Hello?

Remember when you were a kid, and your teacher would call your house? And it would seem so weird... your teacher, on your phone.

I remembered that tonight when my doctor called.

8:55 p.m.
Stolenbike: Hello?
Dr. Brown: Hi. This is Dr. Brown. I was just going over my notes tonight, and realized that missed something. Your deviated septum...was that to the right or left?
Stolenbike: Umm... right?
Dr. Brown: Which nostril is it more difficult to breathe out of?
Stolenbike: Inhale, exhale... Umm.... right?
Dr. Brown: OK. Thanks.

The best part is that Dr. Brown has a CD of my CT scan...he's just too computer illiterate to view it.
Earlier today:
Nurse: Umm... Doctor... you just need to scroll up on the mouse, not hit the button.
Dr. Brown: Click. click click click. It's not working.
Nurse: OK... just... use the scroll.

Nose, broken

4 super things about breaking your nose:
1. Husband gets dirty looks when we go out in public
2. Having both a doctor and a nurse tell me, "Do not pick your nose."
3. Leaving messages for friends saying, "For the first time in 26 years, I broke a bone. If you want to find out what one, give me a call."
4. When I told my dad I had some bad news and he said, "Whadja break?" getting to reply, "nose" and hearing that moment of shock over having called his bluff.

Look!

It's my wallet!
The one stolen nearly a year ago!




















We knew where it was (between barrier wall and highway) but couldn't find it, despite some scary night searching.

It found its way back to my house... credit cards, driver's license, frequent coffee drinker's card, and all. Well, except for the money, of course.

It looks like it's been through hell (or a Midwestern winter).

Damn, if we only knew someone who read books

I often wish I had useful skills to share with others. Carpentry, gardening, sewing, Spanish expertise, and the like.

The only skill I can think of is that I'd be damn good at editing family Christmas letters. I'd also kick butt as an island vacation advisor. But alas, neither are in high demand.

Except... I do read more than the average person. But for a reader I suck at recommendations. It's like someone asking you, "You eat food? Really! I always mean to eat more food. What food would you recommend?" And I'm like, "Umm... do you like dairy?"

So I've decided to start sharing an occasional list of much liked books in various genres.

Today I bring you TRAVEL WRITING.

Note: I strove for diversity of location and experience in this list; it's not necessary my best-of. It's also limited by my poor memory of what I've read.

A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle
This book makes Husband and I nearly pee our pants. Every year or so we check the audiobook version out of the library and spend a drive up to the cabin delighting in Mayle's crazy friend Monsieur Menicucci, salivating at the descriptions of fabulous food, and crying with laughter at Mayle's dry deadpan delivery. For books about France, I also like Almost French by Sarah Turnbull (for glamorous-Paris-life-type book, and to understand why the French are the way they are) and On Rue Tatin by Susan Loomis (for the good French cooking-type book).

Sex Lives of Cannibals by Maarten Troost
This is for people who fantasize about going to those little specks on the map (in this case, a tiny island in the South Pacific). Or for people who enjoy reading accounts of hellish living (beaches doubling as toilets, spoiled cans of chicken curry for dinner) without having to suffer through the heat or hepatitis A, B, or C themselves. The other thing that fascinates me about this book is that Maarten and his wife are much like you and me; they finally leave Kiribati to go back to high-paced D.C. lives. I also discussed this book here.

Catfish and Mandala by Andrew Pham
More than any other travel book, this one left me feeling as if I'd really visited the country. Pham visits Vietnam in the way that one really should--traveling around by bicycle by himself, far removed from the tourist groups. Off-the-beaten-track Vietnam isn't very uplifting (their view of Americans, for example, isn't surprising, but it still depressing) and is often dangerous, so if you want to get a glimpse into real life Vietnam without, say, getting beat up, then this book is for you.

Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw by Will Ferguson
Who can help but be fascinated by Canada, which is so like us, but so different? It's a country that doesn't take itself too seriously and clearly has more fun that we do. My favorite parts of this book are the irreverent (Ferguson's bad kid days in Moose Jaw, his tourist trip to the Arctic Circle) and the educational (the part of Ontario that was settled by those who made it to the Underground Railroad's last stop). If you like Ferguson, his Hokkaido Highway Blues about hitchhiking around Japan is also good.

