Merry Christmas from Mishka (and G & I)

We hope you have a wonderful holiday! We are celebrating it here in San Diego because we both have to work (though I get the 24th and 25th off....G is on call). Mishka doesn't have to work, though, which is good news.

Snow is an hour away, if we want it (also, we'll be heading to Utah for the two long weekends in January and February to go skiing/snowboarding). A nip is in the air - it has been raining regularly, and our garden has exploded into this incredibly lush paradise. We've been working like maniacs each weekend to plant and weed and mulch. It is great fun, but lots of work. I suppose I'd be better off dedicating so many hours to the study of radiology. But where would our garden be, then?!

Since it has been chilly (45 at night!), we've had occasion to use the new gas logs Geoff bought and installed. They're really quite lovely, and the fact that they don't pop and hiss makes it easy on the pooch, who FREAKS OUT when she hears any tiny little crackle. It still cracks us up that we gaze into these fake logs and wax on about their realistic beauty.

'Tis the season!

(The Mishka Christmas Montage is thanks to the artistic prowess of our friend Debbie Anderson, a Photoshop Master!!!)

Waiting for Scotty to beam us up

This year, Geoff's Christmas party was held at the Air and Space Museum in Balboa Park. Despite living 2 miles from the museum, we had never visited it (or the handful of other museums in the park). I was excited. Not only was it in the museum, but there was a special Star Trek exhibit. And, for a nominal $6/person (negotiated by CPCMG, Geoff's employer, for the holiday guests), we could visit the exhibit prior to dinner! What could be funner?!

I was a big fan of the Next Generation when I was a kid. Geoff, curious about this little piece of personal trivia, asked me whether it was because all my friends were watching it....not exactly. Well, maybe it was because my dad was into it?...uh, nope. No, it was kinda just me by myself watching Star Trek and getting really into it. I think dorkdom was in the stars for me from the beginning....


















Anyway, the exhibit was great. They had set replicas, original costumes, history and trivia. We took our photos in some of the sets. I had to make Geoff act like we were in some dire situation in Outer Space (he kept posing with a GQ smile that was entirely inappropriate for intergalactic crises...not that my expression was all that space-worthy!)

My only disappointment? They didn't have the Holodeck.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!

Funny story, actually.

This picture is back from when we lived in NC. We were busily preparing Thanksgiving dinner for our family and friends when we noticed that Mishka had disappeared. The next thing we knew, this turkey showed up.

A New Day

When I woke up this morning, the rain had cleared and the sun was just beginning to rise. I stretched my arms and legs and yawned deeply and blinked several times. It felt like I was awakening, along with everyone around me, from a long and fitful sleep.

This is a new day.

This is the beginning of a new era.

Planting

Last week, San Diego experienced its first deluge, marking the start of a rainy season that promises to bring the unusual spectacle of a green Christmas. Having long finished with the renovations inside, we decided it is high time to tackle the landscaping. We plan to plant our garden.

We have a huge yard by San Diego standards - 16,500 square feet. The prior owners tended to it sporadically and bizarrely, creating little pockets of order amid what otherwise amounts to pure chaos.

So, this weekend, Geoff and I tore through our side yard, combing through the brush, assessing the survivors of this unseasonably hot summer, and clearing out the stragglers.

There is something intuitively backwards about this plan, though. Forget the ill-defined seasons, the steadfast weather, the arid desert climate. The financial climate alone makes this enterprise seem, well, wrong.

During these uncertain times, the only digging that anyone seems to be doing is to bury their life's savings in the backyard. Yet, here we are, planning to sink our money into this uncertain investment, staking our hopes in these tiny, feeble plants, committing our resources to ensure their well-being, hoping to watch them grow and flourish outside our kitchen window.

And the worst yet? None of it is edible.

Maybe (just between you and me), I should squirrel away some provisions under a ceanothus or tuck a bit of cash beneath the jacaranda. Perhaps the bouganvilla could serve as our new ATM.

Or maybe, along with most everyone else, we will just keep on living our lives as if nothing has really happened, as if the financial fabric our our nation - of the world - is not actually unraveling before our very eyes.

After every winter, there is a spring. We believe that.

Palin/ Couric Interview on SNL

Check this out...it is HILARIOUS!!!!

consultation

OK, I need your help. I need a word. It must exist. Please help.

What's the word to describe the nostalgia one feels for the loss of something that is not yet lost?

