Cause and Effect

My spring and summer were filled with the discovery that I could incorporate the European lifestyle into my own life right here in Chicago. 10:00 or 10:30 am several days a week would find me at a downtown cafe sipping an espresso with a friend/coworker before heading back to the office.

I rarely drank coffee before, let alone espresso, but it really helps one get in the mood..

Now that fall is here, I'm realizing how long it's been since I've taken care of certain things, such as visiting the dentist. Since I lost my dental insurance a few years ago, I haven't been in a while. Yesterday I went in and had my general cleaning and x-rays, and Dr. Born broke the news that I have two cavities! I was very surprised given that I have had a clean record until now. When I expressed this, Dr. Born informed me that the principal causes of cavities are diet changes and sugary beverages like soda. "But I NEVER drink soda!" I exclaimed.

"How about coffee with sugar?" he asked.

GASP! The sugar is what makes the espresso palatable! And so, my friends, the moral of the story is that even the lovely langour of the European life is not without pitfalls.

Today I ordered a latte to wean myself off the sugar. No sugar, but a lot more milk. It wasn't bad. But it's not the same.

!

Seriously I'm going to try to post more often that one is ridiculously long!

Nursing Chronicles

I am LONG overdue for a post. To add to Caitlyn's post about our apartment falling apart, there have been further occurrences involving a shower curtain rod falling on my head and the back door knob falling off. I think we may need to do a seance or some kind of offering to the Washtenaw ghosts.

Now time to bring you all up to date on my life since starting nursing school. I don't really have much of a life outside of classes and clinicals. I made it through the summer successfully, actually finishing with pretty decent grades but without really having much experience outside of mannequin and fake arms--for blood draws, starting IVs and practicing giving meds. This week begins week 5 of the fall semester and I am SO busy! I am taking obstetrics, pediatrics and medical/surgical 1 and 2, with theory classes on Mon and Fri and clinicals on Tue, Wed, Thur. Tue is the longest day med/surg 7am-7pm, Wed--OB 7am-2pm, Thur--Peds 2pm-9pm. Each site offers something different but by far my favorites have been labor and delivery, postpartum and the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU)--in that order. I've had the opportunity to see a baby be born, draw blood, administer medications (IV, oral and injection), catheterize and provide wound care (changing dressings) to name a few of the more exciting things.

In med/surg we usually stay on one floor but we get the chance to go to the rehab floor (PT/OT), the OR (I'm SOOOOO excited, I may get to watch an open heart or transplant!!) and oncology. I've had a variety of patients but for the most part I don't really enjoy med/surg--maybe it's just the floor I work on but it's so depressing, especially when the patients are getting terminal diagnoses. The one patient that really bummed me out was a 21 yr old guy who was transferrred from Guatamala for complications from a gall bladder removal. He looked like a Holocaust survivor--he hadn't been able to eat and weighed 81lbs. He was also in lots of pain but his Nurse Practioner wouldn't prescribe him IV morphine because she didn't want him to get used to IV meds since they wouldn't have them in Guatamala. She prescribed oral meds but he refused them because he wasn't able to eat anything and they cause upset stomach. It was upsetting/frustrating. But the worst part was that before he'd had his gall bladder removed he had NO medical history, awful. I knew from the get-go it wasn't a place I was going to want to work but it has been a good/interesting experience so far--but 12 hr shifts are so LONG!

With OB we go to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), labor and delivery, triage, postpartum, outpatient clinic and mammograms. This week will be my first week in the NICU and I'm excited! L&D was an amazing experience (nurses only have 1 patient), the patient I was assigned to was supposed to deliver vaginally but ended requesting a c-section. I think I was more excited about the baby than the mom, it was just so cool that a second before there was nothing and then there was a whole new life in the room. I was also able to hold the baby for nearly an hr and I will point out that the baby was a honkin 10lb 12oz!!!!!! My arms were sore the next day.

In postpartum I did my first blood draw and I got it on the first try! It was really nice, I liked the pace. It has been the once place where I felt like I could handle having more than one patient at a time. The nurses tend to have 4-5 patients. It was kind of a relaxing floor, letting the patients rest and bond with their babies. I was really nervous to do a postpartum assessment and newborn assessment but they went over just fine and my patient was very understanding. It was also really exciting that when she asked me questions I actually KNEW the answers!!! And fortunately nobody hemorrhaged while I was on the floor--some of the other girls both had patients that started massively hemorrhaging their first day on the floor.

In mammograms I observed several different procedures and the radiologist on call that day was amazing. He explained all the procedures to me (even though I didn't understand half of what he said), made sure I could see and let me ask questions. It's always nice to have people willing to teach you things. The day I was in triage was fortunately a busy day. I walked patients back to their rooms and asked them why they were there. You'd think they'd all be coming in in labor--not so. One woman came in pregnant with twins at 36 wks for a fetal stress test, another woman came in because she'd been side-swiped and they wanted to monitor the baby, one woman came in because she was very sick with a cold and they wanted to monitor the baby, the other women that came in were either in active labor or the early stages of labor. We sent one woman home because she was not progressing which was unfortunate for her because she lived in Rockford--a good 2 hr drive.

Another woman who came in in labor was just truly unpleasant--We asked what brought her in and she snapped "Are you kidding me?!" We weren't. We then proceeded to get her into her room, asked some questions and left for a bit. When we returned the nurse flipped on the light and the patient barked "you could've warned me!" We had to start her IV because she needed penicillin as she was positive for a bacteria that can be very dangerous to babies as they're born and a blood draw. The needle my nurse used was HUGE and she blew the vein on attempt number one, which caused an instant goose egg. So she had to stick the woman again and as we walked out the nurse said "well that's not how that was supposed to go, I didn't use lidocaine because she was being such a snot." Ouch. Another patient knew NOTHING about her pregnancy--not her due date, her doctor, how much weight she'd gain (which I'd know down to the ounce). The only thing she knew was that she was high risk because the doctors suspected a heart defect--she was the one we sent home because despite contractions she hadn't progressed after an hr of walking around.

Peds we also get to have off-floor experiences in the PICU, NICU and pediatric ER. I've been to the PICU and I'll be going to either the NICU or Peds ER this week. I absolutely loved the PICU, the nurses only have 1-2 patients at a time (in med/surg they tend to have 5-6) and there is always something to do. The nurse I was paired with was very helpful and taught me a lot. She also let me do a straight catheterization--it doesn't stay in--on one of her patients. A 6 yr old boy who had come in after his mom had hit a parked construction truck--she was high. When the paramedics arrived he had no heartbeat but they resuscitated him and brought him to the PICU where he proceeded to code/crash on and off for 12 hrs. He was in the front seat of the car and suffered such severe whiplash that his spine was almost completely separated. He was trached and on a ventilator with minimal brain function. It was very hard to see the hardest part was that he moved in response to touch, despite being completely paralyzed. They were spinal reflexes but try explaining that to the grandmother who sees that and thinks he may be coming back. Despite that sad story and the 5 yr old patient who died last week I still liked it.

