Dog days of summer

It's been HOT and we've had a serious outbreak of flat cat. Here's what it looks like around here:

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Norway, two (2!) years ago last June...

(Sequel to Oxford, only a year—or two—late...)

We met my parents at Heathrow and exchanged stories. They had flow 3,000 miles from Yerevan and had brought some food from the Armenian market. We had a few things from Sainsbury's, but the Sainsbury's apricots, though a deep golden color, did not compare in flavor to the Armenian ones. I sampled the sheep cheese and flat bread my mom had brought. The cheese had a very definite animal flavor to it, tasting very much like the way a barn smells. An acquired taste, I guess, so I only had a small bit.

Why my parents were interested in watching the Queen's 80th birthday celebration instead of the World Cup, I have no idea. The England/Trinidad game was going to be on just exactly during our flight.

Grandma and grandpa could only get their seat assignments at the airport, and since the plane was full, they were not sitting together. Great! I jumped at the chance to get my own seat and mom sat with Greg and the kids. I had a wonderfully uneventful flight. As we were standing, about to disembark, the flight attendant announced the score as “nil nil.” Oh boy, the game should be over by now. Then, just as the line out started moving, another announcement: England had won 2 nil. Everyone cheers.

Luggage took awhile since mom's suitcase did not arrive. The airport was small and pleasant and we enjoyed the little glass windows in the floor that had tiny dioramas and scenes behind them. The guy at the baggage claim saw no reason to be concerned and thought the bags were still coming. But they didn't, so mom went to the customer service desk to find that her bag was still in Heathrow. It would arrive the next day.

Oslo
We debated about the options to the hotel: bus v. train, and took the SAS bus in. Oslo struck me as a big, messy city. We had some difficulty getting the elevator to work with the security system. Tempers (especially mine) were short, the kid's bed was not made. Don't remember what we did for dinner, but probably picnicked in the room. I was tired.

Next morning we all gathered for breakfast, except mom whose stomach was not well. The sheep cheese. The rest of us set off for Akershus and the Viking Museum. At least that was the plan. The cousins were having a great time, but Kadin still couldn't walk. We finally told the rest of them to go ahead and Greg and Kadin and I could go at our own pace. We came across the Resistance Museum, and Greg and I enjoyed that. Kadin tolerates most things. Don't think we would have attempted that with Rees at all as it is a bit disturbing.

Decided to walk to another neighborhood that was billed as "hip" on the way to the Natural History museum and look for a grocery store for lunch on the way. No grocery, so we settled for a 7-11 type of deal of hotdogs and hot pockets. It was not a great lunch and cost us $40(!) We were now on Karl Johann's Gata, a walking street. We enjoyed the human statues there. The nearest bit of green was the lawn at the DomKirke so we stopped there to eat our sandwiches. There was some kind of protest about Afganistan going on, but we couldn't read the signs (in Norwegian) and just ate our lunch and Kadin used the outhouses. We walked a bit farther, towards the hip neighborhood and Natural History museum, but never made it. Just before getting back to the hotel, we found a grocery store. I bought more provisions, found a good calzone place, and that was dinner. Later we learned that our lunchtime picnic site protest was a hunger strike, of all things. How terrible of us!

The next morning we were off to the airport again and then Lillehammer with the tour group. Only Greg and the boys had just finished the 4th Harry Potter and had nothing else to read. We had about 20 minutes to find an English version of the 5th book before we got on the bus. Miraculously, we made it. We asked where there was a large bookstore and were directed to Karl Johann's Gata again. For the life of me, I couldn't understand the name of the bookstore. Finally, when we thought we were near it, we asked again. Then asked the name of the store. "Eeeaiirk" is what the reply sounded like, with about 5 syllables. Turns out, the store was called "Ark." They had the book. In English. Wow. Success.

We boarded the bus to the airport with tour guide Lisa Christine and driver Tor Arne. As Lisa said, no one in Norway has a middle name. Either they have one first name or two first names. I guess that because the selection of names is relatively small, you can be distinct with a distinct combination of names.

We got to know the airport very well this time. The plane was delayed, then the people joining our group took forever through customs, over 2 hours after they were scheduled to arrive. We snacked and amused ourselves as much as possible. We met Laurie and her two grandsons, Chris and Ian, who had flown in from Chicago that morning. They were very tired and jet lagged. I was glad that we were all over jet lag and able to wait in relative comfort. We finally all got on the bus after picking up two more grandmothers and their two granddaughters: Kay, Pauline, Sarah, and Natalie(?). Tor Arne made a wrong turn, and we detoured a bit before getting on the correct highway to Lillehammer. Lisa Christine and Tor Arne argued about which side of Lake Mjosa was the most beautiful: the "right" side or the "correct" side. Tor Arne was from Hamar on the East, "right" side, the seat of the bishop, and Lisa Christine was across from Hamar, on the West (left/correct) side. This was the bread basket of Norway with lots of farms.

Pretty soon Tor Arne said something cheerily in Norwegian to Lisa Christine, she then cheerily said into the mic that we would be pulling over shortly because of engine difficulty. Just like the delays at the airport and the wrong turn, it all sounded so friendly and innocuous in this benign environment. Help would soon be on the way.

It was unusually hot. There was no shade and we had pulled over onto the tiniest of pull-outs, not the greatest or safest place on the busy highway. And we waited for the imminent help.

There were eight kids on the bus who were understandably restless. Without the air conditioning, the bus was like an oven. We all had to get out. Everyone but dad did. He stayed on the bus, as is his way, dressed in full suit.

Most of the kids dealt okay. The four Knuth boys found games to play that were reasonably safe. Ian and Chris did their own teenage sort of thing (game boy). The girl I’m calling Natalie wrote in her journal. Sarah was the most put out. For her and the older boys it had been a very long day indeed. "Why can't we go?" "This isn't fair." "I don't like this," and so on. Eventually we ransacked Tor Arne's store of beverages: water, Coke, Fanta, and sparkling apple juice. That raised morale a bit. I regretted not filling my water bottle for what was to be a short two-hour bus ride.

Finally, a German tour bus stopped to help. We had the fan belt we needed and they helped install it. Finally, finally. We were there for about 4 hours in the end. All I can say is that the acronym for the Norwegian Automobile Association/Forbunding—NAF—was more than accurate. We got on our way, then stopped at a gas station for water and fuel. Kevin discovered that he could get a kroner for each empty bottle from Tor Arne's stash. Excitement.

Lillehammar
We arrived at the hotel in Lillehammar about 8pm for dinner. Luckily it was a buffet and luckily it was meant to be late. I was starving. I don't remember much of the evening except being exhausted and hungry and feeling like we had to take advantage in the morning of the pool and the miniature golf and the town and we only had a few hours. Whew! How to take advantage of all these luxuries?

Once again, we managed fine. We had a nice buffet breakfast. Julie and I walked down to Lillehammar center, though it was Sunday and everything was closed. We found a shop to buy some snacks and food for the trip to Brennabu (must be prepared, anything could happen…). Played a little mini golf on the disappointingly maintained course, and Greg went swimming with the boys. We met at Maihaugen, the open-air house museum, for lunch with my parents. Kadin was being a real pill and refused to walk anywhere. His foot did hurt and he was still limping, but what to do at the open-air museum? Fed up, I finally asked at the desk if they had a stroller or a wheelchair we could rent. They provided us with a wheelchair. Kadin happily rode in that.

There was a lot to see and not much time, it seemed to me. First we saw the inside exhibit of the history of Norway. It turned out to be really good. Starting with a cold ice cave it chronicled the ice ages up to the present. The kids enjoyed it and we learned a lot. Kadin related everything to the game Civilization (bronze age, iron age, etc.). I was glad we took the time to do that. Then we went outside to meet our tour guide. This was okay too and she explained things and let us into a house and told us about the customs and traditions. This was good to hear, but I felt we only got a taste. Soon it was time to get back on the bus. A new bus.

Something happened where Kadin went to the bathroom and took forever and we were really late and everyone on the bus was waiting for us and I felt rushed and guilty. We all rushed on the bus and drove to the ski jump. Lisa Christine told us we had only 20 minutes at the jump before we had to leave again for Brennabu on yet another bus. Rush, rush, rush, I was getting tired of this. I was determined to see some of the ski jump. I went down to the top of the lower jump with Rees and we walked very fast up again. Then I wanted to take the ski lift down. Finally we got word that Lisa Christine has miscalculated and we had an hour and 20 minutes. So we ended up at the bottom waiting and waiting.

Brennabu
Lisa Christine said her goodbyes and we were joined by the mother-in-law of our host at Brennabu, an outdoor education center. She would be our guide on the drive. She was very interesting. She had been the original owner of Brennabu, and now it was run by her son and his wife, Elizabeth. The drive was longish and I worried again that it might turn out to be much longer than planned. I always refilled my water bottle at this point. Bjorn was our driver from Valdres, the region we were going to. We stopped briefly to see some petroglyphs along a river of Alg (moose). Got to Brennabu and it was wonderful. Not a sort of deteriorating elegance like the Lillehammer hotel, but a charming, clean, Scandinavian feel. We were served dinner, a whole fish, I believe, but I managed to find something to eat. I was ready to settle in, only to discover that I had left my camera on the bus. Ughh. Bjorn, would we see you again?

We explored our new accommodations and the boys quickly became the “troll patrol,” hunting trolls and chasing them away. We found a “Speise stue,” the eating room; a “Piese stue,” a meeting room in the attic; the “Corner stue,” Corner room; and the “Torkerrom,” or drying room. Drying rooms are a very important part of a Norwegian house.