Like, the other day, I was watching Jesus Christ Superstar with Geoff because I love it and he has never seen it and I know every song. When all of those singing hippies were jumping back into the bus at the end of the movie, I needed the word then, the word to describe the nostalgia I felt for the loss of my youth - a specific youth emblemized in that movie - one that I never had to lose and a more general youth that I have not yet lost. What is this called?!

Another example:
I get this same feeling when I am intensely happy - it can be as simple as the feeling of eating a really delicious bowl of ice cream and reflecting on its deliciousness even as I am savoring the first bite. It is the feeling I get embarking on the first day of a wonderful, week-long vacation and experiencing each moment as if I were looking back on it sentimentally. Or, it can be as big as the feeling I get when Geoff and I are together and we are so happy and I am nostalgic for that time that we are experiencing even at that very moment.

OK, ok. Maybe you linguaphiles can help me find the right word. Right now, though, Geoff wants me to join him on the couch so he can rub my feet. There I go, needing that word again....

i'm learning to see clearly now

Maybe this radiologic exercise is a metaphor for something more fundamental. Maybe I'm learning to see through things, peel away the layers, peer into the heart of someone. Maybe it will make me a better voter in November. Maybe everyone should learn radiology.

Perhaps, then, the candidates should submit a full body CT for perusal by the American people. And a head CT and MRI. Shoot, let's be truly American and order the works: throw in a full body PET scan and a functional brain MRI.

It probably doesn't matter, though. Confront someone with an irrefutable fact, put it square in front of their eyes and point it out and shout and sing, and they'll still cling to whatever comfy misconception feels the best. We all do it.

But, I'll keep on trying.

I'm workin' on my x-ray vision.

Flavor Flav

That'll be our new nickname for Mishka, who is scheduled for a double root canal next week....

You see, our darling fluffball fractured two maxillary premolars last week, breaking them all the way to the gum line with some overzealous chomping. And now she needs some serious dental work.

How serious? Like $3000 serious.

Here's some advice for any kiddos who are reading this. DROP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. GO DIRECTLY TO VETERINARY DENTAL SCHOOL. THEN RAKE IT IN.

Our local doggie dentist is the only of his kind for miles around. He could say it cost a kidney and we'd probably do it.

Poor Mishky.

We're going to try to see if they'll put one of those diamonds in her tooth, so at least she can flash some bling....

BOLT

When I was growing up, we did not follow sports. But we sure watched the Olympics.

Part of its allure, which transcended our disinterest in basketball or obliviousness about football, was the symbolism of it - what it stood for: the nationalism, the passion of each athlete, their singular goals which rose above the pursuits of fame or fortune or glory. Olympians are defined by their pursuit for greatness. Great Olympic moments are characterized by acts of great talent and sportsmanship.

Which is why it was particularly annoying to watch the 100 meter dash with the Jamaican sprinter, aptly named "Bolt." Usain Bolt.

In case you didn't see it, without breaking a sweat, Bolt (in gilded shoes) glided past his opponents, looking around at the end to make sure he was in a class of his own, then slowing down before reaching the finish line and indulging in some premature celebratory gestures. It was like a cheetah had entered the race only to jog lightly then swagger across the finish line at the end after having glanced back to make sure he had left his exhausted competitors in the dust.

He beat the world record (one he set) effortlessly. But he could have beaten the world record by almost a second more had he not decelerated to gloat...but that wasn't his goal. He had no interest in elevating the sport and setting new benchmarks for greatness. He just wanted the gold medal and to make everyone in his country go wild.

Bolt is undeniably great, even incredible. He has a talent that makes the rest in his class seem like members of a different species...a much slower species.

Maybe it is the ease with which he does it that makes him value his talent so little, but his own personal goals are as terrestrial as they come.

He wants to be The Man of Jamaica.

Ironically, if he had the grace to match his talent, Usain Bolt could be a phenom, an inspiration, a hero of international proportions.

He could be The Man of the World.

Check out this little gem for the best description of the race: http://sports.espn.go.com/oly/summer08/columns/story?columnist=caple_jim&id=3538723.

locks of love

For someone as stylistically conservative as I tend to be, I get bored with my hair pretty often. It wasn't long after getting bangs that I started to wonder if I should cut all of this hair off. I have had it long for years, now, having kept it long for the wedding. Before that, it had been super short and everything in between.

Then it hit me - there's a way to give this restlessness a purpose and even a touch of philanthropy:

Locks of Love.

