I don't generally care to be quite so personal and self-revealing on the internet . . . however, I know that there are lots of people (ahem, mother, ahem) who dearly wish to see all of these photos! So here you are. For mom, for everyone!

All of these photos were taken by my sister Caitlin, and John. Oh, and Lyndsay took the one of the wedding certificate. Emily, Rob's sister, shot up some film, but I haven't scanned it in.

I must quote this passage from Little Women. I was thinking of it all that day, and every time I tried to repeat it to someone, I thought I was going to cry, because it was exactly how I felt. So here it is.

"You do look just like our own dear Meg, only so very sweet and lovely that I should hug you if it wouldn't crumple your dress," cried Amy, surveying her with delight when all was done.

"Then I am satisfied. But please hug and kiss me, everyone, and don't mind my dress. I want a great many crumples of this sort put into it today . . . "

There were to be no ceremonious performances, everything was to be as natural and homelike as possible, so when Aunt March arrived, she was scandalized to see the bride come running to welcome and lead her in, to find the bridegroom fastening up a garland that had fallen down, and to catch a glimpse of the paternal minister marching upstairs with a grave countenance and a wine bottle under each arm.

"Upon my word, here's a state of things!" cried the old lady, taking the seat of honor prepared for her, and settling the folds of her lavender moire with a great rustle. "You oughtn't to be seen till the last minute, child."

"I'm not a show, Aunty, and no one is coming to stare at me, to criticize my dress, or count the cost of my luncheon. I'm too happy to care what anyone says or thinks, and I'm going to have my little wedding just as I like it. John, dear, here's your hammer." And away went Meg to help `that man' in his highly improper employment.

( Take a peek. )

All right, I'm not very traditional. My dress is a very non-white color (and I don't mean ecru or ivory), I'm not walking down an aisle, I wasn't even going to have cake (until my father took the matter into his own hands . . . )

But damn, I want a sixpence for my shoe!

Might anyone have one that I could borrow/have/buy?

Apparently, Obama's health care plan means that he is just like Hitler.

Before we even go into the immense illogic of this statement, let me point out how grossly, repugnantly offensive this is to actual, real, victims of the actual, real, Holocaust (it HAPPENED, you know- it's not just a cute anecdote people can use to make points), many survivors of which are still alive to this day, and (furthermore) the memory of which is still very much alive in the Jewish community.

If someone had tortured Limbaugh daily for years and then murdered his entire family, I think he'd be pretty pissed to have that pain minimized by someone else (who obviously hadn't a single clue in their idiotic head) comparing it to something totally different. Let's use a different analogy here, for a second. "Oh, you were gang-raped? I know JUST how you feel! I stubbed my toe once!"

Limbaugh also likes to make trivial comparisons between Nazis and Democrats and then pronounce them identical. For example, according to Limbaugh, Nazis were pro-animal rights, anti-smoking, and anti-pollution, and so are Democrats. That means that Democrats are militant fascists who want to conquer Europe and murder Jews. Uh huh. Leaving aside the issues that I'm pretty sure Nazis weren't animal rights activists, and President Obama is a smoker . . . wow.

Nazis spoke German, and so do Austrians. We should all worry that Austrians are going to TAKE OVER AUSTRIA. Horrors. The Nazis wore uniforms and liked parades, and so does the American military. Clearly, that means that General Petraeus is ready to leave the Middle East and INVADE POLAND. Hitler had a moustache, and so did Groucho Marx. This means that in his spare time, Groucho liked to COMMIT GENOCIDE. Right.

Moving on, my rebuttal can be summed into two words: "What? WHAT?!" I will elaborate.

Apparently, much of this delusional, paranoid idea seems to have come from the in itself delusional, paranoid idea that Obama's health care proposal involved setting up "death panels" in which it would be decided whether or not senior citizens had the right to live. Um, have these people ever read a reputable news source? I refer readers to the multi-award-winning, non-partisan FactCheck.org

Now, the delusional, paranoid, death panels idea seems to have come from a provision in the bill that would have enforced Medicare reimbursement for senior citizens seeking voluntary end-of-life counseling. Perhaps those not steeped in health care don't know what end-of-life counseling is all about. I will tell you what it is NOT about- it is NOT ABOUT TEACHING PEOPLE HOW TO KILL THEMSELVES. End of life counseling does two things that are often contradictory to the spirit of modern America. 1.) It acknowledges that, yes, everyone does eventually die, and 2.) It teaches how to plan ahead for that eventuality, usually in the form of an advance directive or living will.