My second week on the floor I had a patient that didn't arrive until 5pm--we go off the floor at 7pm. So I wandered around and helped people where they needed it. Including helping a nurse do a blood draw on the strongest 2 yr old I've ever met; AND he was in almost a full body cast. Ridiculous. The following week as I went to flush my 3 yr old patient's IV line with water her started screaming, so I stopped. Then my instructor tried and stopped when he started screaming again. The nurse came in and told us to go ahead, sometimes they just get startled because the water is cold under their skin. It was not the case. When I pushed the 3mL water in--to more screams--all of a sudden both my instructor and the nurse called out 'stop stop!' I'd already put it all in but then I saw the bubble in his arm. His IV was infiltrated--the line had slipped out of his vein and all the water went into his skin, which is very painful. I felt horrible, though I know what it looks like and sounds like for the future. I got back on my patient's good side with chocolate milk and mac-n-cheese.

Last week I was just on the floor and I had the most difficult patient on the floor. He had come in with pressure ulcers--having been born with down's. He had a stroke that ended with a massive brain bleed and left him unresponsive. He ended up getting surgery for his sores but while I was caring for him they suspected he had developed blood clots in both legs. I gave him a feed through a tube that goes straight into his stomach. He was also trached and required suctioning--which I got to do, as well as trach care (cleaning the part that sits in the neck, replacing the ties that keep the plastic plate in place) While I was doing that with my instructor, and being observed by 4-5 other classmates, his grandmother walked in and looked mad. Unfortunately it took a long time to get the new ties in place because his body was very stiff from having not moved in so long. When we finally finished 2 girls stuck around with me so we could change his sheet. But it was not meant to be a smooth process. The sheet was stuck to his surgical wound/staples, so we were spraying the sheet and wound with a special product that was supposed to help loosen the sheet. But it wasn't working so I told the other girls to stop and went to get the nurse--who sent in the tech. When I got back in the sheet had unstuck so we got the old one out from under him--slowly and gently because we didn't want to make anything worse. Then the grandmother got more mad and called out "this is taking too long, where's the nurse?" None of use answered because we were focused, so she left the room and got the nurse. Upon re-entering with the nurse she shouted at her "this is taking too long, there are too many people in the room, they don't know what they're doing and we said we didn't want any students with him." So we repositioned the kid and I got out of there as quickly as possible. It was a frustrating and upsetting experience. Not because the grandmother didn't want students--that's fine, I completely understand--but because she said I didn't know what I was doing, when I was doing everything I could to keep him from getting hurt and because my nurse didn't come to help when I asked. And it wasn't the first time that day.

It seems like I have a lot of horrible experiences but every week has its ups and downs, and I'm still trying to get comfortable doing everything. I have been enjoying myself despite some of the bad days. The hardest thing at the moment is finding the time to do all the paperwork I have for clinicals, sleep, eat and study for exams. It will be wonderful when I'm done with all this paper writing business. I just volunteered to work a health fair on the south side of Chicago giving flu shots, BMI, BP, wellness screenings, that kind of thing. Should be interesting to say the least. Sorry this is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO long but I had a lot to catch you up on.

Lost in Translation

I feel like not so many funny things have been happening to me lately. This morning I think I realized its because I'm not working at my old place. Life without so much stress is so TAME!

On Tuesday one of my dear friends (and former coworkers) arrived in Chicago to begin a new visa term with the "old place." She is from Morocco and had nearly a 48-hour endeavor to get here, before she was deposited safely onto the air mattress we set up for her in our apartment until she has a chance to find her own place. Despite the exhaustion we chatted until the wee hours of the morning, before I made myself go to bed, knowing I would have to be up for work at the crack of dawn. Before I left in the morning, I drew her a map to get to the train station, left her some cash (I didn't even know if she'd gotten to change money yet!), and then I scooted out the door.

When I got home later, Awatif was not there because she had to go and teach her first class in the afternoon. We got dinner all ready knowing she would be tired when she got home, but I expected her to arrive around 6:30 pm. At 7:15 when she still hadn't arrived, I started to get worried. What if she hadn't oriented herself well and didn't know how to get to my house? She didn't have an active cell phone yet, so there was no way to be in contact with her. I started calling former coworkers who might be able to tip me off as to her whereabouts. And of course, no one answered their phone. Finally I called the COO of the company (a good friend while I worked there, but I hadn't been in touch in at least a year) and left a message:

Hi Ken, it's me. Hope you're well. Listen, I'm calling because I'm just being a worried mom tonight. Awatif is staying with me for a few weeks, and she hasn't gotten home yet. She can't call me, so I just want to find someone who might know where she is. Blah blah blah, call me when you get this message.
Awatif arrived later, no problem, rolling her eyes that I worried so much. (I guess she IS 30 years old, and has lived in Chicago for 4 years before going back to Morocco this past year...)

Anyway, Ken called me back this morning while I was on the train on my way to work. I answered the phone and was hit with a torrent of words:

Caitlyn! I couldn't hear your message so well, but I heard you're a mom! Congratulations!! I didn't even know you were expecting! Are you married? Well, I already sent an email to the whole team telling them the good news, and everyone was so surprised!!

If I had been still sleepy before I got that call, I was fully awake by then! As I tried to interject, he rambled on, When I sent a message to your mom, she was pretty surprised too!

And then I realized he was pulling my leg. Good grief! What a way to start the day. No coffee necessary.

Spontaneous Combustion

Last weekend our bathroom fell apart. Sunday morning Emily walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light. It popped and sizzled and flashed and then fell dark. Lightbulb gone.

Sunday evening I crawled out of the most relaxing "glory bath" (as Dad calls it). I pulled open the door and before I knew what had happened, I was standing there with the doorknob in my hand and the door was no longer attached. The other side of the antique crystal knob hit the floor with a thud. Luckily the door also opened or I would have had a big problem.

Monday morning our houseguest emerged from our dark, doorknobless bathroom to delicately inform us that our toilet was overflowing onto the tile floor. Within seconds water was pouring out into the hall onto our hardwood floor.

Coincidence? The jury is out.

Playmates

One of my favorite things to do is wear orange jewelery with blue or green outfits. Matching is so conventional! In Spanish the translation for "this matches that" literally translates back to English as "this plays with that." Isn't that so much better? My orange and blue don't match, but they play well together.

It's the small things.

Berry UMC

After a somewhat bitter hiatus from the church, I have, shall we say, returned to the flock. Over the last year or so, I'd thought about trying to find a church in the city and I visited a few but it just never stuck. For a few reasons:

1) I'd gotten out of the habit of having Sundays available to go, and I would forget or just had things pulling me in other directions.
2) Urban churches tend to have a skewed demographic of young people. I really like having a mix of ages and generations because I think that's where the wisdom comes from. Most families with school-aged kids and mature adults live in the suburbs.
3) I visited a few, but came away feeling so so.

A few weeks ago, I visited a church called Berry about a 15-20 minute walk from my house, where I had previously been to see a play in the basement. Amazingly, on my first visit someone actually came up and introduced herself to me. She invited me to coffee hour and introduced me to several other people. The church is smallish and old--celebrating 100 years next week, and when I came back the next week they remembered me.

The pastor is a grandmotherly woman with kind eyes and a warm heart, and she started this week's sermon by saying, "I want everyone to just take a moment and think about the deepest desire of your heart this morning. That thing that your heart is just wrapped around right now." She paused and then continued, "sometimes we lose touch with that because we are so busy defending ourselves from being let down." BAM! Hit the nail right on the head for me this morning.

Her husband is a drawing and painting professor at a University in the neighborhood. Considering that, the fact that the Lincoln Square Theatre Company is housed in their basement, and that the music during the service is played by a motley rotating ensemble--guitar, piano, viola, violin, harmonica, and hand drum, it seems to be quite a creative congregation.