Turns out this was the perfect way for everyone to be together, have a Norwegian experience, and also have lots of fun. We didn’t have to decide what to do and we didn’t have to decide where to eat. It was beautiful and relaxing. A quick summary of activities:

Day One
We hiked to some boulders to do some rock climbing. Canoeing on the lake after lunch.

Day Two
Rock polishing and horseback riding.

Day Three
A drive in the bus with Bjorn (camera returned, yea!) to see fjords and glaciers and an awe-inspiring thousand-year-old stave church, all the while accompanied by the music of Peer Gynt.

Day Four
Archery and midsommar games.

Day Five
Open-air museum in nearby town.

In addition to the owners and their parents, I most vividly remember Ardun, our indefatigable leader who would entertain the children and “groundups” alike, and Anne, the cook who made the most wonderful berry jams. We were able to visit Ann’s house and her amazing weaving studio where in the winter she wove fabric into traditional patterns to be sewn into traditional dress. And we also got to tour her family’s traditional summer farm, where they took the livestock to new pasture up higher on the mountains.

I took a hike one afternoon with Greg and Julie, startled a European moose (Alg), and it was gone in a flash. And I remember the stunning drive back from the glacier, the miles and miles of mossy landscape well above treeline, both haunting and inviting.

The finder

(From just about a year ago...)

I am obsessed with finding things. I want to know where things are. I will search relentlessly for things. I hate not knowing where things are.

I don't think the kids get this. I think they have learned to be afraid of telling me they can't find something. I will ask them over and over again what they were doing when they lost it, ask them to retrace their steps. I will ask them to clean up. I will lead them on an intense search. I don't see how they can be so uninterested, remember so little about what they were doing. They probably can't stand how determined and single minded I become. "I can't find it, but don't tell mom," I imagine them saying.

If the tape is missing from the kitchen drawer, I'll say, "Did anybody use the tape?" More often than not, "no one" will have used it, there are no recollections whatsoever. Utter blankness. And then I, who have never touched the tape, haven't seen it used, have no consciousness (sub or otherwise) about it whatsoever, will go and find it, clearly used, and then come the revelatory nods, the "a ha's" and "oh yeah's" like a miracle has occurred. Wow, what do you know, it has appeared, out of thin air. Oh yes, you are right, I did take it to make a paper hat. I remember—now.

This summer I was struck by just how good I am at finding things when the dad of one of Rees' friends called to ask if his son had left his gecko fleece jacket at our house. He couldn't find it and they were leaving on a trip. No, I hadn't seen the fleece, I didn't think it was at our house, but I would have a look.

I was pretty sure I would have noticed it if it was here. But I wanted to help him, so I thought back to the last time this friend had been over. I thought about the weather and if he would have likely brought a fleece. I remembered a cool day that week and remembered his mom saying he was going over early to another friend's house. I mentioned this other friend to the dad. He thought a minute and then said, "Oh yeah, I see it now, I put it on his backpack when he was going out that day, then he decided not to take it and I put it back in the closet, just where it should be. I didn't think to look there."

I think I should start a finding business. I hadn't touched the fleece, I had no idea where it was, it didn't involve me in any way, but I helped him find it. There has got to be good money in this.

Update 7/14/08: I have started making the effort to notice when the kids do find things. "You're the finder!" I'll proclaim. Cheers all around. And, just to reward myself (because nobody seems to value this skill as much as I do) when I find something, I'll let my zeal spill over not into a "see, I told you..." tirade, but instead: "I'm the finder, Mama's the finder!" It seems to be raising the interest in finding things around here. Finally.

Wine store

I try not to take the kids on too many errands, a few stops is usually their limit. So I was surprised when Kadin seemed okay with going to the liquor store after the bank. He waltzes right in and picks out a bottle of red called, “Woop, Woop,” a name we had laughed over at home.

Kadin (age 7): “Here’s the Woop, Woop, Mom”

Me: “Oh hey, thanks, sure, let’s get that. But I prefer the Fairvalley Pinotage.”

Kadin: “That’s right over here, Mom, here’s the Fairvalley.”

Whoa. What is this kid doing? I was trying not to turn red. It looked like this was a daily occurrence or something. I know a few months ago he came down here with Greg, and apparently they had had a really fun time with it, Greg involving him in every decision.

Kadin: “Did you want a chianti? There’s a fruity one in the middle row.”

A fruity one in the middle row. Okay, we’ll get that too. Honestly, we only go to buy wine every few months, but this was looking really bad. Or really good, depending on your point of view. When I go into a wine store, I can barely remember what I bought, what I liked, where in the store it came from, etc. etc., but Kadin obviously remembered the whole thing in great detail. I might just take advantage of that skill of his and bring him along more often…. It was one of the best mixed-cases we’ve ever bought. A future sommelier in the family?

Bear update

(from backlog, this happened just about exactly a year ago…)

I had heard rumors of the bear. After seeing a man in the back yard with a gun and encountering a visiting grandfather who had seen the bear (see original bear post here), I got my turn. We were sitting downstairs watching a movie. You know how sometimes in your peripheral vision you will think you see something big and hairy, the proverbial monster, but when you turn to look it is a robin, or a squirrel? I glimpsed something out the corner of my eye, turned to look, and it WAS a big hairy monster just cruising through the back yard. In no way did it seem predatory or interested in diversion, but it was BIG, strong, and powerful. Awesome. We ran upstairs for a better view and all saw it out the bedroom window. I immediately called the neighbor whose yard he'd gone into, and her husband ran out with a camera, which startled the bear who ran away down the path to the next street over.

I called to report the sighting (which we are told to do, but, I'm learning, might not be in the best interest of the bear). That night I saw ranger trucks with big lights out looking for it. I learned later that it was a 350-pound male and had been tranquilized the next morning and moved to a more remote location because they felt it was getting too used to people.

That was a first for me. I finally saw a bear in the "wild." I am thrilled. There is a surreal feeling to seeing a large, wild creature like that trotting by the kids' swing set and trampoline. The lawn just seemed so wrong.

No personal sightings since but rumors of more bears and a report last week of a mountain lion at 10:30 pm a few blocks away. A few weeks ago, the new family from Scotland took video of the fresh bear scat on the sidewalk just around the corner. Heard some loud sniffing outside the window the other night, but when I went to look, nothing there. Could have been a dog, a raccoon, a fox, or...

Backlog

I haven’t been posting much, but am inspired to update the last couple of years.

Yes, really!

I have many posts that have just never gotten up, most from a year or two ago. It will be a bit scattered time-wise, but every day or two, along with current events, I’m going to try to clear up the backlog. And I’ll try to give you a hint about when it happened.

Summer dreams

I’d been having some odd dreams about a month ago. I felt a bit possessed. First there was a dream where I had to be at the airport for a flight that left in 30 minutes. From our house, there is no way to get the airport in less than 45 minutes. Still, I was going to try to make it. Or maybe I’d given up on that flight, but thought I could get on the next one. But first, I had to stop at the school to get something. And, as I was on my way out, I noticed that one of the burners on the stove was on and someone had left a potholder there that had just caught fire. I turned off the burner, wondering how that had happened.

For some reason I went out the back door instead of the front and there I saw the hose running, so I turned that off too. Who left the hose on? What if I hadn’t seen it? Would it have run for a week?

At this point I woke up glad it was a dream and fell asleep again.

This time there was a couple of feet of snow on the ground and outside our front door was the school carnival/festival with various booths and activities. I had four gloves with me and I kept dropping one. Nothing I could do would keep them all together. I kept searching in the snow, and as soon as I found one I would get distracted again, then notice another one was missing.

I woke again. What was my mind trying to do? I felt it had been hijacked by every possible distress. I thought back. I had started taking vitamin B supplements and I wondered if they were helping my brain to grow, but in all the wrong places! Anxiety was not something I wanted to cultivate. Still, I was starting to enjoy the show. Where would my twisted mind take me next?

This time a dream about the cat. Only it was the cat vomiting a huge vomit, a mass bigger than the cat itself. Somehow, I heard myself volunteering to clean it up.

Luckily the streak of disturbing dreams ended. I chalk it up to the transition to summer with its unpredictable schedules and masses of roaming children. Now, I’m happy to report that daily, I find the hose running, the cat vomiting, and it doesn’t seem to bother me at all. I do keep a close eye on the stove burners, though.

The day everything came to a head and then resolved again

The skiing at least goes very well. It's a beautiful sunny day. I feel I ski much better when it is sunny. Before I set out on the mountain I talk to Greg from the lodge and hear that he is once again on the right IV antibiotic and that all is well. By lunchtime I talk to my mom and hear that Greg is out of surgery, that it was successful. I am enjoying the skiing, but absolutely fuming about the morning’s events in between runs. The poor souls who ride the lifts with me get an earful. I am furious! Boiling!

When I get home I have a follow up message from the doctor I called this morning (old number 13) reassuring me that he consulted with the infectious disease specialist and Greg’s surgeon, talked to Greg and my mom, and that all was set straight and Greg is on the right path again.

Around dinnertime I talk to Greg. He is doing well, but still has not been sent home. They are giving him another slug of the IV antibiotic and have given him a prescription for “expensive” orals after he leaves the hospital.

He goes “home” (to my parent’s house) that night. Late at night, the doorbell rings. It is his lost bag. Now he has the books to read, the DVDs to watch, the pajamas to wear, all the things that he had selected to recover in.

Somehow, the return of the bag is the sign that I needed. All is going to be set right, things are coming back together again. And the new “expensive” antibiotic turns out to be half the price of the “useless” one. Phew.

I did try the next day to talk to our regular doctor and get some satisfaction. It was not to be. I don’t know what I wanted, but an apology would have been nice. She did listen, she did explain, she did take her time with a very uncomfortable phone call, but she was also defensive. The practice had circled their wagons. They would admit no wrongdoing. It just made me sad. Time to move on.