As I myself have gone through the process to create an advance directive, I will share. My advance directive says all kinds of things about what should happen to me if I (for example) am in a traumatic car accident and am unable to make my own decisions. It states who should make decisions for me, especially if my fiance/husband is also incapacitated. It says what sort of treatment I do or do not want under various circumstances. For example, if I am deemed clinically brain-dead with minimal chance of recovery, I do not want to be attached to intravenous fluids and nutrition. As another example, if at the end of my life it comes to a choice between pain control and consciousness, I choose consciousness, unless it is the pain of suffocation, in which case I want all the morphine I can get. The entire document goes on for about six pages and is very specific about my preferences in all such situations. It is then filed at hospitals I'd be likely to be brought to after this hypothetical traumatic motorcycle accident.

This sort of information and forethought is vital for everyone to pursue, but it is especially vital for senior citizens, for whom death is not a hypothetical "someday," but a very imminent "now." If you knew you were going to die within six months because of your rampant liver failure, would you want to be treated with antibiotics for your pneumonia? Some people would, and some people wouldn't. Knowing that you have the choice, and then making that choice, is the essence of end-of-life counseling.

Obviously, this is just like Nazis.

In the past three days, I have:

Completed a significant amount of knitting on my wedding shawl.
Attended two Quaker committee meetings and a Meeting for Worship.
Cooked up a batch of cheesy biscuits, a platter of roasted-beet and goat-cheese nibbles, Moussaka, a second batch of biscuits . . . etc.
Worked an eight hour shift.
Completed all the grocery shopping and cleaned the kitchen.
Gone on two two-and-a-half mile runs.
Dealt with endless headaches surrounding my pickup truck.
And sundry other errands, like letter-writing and laundry-folding.

Most significantly, however, I walked myself down to Richmond Rescue and filled out an application (some of you may be getting phone calls). It's what Jack would have wanted.

The pile of books on my bedside table is growing shockingly huge, so I decided to see what I had gotten myself into by compiling an orderly list. Behold, my summer reading list. I'm in the middle of at least half of these, but if I finish them all by autumn it really will be a miracle.

Barclay, Robert. Barclay's Apology.
Bloom, Harold. Jesus and Yahweh: The Names Divine.
Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. A Testament to Freedom.
Diamond, Jared. Guns, Germs, and Steel.
Gould, Stephen Jay. The Flamingo's Smile.
ibid, The Panda's Thumb
ibid, Wonderful Life.
Ibsen, Henrik. An Enemy of the People.
Lewis, C. S. The Four Loves.
ibid, The Problem of Pain.
Marquez, Gabriel Garcia. Love in the Time of Cholera.
McCarthy, Cormac. The Road.
McEwan, Ian. Atonement.
Miles, Jack. God, A Biography.
Proust, Marcel. Swann's Way.
Tolstoy, Leo. Anna Karennina.
Wilde, Oscar: The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Woolf, Virginia. Mrs. Dalloway.

#$%#$#! is all I can say about that. Someone, please cut me off. Or, failing that, egg me on by telling me about one of these books that you've read (or sharing your own summer reading list!)

The immediate answer and easy is, of course, Dr. John Watson. I relate to his intelligence: high, but not out of the ordinary, and often frustratingly inadequate when placed beside brilliance. I relate to his honest, hardworking nature. I admire and try to emulate his loyalty and courage. And, naturally, we're both in the healing professions and friends with people who habitually put themselves in the way of danger. Every time I read the Holmes stories, I see myself in Watson's exasperated love for his rather reckless friend.

Along those lines, I relate to Jonathan (of David and Jonathan) as well.

Among the classics, I relate to Anne Elliot from Austen's Persuasion. I'm loud where she is quiet, but despite this difference we're very similar: too easily swayed by others' opinions, always struggling to do the right thing, and lovers of books and good music.