So there started my goal of growing my hair out long enough to have the requisite 10 inches to donate. I wasn't quite sure if I would reach the goal when I made my appointment for a haircut with Amy at Pixie Salon around the corner, but I was done with long hair. I was ready to exercise this act of charity and relieve myself of these 10 inches.

So, here is what I looked like today before the haircut:

...And here I am after, posing with my cut ponytails like all of the little girls on the Locks of Love website:

10 inches, exactly!! What do you think?

Jorge and Lucy in NYC

singalong at steve and anni's

going to the Bee Gees tribute concert

My dad

When you lose someone close to you and it happens too early or is tragic or so painful or all of the above....you have to practice talking about it.

You have to say it. "My dad died."

If you don't, it becomes this untouchable thing, this frozen sadness, and you plunge it deep underneath everything else while you try to float above it -but it doesn't really work that way.

When you practice saying it, saying "My dad died," or, even worse, "My dad died by..." (which I still can't say), it plucks it out of the realm of the surreal and plants it securely in the ground, where it can be acknowledged and dealt with and accepted.

So, I'll say it. Seven years ago today, my dad died.

All day I did not feel a single pang of sadness, yet now my eyes are filling up with tears. Not that I want that sadness to fade away completely because something so horrible deserves so strong an emotion, but this tells me that I need more practice.

I am good at alluding to it. In passing, when people ask, I can say "My mom lives in North Carolina, but my dad unfortunately passed away several years ago." But I still can't talk about it so much. Not in any detail. Mostly because it is a giant conversation stopper and most people have no idea what to say next or they nervously turn the conversation on themselves, and it becomes an intensely lonely moment. Probably the biggest reason why I can't talk about it so much is because, on most days, when I am going to work or brushing my teeth or watching TV, I just don't want to go there.

But today is different. Today, my dad died.

Bone

Like learning Chinese....

that's how I describe diving head-first into bone radiology. Most of the words are barely pronounceable, which is extra demoralizing for a linguophile as myself. Try saying "enthesophytosis" three times fast.

so, in short, I am dumb. Not just kinda un-knowledgable, either. I mean straight up stupid, useless, unworthy of whatever letters trail my name. I know less than nothing. I am a glorified transcriptionist.

seems as though my residency life and boxing life are rushing along in parallel - both are reducing me to my essence.... which, it seems, is nothing.

better work on that

In the clearing stands a boxer

...and that fighter would be me.

In keeping with my long-standing chihuahua complex, I have decided to ditch 24 Hour Fitness (the stinky overcrowded mega-chain gym) for something tougher. I have officially taken up boxing.

I had had it with the jazzercise and the territorial middle-aged women who would glare at you for encroaching on their little plot of real estate on the gym floor. At 24 Hour Fitness, I'd inevitably get relegated to some unwanted corner of the aerobics floor, stuffed there with the fluffy lady in a headband who passes the entire class by casually raising her arms up and down, regardless of what the rest of the class is doing.

I craved the badass classes I used to love at the YMCA in Winston - classes like Pump and Boot Camp and Kickboxing, where the instructors would push you until you thought you would pass out. Now, THAT was fun.

Instead, I've morphed into a marshmallow person. I'm becoming the fluffy lady. Sometimes I get winded just talking on the phone. Something has to be done. Is this mid-life crisis? Isn't this too early? Isn't 32 the new 22? (You get the gist of what's motivating me.)

So, now I'm a member of the Boxing Club, where we get to don big puffy gloves and sling sweat as we beat the crap out of punching bags that look every bit as authentic as they actually are. I like to position myself to where I can glance into the mirror every now and then and give myself a good snarl. I make sure I'm not dancing around too much, I try to emulate the muscly guy beating the stink out of the bag next to me. I slink down into my shoulders, look mean, and throw the hardest blows I can manage. At least I'm doing that: I've boxed the skin off of my third knuckles on both hands.

I feel good.
I feel tough.
Just try and mess with me!

Novice

It astonishes me how many times I keep repeating the novice/expert cycle.

I seriously haven't settled into a routine for more than a couple of years straight in my entire life....and just as I get good, inevitably it is time to switch to something where I'm back at square one.

College - med school- grad school - med school - intern - research - now this.... Having completed an internship and a year as a research resident, I am technically a third-year resident, though I'm widely recognized as a first-year resident in radiology.

