
I was talking with my husband last night about the flood. We started talking about our favorite memories. Mine was the Red Cross van that would drive through the neighborhood, giving out sandwiches and bottled water to the people rehabbing their houses. You could be busy with a crowbar or hammer, up to your elbows in mold and sawdust, but when you heard the van drive by ringing the little bell you would drop everything and run outside. I remember sitting on a 5 gallon bucket eating a sandwich, looking at the nightmare that was my house, wondering if things would ever be normal again.
I guess people must have started getting tired of daily bologna sandwiches, or there were less people working, because the Red Cross guys started giving sandwiches to our dogs. After all, they were flood victims, too. They would even pour some of the bottled water in a little cup or bowl for the dogs, too. The dogs loved it. Any attention was a good thing, and when you throw in bologna sandwiches the dogs were in heaven.
The funniest thing was next year. The Red Cross didn't come give us any sandwiches anymore, but every time the ice cream truck drove by ringing their bell Buddy would go running to the corner. You could see this look on his face when the truck drove right by him. 'Where's my freaking sandwich?' he wondered.
My husband said his favorite memory was when Buddy ate so many bologna sandwiches he wouldn't eat any more. He said he didn't think a dog would ever turn down a bologna sandwich, but Buddy did. When the Red Cross guys would offer him a sandwich he would just look at them, thinking 'You have got to be crazy. If I ever eat another bologna sandwich you can just shot me.'
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
What She Said
I was lucky enough to be in both floods, along with Mary and our brother. I still remember how Mom chickened out and flew back to Texas right when the water was barely starting to come over the levee down the street from my brother's house. Like she didn't want to live in a tent in the rain for a month. Like that's not fun.
This hurricane has brought back lots of fond memories of the 1973 flood. I was only about 7 and didn't mind missing the last month of school. All I remember is going on a really long road trip. We drove all over, visiting friends and relatives. I think we stayed with every aunt and uncle we had, driving all over Missouri and Oklahoma. I don't remember if we had any pets, or what kind of car we were cruising in.
After our road trip we spent a month or so living in a house in St. Louis county, in Florisant I think it was. The house was nice enough, and there were tons of other kids to play with. I learned to ride a bike there. I had been afraid to learn at our house because we lived on a gravel road. Knees and gravel roads just don't mix. I remember having gallon tubs of government peanut butter and blocks of cheese, going to government and charity offices and waiting while Mom filled out forms, or picking up clothes or food. Mostly I just remember playing and having fun.
I remember a lot more about the 93 flood. I didn't have as much fun as when I was 7. I think Mary had it worse because she had two little kids to take care of, sort of like Mom in 73. Our brother didn't have any kids then, but he did have a dog to take care of. I had two dogs and two cats. Our brother moved 3 times, and each time he got flooded. Each time he moved he took less stuff with him. He hardly ended up with anything.
I was the last one to get flooded in my family. We thought we were ready for anything. We just bought our house, and had only made about 2 house payments. When we bought the house we knew it was in a flood zone, but they told us it had only gotten about a foot of water inside when it flooded in 73. We put everything up on concrete blocks, or on the kitchen counter or the closet shelves. Everything was going to be fine. Then the water came up. And up. And up. It finally topped up at about 5 feet inside my house.
And then it stayed there. It might have gone down a foot or so, but then it just stopped. Every day the weather man would say there was another 10 inches of rain in Iowa. So even if it didn't rain here we didn't get any relief, but most days it did rain here. We didn't stay in the local shelter, the high school, because we couldn't bring our dogs and cats with us. We could bring them with us to the state park, so we did that instead. Mary's daughter broke her arm, my brother's dog went in heat, but I can't think of anything really bad that happened to me or my husband.
Actually, I never could really complain about being flooded very much. I mean, I didn't enjoy it, but I was able to look at it from a fresh perspective. The flood gave everybody a chance to pull together. Some people had to suffer to allow other people the oportunity to be generous and helpful. People suddenly realized how much material abundance they had. They could share the wealth and it made them feel good. I didn't mind being the helpee instead of the helper.
I didn't have any real problems until the water finally went down. When I saw my house and everything I owned covered in mud and debris, I just froze up inside. The temperature was so high for so long everything that didn't get submerged got covered with a thick layer of mold. Even the stuff in the attic was ruined. The flood was one thing, the recovery was something else.