Since then I have moved on and signed up with another doctor. Fingers crossed this one will be there when we need her.

Epilogue:

Greg continues to do well and recover. He is back home and his PHT levels are back down near normal. We spent last week in Steamboat Springs on spring break. He leaves for Italy on Thursday for fieldwork. He wasn’t able to get a follow-up appointment with the infectious disease guy before he left, so he is going without any antibiotics in his pocket. I guess they have healthcare in Italy if he needs it. We don’t really have a family doctor at present. No one person has followed this, so no loss in starting fresh.

Rees finished his antibiotics and came down with another bad sore throat. This time the strep test was negative. Maybe a virus this time? Maybe end-of-school-year-itis?

Kadin managed to get a tooth abcess the day before we left for spring break and right after he finished his antibiotics, but that too seems to have resolved itself. The dentist is not concerned. I’m not going to dwell on it. It’s a baby tooth. This too shall pass.

Don’t know why everyone is getting sick, but am determined that will end soon too.

Tuesday morning

Greg has flown to California. He arrives at the hospital at 5:30am this morning. Except for the airline losing his bag (in it most of the $300 pills), he is doing well. At 7:30am, just before he is wheeled into the OR, he calls me. The doctor there has told him that oral vancomycin is useless. It only works in the gut. It does not get into the blood. He wants me to call the doctor who prescribed it and get it sorted out.

I call back the practice and ask them to page the doctor. They say she’ll get back to me. Ten minutes later the phone rings. It is yet again ANOTHER doctor. From my count, this is the 13th doctor we have talked to about this. “So, tell me the story,” he says. I can’t believe it!

“This is the deal,” I say while trying to get the kids out the door for school, ”My husband is being wheeled into the OR in California and he just found out he is on the wrong antibiotic, that the one he is on is ineffective. I want you to consult with an infectious disease expert and find out what antibiotic he should be on and get that antibiotic to my husband. He is at Stanford Hospital under the care of Dr. Jeffrey Norton.”

He asks me if I have the phone number at Stanford. I don’t, but I tell him that he could look it up on the internet, that it is a very well-known hospital. I give him Greg’s cell phone number and my mom’s cell phone number, they’re both at the hospital I tell him.

I am so furious! I don’t want this to ruin my day. I have my make-up ski lesson today. My ride comes in 5 minutes. I don’t want their mess up to impact that as well. I don't want to sit home angry and worried all day.

I think back. It was something I didn’t question, I didn’t double check, and that was wrong. Always question, always double check, do your own research. This is so fundamental to getting good health-care these days. I was asleep on the job on this one. I just so wanted it to be simple.

Signs I had that the antibiotic was wrong:

The ER doctors ALWAYS consulted with infectious disease specialist before using any antibiotic.

The ER doctors talked (to each other, I overheard) about going onto two oral antibiotics.

My mom had IV vancomycin and when she switched to orals it was a different antibiotic.

There was no evidence that the family doctor also had expertise in infectious disease.

The Target pharmacy didn’t carry it because it is a seldom-used drug.

Sunday morning I had a sudden flash that maybe it was too simple, the oral vancomycin might not be right. Before I called the doctor to double check, I reassured myself that of course it was right, it was the same medication, it seemed so consistent.

WRONG.

Cathy picks me up and we drive up to El Dora. I vent the entire way.

The new plan

The new (again!) doctor presents us with a simple plan. Greg wants to leave for California on Monday night. So, on Sunday we’ll start the oral vancomycin to give it a 24-hour trial before he sets off. We’ll keep up with the IVs, but with home administration all day on Saturday.

We like her, this new doctor, we are thinking we’ll have two or three “regular” doctors, maybe that is the way to beat the system and at least have some continuity of care.

Saturday morning all goes well with the home care. This is working, except for a minor blip when I flush his IV and realize that I got a little air into his vein. Instant death like in the movies? I call the nurse and she assures me this is okay.

Saturday afternoon I go to the ballet with the boys and stop to pick up the prescription for the oral vancomycin at Target. They don’t have it, so the pharmacist calls around and we can get it at King Soopers.

I pick it up, but am a bit shocked by the price: $300! For 10 pills. Oh well, they said it was powerful stuff. If it works, it’s worth it.

Saturday night, all goes well again with the IV at home. After he is done we gleefully remove the IV ports in his arm.

Sunday we stay home, no one comes to administer anything, we have no doctor’s appointments, Greg takes one pill in the morning and is done with it. We are normal people again!

Day four

It is now Friday, and we are becoming quite the regulars in the emergency department. Last night we received our first good news: the doctor looked at Greg’s leg and declared that he was not concerned. He saw that it was improving and felt it would improve at an increasingly rapid rate. Not that we could stop the IV antibiotics, but we were moving in the right direction.

Did I say something before about graduating to oral antibiotics? That still seems to be off in the future. Apparently you need to be sort of gradually weaned off the IV onto the pills. They don’t like to take chances. We are now hoping that by the end of the weekend we’ll be weaning off the IV.

The good news is that home health care has now been arranged to start Saturday morning at the house. Surprisingly, it’s cheaper to have someone come to your house than for you to go to the ER. The downside is that home health care won’t come after 8pm. We have been at the hospital since before 10 this morning and this dose (each dose now takes a full two hours to administer, Greg receives the benadryl in advance, every time, so gets incredibly groggy and can’t speak up for himself and can’t drive, requiring both of us to be here) is scheduled to be finished at about 3pm. It’s been a long day. Anyway, as the doses are supposed to come every 12 hours, 8pm is much too soon to begin the next dose.

So, the bad news is that we will be coming back to the ER tonight around midnight for what I sincerely hope is our last visit. The kids spent the night last night at the neighbors since we were in the ER from 5pm to past 10pm (and they were up at 5:30am when we dropped them off at the neighbors for the morning dose). I haven’t been able to regularly pick them up from school. Someone else will have to pick them up again today. We call Felicity about tonight and she plans to come and sleep over while we spend who knows how long in the ER on a rollicking Friday night.

It’s great to see Fe but I wish I could be more of a host. I am feeling exhausted. Up at 5am, 8hrs a day in the ER, in bed at 10 or 11. Tonight it will be get up again at 11:30. I would love to stay up and hang out with her, but think I should sleep until 11:30 instead. We have dinner around 7pm and at 8 I am ready to go to bed when Greg points out that the IV antibiotics for the weekend’s doses have yet to be delivered. I call to find out what the scoop on that is. The good news is that they will still be delivered, the bad news is that the driver won’t be able to get here until 10pm and that we have to sign for them. No problem, Fe can sign for them. But no, it has to be one of the “insureds” who signs for them. Why is it that the meds can be delivered at 10pm but no one can come administer them and we have to go to the ER anyway? Uggh, we have definitely moved now from the wait-and-see phase to a new phase where things are improving, but getting really annoying: the pain-in-the-butt phase.

So it looks like bed at 8, up again at 10, then to the ER again from 11:30 to 3. Then a doctor’s appointment at 9am with his regular doctor (who will be supervising the home care). I am realizing that the caregiver has to be extra careful to take care of themselves. Between all these appointments and the kid’s needs and schedules, I haven’t had much time to rest.

Several extremely annoying (to me) things then happen:

We were under the impression we would see Greg’s regular doctor on Friday morning at 9:30. Nope, the appointment was for Saturday, a fact that was obvious to the scheduler (as the doctor is not in on Friday or Sunday), but news to us. When we asked for an appointment on Friday, then were told the Doctor was not in on Friday or Sunday, then told to wait, then asked if we would like to come in at 9, 9:15, or 9:30, we didn’t realized she was talking about Saturday. That would have been a nice detail to confirm.

The ER does not have the medication ready on Friday night at midnight, even though I asked the nurse about 4 times that afternoon if it would be ready and she reassured me when we left that it was ready and waiting for our return that night, saving us about an hour of waiting. When we get to the ER, the new nurse can’t find it and has to reorder it. It only takes about 20 minutes this time, but so unnecessary! “If only we knew you were coming,” she says. They KNEW we were coming, someone blew it.

We return to our doctor’s appointment on Saturday, ready to finally graduate from the ER, wean off the IV antibiotics, and have someone––one person––who knows the whole history––follow the case from now on, only to be told that Greg’s regular doctor is out. Again. I am a weeping mess by this point. Another mess up. She is sick, but still, we have to start fresh yet again with a new person. Maybe we should have just seen this person on Friday in the first place. What is the value of a regular physician? When the chips are down, you really want to know there is someone there you can rely on. It’s not to be.

But on the positive side, things are looking up.

The next chapter: Red Man

It’s 24 hours later, Greg is ready for his fourth dose of IV antibiotics, the one where they decide if he can graduate. It’s 2pm, and if all goes well, it will take less than an hour. If all doesn’t go well, I want to be there, so we go together and worry about who will pick up the kids at 3pm later. He’s a regular at the ER now.

The doctor comes in, “So what, is this your second dose? Third?” “Uh no, this is my fourth.” The doctor is not pleased. It’s another call to the infectious disease specialist for a recommendation. Another hour of waiting.

The recommendation is to go for the big guns, vancomycin, the drug that is used for MRSA, the drug-resistant variety of staph (even though it is likely this infection is strep, but only way to know is to try different drugs until one works since there is nothing to culture). This drug requires a specially timed pump and it will take one hour to go in. We call to make alternate arrangements for the kids. Easy, given our wonderful network of friends. Rees has band rehearsal ("The Hooded Brothers," more on that another time) and Kadin will go to Samuel’s house instead of Samuel coming over to ours. We’re good ‘til 5pm.

