Euphoria Tuesday

I was going to write about how euphoric I am, but then the euphoria wore off and fatigue set in and it's only 8:45 am.

I woke up at 4:30 to the birds chirping, scribbled in my journal for a bit, listened to NPR, went for a walk (!!!), went to a bookstore and have been in an incredibly good mood.  It's hard to know if the euphoria is from the pain meds or if I'm just really happy that every day it gets a little bit easier to put pants on.

One thing that caused me to laugh in bed this morning was an NPR interview with a scientist who spends a great deal of time in Antarctica.  She says that during the period of peak isolation, when there is no sunshine and the last plane has left which means no one can leave for 9 months, the scientists watch The Shining.

Another delightful thing about that interview was that she said that there is a group of US Writers and Artists who go down to Antarctica for a good chunk of time.  She described it in a way that made it sound as though the government arranges this.  Sounded like she was talking about a different country in a different time.  I've got to look into this program if it exists, and then I've got to get writing.

Enough about interesting things, I know you're dying to hear about "my condition," as I've come to call my darling dear bulging disk.  Things were going quite well, but not as well as I had hoped, and so I decided to proceed with getting a second steroid injection yesterday.  This one was split between the epidural space in my spine, which would address the pain going down my leg, and my sacroiliac joint, which would address the pain in my butt.  (It's all been a pain in the butt, if you ask me...snap.)  Instead of having my pants pulled down and laying on my stomach with one male doctor and one female x-ray tech in the room (as was the case with the first injection), this time there was a male doctor, a male resident, and a male x-ray tech.  I didn't think anything of it until I was laying on my stomach with my pants down and the male resident said something like, "whoah - check out that crest!"  The doctor agreed that I indeed have a high cresting sacroiliac joint, whatever that means.  I didn't press for more information or speak up to remind them that the crest belongs to a conscious human, as I was more focussed on breathing and not passing out.  I'm just glad to know that there is yet another thing that makes me special.

Here are some pics from my morning:

A visit to the neighbors:

Maybe a zinnia?

Ducks grazing.  It ain't right!

New books

Check out these stats!  4.0 miles in 1:35  (avg pace of 23:52)

Spinal Drama

A few weeks ago, my brother sweetly asked me if I remembered that blog that I used to post on once a month or so. Ha! Of course, I remember. I think about it often. Sometimes I even sit down with intentions of writing something, but then usually I decide to have a snack instead.

Recently, however, I’ve had some health complications, and so I am turning to writing for therapeutic purposes.

You see, on April 4th, a sunny Wednesday morning in our nation’s capital, I woke up with such a terrible literal pain in the ass. It took about a half hour of self butt massage before I could get out of bed. I toughed it out at work the rest of that week, but by Friday, I was really hurting. I am normally hesitant about turning to drugs for pain relief, but I wouldn’t have made it through Easter weekend without prescription muscle relaxers and opiates. Pot probably would have done the trick, but alas, we live in a time and a place where the more habit-forming substances are legal.

To make a long story short (should I? this really is my favorite thing to talk about), after putting me through weeks of physical therapy based upon the wrong diagnosis and only after I basically crawled into his office, my doctor ordered an MRI, through which it was discovered that I have a bulging disk (or disc, pick your poison – there is no consistent spelling). Rather than cataloging the shortcomings of this doctor, I will tell you to just picture the doctor from 30 Rock.

A bulging disk! At my age! But I’m so active and healthy!

It felt like an indictment of how I’ve been living my life. It seemed like this was the universe, or maybe just my body, saying “Ha! This is what you get for turning into a curmudgeon at such a young age.”

Now even if there is any truth to such thoughts, self-blame has no place in the healing process. And so I am trying to be nicer to myself, but really what has helped the most in combating the self-blame is knowing that this same thing has happened to such outstanding, healthy, and happy individuals as my little brother, my roommate, and my yoga teacher. In fact, my little brother and I currently have the exact same disks annoyingly pressing on the exact same nerves! It’s just like when we used to wear color-coordinated outfits.