Geoff reminded me that when he was a third year resident, he was in his last year of pediatrics. But, here I am, a spring chicken. I guess, at the very least, it should make me a very adaptive person (?). Luckily, I'm less daunted by all of this than I feel I should be...an audacity that I probably should have outgrown by now.

On Friday, there was a new 4th-year med student looking on as I read out with my attending. Apparently, she knows my attending on a personal level (a fact made apparent by all of the personal references and inside jokes she painstakingly made at every opportunity). Every time my attending asked me a question, she would rush to answer it and show me up. The kid even pimped me once. (She is campaigning hard for a rads residency).

As mildly annoying as she was, I was impressed by the volume of factoids she was able to regurgitate, how she spewed those old hackneyed medical mantras that may or may not be located somewhere deep in my memory. There is an art to medicine, but the side that is not art is largely the brute memorization of "facts" that are repeated as ardently and devoutly as any fundamentalist would recite lines from their holy book.

This is the essence of what separates medicine from science. Medicine is about mastering the known (or, at the very least, what everyone agrees upon as being known). It is concrete, causal, black-and-white, and self-assured. Hard work and smarts are generally rewarded.

Science, on the other hand, lingers on the fringe, with the unknown. Or more unsettling still (to the MDs, that is), it deals in uprooting even the most deeply-held facts and mantras. To live in the scientific world, you have to tolerate theory, complexity, shades of gray, and uncertainty. Hard work and intelligence are necessary, but not sufficient to succeed in science. You also need a healthy measure of luck.

With some luck, I'll be successful at navigating these two antithetical yet co-dependent worlds - at least successful enough to justify all of these years of training.

Mendocino coast

amber waves of grain...in mendocino

Glitter Sparkles

The way the left side of my head has been throbbing since last night, I can tell my left brain got a good work out during my first two days of radiology. Whew! It was like watching a movie about flying planes then immediately being thrust into the cockpit and ordered to fly to New Jersey!!!

That's why I was so grateful it was July 4th, and we got the day off!

We celebrated with the Grays - Curtis, Kelly, Taylor and Josh. We met them on this day last year at the fireworks over the water at the Embarcadero. We brought Mishka (a mistake because she's petrified by fireworks), and the kids kept coming over to pet her, though she wasn't cooperating (in typical skittish Mishka fashion). Taylor, their charmingly loquacious 9-year-old daughter, struck up a conversation with me (mostly about Jupiter and her pet and High School Musical) that led to our meeting her parents and finding out that her dad Curtis is the foreman for a construction company. It just so happened we were looking for a contractor. It also just so happened that we are neighbors!!! We exchanged numbers and Curtis introduced us to Wally (a character in his own right), and they were hired! One year later, our house is finished, and we love it. We still thank Taylor for the introduction.

Tonight we had them over for an all American cook-out then returned to the same spot to watch the fireworks over the water, but this time we all drove together (sans Mishka). We sat in beach chairs facing the water as Kelly passed out glow jewelry and homemade ice cream and soda. People around us looked jealous. The firework display was gorgeous. Taylor abandoned her seat and nestled up to me and we oooohed and aaaaahed through the entire thing. We even took a vote, and our favorite was definitely the glitter sparkles firework (or so we dubbed it). "Yeah, that was waaaaay cool!" she declared in modern day valley girl speak.

They came back to the house and we enjoyed our new patio furniture and the lighted umbrella Geoff bought. The temperature was a perfect 70 degrees with a clear sky. The kind of gorgeous day that makes you feel extra patriotic....

becoming a radiologist

If you've ever played video games you can appreciate how unprepared I am to become a Radiologist... tomorrow.

Just because you've watched someone play Tomb Raider doesn't mean you know what the hell is going on or how to play it. I think maybe I just watched someone else play it and thought "Why, that could be fun!"

For someone who has made very explicit decisions at most of life's junctures, my choosing Radiology was incredibly rash, nearly instinctual.

Nevertheless, here I am. Tomorrow, I will become...A Radiologist.


At 8 AM, I am expected to show up at Thorton Hospital's Ultrasound Reading Room and begin dictating from those snowy black and white images, somehow making sense of it all. And somehow spending a year in a cancer stem cell lab didn't help much, either.

Please heed my warning: DO NOT GET SICK, NOT NOW...because I am not the only one.

In fact, all across our fine country, there are thousands of clueless first-year residents just like me who will be taking care of patients throughout all aspects of our health care system.

Frightening.