In 24hrs again, we’ll know if he can graduate to oral antibiotics.

I watch the ml dripping in on the timed pump. Out of 250 ml, it hits 125ml. Half-way there. Every drop fighting those nasty bacteria. Greg starts itching his head. Lice? I don’t think so. “I’m going to let someone know,” I say. “It’ll go away,” he says. It doesn’t. He looks flushed. I tell the nurse. She comes in, stops the pump, says it is a common reaction called, appropriately enough, “Red man.”

So it’s a shot of benadryl, a dose of pepsid, and a wait of another half-hour and then we’ll try again, but twice as slow as before. We’re here for the long haul tonight. I take Mona up on her generous offer to watch and feed the kids after 5pm. Doctor really wants this drug to work. We really want this drug to work. It seems it’s one thing after another.

Oh yeah, and did I mention that Greg is scheduled for surgery next week in California? Behind all of this there has been a blood chemistry imbalance caused by an over-active parathyroid. This wayward gland (one of four small glands located on the thyroid) is telling his body to put too much calcium in his blood. Symptoms are negligible, but can include fatigue and confusion. His PHT (Parathyroid Hormone levels) are about three times higher than normal. His bone density about 89% of normal. His urinary calcium is normal, so his kidneys have been working overtime to keep up with that.

His body is fighting a blood imbalance, eczema, second-degree burns, strep throat, and a raging infection in his leg, and he is walking and talking and doesn’t even break a fever.

My theory is that once his blood chemistry goes back to normal, he’ll have the full repertoire of resources to fight everything else off. I have been counting the days until his surgery, thinking that will be the beginning of the end. The reason he is having the surgery in California is that there is no one who does the minimally-invasive parathyroidectomy surgery (that not only has fewer side effects but also has better cure rates) in Colorado. The doctor in California not only does the minimally invasive version, but does over 100 of them a year. It seems the way to go. Greg even lined up the surgery before he had all the testing done by the endocrinologist here.

If he can make that surgery on Tuesday, the root cause of all of this might be cleared up.

Dis-ease

Greg has had chronic eczema on his hands and feet for going on two years now. The Chinese Medicine person he has been seeing has given him an herbal soak and home-made salve. While it seems to work, it works VERY, VERY SLOWLY. He soaks about 2 hours a day and, over the past six months or so, it has gotten slowly better, IF he keeps up the soaking regimen. Off and on, when there are open wounds, it seems to get slightly infected and then he soaks it in warm, salty water for a few days and that tends to take care of it. Swollen lymph nodes come, swollen lymph nodes go. It has become a familiar pattern.

Last week a patch on his right foot was starting to get infected again, and in his zeal to nick it in the bud, he soaked his feet in hot water that was a little hotter than usual. The next day he noticed he feet were red from the water line down.

Had he scalded himself without knowing it? Two days later, the red marks turned into huge, painful burn blisters. He hobbled to his last week of teaching classes (actually I drove him and picked him up for most of the week) and made a big impression on the dermatologist he had previously decided to see when progress on the eczema was slow. Can’t hurt to get the dermatologist’s opinion, I thought.

The Chinese Medicine doctor also recommended a full blood work-up, which he did last fall. That turned up an irregularity with one of his parathyroid glands (parathyroids are four little glands that regulate blood chemistry and are found on your thyroid.) If he can just hang on another two weeks until he is scheduled to have the offending parathyroid removed, maybe his body will get all back to normal. Burns are shallow, they will, with time, heal…

Meanwhile….

Thursday morning, after a nice hike in the foothills, I come home and get the call: the nurse at school saying Rees is not feeling well and has a slight fever: 100.5. I always suspect that those school thermometers are set a little too high.

I bring him home and set him up on the couch. Is it stress, exhaustion, is he really sick? He is lucid, but uncomfortable with a very sore throat. He hasn’t eaten. He is really sick, I conclude, and he checks out and takes a nap. The problem is that tonight and tomorrow is the 5th grade’s big musical production of The Jungle Book. He has been working towards this for months, with early morning rehearsals. I have been helping with the sets, props, and costumes. Tonight he is scheduled to be in the chorus, tomorrow is the big night where he plays an elephant and a snake. He has to be better by tomorrow night.

I finish sewing snaps on the orangutan belly, mend some torn monkey pants, then, when it is time to pick up Kadin, I tell him I am leaving, ask if he wants to come with me, and when he says he doesn’t, I tell him I’ll be back in 15 minutes. When I return I can hear him from a block away screaming in the house at the top of his lungs, “Mom! Where are you? Mom! Mom! Mooooooooooom!.” Just the thing to heal a sore throat.

Guess he is not lucid. The last time he was this unreasonable, the day before Halloween, I took him to the clinic and he had strep throat. I am taking him in again. I know if it is strep, he will likely be feeling much better in about 24 hours, just in time to do the musical. It is worth a try.

We head off to the SmartCare clinic, a walk-in clinic at a Walmart where you don’t have to make an appointment and they charge about a third less than our regular doctor (who couldn’t see him until the next day anyway.) Sure enough, Rees tests positive for strep throat, again.

Does he have it all the time and do I just take him in when there is a big event like Halloween or a performance in a musical? Why is he so vulnerable? I ask around at school and some moms tell me they have heard similar tales where there are a-symptomatic people in the family who keep re-infecting each other. Maybe we should all get tested.

Meanwhile,..

Greg goes to the dermatologist and gets a burn ointment and yet another, more powerful steroid cream. It’s the new plan.

We all try to go to the clinic on the weekend to get our strep tests, but it doesn’t work out. On Monday, Greg is not feeling so well and now the lymph nodes in his left leg start flaring up. Monday night he can’t sleep because of the pain. He calls his new dermatologist (he has already gone to his regular doctor a few times with complications from eczema, with ho-hum results). The dermatologists’ message says he’ll get back to him in 24–48 hours. So we decide today is the day to traipse over to the drop-in clinic and get tested for strep and maybe see about the leg as well.

It’s the Tuesday after daylight savings. Official “grump week.” Rees is home again, not well. After dropping Kadin at school, I drive Greg in to teach his class with plans to go to the walk-in clinic at 11 when he’s done. I have a conference call scheduled for work at 1pm, plenty of time. At the clinic, we ask for strep tests and Greg says he’d also like the nurse to take a look at his leg. We get swabbed, I pass, Greg doesn’t, he’s positive for strep. Then the nurse has a look at his leg. She tells us to go directly to the Emergency Room. Oh boy…from strep test to Emergency Room.

I didn’t think seeing the dermatologist would hurt, but it looks like it might well have landed Greg in the hospital. IV antibiotics for him. And one strong guy too. Eczema, burns, positive for strep, a raging leg infection worthy of emergency intervention, and not even a fever. Go Greg!

So we start the IV antibiotics and it’s a wait-and-see game. In 24 hours there should be good improvement, depending if they got the right drug for the right bug. He doesn’t have to stay overnight, but does have to return every 8 hours until he shows improvement and can graduate to oral antibiotics.

We finish at the hospital just in time to drop Greg and Rees at home so I can pick Kadin up from school and take him directly to the clinic for his turn. “I don’t have strep! I’m not having a throat culture! I can’t do it! I can’t swallow that big stick!” and so on. Kadin is thrilled about the plan. But it turns out our fears are not unfounded. He too tests positive. The nurse writes a prescription for me as well, as it is likely that I had a false negative and we should all be treated simultaneously just to be on the safe side. She doesn’t understand the lengths I go to to avoid antibiotics, but I figure for the good of my family, it’s the least I can do.

We now have the following schedule: Rees swallows one pill twice a day. Kadin chews one pill three times a day. I swallow one pill four times a day, and Greg goes back to the ER every eight hours for another IV drip.

And the winner is...

One of the new things Rees gets to do at school in 5th grade (in addition to being the top of the heap, having a part in the school musical, and getting free ski passes) is instrumental music. Music teachers come into the classroom and demonstrate instruments. The kids pick their favorites, try them out, then can have "free" group lessons at school.

Rees came home very excited after the demonstrations. I wasn't sure he would even be interested, though he does like piano. But I was curious, if he was interested, what instrument he'd be drawn to. He doesn’t seem like the marching-band type and I wasn't sure he'd be into a string instrument, their too fussy, too temperamental. I dreaded a child who would be into the bass or tuba or something unwieldy. So I was interested when he told me that the instruments that most captured his imagination were the clarinet and the French horn. He said he liked the way they both looked and thought they made beautiful sounds.

Not my decision, but I was secretly thrilled about the clarinet. They are easy to carry, versatile, practical-seeming instruments. I thought the thin black silhouette would suit him and he would gain transferable skills. So that's what we'd had all these years: a clarinet player. It all made sense.

Now the French horn is a beautiful instrument, to be sure, and I've always liked it, but it seems a little more specialized and obscure. It is considered one of the most difficult instruments to play and I always remember French horn players as the ones most likely to blow it big. Obscurity, frustration, difficulty: these things do not suit Rees.

The day they got to try the instruments at school, he came home both disappointed and excited. For some reason he was unable to make a sound on the clarinet mouthpiece, but on the trumpet mouthpiece he was already a pro. A form was sent home saying he could do clarinet "with work," but would be great on the trumpet, and could do French horn with private lessons. Hmmmm.

So Rees (and my) dreams of clarinet evaporate, he's aiming for the French horn.

I don't know why, but this idea stayed in my thoughts a long time. French horn? I couldn't see him toiling away, diligently practicing. He’s just not that structured of a guy. I didn't want him to play a "dead end" instrument. On the other hand, I could see him enjoying being unique, one of the few French horn players rather than one of dozens of clarinetists. What was it about the French horn that was so hard? If it proved too challenging, could he switch? Precision, intonation, these are not Rees' strong points. But in the end, any amount of playing a new instrument is good, develops new parts of the brain. How else to know if an instrument is for you other than to give it a try? Despite him hearing about these challenges, the additional private lessons, and even being told they would have a place for only one French horn, he had his heart set on it. And in the end, it has to come from him.