Cat says something positive will come from this experience. It’s too soon to say if she’s right. I mean, I know she is, she always is, I just can’t see it yet. I suppose there have been a few good things that have come of this so far:

 -I’ve stopped drinking coffee. With all the drugs I’m taking, I figured I would give my body a break by eliminating one toxin as I introduce so many others.

-Maybe this experience will make me less of an asshole. I have been quite healthy most of my life, and I take most of the credit for that, which means that when people are sick or in pain, part of me wonders what they’re doing wrong. Now I realize that it’s all a crapshoot (mostly), and I will try to just be thankful for what I have, while working on being more compassionate.

-Maybe this experience will make me ok with being a little bit of an asshole. For example, I ordered groceries online and have been taking cabs everywhere. I would go crazy stuck at home with only a box of crackers unless I afford myself these little indulgences. (Maybe not so little – I had to ask the grocery delivery driver to bring the groceries to second floor while his truck held up traffic on Q Street, not to mention the fuel.)

-Pain meds = fantastic dreams. One night I played pool with Pete Campbell from Mad Men at Downton Abbey while childhood friends made cameo appearances. Another night, I sang Pearl Jams’ greatest hits with Eddie Vedder on a rooftop. Last night was all about almond-filled croissants.

-It has become much easier for me to impress myself. A couple weeks ago, I dazzled myself by taking a shower and putting real pants on. Last Wednesday, I walked to work, and I arrived feeling like the champion of the universe. And my proudest moment yet: in bed this morning, I rolled over onto my stomach and was able to arch my back enough to prop myself up on my elbows. Then I did the formerly unthinkable thing and got out of bed without taking Percocet.

I know things will continue to progress and normal life will resume. Hopefully this disk bulge won’t be something that will recur. My roommate has been a great coach and mentor and has been in disk bulge remission for five years. My yoga teacher told me that when I return to yoga, I will be starting at the beginning. As discouraging as that was to hear (she suggested a private session to work on tadasana and sitting in a chair!), it was a reality check, and perhaps being forced to go back to the fundamentals of yoga will be the positive thing to which Cat was referring.

In the meantime, protect your back and keep your eyes out for my “It Gets Better (for disk bulge sufferers)” series.

Menstrual dishware

I adore my roommate, a 30 year-old male who counts the below mug among his earthly possessions. I had the pleasure of explaining to him what a real diva cup is.

No botulism!

Remember those tomatoes I canned? Well, I finally had the courage to open up one of the jars and use the contents. Smelled like summer in there. I made lasagna. Good, not great, the recipe is not worth sharing.

Trick to avoid holiday weight gain

Get the flu and vomit endlessly. Merry Christmas!

Thanks, legs!

And thank you dear friends who have ridden any part of these miles with me!

Memoirs - Ugh

I just came across this funny thing that I wrote a year ago:

I am so sick of hearing about memoirs. The worst to me are the ones about motherhood. Maybe if/when I am a mother, I will be more interested in them, but at that point if I do have the time to read I most certainly won’t want to read about someone else’s adventures in calamity.

For example (and these are not too far of a stretch from what is actually available on bookshelves):

My year as an over-educated, under-experienced occasional vegetarian who tries not to smoke too much and who feels a twinge of guilt every time I put something in the trash

My year of yoga every day regardless of the great inconvenience to my girlfriend who had to drive me because of my DUI

Adventures in motherhood: the story of a woman who decided to procreate with her husband after they bought a house, a Volvo, and a dog

My year of following the Old Testament literally [2011 note: I think a few of these sorts of memoirs have actually come out since I wrote this last year.]

A year of Macy’s instead of Nordstrom

The Skins Do Pop Off

Cool band name, eh? I'll be in charge of the tambourine and the outfits. Now, can you folks out there write the songs, sing, and play the other instruments? Then we can quit our jobs and hit the road.

The band name comes from a process currently taking place in my apartment. I'm canning 25 lbs of tomatoes. That's right -- my urban homesteading fantasies are becoming reality, at least for tonight.

Pics below. Special thanks to Zoe for the inspiration, motivation, and instruction. Thanks also to roommate David who is about to come home to an apartment sprinkled with tomato parts and juice, without whose pots and utensils my evening of canning would not have been possible. Also thanks to neighbor Karen who lent me canning pot, jar lifter tool, and mason jar book with nicely illustrated instructions.