Just wait until August to be ill.

Sideways road trip

Life hasn't really calmed down since we blew into town a year ago. Our last major trip was the cross-country trek we did with the pooch, and it was so fantastic and mind-clearing that we decided to do it again (in a way). This time we were drawn northward.

And, why not? After all, we're Californians - it is time we explore everything north of the southernmost tip, where we live. Of course, there's also the wine....

After a week enjoying our own town with Tony, Cari and the girls, we packed the Subaru with our clothes, Mishka (and a cooler full of her frozen raw meat) and headed up the coast.

The coastal views were phenomenal, especially in Malibu, which I had envisioned to look something like Cozumel (which I also haven't seen). Instead of the glitzy mansion-studded tropical destination with sprawling beaches that I had expected to find, Malibu is a quiet, mansion-studded destination with narrow beach strips like I might expect to see in Cape Cod (another place I have not visited).

What was as I had imagined - if not more expansive, more picturesque, and with colors more saturated - was the California wine country. Maybe it was the movie Sideways we had watched again recently to inspire us, but I knew to expect something breath-taking. Just as in the movie, our first stop was at Alma Rosa in Santa Barbara County. We bought two bottles and joined their wine club, officially starting a trend that would take us all the way up and down the California Coast.

We stayed at the Stanford Inn in picturesque Mendocino (ask me about the vegan cuisine and the all-too-personal massages), meandered along the cliffs of the northern California coast, wandered through the enormous redwoods, dashed into a winery or two in Napa, and explored charming Paso Robles, where we found a gem of a winery, Still Water (where we bought a whole case). Mishka loved it all.

She trotted along the trails and climbed the gnarly roots of the fallen redwoods, scaled the rock faces down to the small pebble beaches and generally wore a ridiculous dog-grin everywhere she went (except when we took her with us on the canoe in Mendocino, where she was decidedly freaked out until she settled down).

Mishka rather enjoyed the wine tastings, too. At most wineries, she was invited to sit on the cool floor next to us, where she sprawled out shamelessly and accepted a water cracker now and then to cleanse her palate while we sipped and sampled. In one week, while Mishka visited a good variety of vineyards, we effectively ruined our untrained palates, once satisfied with cheap wine, and developed a strong craving for a much finer vintage. This is a slippery slope.

With nearly six cases of wine arranged skillfully in the back of the car to allow Mishka a spot to sit, we finally headed home. So, friends, wine-lovers: this could be the single best time to come visit us!

turning 32

Remember warm fuzzies from kindergarten? Well, today, I got a GIANT warm fuzzy. Today was my birthday, and it was really great.

I could go into great detail about all of the big and little wonderful little things that made me feel wonderfully loved today, but it probably isn't as interesting to recount as it was to live. Anyway, if you're reading this, you're probably one of the people who give me these warm fuzzies, so there shouldn't be much more to say than just this: I'm really happy.

I've made it to 32, and I love my family and my friends. They seem to love me, too. At the risk of pointing out the Hallmark obvious, what more could you want? Even if you don't keep up with birthdays (mostly I don't) and weren't one of the people who called or sent a card, don't worry. We're cool - I love you, too. You help it be OK for me to forget birthdays, too.

Anyway, I've taken this occasion of my birthday as permission to wallow in this lovingwonderfulness...sure, I did a cannonball into a giant vat of Velveeta, but what's the harm? It's my birthday.

Geoff gets his little Volvo

Despite his boyish appearance, it is true that Geoff is getting older.

Fact: on June 1, Geoff will turn 37.

37 is exactly three years older than the age my mother claimed to be for at least 5 years of my childhood.

At a fresh 31 (- OK - 32 is soon approaching, but it is all the same), the number 37 seems very mature, indeed. Then you see Geoff and he opens his mouth, and every concept I ever had of "37" dissolves. Geoff makes 37 look cool.

So, to commemorate this special occasion (after all, even Mozart only made it to 36 and the average life span of rockers is 36.9), I decided to do something really special: I had Geoff's Volvo shipped out to Cally.

This is not your mother's Volvo. This is a 1968 Volvo 1800S, a little army green sports car with fins in the back that is low enough to the ground for even my short self to wipe clean its little aging roof. It belonged to Geoff's Papa (that's Southern for grandfather), who bought it new and gifted it to Geoff on the occasion of his med school graduation.