In a Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson
Bryson's arrogance tainted most of his travel books for me (although strangely, it didn't prevent me from reading all of them). But he does well in this one. Riddled with fascinating info and full of bumbling travel misadventures, my favorite parts were the numerous ways in which Bryson nearly dies. For those seeking an Aussie fix, I also really like My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin and the film Rabbit-proof Fence.

Boys

Cause it's been awhile.

Good friends

A good friend knows how to work the adjective.

For example, 10 minutes ago:

Ring ring.
Me: This is StolenBike.
GF: Hey, it's Good Friend. ... Are you OK?
GF: Because you seem ... soft-spoken... today.

Damn that's smooth. Men, take note.

Rum Twizzle

"It's hard to write about vacation without sounding like you're bragging," I said to Husband.
"Or, swinging the other way, and acting like a spoiled kid who doesn't appreciate what they have," Husband said.

So, while I'll be glad to tell stories about having happy hour on a party boat in the middle of the ocean, learning how to meditate, hiking to a deserted beach, or stealing our rental car, I don't think I'm going attempt to recap our week on St. John here.

I will say it was good. That we had adventures and tried new things. And that coming home to two love-starved kittens and the advent of spring isn't all that bad either.

Last time I was single, Clinton was in his first term

Scene: Borders, mystery section, 10 p.m., Friday night

They stole my bike: Book for trip... must find book for trip.... Shit.
Random guy: Hi. How are you doing?
They stole my bike: ... ... ... ... ... ... ... hi. Avoids eye contact, takes step away.
Random guy: So, you from around here?
They stole my bike: ... ... ... ... ... ... ... yes. Gives awkward, don't do this! look. Steps back, steps back, flees.

They stole my bike: Need wedding ring... must put back on wedding ring.
They stole my bike: Shit, that was really, really rude.

Fate

As a kid I felt destined to come down with a terrible illness... like diabetes, cystic fibrosis, or leukemia. I was too lucky, I reasoned; I had good parents who were able to provide me with whatever toys or clothes I wanted, I had enough intelligence and athletic ability, and I had been spared calamity and disaster.

Ergo, surely life-threatening illness was headed my way.

I wasn't dramatic about this, I didn't mourn the lose of my adulthood. It was just something that I accepted about myself. I didn't tell anyone; in fact, I hardly realized that I thought it.

I never dreamed about my adult life. I wasn't a girl who thought about weddings or careers or houses.

It wasn't until late high school that I realized 1. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life; and 2. I was probably not going to die. I'd passed the window of terrible childhood diseases.

I sometimes wonder if I had thought more about my career choice, if I would have chose something else. Why not doctor? Why not accountant? I've always shown more aptitude in math and science than I did in English. The path I've taken I really stumbled upon--from my selection of majors to my first real job. I feel incredibly lucky that I love what I do.

Yet, part of me still won't be surprised if the rains come. But it was only that particular storm--me, illness--that I prepared for. The other million possibilities scare the shit out of me.

Hometown

I never expected to spend my adult life in the city I grew up in.

I didn't have any grand visions of living in New York or San Francisco like other kids, but I never thought that the coffeeshop where I had deep discussions with high school friends would be the coffeeshop I would stop in after picking up wedding books with my mom. I never dreamed of being able to answer regarding a particular restaurant that yes, I'd been there... for prom. Stores and parks and streets that are just normal things to most people are riddled with memories both random and poignant.

When asked in high school about where I wanted to go to college, my standard answer was "Anywhere but here." I loved traveling and thought that it was a lame to go to college close to home... but I ended up really liking a school an embarrassing 45 minutes away. College made it natural to look for jobs in the area, and to be honest, I really love the city I grew up near and now live in. My dreams of having kids and growing old are always set against the familiar downtown skyline.

My adventurous roots have not died out, however. My life goals do include:
1. Uprooting our family and spending a year in another country, sometime after we have kids
2. Living for a year somewhere a. mountainous and b. near the ocean.

The pen is mightier

Potpourri, in honor of Alex Trebek.

BOOKS I ENJOYED BUT WERE TOO DAMN LONG TO READ ALL OF
1491 (life in the Americas before Columbus! Pre-vacation to get in the Caribbean isle mood)
Slaves in the Family (the meeting up with descendents of his family's former slaves was intriguing, but somehow... offensive).