I wish I could go back in time and have some words with the tortured law student version of myself. The words would be both gentle and firm. I used to spend hours lamenting that I didn't have time to cultivate my modern homestead. Sometimes we have to be patient. We can't have everything all at once. But things do slowly fall into place. I have 8 quarts of canned tomatoes to prove it.

Before the party started

The skins do pop off

Jars in water

Finito! Good night!

Devastating news from tuesday's gynecology appointment

It took a few days to process before I could blog about it.

They took my height and said that I am 5'7 1/2.

All this time, like since high school, I've said I was 5'9.

My identity and sense of self are shaken.

I always think of myself as a tall woman.

This changes my height to weight ratio.

I am getting a second opinion.

Luckily, my sister has been in town this week and has provided immeasurable support during this trying time. She is a physician herself and we will run some separate tests this evening.

In the meantime, please light a candle for me.

Day-tripping/East coast growing on me/Falling in love with my life or at least learning to like it more/I’m not sure why this is so long

Any of these titles will do for this post.

With the subtitle: Philly day trip

I rolled out of bed at 4:15 on Saturday morning. Was one of those mornings when I looked in the mirror and saw that I had slept in such a way that my hair was looking good. I considered forgoing a shower and getting ten more minutes of sleep, but then I smelled the bod and determined that she needed a rinse. She got it and then I packed myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and carried my bike out of my apartment.

My neighbor Joe was smoking a cigarette on the steps outside of our building. “What are you doing up at this hour?” I asked in a motherly tone. “Cute boys,” he said and grinned. His Friday night hadn’t ended by the time my Saturday morning began.

I pedaled down to Union Station. I had never been out at this hour in DC. I saw a real life super obvious prostitute. Mesh body suit over black bra and underwear. A car stopped to talk to her. He didn’t want what she was offering or she wouldn’t do what he was asking for. He drove away. I continued on my way. I locked my bike up at Union Station. There was a man in a maroon t-shirt sleeping on top of the concrete barricades that surround the bike racks to prevent cars from hitting the bikes. I bet the concrete was cool in contrast to the hot air.

I got on the 5:25 train bound for Philadelphia. I was on my way to a conference for law librarians. I observed that I really didn’t feel anything about the trip. No nervousness, no anticipation, no excitement. Nothing. Does this mean that I’ve chosen the wrong career path? No – I think it means that I’ve chilled a bit and come to realize all is well and will most likely continue to be so. Also, I think the itinerary I devised for myself might have tempered any enthusiasm about the day. Super early train there and super late train home. I was just hoping to make it through the day.

Train ride was lovely. Nice sunrise, views of the water, and a few more bites of sleep.

Morning conference sessions were fine. Mostly fluff, but good to meet people in my field. These were all newer law librarians like myself. At several points during conversations with job-seekers, I said to myself about myself “You are one lucky mofo.” Nothing else can make you appreciate the job that you frequently complain about like meeting a bunch of young, smart, nice people who would like to have your job. Also, several of the conversations started with compliments to me on my hair. I had to bite my tongue from bragging that I woke up with it like that.

There was a speed networking portion of the morning. It wasn’t terrible. At one point, I was talking to a young woman with orange-ish lipstick on her face, only some of which was on her lips. She mentioned something about a dog. It didn’t appear like this rotation of the speed networking was going to end soon so I asked her what kind of dog even though the answer to that question is always either something that I have never heard of or something that I can’t picture. There was a lot of noise around us, and she misheard the question and went into a long story about a why she wanted to be a law librarian which for some reason involved a story about trapping a rat or a bat in a box and I stopped listening but kept nodding and smiling and thinking about how if I ever start to lose my hearing I might not always ask people to speak up.

Then all of us new librarians boarded a tour bus and took a tour of Philadelphia, which was also surprisingly not terrible. In triple digit temps, seeing a city by tour bus is forgivable, right?

Then I found myself with three and half hours to kill before dinner but absolutely no desire to be out in the heat. I went to Reading Terminal Market and bought some of my favorite red licorice and a packet of pickling spices. Then I went to Macy’s for air conditioning and a toilet.