At the conclusion of every service there is a hymn that serves to send people back out into their lives. They pause while the ushers go to the front of the church to collect the crates of percussion instruments and walk down the aisles letting everyone take their pick. This morning I reached in and pulled out the first thing my hand touched. It was a plastic shaker in the shape of a cucumber. I was feeling a little self-conscious until I saw the lady in front of me was shaking a banana. The harmonica and the rest of the music wailed as we all sang, and shook, and the pastor and kids danced with tambourines in the front. It's hard to maintain a sour attitude with all that joy smacking you right in the face!

Toby's new trick

Check it out. We were so grateful to have my sisters (and Mike, of course) helping us out on the long car ride to Colorado. It definitely saved our sanity. This is the new trick that Caitlyn taught him.

Gem Lake & Hole in the Sole

Wednesday we finally made our regular hike up to Gem Lake. Along the way there are terrific views out over Longs Peak and Estes Park from various points on the mountainside. There is also a particular rock shaped like a foot with a hole through the middle. When Jen, Caitlyn, and Laura were first coming up here we would have then slide through the "hole in the sole". Now it's Elinore's turn!

YMCA of the Rockies

We arrived safe after about a 19 hour drive stretched out over two days. Altitude at our cabin is 8300 ft so we've taken a day to acclimate. We rode up Fall River Road, a twisty, winding dirt road going up and along the continental divide. Maximum altitude was 12,300 ft and we all felt the thin air and cold wind. We ate lunch on an outcrop of rocks with a 360 deg view of miles and miles of mountains. All is well except for some minor cases of wind burn and feeling wiped out.

Just had to share this.

This weekend when Mom and Dad were here we played some games.  We were playing sequence and luck seemed to be going my way.  Dad, in a moment of sequence despair, picked up the origami bird he had made with Elinore earlier in the day.  He held it over my blue playing chips and said, “May the bluebird of happiness crap on your pieces.”

I am still laughing.

I won the game.

Family Band

Toby has been practising for the Bodine Family Band. His specialty is the sliding whistle, and to fit his personality he plays while running around the room. Never a slow moment for our boy!

The Story of Stuff

While in Texas reconnecting with old friends this weekend, we noticed some trash on the ground. I picked it up saying that I didn't want to harm the earth. Matt nonchalantly declared, "I'm for littering." I looked at him surprised. Being one of my incredibly eco-conscious friends, I figured he must be joking.

"It's going into the earth anyway," he explained. "But if it's here, at least we see it."

Interesting concept. If we had to live among our trash would we produce less?

I just watched a really interesting video clip called the Story of Stuff. A little heavy-handed, but it included some eye-opening facts. I recommend watching it.

2009 Catch Your Breath 5K

This weekend was the annual Catch Your Breath Womens' 5K and 10K fest on Montrose Harbor, and I ran the 5K with 1100 other women from the Chicago area. Even though I only finished 6 seconds faster than my last time, it was still a personal best! The day was absolutely gorgeous for running-- in the 60s, sunny, a little wind. Because the race was so early in the day (due to the unpredictable weather) the lake was still glassy and calm. If you run slow enough to look around (which I do), it's really beautiful.

The backstory, however, is a little less polished. A series of interesting events led up to the race..

1. I took the plunge and invested in real running shoes. I got fitted at the running store by the professionals who had me running around the store and up and down the block to assess my gait and fit. All went smoothly until my sales associate suggested that I also take the time to be fitted for a sports bra. Apparently after shoes, that is the second most-important piece of running equipment for women, and it is imperative to get the right fit. I said sure and then followed the woman around the store as she explained bra types and loaded up on different models for me to try on.

She waited outside the dressing room, so she could examine how each bra fit. After rejecting the first one--too big, I tried on the next. 3/4 of the way in I realized that this bra was too small. No need to put it all the way on, but when I tried to pull it off, it had practically adhered to my skin. I twisted and contorted into all sorts of directions trying to get a good hold on this bra that had glued itself to me and I COULD NOT get it off! The woman called out, "did you get another one on?"

I laughed sheepishly, "well.. yes, but now I can't get it off.."

"Oh!" she said.

I was half cracking up alone in the dressing room and half starting to hyperventilate about not being able to get this sports bra off. I tugged and tugged, but my skin was a little sticky from the store being warm and my exertion from trying to extract myself.

"Um, if I can't get it off, I probably have to buy it, right?" I asked, now finding this totally hilarious.

"I'll give you a moment," she said politely, clearly indulging me.

I took a rest, and finally exerting all the shoulder and arm strength and flexibility I could muster, freed myself! Fresh air poured into my lungs and tears streamed down my cheeks. Just kidding, but I sure was happy to not have to cut the thing off!

I decided not to try on anymore.


2. On the eve of the race, my friend and I went to the salsa dance in the park event downtown. It was not going to be a late night, so we thought nothing of it. But after 3 hours of dancing in high heels, we limped back to the train station cursing ourselves all the way for torturing our feet and ankles the night before the race. Once home we sat on the edge of the tub eating banana bread and soaking our feet in warm water. We then decided the best course of action would be to sleep with our feet elevated.

3. Morning of the race, the feet had made somewhat of a recovery, and we sleepily got dressed for the race. I finally had some actual running attire, so I didn't look (in Laura's words) "like a hobo walking down the street who said, 'oh look! a race' and joined in." However just before walking out the door, I realized my snazzy running pants were on inside out.

Clearly I'm still just a hobo in fancy clothes.

Tango

For those of you who watch Dancing With the Stars or So You Think You Can Dance, this is not that! This is social tango. The kind where someone comes up to you and says, "Would you like to dance?" and you say, "okay"--

An Elemental Day

I had to have a little distance before blogging about this, that's why it's about 2-3 weeks delayed.

One Friday afternoon with plans to go to the Botanic Garden to smell the roses, I left work at my usual time and boarded my usual train. Things were going smashingly until...

One stop after I boarded, just before pulling into the station, we heard an awful grating noise that seemed to come from underneath the train. Everyone began to shuffle uncomfortably. Then we heard the noise again, and subsequently the train powered down and we stopped moving. It became eerily silent, and then we heard the noise again. People were really getting restless now, and suddenly a passenger sitting in a window seat called out, "the train's on fire!"

There was a moment where we, the passengers, seemed to collectively hesitate between panic and waiting calmly for instruction from the CTA Authority over the loudspeaker. None came, and instantly, someone pulled the emergency door release. We were almost all the way into the station, so all the cars but the last were able to step out onto the platform. I think the last car (where the sparks/flames were coming from) had to file into the next car to get out. There was a certain amount of chaos as people scrambled out the doors and ran down the smokey platform. Still, there was no direction or announcement from the CTA. It was unclear whether we were supposed to run as far away as possible because the train might explode, or if we were just supposed to sit tight and wait to be told what to do.

Luckily no one was hurt, and the flames only appeared while the grating noise was happening. The firemen walked in and out of the scene in a flash, and the rest of us waited in puzzlement without a word (in the entire 30 minutes that I waited) from the CTA about what was going on or that northbound trains were delayed, etc. I placed a few harried phone calls to my fellow Botanic Garden-bound friends relaying the info that I would miss my connecting train, etc, and we came up with a new plan of escape.

Later that evening, after our train dropped us a mile's walk from the Garden, all was peace and love as we smothered ourselves in roses of countless varieties and colors. They were beautiful even as stormy skies threatened overhead. As we ventured deeper and deeper into the garden, we began to hear the distant rumble of thunder. Then slowly the sky began to flash with lightning. When the drops started falling we contented ourselves with peering at the bonsai collection from under our umbrellas. But then our umbrellas began to fail us. The rain was too strong! We ducked inside a building with connecting greenhouses to wait it out.