In Winston, Geoff would drive it to the hospital or around the block. The cab reeks of gasoline, none of the gauges or dials work, the A/C is nonfunctional, and all of the original upholstery was bolstered by Papa's handiwork, giving it an appearance reminiscent of Frankenstein meets family quilt. I have to confess that I still don't see the point, but G loves this little car.

When we moved out west, we weren't in a position to bring the Volvo. My godfather Steve, an old car enthusiast himself, offered to look after the little Volvo and drive it once a week so it wouldn't fall into a petrified demise. Now he and Naila are moving, so they don't have room for the Volvo anymore. Plus G wouldn't stop asking for his little car. I still don't get it, but it is, after all, a great occasion.

So, for Geoff's 37th birthday, with the help of his parents and Steve, I had the little Volvo shipped out here as a big surprise.

This morning Henry and Larry (the truck drivers) called to say they were here! While G was gone, they drove the little car into his spot in the garage. I washed it and fixed the air conditioner, which was hanging from one screw on the right (darn thing doesn't work anyway, but even if it doesn't cool, at least it looks cool). I looked around for one of those giant auto ribbons. We were out. So, I adorned the old guy with creme and gold craft ribbons tied in bows. Then I added a big happy birthday sign. It was like dressing Gene Simmons in a tutu. I was super excited.

I was so afraid I was going to miss the big unveiling because I had to work late, but G luckily had to work later. I cleaned the house and waited. Finally, he arrived. Mishka and I waited, poised with the camera to capture his reaction. Amazingly, though, he paused the car in front of the garage but didn't open it. I waited patiently, but he didn't open it. (He was looking up something in his manual, which should be herald enough that old age is around the corner.)

Finally, I popped out the front door to beckon him to put the car in the car hole, already, then I ran back to assume my post as paparazzi.

VOILA!!!

He was surprised and happy. Maybe not the overwhelmingly ecstatic Miss America reaction one might crave, but I know Geoff well enough by now that that's all his body will produce. And, after all, he's 37....

it is time to let up and give the old boy a break.

5-second catch-up

pink eye's gone...thank GOD. it lasted FOREVER but i managed to infect no one. still sure g was the one who gave me the virus in the first place.

mommy came for a long weekend - great fun. we packed a whole week into 4 days. should post photos soon.

we just bought a new high-efficiency washer which will arrive tomorrow and is really exciting because the one we have doesn't clean worth a damn. this new one has a great energy star rating so we can feel good about ourselves, too

tony cari rylee and wesli are coming - YIPPEEEE! we have lots of fun things planned! i went shopping yesterday in preparation and was weirded out by buying diapers and gerber (had to call geoff to find out which "stage" to buy). funnily enough, my cart also contained 14 bottles of wine-

geoff gets older june 1 and our anniversary is june 3, so we'll be headed up the california coast with the pooch on a wine and coast tour. if anyone has any recommendations for vineyards to visit, please pass them along. right now our tutor is the movie sideways

ok, gotta go - g is plating our dinner. pottery was fun tonight. i made a big pot then put tentacles on it.

day two of pink eye

ok, let's just say that pink eye becomes far less charming on the weekends....

last night i woke up at 3:45, unable to go back to sleep because my eyelid was chaffed and burning and my lymph nodes were getting too fat for comfort. so i got to watch a lot of animal planet - mostly chimp eden, which was fascinating to my right eye (i had a cold washcloth over the left). finally, around 7:30, i dozed off again. geoff found me looking like a fight victim sprawled across the couch.

i did get a black eye patch to contain all of the tears and shedding adenovirus, but my big melon makes it kinda tight, so i haven't really worn it. mostly i just get around wearing sunglasses, but i may get to the point where i'm willing to go pirate if need be...like at night. luckily, the only thing i've gone to this weekend was an outdoor fair focused on gardening in our arid climate. i tried not to touch anything or anyone. i can just see the headlines now: pink eye outbreak traced back to highly-infective but conservation-minded garden fair participant.

sheesh. maybe pink eye will be fun again on monday

pink eye

What's so hilarious about pink eye?!

I don't know, but when I got diagnosed today, all I could do was cuss and crack up. And say "pink eye!"

PINK EYE!!

That is too darn funny.

Pink eye is like a snow day. The kind I have is SUPER CONTAGIOUS, too. Geoff could get it, my coworkers could get it, the patients at the Moores Cancer Center could get it - sheesh, my right eyeball is almost SURE to get it from my left eyeball. So, nobody wants us Pinkies around (that's what I'm calling us, we, the solitary pink-eyed people). To the clear-eyed, we Pinkies are social pariahs!