So yesterday [now three weeks ago], we rented a French horn (the rental a 10th birthday gift from his grandfather). He has barely stopped playing it since. And, I have to say, I am impressed. I had no idea what beginning French horn would sound like, and to be honest, it does not sound too different from those long plastic horns they blow at football games, but he plays with gusto. If it were me, I would sit down and want to know how to do a scale. I would be methodical, systematic, timid, and bored. Not Rees. He sits down and feels it. He tries different things, experiments, repeats. This morning, he had four different things he would play: "jazz," "blues," "elephant," and "reveille." We were woken up to "reveille." It's exciting to see him so enthusiastic. A sound only a parent could love to be sure. But when his friend showed up with his new saxophone, we counted our blessings.

Time will tell whether Rees is in this for the short term on the long haul, but in my new quest to embrace the ephemeral, it doesn't matter. French horn is not necessarily "his instrument" or the one he'll play for life. But it is the one he is enjoying right now and going with. Whatever the future brings, it is a great experience.

One week later: He came home from school telling me about the breathing in instrumental class and how it makes him feel happy. They practice breathing out for longer than they breathe in, taking really deep breaths, holding their breath, etc. As a violist, I never got to do that! As an adult, I know how important breath is, how it can change your energy and your mood, how good oxygen is. I think that is exactly what he needs to be exploring right now. Something he can take with him for life: breathing.

Three weeks later: He is still going strong. Had one disappointing day at class—something frustrating happened, that made him feel he couldn’t play, and he wouldn’t say what—but luckily that was immediately followed by his private lesson. His private teacher, a student at CU, is really great with him and he is always thrilled and excited after his lessons with her. So the ride continues with it's ups and downs…. Breathe, Jen, breathe….

From the Does Not Inspire Confidence department

A message on our answering machine:

"This is George with Qwest [the phone company]. This message is for Brandon. I was just calling to let him know that we ended up issuing a credit of $37.91 towards the activation fee that was charged in error to your guys' account. Sorry it took so long to get back to you but the system finally got up today. So hopefully that's okay and we got that credit in for you Brandon. Hope you have a good day. Goodbye."

So the phone company dials a wrong number to leave a message apologizing for an error. Not a good sign. Sorry Brandon.

The Wave

There is a really great new toy out there and all the fourth-grade boys in Rees’ class are doing it. It is called the Wave and is basically a skateboard, but an unusual one. First difference is that it only has two wheels. Second difference is that the wheels are not fixed, but pivot or spin 360 degrees, and that’s not all, the board itself has two halves and it can twist in the middle. The upshot is that instead of having to push yourself with your foot on the ground, you can ride the Wave and propel yourself with a wiggling motion that gives you momentum. You never have to touch the ground. It takes some balance and there is a learning curve, but I am impressed that most of these nine- and ten-year-old boys have mastered it.

They love it and it seems so good for them and so healthy. It looks so fun, I thought I’d like to master it myself. Why touch the ground when you don't have to? So one night after dinner, I found myself giving it a try. I started by using Rees as my balance point. That worked okay, but he soon tired of this, so I replaced him with a walking stick. Then, as I got my balance, I no longer needed the stick. I got to the point where I could start off and ride without falling, but didn’t quite yet get that wiggling, propelling motion. I was making great progress and feeling pretty confident when I jumped on and the board slipped out from under me and I fell back. That was when I suddenly morphed into this hard, heavy, brittle adult. I did not bend like the grasses but broke like the ancient oak.

I couldn’t get up right away and felt pain in both wrists and my butt. Left wrist felt especially bad where it had taken much of the impact from the butt. Butt was grateful, but wrist was not bouncing back like I felt it should. Shouldn’t I be able to get up by now? After a bit, I was able to roll onto my front and use my right arm to help myself up. In retrospect, wrist guards seemed like a good idea. Thank goodness I didn’t hit my elbow. Elbow guards a must.

I was wiped out. I was shaking. It was Friday night and the question loomed, what should I do? The first answer was do a little research, go to bed, and see how I felt in the morning. I put together a makeshift splint and read up on broken bones. I didn’t want to repeat the bill from the ER and Kadin’s broken arm. Read that the most important thing is to immobilize the site. Done. Next was to ensure it was not out of alignment. Didn’t seem to be. Then, apparently, there was no problem waiting a few days, it was not an emergency. So, I’d wait ‘til Monday and see how I felt then.

I fear unnecessary medical intervention so for minor or chronic things, tend to try gentler approaches. Still, I had always said, for major trauma, like broken bones, I was glad the doctors were there. Now I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t want a doctor anywhere near my arm, I didn’t want xrays, and I really didn’t want the bills. A cast suddenly seemed a barbaric treatment. It felt like it would be wrong. So if not at broken limbs, where did I now draw the line? Maybe if the bone had been poking out of the skin? Maybe. (I think for severed limbs, though, I would definitely see an MD, but I hope I’ll never find out.)

I did go and buy some wrist and elbow guards and used the wrist guard as a brace. I called my acupuncturist because I had to change an upcoming appointment, and she encouraged me to come in and said she could help with the pain. She had previously given me these medicated bandages that I had never used, so I did now and they felt great. I made an appointment with her for Monday.

Monday I was still in a lot of pain. Appointment went great—$60, about a tenth of the ER bill—but I also made an appointment for Wednesday with my chiropractor. Tuesday, still not much improvement and a physical therapist friend recommended the cost-effective idea of making an appointment with a Physician’s Assistant at her clinic where they could also do x-rays. I called and found out that I could get an appointment and x-rays for about $150 total, depending. So I made an appointment there for Thursday.

Chiropractor took my very tender wrist, felt all around, massaged it, adjusted it—all without any pain—and declared that if it was broken, it was all in alignment and would heal fine. I was so impressed she could do that without hurting me. She confirmed my skepticism about casts and told me about (brutal!) studies where they break rabbit’s legs and cast some and leave others to heal on their own. The un-casted legs actually heal better and faster and the thought is that something about using the surrounding muscles helps the bone fibers to line up and heal better.

In the end, I was able to cancel the physician appointment for the next day. I got off with paying less than $200 and only going to appointments that made me feel good and cared for, not brutalized (I couldn't do anything else that week anyway). It took a good six weeks before I felt I could try to do everything I had done before with my arm, and today, about eight weeks later, I still feel some stiffness in my wrist and twisting is slightly painful, but by stretching it, using it, and massaging it, I think I will heal completely.

And I have been back on the Wave, for one brief afternoon, well protected with pads and guards. There is some ground to make up but I hope to report that I have mastered the Wave soon (though I think, given my advanced age, it is going to take quite a bit of effort and maybe even a restructuring of my brain). Wish me luck!

Oxford, a year ago last June...

The first update: last year's summer trip to England and Norway.

Oxford

I’m sitting at the Rose Hill Oval, having stupidly bought a day pass for myself and the kids, forgetting that there are two bus companies in Oxford and a pass is only good on one. Just missed the number 3 bus so have to wait 20 minutes (it's Sunday) for the next one. It's all coming back so slowly.

Kadin turns out to be a very excited traveler and had a great time with the moving sidewalks at the airport. He was determined to figure out everything himself.

We arrived Friday and felt pretty good. At least I am speaking for myself. It was HOT! Okay, only in the 70s with clear, clear blue sky, but the humidity made clothes feel warmer. And I just couldn't believe that people were choosing to sit in the sun. Just as I couldn't believe when we first moved to Colorado that people would actually close their curtains to the sun. We walked around the city centre and ended up at the new Castle development. It was nice and spacious and they had outdoor seating at the child-friendly Pizza Express. When I had just about finished with my salad, Kadin remembered that he had left his bag (a small thing he was given on the airplane) at Boswell's toy store. I volunteered to go back to get it. Traipsed across town to find they had closed shortly after we left and would open the next day at 9:05am. 9:05? Thought I would try again then.

Went back to the flat and with some encouragement and cajoling, all fell asleep shortly after the 9 o'clock chimes of Tom Tower. I slept intermittently until about 8:30 the next morning. There was a party next door. At one point, it was getting light out and I heard lots of people talking and moving about. I assumed it was morning and people were off to work. Then I remembered it was Saturday and when I checked the clock, it was only 3:30am. So, it would seem this was not the morning commotion, but the continuing commotion from the night before. By "real" morning, Boulder's night, we were all sound asleep. I did wake about 8:30 and walked up to Boswells, easily found the bag, and then noticed that the bank would be open in about half-an-hour so thought I'd walk around a bit until then. It was novel moving about Oxford by myself. I didn't have any small bodies to keep track of or specific errands to attend to. It felt so freeing. Nice and early in the morning, too, less crowded. When the bank opened, the guy at the bank was even nice and chatty and gave me lots of good, unhurried information. I then bought two lattés and headed back to the apartment.

By 11am everyone else was up and about and we got to the Trefethen's for lunch, though pretty late in the end---bought flowers, got a Taxi, etc.

It was so great to visit with them. Unfortunately we missed Jacob, but they have very full lives! We walked down to the park by Rainbow bridge and had a picnic by the Cherwell river. Luckily, Nick was also interested in watching the World Cup soccer game, so we saw the first half of the England game at their house before Ann drove us to our next appointment at Hinksey park to meet Rees' old friend Daniel. We went to the outdoor swimming pool in our old neighborhood, the nearby playground, and the little store next to our house. Despite wearing wet suits and the weather being about as warm and clear as it ever gets, the kids got very cold at the pool! Wow, they are now weather wimps! Rees, Daniel, and Kadin even got to ride the little yellow paddle boats that they were too young to go in when we lived here. England won the game "one nil" as expected and everyone was in a festive mood. The pool probably would have been more crowded had there not been a game.

