Archive for January, 2008

Wow!  Kudos to Emilie for spotting the colossal error in this post!  I’m so ashamed of myself for not investigating it further that I am actually going to highlight my error in the title of this post! 

The author of this list is not, was not, and will never be Dr Maya Angelou.  The author is Pamela Redmond Satran, who wrote this article about the web-wide misaccredidation of this list to the famous Dr Angelou. 

So, my apologies to my friends and readers, as well as to Ms Satran.  However, I still think it was a good list to generate discussion.


My mother sent me a wonderful poem in my email today.  [First, I have to comment that it’s amazing that I get email from my mom, and I’m so proud of her!]

Since I’m going to be exceptionally busy today, I thought I would share this poem with you.  Feel free to discuss it amongst yourselves in the comments!  I’ll be back this evening to check in on you.

enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants to or needs to…
something perfect to wear if the employer, or date of her dreams wants
to see her in an hour…
a youth she’s content to leave behind….

a past juicy enough that she’s looking forward to
retelling it in her old age….

a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra…

one friend who always makes her laugh… and one who lets her cry…

a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her

eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a recipe for a
meal, that will make her guests feel honored…

a feeling of control over her destiny.
how to fall in love without losing herself.

how to quit a job, break up with a lover, and confront a friend without
ruining the friendship…

when to try harder… and WHEN TO WALK AWAY…

that she can’t change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..
that her childhood may not have been perfect…but its over…
what she would and wouldn’t do for love or more…
how to live alone… even if she doesn’t like it…

whom she can trust, whom she can’t,
and why she shouldn’t take it personally…
where to go…
be it to her best friend’s kitchen table…
or a charming inn in the woods…
when her soul needs soothing…
what she can and can’t accomplish in a day…
a month…and a year…

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Okay, maybe that should read, I have cool friends all over the place! 

I’d like you to meet my friend, Georges.  Georges has the sexiest last name ever, since he comes from Louisiana.  It just makes me think of gumbo and zydeco music. [If you email me privately, I’ll tell  you what it is, but I don’t want to give out personal info on my website like that.  But trust me….sexy.]  That, right there, is enough to make him cool.

Right now, he’s in Texas, where he is the Language Center Director at a college in Houston.  That, right there, is enough to make him a +4 on the coolness scale.

He also is a great deal of fun, and brings his own margarita mixer to conferences.  Now, we’re up to a +7 on the coolness scale.

He looks a lot like Elvis Costello.  Cool +10.

And he didn’t criticize my driving in Boston.  Cool +12.

 But that’s not what makes him really cool.  He’s also a great person, and he’s walking in the Houston Area Aids walk.  I think that makes him Cool +16,324, at least!

 If you can, hop on over and meet him in all his funky coolness, and if inclined, please support him in this important cause. 

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How is it possible that three different people can disturb me during my lunch, and each of them say, “sorry to bother you while you’re eating lunch, but….”


If you see I am eating, Don’t disturb me.

Sheesh.  I’m trying to eat here, and do other important things…

like updating my blog…..

…and reading my friends’ blogs, too….

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Hello friends!  As you may know, I keep two primary blogs: this one, and Blessed are the Barren, my blog about my experiences with infertility.  I keep the two separate because not only do I not think that everyone who loves me wants to hear all the time about the struggles that infertility brings me, I also don’t want this blog to be overwhelmed by my infertility!

But I just wanted to remind you, because if you check back here, you may not see an updated post everyday, but that doesn’t mean I’m not posting on the other site. 

If you are wondering what I’m thinking, it may not be here, it may be over there.  Because, honestly, some days, that’s just where my head is.

I’ll be back to post over here soon, just as soon as I get my thoughts together, and maybe I’ll tell you the story about how I embarked on a life of violent crime in the eighth grade.