So, for fundamentally antisocial people like me, Pink eye = a bonus holiday! I HAVE to go home! (Mishka loves pink eye too.)

The best part is, besides some ocular itchiness, relentless tearing, and eyelid swelling, HECK, I feel good enough to do just about anything!

I hope pink eye never ends...

(just kidding)

Ryan's Visit

Ryan and I are separated in age by four years. In case you didn't know (or couldn't guess), I'm the older child. Ryan's good friend Jason (also an "oldest child") constantly mocks Ryan for coming in second. He even sent us both an article about a study showing the academic superiority of first-borns and constantly challenges Ryan with big words like "fireplace" and "sunshine."

Four years may not seem like much now, but they were a big deal growing up. We've only lived together for fourteen years, and she didn't even talk for part of it. For the other part, she was still gullible enough to fall for whatever I wanted her to believe. At one point, she thought I had magical powers and could shrink or grow at will or locate lost objects with only my mind. We played games like Princess and Slave (you can imagine how that went) or Restaurant, and I would try to order items that weren't (or never could be) on her menu ("Hmmmm...I don't think I am interested in the peanut butter and jelly or the cup of juice. Do you have any roasted duck?").


It wasn't exactly an equal relationship.

These four years were an enormous gap when we were children. Ever since, however, they have been shrinking. I remember the first time I was shocked to discover that Ryan was a real PERSON, with her own thoughts and personality. It must have been after she went to college. (Who is this?! ) We've been rediscovering each other ever since. The best part is that I love the person my sister has become.


It has been really comfortable and very exciting to have Ryan in town - the best of family AND friends. I worked only half days most of the week and took Monday off so we could hang out. I took her everywhere, all around San Diego, from Old Town and the Gaslamp to Del Mar and Torrey Pines. We enjoyed the South Park Walkabout in our neighborhood, the Wild Animal Park, and tapas in La Jolla. We topped it all off with a day at the spa in Glen Ivy....aahhhhhhhhhhhhh. We're already planning my trip to New York! All of this fun, and I didn't even have to con her into doing by bidding....imagine that!

Happy Easter, Happy Spring!

So, how's THIS for an Easter bonnet?!Happy Easter, everyone! And, for my non-Easter-celebrating friends - Happy Spring!!!

Lately, the most exciting thing we've done is to get our house in order. And, let me tell you - sometimes there's nothing more fulfilling.

Using Ryan's upcoming visit as our deadline, we've worked nonstop to put the finishing touches on our home project. We've finally taken the paintings out of their boxes and put them on the wall, instantly transforming the space into something far more interesting. We bought plants for the inside and out - palms, birds of paradise, kangaroo paws, a dwarf lemon tree. (Being the conscientious Californians that we are, we promise to plant natives in the canyon in the fall, but, for now, we'll indulge in some tropicals for the patio and deck.) We are topping all of this with some refreshing, renewing and dechaoticizing Spring Cleaning.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh.

This blog is often about overturning our prior preconceptions and misconceptions San Diego living. So, keeping with this theme, I have to admit that I didn't expect spring to be anything too amazing. After all, winters here are lush and green, thanks to the rains. I didn't think anything could outdo that. I was wrong. Spring has definitely sprung in San Diego.

The world outside our doors is exploding with color. Red, orange and yellow nasturtium grow semi-wild around our house and in the canyon, giving us the most gorgeous flowers for bouquets. A Dr. Seuss-like tree with red puff balls all over it has burst into bloom, sending the hummingbirds and bumblebees into ecstasy.

The ice plants along the canyon have erupted in a carpet of pink-purple flowers. Plants we had given up for dead have resurrected and, amazingly, produced the most beautiful blossoms. To top it all off, the weather is no less than perfect - 73 degrees, sun shining, low humidity.

What can you do but be glad?!

If ever there were a time to visit, this is it! San Diego is as perfect as a place can be, and this house is finally our home. Please come stay in our newly-rearranged guest room (much better feng shui!!). You won't regret it!

Remodel

Spring forward!

Like all of you, this morning we awoke to find that we had lost an hour. As annoying as it was that our day off had shrunk even by 60 minutes, it is exciting to think that it is actually spring! Who knew? It has been 65 degrees here for months....Now, though, we can look forward to the days growing longer, to the opportunity to take Mishka to the dog park at night and to evening walks and later sunsets.