We explored some more on the way home and, as we were all very tired, opted to eat in rather than risk a temper tantrum by one of the kids at the Head of the River. I went out and got some provisions, and we collapsed into bed again after a full day of exercise and sun. Veggie samosas very popular.

Greg said he remembered the feeling of almost constant embarrassment he had while we lived in England, the feeling that you are almost always doing something wrong. I remembered overwhelming feelings of being tied down. When I was out walking around by myself it just was so novel and something I almost never did when we lived here. And I don't remember ever thinking that people in Oxford dressed particularly interestingly or flatteringly, and maybe it was the unusually warm weather, but I was really struck by how appallingly people dressed. I don't know if people in Oxford are just more comfortable with their bodies and so less self-conscious or if they just don't realize how bad they look! Fit bodies that were well taken care of were few and far between. Tortured and tacky seemed the rule.

Sunday, Rees went to see William in the morning. I chatted with Mark in the garden. It was very nice and I started remembering some of the gentle pleasures of the English garden. One of Kadin's big memories, besides the shark in the house, is going to the Sainsbury's with Grandpa. So Kadin and I headed out and got on the number 3 bus to the Rose Hill Oval. I felt foreign and empowered to ask the driver directions to the walking bridge over the ring road. He knew all the back paths and we found it with no problem. We bought water, marmite (two large jars, at a cost of 4 pounds each), apricots, apples, and toilet paper. I even asked a thug on the way back if the bus stopped on Speedwell street. I liked being able to be foreign and anonymous.

We got back on the bus to Temple Cowley after lunch in the flat. Met up with Ceri, Rebecca, Alex, and Theo (new!) at the pool. Rees went in the men's changing room. When I got out of the women's changing room to the pool, Rebecca said Rees couldn't go in. Hmmm. Yes he could. Then I found out the story was that Rees and Kadin were not allowed to swim in their wet suits as it "restricted movement" and was "against policy." I argued with the guy for a while: it's a shallow pool, I'll be with them, wet suits are designed for swimming, we swam at Hinksey all the previous day, etc. Finally asked to speak to the manager. He appeared and basically said, "I have no problem with it." And we were able to swim after all. Sigh.

Visited with Ceri et al. at her house. House is the same and she is as orderly as ever, cutting up fruit for the kids, pouring them all juice, and they all wash hands, sit down to eat politely, and get up when they are finished. With a fourth kid on the way this is a good thing.

I called Annie and she was suffering a migrane. Wasn't sure she wanted me to come, but she did, so called Greg and said we'd meet him there. Then, since I had bought a day pass for Stagecoach, I thought I couldn't take a bus to Annie's so we decided to walk. Also to kill time to give Annie some more peace. Turns out the number 16 bus did in fact run and was now changed to Stagecoach, but runs only once an hour. Annie told me a bit of the story: It is the only bus to cross the Donnington Bridge and there are older people who have lived in the area all their lives who rely on the bus. And, since the bus ran only once every half-an-hour, they would get to know each other standing at the bus stop. Anyway, the 16 bus was abolished and, Annie said, despite these people who relied on it and though they could have organized, they weren't able to. She said she should make a movie about it. In the end, the 16 bus was reinstated under the Stagecoach line but only runs once an hour.

Anyway, we found a stop, but found we had just missed the bus by about 3 minutes. Oh well, walking was nice, and just at the end, when some new fences looked like they would block our way, we found a hole and got through. Hard to keep back the tide of human pedestrians.

Annie's house was nice as always and she was alone for the moment, the kids having gone out to the Thames with George and neighbors. Things perhaps a bit more cluttered and crowded than before. A bit chaotic when the kids arrive. Elsa was glowing a told a great story about swimming in the Thames and how Oliver (neighbor) had swum out to get an old bottle for her. Muddy, happy, and active. Ned (new!) took a bath in ketchup, the kids indulged in fish fingers and Asian pasta. Kadin had two bowls of pasta. As George later said, "Lots of veggies went down their little gullets." It was crowded and cluttered and happy.

Walking home along the Thames path on a beautiful evening should have been relaxing, but we forgot about the bicycles and staying to the left. So slightly nerve wracking, but only slightly. I was so pleased that Kadin was walking. What freedom!

Ceri had told me there was an LLL toddler meeting on Wednesday morning. Jayne is still a leader, Ceri is a leader in the evenings, and Kathryn is too, four kids and all! And Cathé Heron, the former leader from Ox, whose had another baby is now leading again. The best thing I got the whole time I was in Oxford was the LLL brochure that Jayne had made. It was so gratifying to see. I was especially touched that they still have a summer picnic gathering as well. I had so many nightmares with those picnics, the timing for me always seemed wrong (bad weather, kid sick, me sick, etc.). So it was nice to see that people enjoyed and appreciated them in the end! The group is thriving with meetings almost every week. Wow! It was so gratifying to have a piece of paper that showed something concrete from my years in Oxford. I realize how little I feel I accomplish at any time.

Rees wanted to visit Grandpont Nursery. So on Monday morning we did. I got all teary eyed when we walked in. It was such a nice place! I was so sorry Kadin didn't get to go there. Kadin still says he hated his preschool. Such a different environment! At Grandpont they never raise their voices and rarely correct the children. The children just seem to know how to behave. Very skilled teachers. The boys sat and played for a long time with mobilo and I reminisced about people who were there.

Monday I was to have lunch with Kerry. We planned to meet at Edamamé, the Japanese restaurant on Holywell. Could not ditch the kids as Mikael was down from Scotland to work with Greg. So Greg went to his meeting at Starbucks, and the kids and I set out across Christ Church meadow, through to Magpie Lane, into Radcliffe square and through the narrow passage to the Turf tavern and the Bath House Hotel that emerged on Holywell.

Edamamé was closed on Mondays, but there was a new restaurant in the bottom of St. Mary's that looked good: seasonal and organic. That was the first place I went when I first met Annie through Clare, when Rees was two. It had a nice atmosphere and kids could kind of blend into the background. We ate well, Kadin ate all of his organic chicken, rice, and salad. And though Kadin was sleepy and said he couldn't walk, I thought he'd be fine climbing, so we did one of the things I never did when we were in Oxford before: climbed St. Mary's tower. The kids loved it. Then climbed and climbed up all the stairs and then we walked around the top, getting a beautiful 360 degree view of the city. Kerry was dizzy from the heights, but soldiered on for us. I was so glad I never did that when I had babies! So glad I did it now that the kids were old enough to enjoy the adventur and be safe as well.

We walked back the same way through Christ Church meadows with Kerry. Got to show her around Oxford! We arranged to meet her later in Abingdon. We had a few moments to rest at the flat and meet up with Greg before getting the bus to Abingdon to meet in front of the Police Station.

Kerry's house was wonderful, as always. Kids were older. Turtle was thriving. Mr. Greenleaf (lizard) had recently died. Barrel with tiny frogs recently hatched from spawn. Cat and all the menagerie. The older kids were focused on their homework, Rees and Kadin gravitated towards the zip line. Perhaps too much for Kadin who decided to jump off early. After falling from a pretty good height, he cried and said the top of his foot hurt. Sounded like it could be a small fracture.

We pretty much carried him for the next week and much of the rest of the trip. Oh well, so much for our walking freedom! It really was a bummer. We decided not to return to the JR (hospital emergency room) for old time's sake.

Annie came over on Tuesday morning and since we couldn't get far with Kadin, we just went over to Christ Church and Greg went in to take a photo for his father. We sat out on the lawn and talked and talked. I missed her so much! Then it was time to catch a cab to Vanessa's for lunch. (Where did we catch a cab? I can't remember. Near the Head of the River? No, I think we walked up into town and caught one at the top of Cornmarket. Was Ned in a stroller for this? Kadin on Greg's shoulders?)

Arrived a bit lat at V's and had a lovely lunch out in the garden. It was warm, I think, and even started raining a bit. It was nice to see V in her home environment. We talked about science. It became clear that there is a lot of work to do on the core samples we collected together last April. Hmmm, maybe I need to come back for a week alone to do that work!

I think we stayed and stayed, and only had a brief time to stop in at the flat, pick up the videos, and wait for Chris to call and say that he would pick us up out front. We were off to Rosie's new house in Standlake for dinner.

Her house was small, but larger than before, with lots of amenities. Really pretty and organized and as always and the kids were thriving. Rees and Catriona put on a gymnastics show out back. Jacob (new!) looks just like his sister. R is doing well with the two kids. Angus, the rabbit, was also still in residence.

Really nice to share some time with them. Was glad I could mostly understand Chris. Rosie is full of ideas as always and very good to talk to about her thoughts and philosophies. She always seems to have strong, clear opinions.

Got home late, tired!

Wednesday was our last full day in the UK. I was beginning to feel like I could never leave! Greg went to meet Vanessa at the Geography department and he was to meet Chris McKenna at Brasenose that night. I took the kids to the LLL meeting at Allison Samuels’. I knew most the people there! Jayne, Kathryn, Rachel, et al. It was really neat to see. I wish I had chatted more with Cathé Heron, but was too self-absorbed talking to the people I used to know. Everyone has two kids now, except Katherine who has four (two new!).

One of the women at the meeting talked about her anxiety over her upcoming visit to her dad's in Romania. People really let her talk and offered her all sorts of good suggestions.