The tour guide had mentioned that there is a large pipe organ inside the Macy’s. I slowly made my way through the store up the escalators to the third floor where the bathrooms are located. On my way back down, I saw a sign that said there would be a concert at 5:30. Lovely. I found a nice spot in the shoe department, pulled out a book, and waited for the concert to begin. It was quite nice. I stayed in the shoe department reading for about a half hour after the concert ended.

I met up with librarians with whom I had worked last summer for a lovely dinner in honor of one of the librarians who had received an award for community service. I left the restaurant at 10 pm with the honoree and another librarian and we headed out to catch the 10:30 pm train back to DC.

On the train ride home, I was overcome with gratitude. Gratitude that all is well. Gratitude for the opportunities that I’ve had in DC. Gratitude that life has shown me once again that although we rarely know what’s coming next, the chances are quite high that whatever it is, it will be good. Gratitude for a good haircut. Gratitude was followed by drowsiness, and I slept the rest of the way to DC.

The women who took the train with me both offered me a ride home and then gasped when I thanked them but said that I would ride my bike; it’s a short ride; I have lights and a helmet. I assured them that I would be safe and we parted ways. I left Union Station and stepped out into the night. It had been pitch black when I left my bike there in the morning and it was pitch black when I returned. The man in the maroon t-shirt was there in the exact same spot. I rode home and when I pulled up to my building I was hoping Joe would be out front, but he wasn’t. That would have made for a pleasingly symmetrical day.

Organ pipes at Macy's

Organ player at Macy's

Steps from Rocky at Philadelphia Museum of Art

Rocky statue

Meta-jealousy

I’m jealous of an article about something that I am jealous about.

When I read No one Belongs Here More than You by Miranda July, I thought, “Hey, I was going to do that.” I wanted to write like that. I wanted to make those precious observations. I’ve got that in me and I wanted to get it out and put it down on paper, but I never got around to it. And she put it down on paper and she put it on film and did so much else with it. And I haven’t really tapped into whatever it is I think I have in me. Well, good for her. I decided to enjoy her work rather than resent her. At least someone’s doing something with what they’ve got in them.

And now here’s this New York Times Magazine article with all sorts of well-crafted observations on the various responses to Miranda July.

Here are some excerpts:

To her detractors (“haters” doesn’t seem like too strong a word) July has come to personify everything infuriating about the Etsy-shopping, Wes Anderson-quoting, McSweeney’s-reading, coastal-living category of upscale urban bohemia that flourished in the aughts.

The urban bohemian irks precisely because his or her quirky individuality is just part of a different kind of uniformity, where the uniform happens to be a bushy beard or Zooey Deschanel bangs rather than country-club khakis. Twee fascinations with childhood innocence can mask an unwillingness to tackle life’s darker quandaries. Who wouldn’t be annoyed by a guy who, say, finds a cracked milk bottle, makes a film about it, then silk screens it on a T-shirt and names his band Milk Bottle? The stakes are low. The results are soon forgotten.

It’s odd that she has come to represent, for some, a kind of soulless hipster cool, because in July’s work, nobody is cool. There’s no irony to it, no insider wink. Her characters are ordinary people whose lives don’t normally invite investigation. So her project is the opposite of hipster exclusion: her work is desperate to bring people together, forcing them into a kind of fellow feeling. She’s unrelentingly sincere, and maybe that sincerity makes her difficult to bear. It also might make her culturally essential.

She admires directors like Baumbach and Wes Anderson, but she said: “All those men are also personal. I don’t mind that, but I do mind that it’s not really questioned, whereas I or another woman is looked at as so self-obsessed. Men are just not being judged in the same way. They’re never going to be annoying in the same way.”

Recent Rides

Rode a chunk of Skyline Drive at Shenandoah National Park with a couple of friends who are training for RAGBRAI. Spent the whole time climbing at 7 mph or blasting down at 35 mph and very little in between. It was tough but fun!