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It seems that today is my day to be tagged!  I’ve never been tagged before, but, strangely, I’ve been tagged twice this morning!  Bayou Woman tagged me the first time, and then I was tagged by Deirdre

Does this mean I have to come up with 13 weird things about me?  7 for BW and 6 for Deirdre?  Not that that’s a problem….I’m plenty weird, and getting weirder everyday it seems.  But I think I’ll play it conservatively here, and post 7 weird things about me, which should satisfy both BW and Deirdre…

 Here are the rules, which I lazily copied from Deirdre’s site:

 (1) Link to the person that tagged you.  (2) Post the rules on your blog.  (3) Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself. (4) Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs. (5) Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

I’ve already complied with rules 1 and 2, so here goes:

1.  When I’m driving down the road, andI pass a swatch of cleared land that runs underneath the powerlines going on and on over the horizon, it seems to me that it is a long chute or raceway, and I just want to veer off and follow it to wherever it goes.  So far, I’ve restrained myself…

2.  I actually like commuting into work, as long as I’m actually driving and not parked in traffic.  It’s a great time for me to gather my thoughts and listen to a good book or some uplifing music.  True, I would prefer to ride a long commuter train into the city, and that way I could read or knit along the way, but since that’s not an option, I make the most of driving.

3.  I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  Now, you may think, “That’s true for all of us, Trish? What makes you think you’re so special?”  What’s weird about me is that I am interested in so many things that don’t play well together.  Is it even possible to be an textile-artist/farmer/professor/missionary/veterinarian/author, all at the same time?  Like I said in my “About” page, can one lifetime be enough?  I struggle with this all the time, because if I devote time or effort to one of these things, it necessarily takes time away from any of the others.  So I worry sometimes that I’m doomed to be a jill-of-all-trades and a mistress of none.

4.  I have a crush on Thomas Jefferson.  I have had a crush on Thomas Jefferson since I was about 12 years old.  Besides being a dashing and fiery-tempered redhead, which I find irrestistable, he also managed to succeed at being a farmer/teacher/architect/statesman/philosopher/scientist.  And to this occupationally-conflicted and academically-minded girl, that just so hunky!

5.  I would rather sit on the floor than on a chair.  To sit in a chair for me is somehow indicative of a need to be doing something constructive.  To lie on the floor, however, means that nothing productive could possibly be happening, and I just need to give in to laying there and letting Abby snuggle me.

6.  I once brought home a three-toed sloth, but my mother wouldn’t let me keep it for a pet.  See, I grew up in the Panama Canal Zone, right next to a jungle area.  And I made friends with a lady, much like BW, who did wildlife rescue and rehab.  She sent this sloth home with me to care for, but mom insisted I take it back.  To be fair to my mom, I already had a dog, a cat, a parrot, a guinea pig, two mice, and an aquarium full of tadpoles in my room.

7.  When I was in the eighth grade I stabbed a kid in school with a fork and got away with it without getting in trouble.  Even though I drew blood.  Even though I was sent to the principle’s office.  Even though my dad was called off the flightline to deal with me.  But that story is a whole ‘nuther post.  ;- )

Now then, whom shall I tag in return…?

I will tag Steph.  And Jen.  And Barngoddess.  And Hallie.  And dayzofrain

And a player to be named later.  ;- )  [Update!  The mystery player is clupeiform.  I’m so thrilled he agreed to be a part of my madness!]

Postscript:  I would have tagged Emilie, but she’s already been tagged by Heather!

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Today was the first sunny, non-frozen, weekend day in a long while, so I went out to my grandfather’s and gardened some.  At first I had just planned on picking some turnips for myself, but then I saw that the collards were so pretty, so I picked a few of those.  And then I checked on my radishes, and they were pretty, too, so I picked some of those.  Then I went to look at my spinach, and it was pretty, too, so I picked some of that, too, and by then, my bag was full.

But it was a nice day, and I hadn’t gotten my hands dirty in such a long time, that I decided to go ahead and weed the wild verbena out of the spinach row.  For the next two hours I carefully pulled weeds from around my thriving spinach plants, and enjoyed precious time thinking to myself.

As I was thinking, I was overwhelmed by the perfection of God’s timing, particularly when it comes to leafy green vegetables.  Let’s start by agreeing that leafy green vegetables are essential to our health and proper nutritional intake.  Don’t even think about disagreeing with me on this, and I don’t really care how much you dislike brocolli, even if you are the President of the United States. 