Kathryn had invited me home for lunch. It was nice and tidy and not just because it had just been cleaned. Like Ceri, she is very organized and her kids help out a lot.

Annie came over with Ned and Elsa and we walked down to the Adventure playground to meet Kelly et al. Boy was the playground as fun as ever. I saw Kelly and Kathryn and Annie, and Jason and Holly and their moms, and Tyler and his dad. Samuel too. It was great to see everyone and felt almost like we had never left! What a nice, magical playground that is!

Then Kathryn and Annie and I decided to go out to dinner, something they rarely do. We took all eight kids out to Tootsie's, the burger restaurant at the Castle. Katherine drove Kadin and her brood and Annie, Ned, Elsa, Rees, and I walked. Yes, we really went out to dinner in Oxford with eight kids and three adults. We felt such rebels. We promised not to spill any of our drinks. Yea, right. But we dealt okay, and it was early so not crowded and we were outside so not too disruptive. Kathryn's brother worked next door, so he ran a little interference for us as well. Annie had a rough time, though. Ned insisted on digging through the plant containers and throwing the pebbles on the plaza. Annie would reprimand him and he would laugh and run to another planter. Ugh! The evening culminated when he took off his poopy diaper in the middle of the plaza. Poor Annie!

Elsa wanted to come over to see the flat, but it was late and Annie had the option of a ride home with Kathryn, so they agreed to come over in the morning.

All we did in the morning was walk up to Sainsbury's and buy a picnic lunch that we ate in the St. Ebbes churchyard. Elsa took the day off school to see the flat! Annie said it was nice to break up what she called her "monotonous life."

When we got back to the flat, we had very little time to pack and clean before the taxi got there to take us to Glouchester Green for the bus to Terminal 4 where we would meet my parents for the flight to Oslo. The bus was our last and only chance to see the shark in the house from the Headington Road. We prepared Kadin as we approached. But alas, when we pointed, he looked at the end of our fingers and not the place where we were pointing. He missed it! Kadin!

Coming soon: post on airport and trip to Norway.

Strawberries

Have been trying in vain to have a fun "family outing." We typically go nowhere on weekends, and that seems to work fine, but then I wonder how it would be if we ventured out together (instead of apart). Two weekends ago, another disastrous outing to a garden center. Last weekend, we tried the strawberry picking at the CSA farm we subscribe to. We'd get all the organic strawberries we could eat (part of our subscription, already paid for) and the kids could see where our food comes from.

We drove out to the plains and the kids had a little trouble with the long drive, but with the Pirates of the Carribbean soundtrack, it was tolerable. Then we were assigned our "row" to pick, and pick away we did. Box after box was filled. It seemed like such a short row, but when you looked down and started picking, the universe expanded and you'd work and work and pick and pick, then look up and it see you had done only a tiny bit. The kids did great, with pretty good stamina for their age. We were saved at the end by another family that came along to finish off our row. I think we had about 20 pounds of organic strawberries at that point!

Drive back was long, but relatively uneventful. Kids weren't in love with the outing, but we'd done it and now we were drowning in strawberries. We made smoothies, we made jam, we invited friends over for strawberry dacqueries. I went to the store with a list: cream, ice cream, and cream cheese. Next day I made strawberry scones and strawberry cheesecake. Greg thought his excema was exacerbated by them, so he has stopped eating them. Everyday I eat porridge with strawberries and cream. The kids have a few bowls a day. Thank goodness I recently got a freezer. Many, many have been frozen. They are so good, but perhaps too much of a good thing. Strawberries anyone?

Writing

Somehow the computer is not attractive to me these days. I think it was the spring and lure of the garden that first pulled me away, then it was my broken wrist. Now it is the constant interruptions. But I have felt drawn back to post on my blog. I have typed quite a few things, and stuff is always happening that I think would make a good post (like my wrist), but posts are few.

This morning, kid's are at a friend's, so here I am, finally getting things up. Kadin brought home his "writing journal" from kindergarten where he wrote about one sentence a week throughout the year. I realized that in that journal, he had recorded more than I have all year. He documented trips to Ohio, Arizona, Grand Lake, and numerous playdates and computer games. I have lots of these in draft form, have posted none of it, but hope to remedy that over the summer (traditionally my least productive time, but we can dream...). A brief warning that things will be out of order, long, and likely boring, but I want to get them down. One sentence at a time if I have to.

Bear

The kids are pretty low maintenance these days, but I still don’t seem to be able to get anything done. A simple task, such as unloading the dishwasher, has innumerable interruptions: the phone rings, the computer doesn’t work, the cat has peed inappropriately somewhere, a neighbor kid found a baby bird in the backyard, the door is locked/unlocked, it’s windy (Kadin needs constant reassurance when there is the slightest breeze), a cat got out, a balloon needs to be tied, etc. And so it goes.

Case in point, yesterday, at about 9am, as I was trying to go the grocery store (after begging Greg to work at home for an hour so I could get some food in) when I looked out one of the few windows that didn’t have curtains drawn (two reasons: one, it keeps the sun out in the morning, so cooler in the afternoons, and two, Kadin can’t tolerate seeing the leaves blowing…) and noticed a man dressed in khakis with a rifle prowling through the back yard. Hmmm. Because he looked like a ranger and there is indeed a lot of wildlife around here, I did not think he was some violent nut job, but it was definitely something new to notice. I went to call the Department of Wildlife to inquire which kind of wildlife he was tracking, when the phone rang. It was a neighbor saying, “There’s a bear in your backyard, keep the kids inside.” Okay, so it’s a bear. Alas, I did not see it and the ranger had moved on into another neighbor’s backyard and around by the playground and the tennis courts, out of sight.

I needed to keep on task and get to the store, so carried on and as I went out to the car, I saw an older man towing a toddler in a wagon. “Hello,” I said, “Did you hear about the bear?” “Hear about it?” he said, “I just saw it. Does this happen all the time?” Turns out he was a visiting grandfather, just out for a walk with the grandson, and by the playground, he encounters a bear. I assured him that while it didn’t happen all the time, it wasn’t that uncommon (and for dramatic effect added that mountain lions were the more typical excitement in the neighborhood).

I saw the ranger again as I was on my way to the store, and he said he’d just lost the bear around the tennis courts. He was waiting to hear on his radio of another sighting. When I came back from the store 45 minutes later, I saw him down at another intersection, about half-a-mile from the house.

Unfortunately, the bear has discovered that neighborhoods offer all kinds of great opportunities for birdseed, garbage, pet food, and BBQ leftovers. We brought in the hummingbird feeder last night but had just used our new-to-us (via Felicity) barbeque for the first time. Tried to burn off all the extra meat so it was not too attractive. Since it was a hot day, I noticed when I went to bed that all the doors were open. Somehow, the screen between the BBQ and the kitchen seemed just too flimsy, so I shut all the doors and left the windows open. Hot days, screen doors, and barbeque grills seem a pretty common and risky combination when a bear is involved. It would be quite easy for a bear to end up in someone’s house or condo and it doesn’t look good for the bear. Best case scenario is that the bear will be relocated. Worst case scenario is property damage, injury, and/or death, most likely for the bear. Welcome to summer…

April First

Every year I enjoy the April Fools stories on NPR's All Things Considered. I have been fooled badly in the past. So tonight I was listening carefully.

With just 15 minutes to go, an interview came on. It was a review of a biography of dancer/choreographer Jerome Robbins. It was odd. The story of his life is odd: very eccentric, very diverse. One of a kind. Strange drug experiences, strange politics, etc. Especially odd was that the author of the biography was Amanda Veil (not sure of spelling, this being radio). They kept repeating the name of the author. Yes, this has to be the joke, I thought: "A Man Ta Veil," how could a biographer have that name? But strange as the story was, it wasn't strange enough.

Last year's April Fools story was a profile of a billionaire who endowed a new "Positive Opera Company" that was commissioning famous composers to rewrite classic operas and make them less tragic and more uplifting, a la Norman Vincent Peal. Now that is the kind of story that could really raise some hackles, opera fans being so fanatical and all. The story of an odd choreographer just didn't have that same punch. No, Amanda Veil it may be, but it was not the story of the day.

The next story though, about the Indigenous Sculpture Society sounded promising. And indeed, it was about a group of sculptors, whose very British spokeswoman, Olira Pofl (or something close to that), explained how they find strangely named towns, like Monkey's Eyebrow, Kentucky, and sculpt that name (in this case giant Monkey's Eyebrows arching over the highway) out of indigenous materials.

It was a little too wacky, not quite believable this year. Still, I fell for it in a different way. Bring a critical ear to every story and you can't help but be fooled.

Haiku’s from last night

by Greg and Rees

Haikus are easy
They are very fun to do
Except the last line

My brain is frozen
Like a hammer to the head
With frozen cherries

Even if angry
Put homework on the table
Nicer in morning

Two stories

I was listening to the news last night while at the table with Kadin. A story came on about Putin’s recently reinstated military parades in Red Square.

Kadin’s ears perked up and he said, “Red Square, I know Red Square.” Such outbursts are not unusual for him, he really does pay attention.

“Oh, so you know Red Square from Civilization or Age of Empires?” I ask, because he has regular conversations about Admiral Yi Soon-shin, his Turtle Ships, and such.

“Actually,” he says, “I know it from school.”

“You talked about Red Square in school?”

“It’s one of the centers.”

One of the centers, I think. Oh yes, the four tables where the kindergarteners divide into small groups and do activities: Blue Circle, Orange Triangle, Green Rectangle, and Red Square. There it is, right in the middle of the kindergarten classroom, a famous communist center. Has anyone ever made that connection?

****************

Rees has been forgetting to bring home his homework of late. So we have been working on ways to remember.