But really, for sheer similarity, I identify with Lusa Landowski from Barbara Kingsolver's novel Prodigal Summer. An entomologist (specializing in moths, no less!) turned farmwife, Lusa and I have the same inquisitive mind, love of reading, lazy streak, and ineptitude at house-wifey skills. We have the same temper, stubborness, and sense of marriage to the land we belong to.

I snagged a sandwich at the cafeteria today around hour ten of a twelve hour shift. Things were slowing down, but I still had to sneak bites of sandwich in between transcribing orders and dispensing pain medication.

Just as I took a particularly juicy mouthful, a bathroom alarm went off. I knew what that meant- a patient needed help getting off the toilet. I rushed to their door, then paused. Few things are less pleasant than cleaning intimate areas while masticating a large mouthful of turkey on rye.

I began chewing as fast as I could. The call bell above my head seemed to be ringing in sync with my jaws. In this spirit, I began bobbing at the knees as well, keeping time. Ba-doop, ba-doop, ba-doop, ba-doop.

One of my favorite nurses came down the hall, saw me, and grinned. She struck a pose reminiscent of a tango dancer. Just then another light went off, forming a syncopated rhythm. There was nothing for it- we burst into an interpretive dance. Ba dada doop, ba dada DOOP! She whisked an imaginary rose from between her teeth. My right hand sailed towards the ceiling, and my left foot extended in a graceful arabesque.

Just then someone called my name from behind my back. It was the wife of another patient, and she did not look amused. One hand was on her hip, and her foot was tapping the floor. "Are you going to come in and take care of my husband?" she demanded.

I gulped the last bit of sandwich. "Just a moment!" I said, and ducked into the room.

To My New Favorite Resident-

Thank you. Today you entered uncharted territory, you broke new ground, you boldly went where no MD has gone before. When the aide and I were getting our patient off the bedpan and you just happened to walk into the room, you came on in and then helped us roll him.

Because of this, I forgave you when you rewrote your orders approximately seven times, leaving me with the most confusing insulin regimen I have ever encountered (luckily you also don't mind being called at home). Was that 53 units of 70/30 insulin BID, or 50 units of 70/30 insulin AC HS, or was it 57 units of 70/30 TID? And what about all that Aspart?

You will go far.

Love,
-The very tired nurse


To the leeches across the hall-

Dear friends, you have made my day so very entertaining. What could compare to the shrieks I heard when your nurse found you had dropped off the appendage you were supposed to be perfusing and instead were crawling across the room, leaving a bloody trail snaking around the laundry cart? On pediatrics they have furry dogs, but in orthopedics our animal companions are you, my slimy friends: the leeches.

All day, I was able to watch you swimming in your specimen vial. I like to imagine you in the leech farm where perhaps you hatched. I especially like to imagine your large tank in Pharmacy, swimming on a shelf somewhere between lactulose and levofloxacin, only to be caught in a small green net like a demonic goldfish and then sent upstairs to us.

All due affection and revulsion,
-The nurse with the twisted sense of humor


To my final exams-

You thought you would win, but instead I conquered you. Never tempt my wrath again.

Pure hatred,
-Your avowed enemy

"Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastwards, springs--
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings."

--Gerard Manley Hopkins

"But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation,
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one
And work is play for mortal stakes
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future's sakes."

--Robert Frost

I'm a bit behind on my offerings for this Poetry Month!

For the first poem I post this month, I give you ( How to Read a Poem: Beginner's Manual )

Thursdays (today): Up at 0530. On campus by 0730. Homework. Class at 0830 until 1115. Doctor's appointment at 1120. Class at 1200. Out at 1400. Homework. Homework. Grocery shopping. Home. Dinner. Homework.

Fridays: Up at 0445. Hospital by 0630. Work. Irritated by bodily fluids. Work. Scarf lunch. Work. Give pain meds. Work. Out at 1930 (if lucky). Home. Eat. Pass out.

Saturdays: Same.

Sundays: Same.

Mondays: Up at 0500. Out of the door by 0600. Drive. Clinical by 0900. Patients. Patients who really don't need antibiotics. More patients. Out at 1800. Drive to friend's house. Eat. Try to do homework, read a crappy romance novel instead. Sleep.

Tuesdays: Sleep in until 0700, otherwise same.