Except that it has felt like our days have been shrinking for weeks now. It is almost like every day is daylight savings, each day springing forward, hours slipping into black holes. There is so much we want to accomplish, and we seem to get less and less of it done (especially with respect to the house). Maybe we're playing too hard...

So one of the things I have been meaning to do is update this blog. There's much to share! A few weeks ago, we went to Salt Lake City, Utah, for a fun skiing/snowboarding trip with a bunch of friends (including Sharon, Brook, Shane, Joyce and Greg). Geoff snowboarded a few days but then switched to skiing, which he grew up doing. He went with the boys (and Sharon) to shred the crazy back country powder while Joyce and I stuck to the safety of the greens. I got better at snowboarding (thanks to my excellent and patient instructor Gina) and managed not to maim myself. I learned to turn, finally, so now my quads don't burn out so fast from traversing the mountain on my heel edge (except when it gets scary steep - then I revert). I still look like a doofus, though. I haven't mastered the awesome nonchalance of the really good snowboarders yet, but I'm working on it. In the meantime, I'm planning on faking it by getting really cool gear. We are trying to go again one last time at the end of the month, so hopefully I'll get better.

Last weekend I was in San Francisco for my college buddy Sonia Bakkour's 8th birthday. That's right - 8. No, she isn't a child prodigy. She's a leap year baby!!! February 29 only happens once every 4 years, so I HAD to be there! I got to meet her wonderful boyfriend Chris and many friends I have known by name for years and only now got to meet. One such friend Sara (pictured to the right of Sonia in the photo by the ocean) graciously showed us around San Fran and took us to the hottest spots for brunch, including Boulette's Larder. Yummtastic (though the snooty lady informed me of their no photos policy...well excuuuuuuuuze me! I managed to snap a few before her big announcement, though). It was my first trip to San Francisco, so I loved seeing the city from across the Golden Gate Bridge and the views of Alcatraz, which I had recently learned more about in Surviving Alcatraz on National Geographic. I missed Geoff and Mishka, though. Turns out I really like my little family.

Meanwhile, all of the outside construction has been going on and finally was completed last week. We had our old patio and deck torn out and replaced, and now we are officially the party house of San Diego. Seriously, the open floor plan combined with the fact that we have at least five different places to eat makes us the ideal dinner party spot! We can't wait to get the outside furniture and start having everyone over...now don't you want to be one of our guests?!

BANG, BANG!!

I haven't had a hair cut since....well, Winston-Salem. (And it wasn't like I got it cut right before leaving, either.)

I did reach a point around November where I couldn't take the ratty, crumbling split ends anymore, so I drew my hair above my head and lobbed off the offending inch or so while looking in the mirror.

Since that episode, though, my hair has just been degenerating deeper and deeper towards my natural state: chaos. This is the point in the past where my godmother Naila has intervened physically to schedule and prepay a haircut for me. "You look like a graduate student," she informed me frankly. Never mind I was a graduate student at the time - even I could recognize the depths to which I had sunk.

So, it has happened again. Not even the beautiful people of So Cal could shame me into taking care of myself before last night. Under the guise of not having found a hairdresser in this new town, I have avoided this essential grooming ritual. Finally, my friend Greg took away my last excuse - he recommended his hairdresser Amy Rodriguez at Pixie Salon, a cute place in my neighborhood. I called her and got an appointment the next day.

Sick of my default hair style (long, parted on the side, sort-of layered), I polled family and friends for a new look. Two people voted for bangs, the rest were wishy-washy. I've had the side-swept bangs and the short short bangs over the past decade, but I haven't had the straight, thick eyebrow-brushing bangs that is the quintessential haircut for little girls since I was 7. In the picture above, I'm about 5 years old, posing with my grandmother's glasses on her deck in Pittsburgh. Looking for a change, I decided to return to those times.

Geoff was shocked but likes it. My labmates seem to like it (or they're being really nice). What do you think?!

Happy Valentine's Day

We love you and hope you have a wonderful Valentine's Day!!!

Olga and Sunny

Olga, a good friend of mine from my intern year at Moses Cone, just sent me this awesome picture of her with her adorable and very chic rescued chihuahua named Sunny. (Yes, those are sunglasses and a turtle neck on the pooch!) I think it is more than clear that Olga and Sunny need to leave NC immediately and join us here in SoCal....don't you?!!