Part of the problem in my house was I lived in a subdivision surrounded by our own little levvee. One by one the surrounding levees broke, but ours held out until the very end. Unfortunately, our town's sewage treatment pond was inside the levvee, too, so while my brother and sister were dealing with thick black mud from the river we were dealing with sewage. And it was stinky, let me tell you.
Oh, yeah, those were the good old days.
I was lucky enough to be in both floods, along with Mary and our brother. I still remember how Mom chickened out and flew back to Texas right when the water was barely starting to come over the levee down the street from my brother's house. Like she didn't want to live in a tent in the rain for a month. Like that's not fun.
This hurricane has brought back lots of fond memories of the 1973 flood. I was only about 7 and didn't mind missing the last month of school. All I remember is going on a really long road trip. We drove all over, visiting friends and relatives. I think we stayed with every aunt and uncle we had, driving all over Missouri and Oklahoma. I don't remember if we had any pets, or what kind of car we were cruising in.
After our road trip we spent a month or so living in a house in St. Louis county, in Florisant I think it was. The house was nice enough, and there were tons of other kids to play with. I learned to ride a bike there. I had been afraid to learn at our house because we lived on a gravel road. Knees and gravel roads just don't mix. I remember having gallon tubs of government peanut butter and blocks of cheese, going to government and charity offices and waiting while Mom filled out forms, or picking up clothes or food. Mostly I just remember playing and having fun.
I remember a lot more about the 93 flood. I didn't have as much fun as when I was 7. I think Mary had it worse because she had two little kids to take care of, sort of like Mom in 73. Our brother didn't have any kids then, but he did have a dog to take care of. I had two dogs and two cats. Our brother moved 3 times, and each time he got flooded. Each time he moved he took less stuff with him. He hardly ended up with anything.
I was the last one to get flooded in my family. We thought we were ready for anything. We just bought our house, and had only made about 2 house payments. When we bought the house we knew it was in a flood zone, but they told us it had only gotten about a foot of water inside when it flooded in 73. We put everything up on concrete blocks, or on the kitchen counter or the closet shelves. Everything was going to be fine. Then the water came up. And up. And up. It finally topped up at about 5 feet inside my house.
And then it stayed there. It might have gone down a foot or so, but then it just stopped. Every day the weather man would say there was another 10 inches of rain in Iowa. So even if it didn't rain here we didn't get any relief, but most days it did rain here. We didn't stay in the local shelter, the high school, because we couldn't bring our dogs and cats with us. We could bring them with us to the state park, so we did that instead. Mary's daughter broke her arm, my brother's dog went in heat, but I can't think of anything really bad that happened to me or my husband.
Actually, I never could really complain about being flooded very much. I mean, I didn't enjoy it, but I was able to look at it from a fresh perspective. The flood gave everybody a chance to pull together. Some people had to suffer to allow other people the oportunity to be generous and helpful. People suddenly realized how much material abundance they had. They could share the wealth and it made them feel good. I didn't mind being the helpee instead of the helper.
I didn't have any real problems until the water finally went down. When I saw my house and everything I owned covered in mud and debris, I just froze up inside. The temperature was so high for so long everything that didn't get submerged got covered with a thick layer of mold. Even the stuff in the attic was ruined. The flood was one thing, the recovery was something else.
Part of the problem in my house was I lived in a subdivision surrounded by our own little levvee. One by one the surrounding levees broke, but ours held out until the very end. Unfortunately, our town's sewage treatment pond was inside the levvee, too, so while my brother and sister were dealing with thick black mud from the river we were dealing with sewage. And it was stinky, let me tell you.
Oh, yeah, those were the good old days.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
DISASTERS AND DAYDREAMS
Like everyone else on the planet, I was glued to the TV set last week watching Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath. It's like driving past a grisly car wreck--you just can't help gawking at the bodies.
It took a while before I realized I wasn't feeling as sorry for the victims as I probably should have. Instead, I was daydreaming of the glory days back when my whole family and I were disaster victims--the Great Mississippi River Flood of 1973. (So good, they arranged a sequel in 1993.)
The great, guilty secret is--it was fun! Oh, it was pretty bad, losing our house and all the furniture and the keepsakes and stuff, and having to crash with friends until the feds put us up in a rent house in St. Louis County. I remember going over to the county seat to sign up for government commodities and walking into the office with three barefoot, grimy kids and the ladies looking at us with mingled sympathy and horror. Oh, yeah!