And we waited. And waited... And waited. Then we began to wonder if this wasn't the second great flood that God was sending to wipe out all but Noah and his crew. We emerged from the building under a tent and watched amazed as the rain fell so hard and so fast that we could neither hear ourselves talk (unless we were singing operatic arias ;) ) nor see more than 10 feet beyond the edge of the tent.

It was getting late, and the moment the rain lightened a little we dashed down the path to the Visitors' Center knowing that the Garden closes at sunset, and no one knew we were still inside. Thankfully the visitors' center was still opened and we picked up a train schedule. Unfortunately we still had a mile back up the hill to the train station. Taxis were delayed because of the stormy weather, so we had no choice but to walk. We wandered back down the pedestrian trail to the edge of the garden-- a good 10-15 minute walk--, only to discover, to our dismay, that the gate was locked! We edged along the fence (through the hedge, I might add) trying to find a hole in the border where we could escape, but no luck! We were locked in! With too little time to go back to the visitors' center if we wanted to make the train to Chicago, we had no choice. We had to climb.

And climb we did--over a wet, 8-ft, chainlink fence. I was the first one over, while one friend held my purse and umbrella and the other worried below. When I got to the very top, I became momentarily entangled in a snarl of low-lying limbs, and I was laughing so hard that I was sure I'd fall to my death. However, one by one we made it over and began our trek up the hill. Normally, up the hill would be no problem at all, but on a day like that with the enormous amount of rain that fell in the span of an hour or two, the sidewalk was an actual, ankle-deep river. We were absolutely sopping wet.

Surely, once we reached the top of the hill we would get some reprieve from the rushing water cascading over our feet. Not so. At the top, the water covered not only the sidewalk, but the entire road and beyond. Cars were barreling through hoping to avoid stalling in the middle, and each time they sent waves lapping at our shins. There was no way to go around it, so we waded in. The water got deeper and deeper until it was up to our knees! A boy and his dad were playing in their driveway, and the boy was waist-deep! I thought of alligators and water snakes, and drudged through as quick as I could.

We made it onto the train, and shivered all the way home in the air-conditioning. Finally home, I stripped off the wet clothes and jumped into bed. I don't think I moved until morning.

An eventful day, if I may. I think my shoes will never be the same.

Canoe Safety 101

Things Laura and I learned on today's canoe trip down the Fox River. Or better put, common sense things that we wish we'd remembered before launching:

1. tie everything to the boat


2. always wear your lifejacket (even on a class 1 river, even if you look silly, even if you're hot, even if you'll get tan lines)


3. study a map before launching. (there might be valuable notes like: rapids--stay left.)


4. try not to carry things like wallets and car keys, but if it's unavoidable, refer back to #1


5. stay together. (especially if you have inexperienced canoers in your fleet)


6. pack extra lunch for friends who might have forgotten #1


7. if it looks like you might die, let go of the boat


8. heavily apply sunscreen to the thighs

We survived, despite our initial negligence of the aforementioned tips. There was a moment when we had to fight to emerge from the river -- boatless, paddleless, lifejacketless, lunchless, soggy, pumping adrenaline, and thankful to be breathing air and in one piece. We have since arrived home, showered, lathered up the aloe, and are both silently contemplating our next hard core adventurous undertaking. Perhaps power-knitting or a chili cookoff...

A Day's Work

I have officially completed my first student piano recital! Actually make that two. Since joining up with a team of other music teachers and incorporating our very own music studio, we are now shaping the musical talents of 50 some children! 41 children performed on this Spring recital, so we ended up splitting the performers over 2 days.

Last night and tonight were the first recital experiences for not only me, but all of my students as well. Every single one of them performed. Even the ones who initially told either me or their moms that they didn't want to. I, however, didn't really give them the option. I made it clear to all the parents that I wouldn't force anyone, but I would proceed in their lessons coaching and preparing them to perform. I never asked anyone if they "wanted" to perform, I just assumed they would.

Two students in particular were very reluctant. Zoe's school music teacher called me after the school's Musical Talent Day to explain how Zoe had lost it and broke down sobbing after only two of her peers had performed because she was so nervous. She was only able to come back in after all the other students had left. I thought of all the inspiring and teacher-ey things I could and delivered a pep-talk fit for a king. Paige flat out refused to play from the moment she walked in the door of the church this evening. But we compromised. I agreed to give her introduction speech for her (hello, I'm XX and I will play XX by XX.), and she agreed to play as long as she didn't have to bow. Fine.

Both walked right up to the piano when it was their turn and nailed it! I was so proud! Yes, I was the soccer mom who couldn't help but give standing ovations to all her kids! Ok, I didn't really give standing ovations, but my pride was pretty much oozing over the pew and into the aisle. The next kid had to step over it as they walked up to the piano.

My youngest student bombed. And it was only later that I realized it was because he put his two pages of music up in the wrong order! Thankfully we figured it out and gave him an encore performance at the end.

We adjourned to much applause and a celebratory reception where the post-bedtime kids gobbled up all the sugar they could get their hands on and the parents chatted away while the wine flowed freely. Just before they left, Rylie came up to me. "Miss Caitlyn," she said, "one of the things I want to be when I grow up is a piano teacher."

I love my job!

Grandma Bodine goes airborne

On the memorable wedding day of Karen and Michael Vale, the spirit of adventure was soaring high. Grandma Bodine said she'd be willing to ride up on a parasail if someone could make the arrangements. Son Blue jumped at the challenge and without much chance to have a second thought, we were whisked away to pierside where a boat was waiting. The photos give proof to the feat of sailing high over Key Largo at age 96! Not quite the hot air balloon ride she always wanted, but a perfect substitute.

Tango Revisited

I select my wardrobe for my tango class based on my mood. Sometimes I wear jeans, sometimes I wear slacks. Yesterday I wore my red gypsy skirt and decorated myself with lots of bangles and baubles. It was one of those days.

My gold bracelets jangled as my arm slid across my partner's shoulders. My skirt swirled around my legs as my foot skated across the floor, languidly brushing one ankle against the other. But before I could lose myself in the magic of the moment, I lifted my foot and pointed my toe in preparation for crossing my ankles decoratively.


At that moment, the heel of my saucy shoe snagged on one of the ruffles of my delicious gypsy skirt, and when I took that fatal step... my skirt followed suit. Let's just say that a few other dancers got an eyeful of a little more than they bargained for.


The story of my life continues..

Songbirds

Of all the songbirds that could perch on my windowsill to sing at dawn each day, I got stuck with a pesky little tone-deaf one who belches out his morning greeting. And so if Sleeping Beauty's melodious musings are true--

"I wonder..
I wonder if each little bird has a someone
to sing to,
sweet things to,
a gay little love melody.."

--I got screwed.

Sillyness

I came out of the shower and found Sabbath IN Elinore's animal barn. In case she was worried about her toys getting lonely, Sabbath is keeping them company. I snapped this photo in between lazy blinks, she just may have fallen asleep in there.