I like the choices that I have in DC.
Rode a nice 40-mile, oft-cycled loop up MacArthur Blvd, over on Tuckerman Lane, and then home through Rock Creek Park, with a stop at La Boulangerie in Potomac, MD for well-stuffed croissants and pretty tarts. Zoe couldn't resist the baguettes and rode 20 miles home with one. What a nice touch for all of roadies who we saw who were presumably fantasizing about the Tour de France!

Fucking good shit

I made my second pie today. First one with a lattice. Maybe it was beginner's luck, but that was some good shit. I followed Deb's guidance. But instead of using the crust recipe included in that recipe, I followed her Pie Crust 102 directions. Thanks Deb! What a success. She's right -- you can't make a pie crust with a food processor. You must use a pastry cutter. I was a bit short on rhubarb and the crust looked a bit empty after I filled it, so I added blueberries and cherries. Holy balls. Goddamn. I don't even really like pie, but this was one of the best things I've had in my mouth in a while.

Microtour

DC-Cobb Island

Why, hello there.

So this weekend I reunited with myself and so must blog about it in order for it to have really happened.

I rode my bike from DC to Cobb Island, MD, where my landlady lives. It was 67 miles down there yesterday and 60 miles home today, taking a more direct and yet more scenic route. When I set sail from my apartment with rear rack and one pannier (microtour, remember), I immediately thought, ah yes, this is the fullest expression of myself. Not to be too self-aggrandizing, but the transformation from pedestrian/occassional cyclist to bicycle tourist is similar to what I think Clark Kent experiences in the phone booth.

I left Cobb Island this morning at 6:30 and took a road through farmland with the morning dew hanging over it and I thought, "This is the thing from which all else flows." That is an epiphany that I have had before. I always want my life set up in such a way that I can get away for a tour, even a quick one. This means: having a bike in good repair, having a job with vacation time, and maintaining my health/fitness.

Highlights of the ride include:

-getting passed by a dork with a cotton t-shirt tucked into bib shorts and then reminding myself that I have all day to ride so there is no need to race with dorks

-passing a guy riding a rascal on the shoulder of the highway

-stopping for an apple and thinking that I was staring at deer yard art until the deer ran away

-40 miles on roads lined with honeysuckle and lilacs

-cheers from my landlady's neighbors when I arrived

Here are some pics:

At my apt in DC

I wasn't sure how I would get over the Potomac on the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, but was delighted to get there and find a nice bike path with a plexiglass barrier that blocks the sound from the highway.

Hurray for bike infrastructure!

Osprey nest at Cobb Island. Platforms were put in to provide a place for the osprey to nest to prevent their extinction. Now they rule the place.

Goodnight, Cobb Island.

Good morning, Cobb Island.

There were chickens in the road!

I took this pic for my friend Brent, who is currently recovering from a bike accident. Last summer, inspired by one of these signs, he led a group of drunken fourth of july revelers in a protest calling for the end of road work.

The Potomac, taken from the middle of the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. If you click on the picture to make it bigger, you can see the Washington Monument in the center.

Weekend Proper

It’s wonderful to have my evenings and weekends back. Nice to have the increase in free time coincide with the arrival of spring. We had 70 degree weather on Friday and the city turned into a beach. And then a full moon that night. Woke up this morning and decided to ride my bike 35 miles east to the Chesapeake Bay. Normally I don’t like out and back rides, but the turnaround point was worth making an exception. I walked in the water and climbed on the rocks and was feeling quite Elisabethan and snapped a few photos.

Except for the 10 miles leading up to and away from the water, the ride was pretty gross. Model homes, town homes, idiot drivers, strip malls most of the way. Central Avenue/MD 214 looked like a nice country road on the map, but I had failed to acknowledge that those aren’t nice country roads that bring hundreds of thousands of people into DC from surrounding areas for work every day.

About ten miles outside of the city on my way home, I was at a stop light, waiting on the left side of the right turn only lane so that cars could get by. A car pulled up on my right and the driver said, “Why would you do that? Why do you ride on the road? Why do you put your life in the hands of others? Don’t you know people around here don’t know how to drive? I don’t want to hear about you on the news. Get on the sidewalk.”