But it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to us, and we were on an emotional rush for weeks. So was everyone else. It was like starring in a high-budget movie--hey, don't laugh, it cost millions! Everybody had a story. I would run into neighbors at the disaster office or the gas station or the Goodwill store, and we would regale each other with outlandish stories, each one more outrageous than the one before.
Of course, eventually we came down off the high, and had to cope with shoveling out mud, tearing out walls, gagging on the smell of rotting vegetation, coping with friends who, like us, were turning whiny. We moved back into our house before we should have, when it was only partly rehabbed, and I remember cooking the Thanksgiving turkey while a handyman crawled around in the attic rewiring the house and fell through the ceiling. Funny now, but not then.
Everybody on TV is feeling sorry for the poor victims, and I want to tell them--"Don't!" They're having it pretty tough now, but except for the ones who have actually lost loved ones, it's gonna get lots better. They are going to get food vouchers and clothing vouchers and rent vouchers and FEMA trailers and cash grants for rebuilding and vocational training and--good Lord, there's no end to the bonanza. Again, except for the ones who lost family members, they're going to look back on this some day and say, "Damn, that was fun!"
Like everyone else on the planet, I was glued to the TV set last week watching Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath. It's like driving past a grisly car wreck--you just can't help gawking at the bodies.
It took a while before I realized I wasn't feeling as sorry for the victims as I probably should have. Instead, I was daydreaming of the glory days back when my whole family and I were disaster victims--the Great Mississippi River Flood of 1973. (So good, they arranged a sequel in 1993.)
The great, guilty secret is--it was fun! Oh, it was pretty bad, losing our house and all the furniture and the keepsakes and stuff, and having to crash with friends until the feds put us up in a rent house in St. Louis County. I remember going over to the county seat to sign up for government commodities and walking into the office with three barefoot, grimy kids and the ladies looking at us with mingled sympathy and horror. Oh, yeah!
But it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to us, and we were on an emotional rush for weeks. So was everyone else. It was like starring in a high-budget movie--hey, don't laugh, it cost millions! Everybody had a story. I would run into neighbors at the disaster office or the gas station or the Goodwill store, and we would regale each other with outlandish stories, each one more outrageous than the one before.
Of course, eventually we came down off the high, and had to cope with shoveling out mud, tearing out walls, gagging on the smell of rotting vegetation, coping with friends who, like us, were turning whiny. We moved back into our house before we should have, when it was only partly rehabbed, and I remember cooking the Thanksgiving turkey while a handyman crawled around in the attic rewiring the house and fell through the ceiling. Funny now, but not then.
Everybody on TV is feeling sorry for the poor victims, and I want to tell them--"Don't!" They're having it pretty tough now, but except for the ones who have actually lost loved ones, it's gonna get lots better. They are going to get food vouchers and clothing vouchers and rent vouchers and FEMA trailers and cash grants for rebuilding and vocational training and--good Lord, there's no end to the bonanza. Again, except for the ones who lost family members, they're going to look back on this some day and say, "Damn, that was fun!"
RETURN OF THE LIBRARY LIZARD
"The Second Brain," by Michael D. Gershon, M.D.
Gershon has written a witty, extremely interesting book about, of all things, the human gut. Yes, your intestines and that nasty old colon.
"To be frank," he writes, "the popular consensus is that the colon is a repulsive piece of anatomy. Its shape is nauseating, its contents disgusting, and it smells bad. The bowel is a primitive, slimy, snakelike thing . . . despicable and reptilian, not at all like the brain, from which wise thoughts emerge. Clearly, the gut is an organ only a scientist would love. I am such a scientist."
Gershom is something I had never heard of, a "neurobiologist." Most of his colleagues study the brain, but he and few oddballs have chosen the nervous system of the gut. "I have become accustomed, at meetings of the Society for Neuroscience, to being a house novelty," he says.
Gershon reminds me of teachers I've had who were so enthusiastic that they made some dull-as-dishwater subject absolutely fascinating. He is also a great jokester and storyteller, with the result that his book is not only enlightening but also great fun to read. Consider these chapter headings: "Beyond the Teeth," "Onward and Downward," "It Ain't Over Til It's Over."