Liberty, Annecy, and Mont Blanc

In the process of picking new hikes for each day we decided to visit Col des Glieres, a high valley between two ridges a little southwest of La Clusaz. The ride up to the plateau was a bit hair raising, but our nerves are steeling up now that we've been on the road here for a while. This particular area was the site of an historical parachute drop in 1944 during WWII of weapons and supplies to support the formation of the French Resistance effort. The Savoie region was ideal for this cause because of the terrain. The Vichy and Nazi response was ferocious, with artillery and bombardment taking a high toll in lives and habitation. We sat and ate lunch on a ridge across from the monument erected in honor of the dead.

We also visited Annecy on Market Day and discovered a beautiful area with narrow winding streets crossing over several canals leading to the large adjacent lake. The weather was exquisite as families socialized in the gardens by the lake and by the vendors sellings fruits, cheeses, meats, and vegetables. It was a glorious day, ending with a lunch of crepes.

Saturday May 23 we decided to make a go for Chamonix anf the telesphere ride up over the flank of Mont Blanc. We had been watching the weather and figured this might be our best chance to get clear air around this highest peak in Europe. We weren't disappointed after getting up early to arrive in time for the first lift of the day to the top. We were accompanied by a crowd of seasoned skiers and technical climbers who quickly scattered out into the "White Valley" adjacent to Mont Blanc to their various objectives of the day. We watched as they quickly became small specks making their way across the glacial ice and snow. The weather was perfect and the scenery spectacular.

Ambience de Savoie au Printemps

So we woke up this morning and the air was clear and the sun was shining and there were no clouds. We decided that we would make a quick run back up to Col des Aravis to see if Mont Blanc was clear from what appears to be ever present clouds. Much to our surprise and delight Mont Blanc stood majestic and vivid in the morning sun and we got our pictures, and fueled our anticipation for riding the telecabin over to Italy with spectacular views next week. But, we couldn't linger, because, it was Wednesday and the marche in le Grand Bornand was in full swing, and we couldn't miss out on that. We bought cheese and sausage and fresh vegetables, des olives, and du vin for dinner and then proceeded to a wonderful hike up to a local peak, Tete du Danay, which has a 360 degree view around our entire area.

We've been enjoying the local wines (apremont and des autres) and cheeses, also locally made and delightful. Many thanks to Lawrence Bland for the generous champagne contribution to our anniversery on Tuesday!

This is a multidimensional good time, with exercise, outstanding food, scenery to make one sigh, and good company - we're doing our best to take it all in.

Milles Bornes en France

We continue to have some new experiences in and around La Clusaz. We had a very pleasant and traditonal regional dinner last night at the Savoie Restaurant at Hotel Airelles - Raclette and Fondue. We broiled our own raclette at the table and managed the cheese fondue expertly without setting the table on fire. Interesting, the last of the fondue was taken after mixing in a raw egg and a shot of kirsch, allowing every last bit to be scooped up. Tuesday morning brought back glorious sunshine in celebration of John and Linda's 30th anniversary. As we sat having some coffee, muesli, and yoghurt, we began to hear a cacaphony of bells - similar to what we heard from the cows in meadows while hiking, but louder, with more tones, and in our immediate vicinity!

We rushed to the deck overlooking Route des Confins, and there was a herd of dairy cows wearing ceremonial bells with broad embroidered collars, each with a distinct insignia. They were heading to the high meadow around Lac des Confins, perhaps as a symbolic heralding of spring. We watched with broad grins as the herders flicked those who slowed, keeping the musical parade moving upward. To be sure, the meadows, paths and roadsides are surging with flowers sprouting everywhere. Crocuses are popping up everywhere, with violets, elder flowered orchids, marsh marigolds, and many others unidentified. And this is clearly just the beginning, with lupine, edelweiss, and others yet to follow over the next few weeks. We are truly here at a magical time - between tourist seasons of winter sports and summer pleasures, but just at the time when the snow melts away to release nature's abundance.

Every morning's first breath brings another wave of exuberance.

We drove to Col des Aravis and hiked up to an overlook to view Giettaz in the precipitous valley below and a cloud shrouded Mont Blanc in the distance. Mont Blanc, the highest peak in Europe lie near the conjunction of Italy, France, and Switzerland and will be the object of a visit by us next week, when all telesphere lifts will be operating to take us from Chamonix up and over the nearby ridge to Italy. We hear it is a magnificant view and ride.

City Rites of Passage

I get to tick another city-living hazard off my list today. I've previously:
-Been hit by a car while crossing the street
-Had my car broken into
-Received more parking tickets than I care to recount
-Had a hit and run to my parked car at some point during the night.
Am I forgetting anything?

One more is due: The Apartment Break-In.
Yes, it has happened, though our unit was spared. We live in a 3-flat, meaning there are only 3 units in the building, each one taking a floor. We live on the 3rd floor and are the only tenants. The 85-year old owners live on the first floor with their son, and their daughter and son-in-law live on the second. Around 2 pm on Thursday last week Emily and I were sitting in the living room when we thought we heard a knock. Generally when our landlords come up for whatever reason they knock on the back door. We waited and heard it again, so I walked back and opened the door. Nobody there. I called out, nobody answered.

Later that evening the daughter from the 2nd floor came running upstairs to tell us that their apartment had been broken into! The computer and jewelry had been taken and contents of drawers had been strewn across the room. We assume that the knocking we heard was the burgler knocking on the front door of the 2nd floor apartment to make sure they weren't home. The unsettling part was knowing that Emily and I, and the 85-year old owners on the first floor had been home the whole time.

Thankfully nobody was hurt. We still feel safe though we are being more vigilant about keeping the doors locked.

On another note, I had my first run-in of the season with that big, scary raccoon in our backyard again. I think we are equally nervous about each other except that he is the size of a coyote and has a cool bandit-style headband. All I have is a voice that quavers when I say, "go away!" and cloth purse to protect me.

Goat Cheese Supreme

...and this is for Caitlyn and Laura, luscious goat cheese, though we don't expect to bring any home to them. Temperatures were in the 70's and just about perfect for walking in the mountains.

Hiking La Clusaz

The day was sunny and beautiful, so after a good night's rest and a hearty breakfast of muesli and yoghurt, we headed out for a casual walk up near Lac des Confins, east of the chalet. We had cheese, pickles, apples, and a baguette for lunch and found a wonderful spot overlooking a long valley. Dairy cows and goats were busy working their way across the meadows, to create the miracle of fresh milk and cheese. On the way back we stopped by the Chrevrerie to buy some fresh made goat cheese!

Arrived In La Clusaz

After a long night and day of flights and a harrowing drive up into the alps with impatient locals nipping at our heels, we have arrived at La Clusaz and the chalet. We've enclosed a first couple of pictures of the view across the valley, with lingering snow still blanketing the heights. Wysteria, lilacs, and diverse flowers reign supreme along the lush green meadows. The air is crisp and clear, with a warm sun providing a nice welcome. More to come.....

French Alps 2009

We've begun our journey with stage 1 being a stop in Huntington to pick up the Pitficks and double check our packing to make sure we have everything. Friday afternoon we'll depart for Geneva, Switzerland via Madrid, to arrive Saturday afternoon. Here we are having dinner on Wed 5/13/09 remembering old times and anticipating the new.

Life Lessons in Tupperware

It was a weeknight, I was cleaning up the kitchen after eating dinner. I went into the pantry in search of a tupperware container. After several attempts...

Caitlyn (shouting to make sure that roommate on the other end of the apartment hears): This is ridiculous! None of our tupperware matches! What happened?!

Emily scurries into the kitchen in her all-business way, gets on her hands and knees and starts pulling out all the tupperware piece by piece to match it up.