WHERE TO GO WHEN YOU'RE BORED AT WORK
The best blog nominees of 2006. It is here where I learned of the brilliant Waiter Rant and the irresistible Cute Overload (who can resist Cats'n'Racks?).

FISH UPDATE
I was reading Case Histories and the four sisters had tuna salad for lunch and I thought, mmm, tuna. So I had Husband pick some up when he went out. Then he made me a gigantic tuna melt and I ate some. Then I wanted to puke.*
It's going to have to be a few more years until I can try again.

UNDERNEATH THE SOCKS
I have the most horrendous shade of purple on my toenails. After the lovely orchid color I chose at the salon turned into puke pink once applied, I panicked and chose the color preferred by Vikings fans everywhere. Oy.

HEALTH UPDATE
My new meds cause erectile dysfunction. You can't beat that.

*Although this sounds like some scenario that would happen to a couple that is expecting, no worries. The only thing we're expecting is four more years of tofu salad sandwiches.

Still life

Sur la table:
Tent by Margaret Atwood
Speak softly, she can hear by Pam Lewis
To do list, c. last weekend, mostly completed
Lint brush
Newspaper, today's
Believer
Torn up junk mail
Stilton
Meet the Fockers
Bills
Cooking the Norwegian Way
Waning vodka tonic (with biodynamic lime)
Bandaid wrapper
Tax forms

Sixth grade is bad for your posture

My capacity's post reminded me today how hard sixth grade was. How many tiny rules one had to abide by in order to escape embarrassment. I have to admit that I survived fairly well, thanks to parents who could afford Guess jeans (golden on nearly that alone) and a street-savviness garnered from thorough reading of Sweet Valley Twins and Babysitter's Club books.

However, here's the code of conduct I remember living by:
1. Slouch just enough to have your bra strap hit the top of your chair (to avoid snappage). Under anything at all light colored, wear a tank top over the bra so no one can tell you're wearing one (however it is very important to wear one, whether you need it or not).
2. Before sitting down in the caf, do a light sweep the chair with the hand (to avoid the grape-on-the-seat trick)
3. For lunch, do not eat the a. sloppy joes b. spaghetti c. hamburger d. beans e. anything with enthusiasm.
4. Beware of the potential for the kick-me sign. (If excess laughter occurs, a subtle sweep of the back will confirm that it's not you. No matter how popular you are, you're at risk. Slouching also prevents against the sign).
5. "Best friends" half-heart necklaces are not exclusive.
6. While it's cool to have your period already, never show any other sign of menstruation. Re: pads, emulate Russian nesting dolls: makeup bag in purse in Espirit bag, etc.
6. At sleepovers, never be the first to go to sleep. Best to be near the end. Be sure to ration water to avoid the hand-in-the-water pee trick (which you're pretty sure doesn't work, but you want to be safe). In truth or dare, while both are risky, truth is safest. Better to confess to kissing that boy in the lake last summer than running naked around the house.

Holy mackerel

I ate a tuna sandwich this weekend.

A few months ago I decided that after 11 years as a vegetarian, I should start eating fish. It's so good for you, I reasoned. And I'm tired of going to fabulous restaurants on vacations and having something pedestrian and American.

The interesting thing is that I don't like fish. Tunafish sandwiches aside, I've always hated it. Abhorred the smell of it, the texture. Had difficulty eating bread and most everything when I arrived in Japan because it all seemed vaguely fishy. Don't like overripe melons for the same reason.

So on New Year's, I had shrimp for the first time in my life. It was fine as long as I didn't inhale. I had a bite of crab cake last week. Same thing.

So when my mom offered egg salad or tuna sandwiches for lunch at the cabin this weekend, I brazenly made myself a tuna sandwich. The first bite went fine and soon I stared down at my empty plate and thought, Wow, I just ate a tuna sandwich. How strange.

And now I need to move on, because if the health properties of fish is why I started, canned tuna is not where it's at.

24 days

Until yesterday, I had a migraine headache every day for the last 24 days.

The first week, I figured, oh, jet lag.

The second week I called my doctor. I ruled out blood pressure (med-low), pulse (fine), and pregnancy (nope) for her.

The third week I called my doctor again and got an appointment. Her only guess was that a change we made in November to the way I take the pill (designed, ironically enough, to give me less headaches) started causing me headaches in January. I left with my old pill prescription, "try not to take pain relievers/supermeds every day because they'll lose their effectiveness," and "it'll take a month for it to work it's way out of your system, so hang in there." And also a prescription for a medication that slows my pulse to provide short-term relief.