You learn that this "enteric nervous system" is a remnant of our evolutionary past (he calls it "reptilian") but it is far from simple. The small intestine has as many nerve cells as the spinal cord--over 100 million--and the same chemical neurotransmitters as in the brain. But the really astounding thing about the "brain in the bowel" is that it operates almost completely on its own. It runs its own shop, merrily managing its work without any input from the "upper brain" and, hopefully, with its owner being oblivious to what is going on. The last thing you want to do, he observes, is to hear from your bowel.
I picked up this book at the library because I wondered if it might explain what was happening to my brother--who, since his colon surgery, has been hearing from his bowel, loudly and insistently, big-time. I was just going to pass it along to him (no pun intended), but then I started reading it and got hooked. If you pick it up, you will be too.
"The Second Brain," by Michael D. Gershon, M.D.
Gershon has written a witty, extremely interesting book about, of all things, the human gut. Yes, your intestines and that nasty old colon.
"To be frank," he writes, "the popular consensus is that the colon is a repulsive piece of anatomy. Its shape is nauseating, its contents disgusting, and it smells bad. The bowel is a primitive, slimy, snakelike thing . . . despicable and reptilian, not at all like the brain, from which wise thoughts emerge. Clearly, the gut is an organ only a scientist would love. I am such a scientist."
Gershom is something I had never heard of, a "neurobiologist." Most of his colleagues study the brain, but he and few oddballs have chosen the nervous system of the gut. "I have become accustomed, at meetings of the Society for Neuroscience, to being a house novelty," he says.
Gershon reminds me of teachers I've had who were so enthusiastic that they made some dull-as-dishwater subject absolutely fascinating. He is also a great jokester and storyteller, with the result that his book is not only enlightening but also great fun to read. Consider these chapter headings: "Beyond the Teeth," "Onward and Downward," "It Ain't Over Til It's Over."
You learn that this "enteric nervous system" is a remnant of our evolutionary past (he calls it "reptilian") but it is far from simple. The small intestine has as many nerve cells as the spinal cord--over 100 million--and the same chemical neurotransmitters as in the brain. But the really astounding thing about the "brain in the bowel" is that it operates almost completely on its own. It runs its own shop, merrily managing its work without any input from the "upper brain" and, hopefully, with its owner being oblivious to what is going on. The last thing you want to do, he observes, is to hear from your bowel.
I picked up this book at the library because I wondered if it might explain what was happening to my brother--who, since his colon surgery, has been hearing from his bowel, loudly and insistently, big-time. I was just going to pass it along to him (no pun intended), but then I started reading it and got hooked. If you pick it up, you will be too.
I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up
Friday when I got off work I called my husband to see how his day went. He said I needed to go to the emergency room. I thought something had happened to him or The Girl, but he said it was his mom. She passed out in the bathroom. She had been feeling dizzy, but nobody knows why. She was just standing in the bathroom when she took a header right into the sink. She doesn't know how long she was out, but luckily she only split her forehead right through her eyebrow. No broken hip or anything, just 11 stitches. Thank God.
So she got to spend an exciting night in intensive care, but she was able to go home Saturday. She is going to see her regular doctor today or tomorrow and see if he can find out what happened. They said she needed a stress test, but I can't imagine an 80 year old woman running on a treadmill. Her blood pressure was kind of low, but the nurse in the hospital said it was fine.
Who knows. I'm just glad she seems like she's better. I don't know what my husband would do if anything happened to his mother. Not that he's a momma's boy or anything, but they are really close. I don't think it would help any if I tried to explain my views on reincarnation and life after death to him. Bodies only last so long, but souls last forever.
Friday when I got off work I called my husband to see how his day went. He said I needed to go to the emergency room. I thought something had happened to him or The Girl, but he said it was his mom. She passed out in the bathroom. She had been feeling dizzy, but nobody knows why. She was just standing in the bathroom when she took a header right into the sink. She doesn't know how long she was out, but luckily she only split her forehead right through her eyebrow. No broken hip or anything, just 11 stitches. Thank God.
So she got to spend an exciting night in intensive care, but she was able to go home Saturday. She is going to see her regular doctor today or tomorrow and see if he can find out what happened. They said she needed a stress test, but I can't imagine an 80 year old woman running on a treadmill. Her blood pressure was kind of low, but the nurse in the hospital said it was fine.
Who knows. I'm just glad she seems like she's better. I don't know what my husband would do if anything happened to his mother. Not that he's a momma's boy or anything, but they are really close. I don't think it would help any if I tried to explain my views on reincarnation and life after death to him. Bodies only last so long, but souls last forever.
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