I go about my business in the kitchen and periodically glance over to see the "matched" pile getting bigger and bigger. I scowl to myself, but take a few breaths so I can be calm and humbled.

Emily (looks at me with an ironic twinkle in her eye): I sure hope I'm not in THAT pile. She indicates the group of 4-5 unmatched pieces. But I think I am.

I laugh, and survey the scene. A mountain of matched tupper and a few, a small few, lonely pieces with no match.

Caitlyn: I guess I was too hasty in my accusation that there weren't any that matched. But I just kept picking the wrong ones!

And then I hit myself in the forehead, because OH GOD! was that ever a metaphor for my life.

Gas leak or skunk spray?

As you know, Mom and Dad are in Florida with Grandma and Grandpa. Last night, I was studying metabolism for my exam tomorrow when I smelled something strange in the house. It smelled like gas, only it had a tinge of burning to it. I couldn't for the life of me figure out where it was coming from. I searched high and low, I looked out the window for a potential culprit, and began moving around the house trying to locate the smell.

Needless to say I was getting pretty freaked out, the oven was off, the fireplace wasn't on, and the toaster oven was off. So I called Mom and Dad to find out what to do. We ran through the list of things to check if they were on and then Dad helped me locate the Nicor gas people's phone number for emergencies. Before I called I went down to the basement and the smell was much stronger. The furnace was on so I walked into the panty and was overwhelmed with the smell of gas and I immediately got light-headed, so I called nicor.

The operator who answered my 'gas emergency' was not very friendly, he asked me what my emergency was and as I was telling him he cut me off to ask what our address was. He informed me someone would be at our house in approximately 30-40 mins. I grabbed my cat, turned off the heat, grabbed my notes and pulled the car out of the garage and sat in the driveway waiting for my helper. Sabbath was not thrilled with being in the car and attempted to climb up into the car from the space where the pedals are. Finally, the gas man arrived and I explained the situation to him and that I had turned off the heat, opened the back door and we headed inside.

He used his gas meter and we headed down to the basement and about 10 steps in he says, you know I think the smell might be a skunk. He used his meter on the pipes and nothing beeped. He said it smelled like it had sprayed right along the back of the house, well that's right where the porch is. So we headed back upstairs and outside, where the smell continued on. We noticed that the window well cover was slightly off and he suggested that a skunk may have fallen in, sprayed and jumped out. But he checked the meter anyway and then left on his way, but not before assuring me that the spray of skunks is almost chemically identical to that of natural gas and that it was better to be safe than sorry/dead.

I should've asked if this happens often. I thought he may have been trying to make me feel better about my idiocy, so I googled skunk spray and natural gas. Apparently they put the odor from skunk spray (butyl mercaptan) into natural gas because it is normally odorless. So I still feel like an idiot because I really thought I was going to die, but at least I wasn't completely off the mark. I had to air out the house today because it still stinks of skunk.

Luck

When I arrived at work this morning and propped my umbrella up to dry, I noticed a big splotch of wet bird poo on one of the umbrella panels.

Good thing it wasn't my head.

>:o!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MY COMPUTER CRASHED AGAIN!!!!!! WHAT THE MONKEYS IS GOING ON I HATE HERBERTHA!!!!!!!!

Cultural Differences

It has come to my attention since working in my new position that resume presentation and the standards and norms that go along with it are, in fact, cultural phenomenons. Since study abroad obviously deals with professors in other countries, I have been finding out that the cultural norm in other places (at least in academia) is to have resumes that average 4-10 pages in length. Some have cover pages. Others have photos. Others have listed publication after publication, seminars, conferences, doctoral candidates advised even going back to the 1970s.

The first time I opened a 9-page resume I gasped in shock. The shock-standards were raised considerably (actually they were yanked up by their bootstraps) last week during my project compiling all course syllabi and professor CVs for a site review of one of our international centers. One by one I opened the resumes to be sure they were formatted suitably. I took the liberty of abbreviating those that were longer than 10 pages, taking care to make a note on each one that it was abbreviated and that anyone was free to ask the center for a complete copy. All was going smashingly until I opened a resume that was 47 PAGES long. 47. 47!!

I sincerely hope that particular professor is 90 years old, but his list of accomplishment and collaboration, and experience, and advising, and teaching went on for days and days. With a little boldness I managed to wittle it down to 6 pages, but I may have started the Third World War. You might want to have an ear to the news during the end of May when the professors see what I've done.

Things that make me mad:

1. Olfactory intrusion. I am fed up with the amount of perfume and cologne that permeates the air on the morning train. Each day the soup of air-born chemicals tickles my nose and dries out my eyes for 30 minutes before I arrive at work and begin staring at the computer. Today was particularly bad because the girl who sat down right next to me had drenched herself in something acrid, and my eyes watered for the entire trip. On the train there is no respite, there is no wind, and nowhere you can turn to suck in some cleanish air. I am not opposed to perfume, but the idea is to have a hint of scent that is pleasant to someone within 6-8 inches. If you can be detected across the room, or if your perfume makes your neighbors' throats swell up, it's TOO MUCH! And let's be honest, living in this country where hygiene may be taken to an extreme, most people shower at least every other day, if not every single day. How much fragrance do we really need?

2. Annoying dogs.
a) Those of you that follow my other blog Mona Lisa's Teeth (MLT), will recognize Bowser in this story. This is a dog that belongs to one of the families where I teach piano. Bowser is a friendly dog to a fault. He jumps. Incessantly. About 2 weeks after the escape incident I reported on MLT, Bowser greeted me at the door (by jumping on me) and caught a nail in my bracelet. Being made of elastic and beads/shells, it snapped and beads and shells scattered to the floor. My annoyance was more on principle than a PARTICULAR attachment to the bracelet. Last night, Bowser was at it again, but this time a nail got caught in my favorite scarf. It snagged, and although I was able to pull some of the thread back through, I'm left with a toenail-sized hole. GRRRRRRRRRRR. I took a deep breath, put the dog in the crate, and made sure to request as I was leaving that the dog be in the crate from now on before I come.

b) The next house on my piano circuit after Bowser is home to 4 tiny dogs. While not in danger of having my things destroyed by jumping, I have to bear the 4-part chorus of piercing yaps for the first 5 minutes after my arrival. The polyphony is truly astounding.

3. Children who are disrespectful and parents who are complacent. Yesterday (after the scarf attack) I was the piano teacher that you dreaded as a child. Call me quaint, but when an adult adresses a child older than around 4, the child should respond. I find it to be terrible manners when I greet or address a child and am ignored, and particularly bad when the parent smiles indulgently at their child and shrugs at me as if to say, "kids will be kids." True, but parents should be parents and teach their children to be polite. I layed down the law with one of my students yesterday who sat at the piano and looked straight ahead as though I wasn't even there despite my attempts to engage him. I decided not to resort to being a clown or groveling for his attention, and instead crossed my arms and had a stern little chat (well, monologue) about being respectful. For those of you who have children, I'm sorry to be harsh, and I do understand that kids have bad days just like adults and often express them more freely. Maybe I need to move back to the south where children say "ma'am" and "sir" or at least address adults with titles and know how to behave if they don't want to get a whoopin'.

In Defense of the Glutes

I have just one question. Who ON EARTH thought it was a good idea to put METAL benches on the El platform? Hello? This is CHICAGO. There are serious liability issues at stake here. Imagine sitting down in the middle of January on a metal bench while waiting for your train to come and having your butt freeze to the seat. Can Chicago really afford the medical and legal bills that would ensue? Considering their ferocity for handing out parking tickets to earn a little extra cash (I would know, I've gotten 4 in 3 years), I'm going to wager, no.