Now, consider for a moment, the seasonal rotation of vegetables.  What? You didn’t realize that vegetables don’t grow consistently throughout the year? Well, that’s not hard to believe,  since we live in a society where our grocery store shelves are constantly stocked with vegetables, regardless of the season  It may not have occured to you that not all leafy green vegetables grow at the same time. 

However, in the growing calendar there is not a time of the year in which leafy green vegetables of one sort or another are not growing; ergo, the body has a consistent source of leafygreenvegetableicin, or whatever the vitamins are in leafy green vegetables. 

It’s Divine planning at its most elegant!  It’s like God said to himself, “Hm, if I’m going to create a creature that requires leafy green vegetables in order to thrive, I had better make sure that there is a supply of leafy green vegetables throughout the whole year.”  God’s good like that, you know? Such good thinking-ahead…although…since He is omniscient and exists outside of time, can it be considered thinking-ahead?….but I digress.

There I was, in the garden, thinking how sad that the snow wilted all the turnip greens and mustard greens, but delighting in the hearty collard greens and the spinach, and looking forward to starting the brocolli seeds in a couple of weeks.   In my joy the thought sprung into my mind:  God gave us turnip greens for the fall, and spinach for the winter.

Sometimes my faith is very simplistic and childlike, but maybe that’s when my faith is at it’s finest.

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I’ve been battling my usual reproductive health problems recently, and without going into the gory details, I’ll just say that I’ve been monitoring a couple of different conditions with the Marvelous Dr H for several months now, waiting to find out how this will all play out.

To say I’m on edge about it would be putting it lightly.  A lot hinges on the outcome.  If it goes the way we think it will, I will most likely have a hysterectomy sometime soon.  Or we could just keep ordering blood tests, ultrasounds, and MRI’s until I’m a pint low and start attracting metal objects as I walk through the hardware store.  (Hmmmm…possible occupational hazard in a room full of computers.  Everyone knows that computers and magnetic fields don’t play well together!)

On Wednesday I went in for my usual round of images and phlebotomy.  Only this time, the Marvelous Dr H threw in a special treat for me: a CA-125 test, a tumor marker for cancer. 

Before anyone freaks out, let me just say that the Marvelous Dr H is about as conservative and cautious as they come, and I love him for it.  He told me when he ordered this test that a positive result would be very unlikely, and not to worry, that he was just dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s before we do anything irreversable.  So, I’m not worried.  Nevermind that I’ve had almost every other possible gynecological malfunction, I’m not worried about the results of that test.

No, I’m not.  Really, I’m not.  Just because a doctor mentions the “C” word with respect to my reproductive organs does not mean that I’m going to pine away with worry until I get the results.

However, I find myself eagerly looking forward to hearing the aforementioned negative result.  It’s like a punctuation mark that changes a question to a statement. Did you know that punctuation could be reassuring?  Let me give you an example. Read the next two statements aloud.

1.  I know how to get there?

2.  I know how to get there.

Which statement inspires the most confidence in you?  Uh-huh, I rest my grammatical case.

Anyway, I am looking forward to getting the test result.  So today, I get a little pop-up message that says, “You have a test result waiting in your inbox”. 

I drop everything I’m doing to log in to the provider’s website.

I open my mailbox.

I take a deep breath, and open my test results, only to learn….

I’m not pregnant.

Wow.  Wow.  How about a nice poke in the eye to go with that poke in the eye?  After more than eight years of dealing with infertility one way or another, I can’t say I’m surprised to learn that little bit of information.  Not exactly a revelation. 

It’s as though the all demons of infertility couldn’t resist one last jab at me, to say, “Yeah, well, before you go and have that complete hysterectomy that will forever end any possibility of a Divine Miracle Pregnancy for you, let us just remind you one more time, you are not pregnant.”

I can’t really explain how I feel about this recent blip on my infertility radar.  I’m angry, not at the fact that I’m not pregnant, but just at the sheer affrontery of being reminded of it.  And then I’m irritated at the fact that I can still be angry about these things. 

I still haven’t learned the result of either my ultrasound or my CA-125 test.  I still haven’t talked to the Marvelous Dr H yet.  But the good news is that now I’ve worked myself up into a nice rolling boil of indignation that will last at least a few hours.  Because at this rate, at least I’m not worrying.

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