Wednesdays: Same, but drive home, arrive late, eat dinner, fall asleep.

Thursdays: Start over.

Day One of Floor Nursing: Splatter blood in face while emptying wound drain.

RN: 0 Life: incalculable.

1.) Grades are in, and I totally PWNED my finals- papers, tests, etc. This is regular agony for me, as we are KICKED OUT for two final averages less than an 83. This isn't two per semester- it's two EVER. (The med students are pass-fail, with their pass set lower than an 83. Cue BITTER WHINING.) Every semester, I feel huge relief that I will be allowed to continue.

2.) 2 days of hospital orientation down, 0 to go. 1 day of Central Nursing Orientation down, 2 to go. 0 weeks of full-time floor orientation down, 10 to go.

3.) 3 semesters as an NP student down, FOUR TO GO.

4.) Direct deposit, check. Parking pass, check. Union membership, CHECK. Joe Hill would be so proud, and so is my AFL-CIO-working father.

5.) Christmas knitting projects: 2 down . . . a few to go.

6.) 2 members of thesis committee down, 1 to go.

7.) 2 chapters of thesis proposal written, 1 to go.

8.) I am leaving for Maine on SATURDAY! I desperately need this vacation.

Radiculopathy.

Come on, say it. It may be spelled with an 'a' instead of an 'i,' but isn't that word inherently hilarious? Picture me learning this word while holding a patient's leg in the air, and suddenly bursting into giggles.

"I think you've got some ridiculopathy going on there."

"Oh, stop it, you're being ridiculopathous."

"Diagnosis: ridiculopathy."

Granted what it means isn't very funny; it's disease of the spinal nerve roots. The kind that causes sciatica.

But still! Made my week. Radiculopathy. Teehee.

I have a job! I'm to be a per-diem orthopedics floor nurse at the big hospital here.

I've never had a particular interest (or disinterest, for that matter) in orthopedics, but when I interviewed on this floor I was struck by the friendliness of the staff. That in itself was enough to make me feel enthusiastic.

Further, due to marvelously flexible scheduling, I won't have to alter my Christmas plans! I'm still going to Maine for two weeks. I don't know if another floor would have accommodated this.

Now I must learn to juggle my 10-week, full-time orientation to the floor with my full-time grad school schedule. It will be a challenge, but I am bound and determined to succeed. Wish me luck.

I love words, and I like finding the beauty in practical, everyday things. Somehow I'd never paid attention to the way words and text come together.

I think most people can tell when a word or page is beautifully laid out and when it looks sloppy. Having the words to articulate what makes text beautiful, though- that is an entire realm of knowledge.

For some time, I've been using a professional typesetting program (LaTeX, for those who care) to write my papers, because it yields such a beautiful, polished result. I was curious about why it looked so much more beautiful than documents produced by a word processor. So now I'm learning: it's all in the details.

One of those details is called kerning, and it is best described by an illustration. I snagged the following two examples from Dario Taraborelli's very beautiful article on LaTeX, and I hope he doesn't mind- I'm still figuring out how to make a graphic out of my PDFs.



This word was created by MSWord, a program which cannot handle kerning (nor can almost any word processor). Notice the unsightly gap between the capital T and the lowercase a. This, is Ellen Lupton points out in her book Thinking With Type is a type crime. A detail, but one that the eye unconsciously picks up. Part of what makes a page seem 'sloppy.'



Here is the word properly kerned, as produced in LaTeX. The T and the a snuggle together. The spacing is much more even. Beautiful.

That was your irrelevant knowledge for the day. Do with it what you will.

List of dorky things that drive me crazy about UVM:

1.) No 11x16 paper in the photocopiers, anywhere. Copying an article out of a textbook or journal is therefore ridiculously difficult and takes twice as long as it should.

2.) The linux machines in the library do not allow access to the command line. Tell me, WHAT IS THE POINT?

I have been asked how I could vote for inexperience and oratory* over years of service and a solid record. Here is why, edited from my prior comment (on a wedding website, of all places- the election truly is perfusing the public consciousness!)

( Further reflections on politics, ho! )

I am so happy I am almost crying!

President Obama!

I've always loved my country, but today I am proud to be an American.

Couldn't resist this:

Movie Reviews