I was so tired at this point in my ride, all I could think about in forming my response was how to get this man to stop yelling at me. I knew he was making a right turn and wouldn’t be following me, so I just said, “Okay.” Then of course I spent the next ten miles thinking of better ways that I could have responded to him.

I could have told him that I had to ride on that highway because I wanted to see the water. Even though DC is full of bike trails, those trails are also full of strollers and dogs and those trails don’t go to the water. I could have told him this ride is the nicest thing I’ve done all week. I could have told him that I had mapped out this ride months ago and have been waiting to have the time to do it. I could have explained how riding a bike on a sidewalk is stupid and more dangerous. I could have explained how it is important for bikes to be out on the road and visible so that drivers get used to sharing the road. I could have told him to get out of his car and onto a bike. I could have said a lot of things, but I just said, “Okay.” I was tired, the light was about to change, and he was an old crotch who wouldn’t have listened to anything I might have said.

All in all, it was nice to get some miles in. Probably won’t do this ride again. Sadly, the idea of having a car to get out of the city to ride my bike is seeming less ridiculous and actually sort of appealing. I won’t do it. Luckily, bikes are allowed on the metro so my strategy for future rides may be to take a train to the end of a line and start there.

We would hyphenate: Garbanzo-Beaner

If I could marry a legume, it would have to be the chickpea.



Lo siento, lentil. I know we’ve had some good times and we go so far back, but I read somewhere that you inhibit iron absorption and once I started to think about it I realized that you do in fact create in me a need to take frequent rests. Although I’m happy to help another overcome his/her/its inhibitions, an inhibition that messes with my absorption of iron is something that I simply cannot, must not, tolerate.

To my dear chickpea, I regret that my profession of love for you required such an explanation regarding the lentil. Let us move on shall we?

Friends: This is my cry for help.

None of you will talk to me/email me because I told you I am studying. And I am studying, but I can’t study all the time. No one wants to distract and that’s very considerate, but do you really want me sitting alone in my apartment considering matrimony to a legume? They won't even let the gays get married! One positive thing that has come out of my solitary confinement is that I’ve thought of some good jokes:

Joke Number 1:
Q: Melba, why are you taking the Nebraska bar exam?
A: Because that’s where all the good bars are.

Joke Number 2:
Q: What does Snoop Dogg call the bar exam?
A: The bizarre exam.

Overheard in Dupont

"I could never live in Idaho or anywhere else in the midwest."

"It's a fixed gear so that means it's really hardcore."

CIRAC

In preparation for the bar exam, I must practice writing very formulaic essays. State your Conclusion, identify the Issues, state the Rule, Apply the rule to the facts, repeat your Conclusion.

Example:

We will all be okay. At issue is whether things will turn out okay given that shit is generally so fucked up. In general, things turn out okay as long as we stay cool and calm and treat each other gently. In the case at hand, we are doing lots of yoga, riding our bikes, keeping things in perspective, surrounding ourselves with chill people, and treating people as we like to be treated. These things keep us calm and result in the gentle treatment of others. We will all be okay.

Back together again

Sometimes I get so tired of being so good all the time. So last night I made myself a stiff drink (which I couldn't finish), put on some tunes and decided to get into what I was saving as a treat for myself after the bar exam.

I had shipped my Jamis out here when I was home for christmas and was going to wait until after the bar to put it together.





It didn't take too long at all. I futzed with the brakes until I gave up and went to bed. But then I woke up with new resolve this morning and finished it up in ten minutes. Isn't that funny? That happens with work and studying. Something can be so difficult at night, but then it's a crystal clear jiffy in the morning.



The sight of two of my bikes 69ing makes me so happy. Now I just need the rain to stop so I can go for a spin.

Style Section: What she ate

I was craving homecooking today, so I thought I would re-create an old childhood favorite. Chips and cheese! This is a more modern version, because it uses hint-o-lime tostitos, which haven’t always been around, if you can believe it. It’s also a fancier version because I used real cheddar cheese. The recipe is so versatile because if you are feeling fancy and motivated, you can shred the cheese yourself. If you are feeling fancy but not motivated, you can just slice the cheese. If you are feeling trashy, you can use american cheese. If you are feeling forlorn, you can just gnaw on the block of cheese and forgo the chips.