If we want to be serious contenders for the 2016 Olympics, we have GOT to get smarter folks on the Chicago Transit decor committee. Metal benches have to go.

Near death experience

I thought I would share my near death experience in State College, PA. On Monday, Mike had class from 1-4 so I stayed at his apartment, he left me his key, and I decided to go for a walk in the nature conservancy across the street. We had gone walking the day before and I didn't want to be stuck inside all day so I put on my field coat, extra sweater and mittens and headed out. I was walking along enjoying the fresh air, despite the nip to it and then got to a crossroads. I decided to keep going up the hill and just as I passed into the trees I noticed two men wearing bright orange, hunters, carrying rifles or shotguns. All of the sudden, they stopped, both looked in my direction and RAISED THEIR GUNS!!!!!!! I was watching them because at that moment I realized, I'm wearing a buckskin color I LOOK LIKE A DEER. So I did the only thing I could think of, while contemplating a bullet firing at me. I hid behind a tree. I had red mittens on but they weren't enough to show I wasn't an animal, I'd probably just look like a bleeding deer and then they'd shoot just to make sure I was dead. So I removed my coat, hoping that my white sweater would act as a white flag of surrender, and walked back into the open. They did not fire but I decided it was time to go and I wasn't comfortable walking alone where hunters freely roam, rifle in hand, with walkers. On the walk back I noticed a sign that read IT IS UNLAWFUL and then in tiny print you had to get within 3 ft to read, to discharge a firearm from this point on. I was 100ft from the parking lot. Not much room to roam if you're a walker without a bright orange jacket.

On a lighter note, I found out one of my required textbooks for one class is going to cost $3500.

Spring, yellow lights, and bathroom stalls.

Come on, Bloggers... we're getting lazy.

The truth, actually, is that I've been noticing some blog-worthy things here and there, but none is really enough to warrant a full post. So I'm going to combine some things.

1. THE CROCUSES ARE BLOOMING!!!! You know what that means.. SPRING is officially here!! It's still nippy, especially when the Chicago wind kicks in, but it's tolerable now. Now we know that there really is light at the end of the tunnel, and it's not the headlights of an oncoming train! On that note, I started running again.. I'm easing myself in slowly, and I've registered to run a 5K in my neighborhood on Sunday, April 26th. If anyone wants to join me, give a holler!

2. I've noticed that in my morning walk to the train, I am relaxed and calm until I am exactly one block away from the station. As soon as I hit the one block point, I start walking faster, my body gets tense, and I get a little more anxious. When the lights start flashing, the bells start ringing and the crossing gate starts closing, I have to decide whether or not I am too far away to run. There is a magic line somewhere on the block that denotes this, but I'm never exactly sure where it is. So for the whole block I have to play the hypothetical game.. if the train comes now, should I run? No, I think I'm still too far away. Well, maybe I could make it.. What about now? Most of the time it's all for naught because the train doesn't come until I'm already in the station. But sometimes it does. I have learned recently that I usually take the 7:52 train, so now I can time my walk. I used to just get there when I got there, and I never knew when the alarms would sound... I wonder if everyone else has the same anxiety. It's like passing under a stale green light when you have to judge.. if it turns yellow now, should I stop or go?

3. And perhaps the most important... Office bathroom protocol. I am new to bathroom stalls in the workplace, and I have to confess I find them a bit unsettling. Previously my workplace bathroom was like a residential bathroom, so you shut the door and had all the privacy in the world. But now everything is out-of-whack. I hate arriving in the restroom only to see that one of the stalls is occupied. And I hate it when I'm already there and somebody else walks in. Often, in the silence, I get stagefright and can't do what I went in to do. Sometimes I reason I'll just wait until the other person leaves to take care of business, but sometimes it seems like the other person has the same idea. Then it becomes this awkward game of chicken before someone risks discovery and leaves the safety of the stall. I know that there are some people who will read this and think that I analyze too much (probably men), and there will be some who read this and say, "oh my gosh! that happens to me too!" (probably women). So I'm just putting it out there. It's a totally annoying phenomenon.

The Terrible, Horrible..

It's one of those days where everything I try to do doesn't work.

I have had an IT guy up to my desk 3 times already today about one issue, and been on the phone twice with another about a different issue.

Even though it is GORGEOUS today, I think I won't try skydiving or deep-sea diving.

Look at all that Grandma love!

Nightmares

This past weekend we visited Jen, Kevin, Elinore and Tobin and I stayed in Elinore's room. She slept on her inflatable mattress by the window, I slept in the bed. I came prepared with ear plugs in case of any unexpected noise etc, so the first night was fine. The second night however, there was a disturbance. I woke up at around 3 am to use the restroom and shortly after my return I hear a half sob and my name. Elinore was awake and about in tears. I asked her what was wrong and she said she wanted to go to mama's room. I went and sat next to her and asked if she had had a bad dream. Yes. What happened? I looked out the window and I couldn't see Mama (another sob). I told her to try and go back to sleep and if she really couldn't we'd think of something. So she settled back down and I got back into bed.

It seemed she'd gone back to sleep when I heard her again (an hr later). Lou lou? I can't sleep. So I told her she could come and snuggle with me if she wanted...I think she was hoping we could chat. She started trying to talk but I cut off conversation with a "I need you to try and go back to sleep". Two mins later Elinore announced she was ready to go back to her bed and slept the rest of the evening. In the morning I reiterated the evening's events to Jen and discovered that Elinore couldn't see Mama because the wolves had taken her (we had read a book with wolves in it and apparently Elinore had just seen Babe where the 'wolves' kill Ma the sheep). Even as we talked about it Elinore looked like she was about to burst into tears again and Jen was right in front of her. I think next time we'll stick with a happier book before bed.

While we were visiting Tobin also took some steps all on his own!! He's going to be walking before anyone's ready for it.

The Aftermath

After blogging enthusiastically about my dinner party and making you all wild with jealousy, I hit a major snafu. It turns out those plantains were A LOT more trouble than I thought. While peeling them with my bare hands, the tips of my thumbs started to get sore underneath the fingernail. I figured I had just separated the skin from the nail a little bit and went on working. Then I had the party, blah, blah, blah, but the next day the thumbs were a little more tender. I put band-aids on them and went about my day.

Sunday night, however, I kept waking up because my left thumb was throbbing. When I finally got up for good and took off the band-aid, it was not a pretty sight. My left thumb was hot, red, swollen, and still throbbing with every heartbeat. As soon as I touched the tip (close your eyes if you don't want to read this), it started oozing. Immediately I knew that I was in danger of losing my thumb and maybe my entire arm if I didn't fix this STAT. So I called Mom, who told me to put neosporin on it or see the doctor if it would make me feel better.

I assumed the doctor would just give me some antibiotics, tell me to take an advil and send me on my way, but she took one look and said,

"You're not going to want to hear this, but I'm going to have to refer you to a hand surgeon."

WHAT?!

She pointed out the dark spots deep underneath my nail that were actually pieces of debris (from the plantain) that had to come out, and informed me that general practitioners don't usually like to deal with hands because they are so complex, and what on earth was I doing to have this happen? When I explained about the plantain, she remained stoic, but I'm sure she was thinking, how did this girl ever make it through the natural selection process from our primate ancestors? Our primate ancestors who survived, I might add, by peeling and eating bananas and plantains. That's what our disposable, I mean opposable, thumbs evolved to DO! And here I am, about to be killed by one!!