I wanted desperately to write about it while I was in the midst of it, but it's easier for me to pretend it isn't happening (hence the rather stilted blog entries as of late).
So, sorry about any crabbiness or preoccupied-ness of late. It's good to be back, for real this time.

Winner

of the personal gold medal is the scratching pole, for helping me oust Husband out of the blog closet.

Buried treasure

Stilton was so excited to wish us Happy Valentine's Day that he was up at 6 jumping on the bed and meowing, then bolting downstairs, then running up again and meowing.
Cadbury is a genius kitty. We should call NASA. He is playing fetch, neatly retrieving the crumpled receipt, trotting back to drop it in our hands, then flying off to attack it again.
Johnny Weir is on the tube (not the subway kind). Husband is fondly remembering when he [didn't] see him pee.

Things that I did not get on Valentine's Day:
A Weimaraner
A blizzard
My ofuro

Things that I did get on Valentine's Day:
Takeaway Indian food from our favorite place
Spa time
One doting Husband

A "personal gold medal" to the first person who gets why I might have alluded to buried treasure in this post's title... it's right in front of you! E-mail me to collect.

What I didn't write about

Some days it just isn't there.
I've been trying to write for awhile tonight... thinking that it's been a bit since I've written.
Taking a suggestion from Husband, I wrote a post about my athletic history. Then it seemed too complicated, so I turned it into a post about my confidence in my athletic ability, concluding with a reflection on broomball, but then it seemed weird to mention broomball. So I condensed and then expanded that into a reflection on when I first felt strong (15, carrying a canoe) and when I first felt pretty (first week of college), but it seemed too overly-dramatic-personal-introspection.
Then I exceeded my half-hour limit on writing posts.

So here are my thoughts:
1. I read somewhere about how Swedes and Norwegians can go somewhere and speedskate for hours on some unless path, and how no one talks when they skate, it's just you and the endless ice. I'd like to go there and do that.
2. I'm pleased the world has discovered kakuro, the "new" sudoko, as I have loved these puzzles for years.
3. My new favorite anytime food: Bob's Red Mill 10-grain hot cereal. Husband had to sell out today and downgrade to the 8-grain, as both the 10- and 9-grain were sold out. But he knew better that to degrade himself with the 7-grain, even though they only had one pack of the 8 left and we go through one a week. [To eat, add one scoop natural chunky peanut butter, one splash soy milk, and a swirl of maple syrup. Mmm.]

Nurse Husband

One thing I really miss about being a kid is having someone pick you up and take care of you when you're sick. Somedays the thought of driving myself home from work is enough to... well, enough to make me want to stick it out, oddly enough, although the drive can never be avoided. And while when I get home all I usually want to do is crash in the guest room bed with the cats and sleep, occasionally I've really wanted someone to pick up comforting food and a good movie. So it was a treat today, on migraine day #7, to finally throw in the towel and come home and to have Husband here to dote on me. He fetched me water (with a lime), brought me flowers (purple tulips-excellent choice), ran the errands that needed running (including getting me some cash), and is in process of procuring comforting food--soy cheese pizza, from local hip pizza joint. With Anne of Green Gables, The Sequel on the screen and the cats in my lap (it's kind of hard to type, actually), what more could a girl ask for?

Chocolate

I feel like something out of those terrible chick lit novels. The ones that are pink or yellow with cartoon girls or close-ups of shoes and lipstick fonts. But I was reminded today that I am, truly, a chocolate addict.

Husband and I annually embark on a detox diet that forbids such things as chocolate, among other sweeping categories like dairy, refined sugars, and processed grains. Not because we think detox is necessary, just because we like to remind ourselves of how we want to eat (and to fit reasonably well into the swimsuits that are a regular part of our spring vacations). But today when I realized at 2 p.m. that I couldn't nurse my headache/jet lag/something-I-picked-up-on-the-plane? with the handfuls of mini-Butterfingers from the treat basket that I've become accustomed to, I became very sad.

Note: Immediately after writing the previous entry (where I described just how lead-filled my head felt), I stumbled out of the 80-degree computer lab, pushed through the double doors of the bathroom, and beheld a row of urinals. Shaken out of my stupor I rushed back through the doors, did a quick sweep to see if anyone saw me, and dived into the ladies.