After school I say, “Do you know what I am going to ask you?”

“Yes, I remembered it,” he says, “I have my homework.”

“Homework: don’t leave school without it, that’s your motto,” I say.

“No,” Rees says, “My motto is: Why walk if you can run?”

Too true.

Kadin's Valentine to you

Grease

I have been helping with the costumes for Grease, the musical that the 4th and 5th graders at the kids’ school are doing this year. When the musical was first announced, Rees was very excited until he found out that it was not about ancient Greece. He was even less excited when he found out it was all about romance between boys and girls. Now he doesn’t want anything to do with it and won’t even go near one of the circle skirts I am sewing when I need to see if it is approximately the right size. I always felt a little deprived because I had never seen Grease and it was very popular when I was in junior high. It certainly has stuck around.

Apparently the version Rees’ school is doing has been charmingly adapted and sanitized so that it is appropriate for young children. I am dubious. I finally borrowed the DVD and did my annual ironing while watching it. My assessment? It is terrible. I could find very little of value in it. Between the tacky costumes, cheesy dream sequences, and almost unbearable musical production, the story stinks. It’s basically about a sweet girl who is too sweet for her own good. The idea seems to be that you have to join a gang, drink, smoke, and sleep around to be cool, and if the “one you want” goes for the hot dancer from another school, you need become a biker chick. Or something like that. These young couples in relationships that already seem old and tired, getting pregnant or married right out of high school was just depressing to me, not amusing. Having high school graduation be the highlight of their lives made it very clear that it was all going to be down hill from there. I guess I am just jaded. I will be interested to see how this is rehashed for ten-year-olds, something that seems a Herculean task (from a very different sort of Greece).

However, the girls at the school all seem really into it, to be sure. Beauty-school dropout and all. Is that sad or fun? Anyway, I asked Rees, who is in the chorus (as are all the 4th graders), what he needed in the way of a costume. There was a long pause before he replied,

“Um, mom, I think I am going to be a hoplite.”

“A hoplite?” I wrack my brain as the word sounds vaguely familiar. A hoplite is…oh yes, an ancient Greek spearman. You go Rees.

Chores

In college I remember hearing a quote attributed to Toni Morrison that went: "Women love their sons and raise their daughters." I thought that was so true! Why is it that girls/women always seem so functional and responsible and boys/men are cut so much slack? Yes, blame it on those soppy, soft-hearted mothers. They loved their sons and raised their daughters.

Then I heard a radio piece recently about how, on average, girls do two hours more housework each week than boys do. The reporter of the story attributed this to leftover sexist stereotypes where women’s domain is the home. They interviewed moms, their daughters, and their sons. Everyone agreed that it wasn't fair, but they all just said that was the way it turned out.

In college I would have agreed that this was due to sexism. Now that I am the mother of sons, I have to defend mothers and say that we are not to blame. Now I know the sad truth: it is not sexism, it is just that boys have zero interest in doing things that you ask them to do. Zero. Ask them to do something practical and watch as their eyes glaze over and their body goes slack. Ask a girl, and they will be interested and give it a try. They may not be thrilled, but they want to be helpful. I see this all the time when I work in my son's classrooms. The girls enjoy the idea of doing the work, doing it neatly, and getting it done. The boys could care less.

In the end, it is just a whole lot easier to ask a girl to do something. With boys it is like pulling teeth. There is so much resistance that it often ends up taking more time than it is worth. It's not that it can't be done, but it truly is tempting not to bother. The basic fact is: you are going to have to work harder to get boys to do the same number of hours of housework. That seems to me to be a much more sensible explanation for why girls tend to do more housework. The idea that it all stems from ingrained sexist attitudes seems more remote. Now that I have sons, I truly believe there are innate differences between the sexes. Our job is not to make things the same, but to make them equal. I’m all for fairness and equal shares, but boy is it an uphill battle.

More Boulder moments

You know you live in Boulder when…

You go to pick up your child from a playdate at his classmate's house. You follow the directions, find the address, and discover it’s your local yoga ashram. Cool.

You go to your friend's house to sew Halloween costumes after school. She is a practicing Buddhist and has a lama from Bhutan staying with her. You sit and sew and explain the characters of the Lord of the Rings to him. You ask him what he thinks about kids playing with toy weapons. In broken English he replies: "You can't go against nature." Good answer.

You are working at a garage sale at someone else's house when a woman shopping at the sale introduces herself as a neighbor. You explain that this is not your house or even your neighborhood, but she does look familiar. She agrees. You stare at each other, compare notes on schools, etc., but nothing matches. "I feel like I know you, like we have had deep conversations," you say. "Yes," she nods, "I feel that too. Well, I am a professional clairvoyant and an intuitive." Oh great, you think, we probably met in a former life. Finally it hits you, that you know her from your magazine writing class. Yes, yes, that's it! She gives you her card. Another typical acquaintance.

Read more Boulder moments here and here.

What a difference temperament makes

First Kadin and then Rees have come down with a nasty virus. It starts with a sore throat and fever and moves on to laryngitis, trouble breathing, and a bad cough. I am pretty sure Kadin got it from his friend at school. I was briefed on the progression by this friend's mom. Luckily, or I might have taken Kadin in for a throat culture. He missed three days of school, hung out at home, napped, played on the computer, and generally was amenable and amused himself. He had this terrible wheeze, but didn't seem overly bothered by it and just soldiered on. "Don't you want to cough?" I would ask, and he would shake his head, "It hurts to cough," he would croak. He recovered.

Almost a week to the day later, Rees came down with a bad sore throat then a fever. He too stayed home from school. But he is a different guy with a different temperament. He doesn't really nap. He doesn't really self-entertain, and he is not prone to relaxing. If he has trouble breathing, he works harder at it, feels trapped, starts to panic, tightens up some more and it starts this whole negative feedback cycle. Poor Rees. His eyes wide, sweat on his brow, his chest heaving, he is desperate to breathe, getting worse and worse! If Kadin hadn't had it first I would have rushed Rees off to the emergency room thinking he was going to die. Hoping to avoid such a scenario, and knowing that his tendency is to tense and work harder, I talked him through relaxed breathing: being patient and letting it happen, pausing at the end of the inhalation and the exhalation, long, gentle, slow breaths. Luckily, he listened (for a change), and it worked. Soon, he was breathing normally again.

As he lay on the couch I gave him a little bell since he couldn't call out (he had lost his voice) and he was too tired to walk. Sometimes he would ring the bell if he was having trouble breathing and ask me to talk him through calming down again. Sometimes he would just ring the bell to ask me to be with him. It seems that he could sense as soon as I was in the middle of the really critical part of something and then ring the bell. That's Rees. He needs someone to be involved with everything about him. Alas, he is a difficult patient to have at home. He is resistant to things that might make him feel better like trying a cup of tea or taking a bath. By dinnertime on Friday it was really bad. I'm sure it didn't help that the “high” temperature was in the single digits so the air especially dry. He didn't want to stay home when I went to pick up Kadin from school (a 5 min walk) so went with me for a little bit before deciding to turn back. When we returned from school, he ran out to meet us, panic in his eyes. Running in the frigid air was the wrong approach. His lungs just could not recover. Finally, we made a warm vapor chamber with the shower in the bathroom and that stopped the cycle of panic and calmed his lungs down. I was worried we'd be up all night, but he slept well. In the morning, it took a while of him laying on the floor in the steamy bathroom and asking me to talk him through breathing a few times before he could get up and function. I hope that was the worst of it. And I hope Greg and I don't succumb. It has brought into stark relief what a difference temperament makes. In a survival situation where strength, fast action, and effort is required, Rees would win out every time. In a situation that requires, calm, finesse, and patience, Kadin is the one who will shine.

Natural history of dust

In the low winter light you become aware of dust. It's a seasonal thing. Dust doesn't seem such a big deal in the summer. I am sure it is still there, but with the sun high in the sky, it is nearly invisible. The winter, with it's low-angled rays brings dust to your attention. You can see it's shadow on surfaces and it is alarming: big, hulking elongated shadows creeping up behind you like giant mutant dust creatures from a horror movie. High up by the ceiling, cobwebs are suddenly backlit. Swirls of dust never seen before are illuminated as they twist though the air.

I am not a big fan of dust, but still, it fascinates me. It's kind of like the weeds in the garden in that, though unwanted, can still teach you things about what grows well where. Weeds can map the water available and the microclimate of different areas. Dust is a map of energy flow. Particles are picked up from high-flow areas and deposited in low-flow areas. You can use this knowledge of energy currents to help you arrange things and prioritize cleaning. Maybe you could even make a clever dust trap behind the door or under that dresser where it always gathers.

And what about what is in the dust? In my kitchen, it is usually filled with goldfish cracker crumbs and the like. In the entry, the grime is more sandy, in the bedroom, more feathery. After we got the cats, it became more furry. Maybe I should set up dust traps in different parts of the house, collect little vials, and compare...

Anyway, I am not alone in this odd idea. Just today I read in the paper that the National Institute of Standards and Technology sells 10 gram samples of "standard house dust" [Standard Reference Material 2585] for $450 a bottle. (Yes! I have a gold mine! Except that the NIST samples are irradiated and somehow expensively processed to prepare them for study. Sigh.) This "standard" house dust is used to give environmental scientists a baseline of chemicals that would normally be found in a house. Just so you know, higher concentrations of toxics were found in American household dust than European household dust. Interesting. I wonder how our house dust compares. And I've noticed that the dust is different in the different places we've lived. In more urban areas it is darker, blacker. Out here in Colorado it is a sandy tan color.

So before you throw open your windows on the first warm day of spring and whisk it away, think about what you can learn from the dust in your home.

And then there’s dryer lint…