Thankfully, she offered to give it a try herself if I was game to avoid me having to try to get in to see a hand surgeon and pay the extra cost. She numbed up my thumb by injecting anesthetic into the ball of my thumb and then went to work, digging and sweeping. I'll spare you the details, but mention that half-way through the numbness wore off, and it was NOT a pleasant experience.

Despite it all, my thumb is making a full recovery, though I might be swearing off green plantains for a good while.

The Moors and the Christians

Last night I hosted a dinner party that is going down in the books as a smashing success. I carefully selected the guests on the criteria that 1) each person knew at least one other person besides me and 2) that they had similar temperaments to create an overall harmonius dynamic. Our final count was 8. A few people couldn't attend, which turned out to be good because I remembered while washing dishes before everyone arrived that I only have 8 place settings! The stage was set for a 6:30 curtain call...


The meal was Latin-inspired, and all of the recipes except one came from the cookbook Laura got me a few years ago. It seemed simple enough:

Appetizer: Cocktails and Twice-cooked plantains with Cilantro dipping sauce (from various Central American countries)
Main: Black beans and rice (from Cuba) -- also known as moros y cristianos or moors and christians for the black on white aspect.
Side: Sauteed collard greens (from Brazil)
Dessert: Tres Leches Cake -- three milks cake (the national dessert of Nicaragua, and also served in parts of southern Mexico)

My plan was to make as much as possible ahead of time so I could enjoy my guests once they arrived. I ran into a few snags along the way. (But would it be my life if I didn't?) The black bean dish called for cachuca peppers which I'd never heard of. But then it said you could substitute with rocotillo peppers which I'd never heard of. I went to two grocery stores--one being my local market which carries a lot of specialty items for the Hispanic community, and there were no cachucas or rocotillos to be found. On a whim I grabbed a packet of dried chipotle peppers and figured I would improvize.


Back on the homefront I made a list of all the prep work to be done (including cleaning the bathroom and sweeping the floors), and spent the whole afternoon chopping and dicing. The cake was done and in the fridge by noon, but the plantains, which were supposed to be so easy, were the biggest pain of all! The recipe I used called for green plantains, and I'd only ever used the black ones. Peeling a green plantain is no easy feat! There's probably some technique to it, but it was like peeling bark off a tree with your bare hands. I'm surprised I didn't come away with a splinter! I did end up with my fingers stained black from the juice inside the peel and a band-aide wrapped around each thumb this morning. Digging in with my fingernails was not the best idea.


Once I had them all peeled and sliced, the recipe said to boil them for 15 minutes or until "very tender." Then you were supposed to have at them with a rolling pin or meat mallet to squash them to 1/4 inch thick. As I have neither, I went to work with the back of a frying pan, but the suckers would NOT be smashed! It was like they were holding out on principle. I decided to put the half I hadn't gotten to yet back in boiling water to soften them up some more while I baked the ones I had crumbled into a million pieces. I must have boiled that second batch for AN HOUR and they never got "very tender."


The beans went according to plan, but before they started to simmer I soaked a few of the dried chipotle peppers, sliced them open to get the seeds out and threw the whole skins in the pot to add flavor. It turned out to be the best decision I may have ever made. In my life. The beans were DELICIOUS (if I may be so bold).


I was still running around like a crazy woman--a GIANT bowl of cooked rice in the oven keeping warm, a huge stockpot of beans simmering on the stove, a plateful of crumbly plantains on the table, another bowl of (somewhat) tender slices ready to be flattened, and a mountain of shredded greens with pre-chopped onion and garlic waiting in the wings to be flash cooked the moment the guests sat down at the table, when... the doorbell rang. It was 6:10. I hadn't swept the floor, hadn't put the leaves in the table, hadn't changed my shirt or even combed my hair!


It was Peter, the one American that I invited to the soiree, and of course he was early! Thankfully he dove right in, smashing the plantains with the frying pan, and then blending all the ingredients I kept throwing at him for the cilantro dipping sauce we ended up serving with the dry and crumbly plantains. By that time my roommate, Emily, had gotten home and went about setting up the table and the dining room. Then it was 6:30, the magic hour, and I laughed as one by one (as I knew they would), my European friends called to say they were just leaving their houses and would be a little late. I had tried to warn Peter earlier in the day that if I say 6:30, it means my friends will arrive between 7 and 7:15, but I don't think he believed me.


But there was no rush. Everyone arrived, we poured the wine and got to relax in the living room over plantains with cilantro sauce. I was a little disappointed with the plantains, but it seemed like it was a first time for most everyone, so they were easy to please. At 8, stomachs started growling, and we moved to the dining room and had a feast of Moors and Christians (which were spiced to perfection, let me just reiterate) and crunchy greens. Wine and conversation flowed easily.


Finally it was time for dessert. I served each person a piece of the unassuming white cake. It wass completely unadorned except for the bowl of toasted coconut I put on the table, and actually looked kind of boring. But when we bit into it, our mouths were instantly flooded with the mixture of the three milks that the cake absorbed. The cake was a light and fluffy mirengue (sp?) which you then poke holes in and pour a mixture of sweetened condensed, evaporated, and coconut milks over. As the cake cools in the fridge it soaks up the milk like a sponge.


After the cake and coffee/tea the atmosphere was still going strong. People started talking about a digestif. All I had was a bottle of rum that someone had given me as a gift after a trip to the Dominican Republic. So we got out the mismatched shot glasses, toasted our health and happiness, and downed the smoothest of rums--the perfect end to the Latin evening.


What a great time on such a snowy day! Wish you all could have been here, but you probably would have had to stand and eat out of a coffee mug. Another time...

A Taste of Spring

Yesterday's temperatures in Chicago reached a record-breaking 55 degrees! I thought my heart would burst for sheer relief! After hearing the news and rejoicing, but before leaving for work, I had a moment of bewilderment when I was "coating up" at the door. What do we do when it's 55? What kind of coat do we wear? Do we wear a coat at all? gloves? scarf? hat? I couldn't remember. Not having access to the outside from my apartment, it's not so easy to just walk out on the deck, stand there for a minute, and feel the air.

I opted for a suede jacket with a light scarf, though I tucked gloves and a hat into my bag just in case. As I walked to the train, breathing deeply of the warm breeze, I looked around. It seemed everyone else had the same giddy excitement coupled with amnesia. There were people with winter coats open, people with nothing but a fleece, and even a jogger who ran by with capri pants and a tank top!

Yes, we seemed to collectively sigh, spring is coming. Steps were lighter (I guess it's a given when you're not weighed down by an extra 7 lbs of winter-gear), eyes were brighter, and hearts were merry. It seemed a smile was on the corner of every lip and a measure of goodwill in each soul.

My only complaint (and it's minor) is that even once hat-weather goes, the Chicago wind stays. What I don't realize in winter is that wearing the hat keeps my hair from perpetually flying in my face. Without the hat, I'm toast. I try for a while to brush the hair away, but eventually give up and walk down the street looking like It. It's fruitless.

Unfortunately, our spring-like fever is going to be short-lived. Tomorrow the temperatures are scheduled to plunge again. Today, however, is still warmish--in the 40s, but it's raining. The question is, will the spring spirit last even when we're all soggy?

I'm about to find out.