Chalaza

So, a friend of mine and I are in this bar, right, not a pub kind of bar, a nice clean California non-smoking wine bar, friendly and with insanely good chocolate cake. Sitting next to us are some Friday-night regulars - nice, stocky middle-aged men having dinner and chatting with the woman behind the counter, who they obviously know well. They get in a friendly dispute of some sort and she reaches over near the cash register and hauls out this monster Thing of a dictionary and heaves it over to give to the man nearest us.

Shameless eavesdropping on my part yields the information that they are looking for the word "chalant", as in nonchalant, to see if it has a meaning outside the prefix. It doesn't, but they guy with the dictionary looks up and says, "Hey, that's a cool word," and my nosy self says, "What is?"

"Chalaza," says he. "Do you know what a chalaza is?" I shake my head but his companion turns around. "Oh yeah, it's that part of the egg that is attached to the shell," he volunteers. WTF?! We all gape at him. "How did you know that?" his friend asks. He turns to the woman behind the counter and the rest of us. "How did he know that?! This guy has this wierd untapped depth of trivia! Chalaza!"

"Oh," says the woman behind the counter, "It's like Flowers for Algernon." I stare at her blankly, sure I have no idea what she's talking about. She steeples her fingers meaningfully, at right angles, looking slyly at the knowledgeable man. "He's peaking."

I haven't laughed so hard in ages.

Holiday update

I'm spending the day baking cinnamon rolls (bready goodness packed with slivered almonds, cranberries, and golden raisins) and listening to music. It's warm in my parents' house and I've cleaned almost the whole kitchen (in their house, that's a day-long endeavor.)

I'm staying here while my parents are in DC for a little break, hanging out with my 15-year-old brother. He's a kick in the pants - I mean, he's a teenager, which is eye-rollingly irritating, but he comes out with some funny stuff. Yesterday he got an idea for "gothic braces" and we spent a quarter of an hour cracking each other up with idea for chains connected from various piercings to braces, black rubber bands, ankh-shaped headgear charms, etc. *Snork*. Great kid.

It feels good to be doing something that isn't for school or money or some other sort of obligation. I've made a playlist called "lazy baking day" (even though it's not so lazy) and the house is full of good smells. Life is good, right now, in this moment, and I wish I could spread the goodness out to everywhere that needs it.

So here's some virtual tired dogs and cinnamon smells and good coffee and knowing that you are loved to all of you.

Gerald Locklin, "where we are"

As N leaves this evening for the Philippines and I contemplate travel, here's a poem to share:

(for edward field)

i envy those
who live in two places
new york, say, and london,
wales and spain,
l.a. and paris;
hawaii and switzerland.

there is always the anticipation
of the change, the chance that what is wrong
is the result of where you are. i have
always loved both the freshness of
arriving and the relief of leaving. with
two homes every move would be a homecoming.
i am not even considering the weather, hot
or cold, dry or wet: I am talking about hope.

Perspective

Several of you commented on my statement that I was not on fire (part of my list of reasons life does not really suck.)

It's actually a thought taken from a phrase I picked up in high school. I had a friend (have, I'm sure, wherever he is) named Titus Freedom Grupp. Now, I wouldn't call him an optimist, but always when one of our crowd would be bitching and angsting onward about something or other, he'd stop us and point out, "It could be worse — you could be on fire!" That response to my own complaining has stuck with me ever since.

An online friend posted something the other day in which he complained about this and that and what a bad time he was having - and then said he came home and there were police cars and ambulances surrounding a house at the end of his block. Ambulances, he noted, always put things into perpective.

I'm truly glad to be reminded of the things I have to be grateful for when I feel miserable. On days like today, when I don't understand the paper I need to write and my baby dog has just left for her new home and I feel like I am boring and disastrous (I had always thought that one should be one or the other - to be both seems too unjust for words), I really am grateful that I am not on fire, and there are no ambulances in sight.

The Wrong Side Of The Bed

If there were a world contest for grumpy, I would win gold today. Or whiny, for that matter. I probably could have edged out most of the field last night, but by 7 a.m. today I was unstoppable.

Not entirely without cause, considering:

• I still can't eat without feeling mildly nauseous. (Food poisoning, Monday night)
  
• I'm short on sleep
  
• I have grown out of all my pants and am overweight and therefore ill-attired.
  
• I still haven't gotten my antidepressants renewed
  
• I have four papers due in the next week, only two of which I have started (one is mostly done.)
  
• I opened my fat mouth in my econ class this morning and said something politically inadvisable about a professor
  
• I opened my fat mouth in econ this morning and gave an opinion backed by insufficient research which was summarily shot down
  
• I got my master's project proposal (which I had felt okay about!) back from my advisor with the following email: "The proposal is back in your box. Go back to the first 2 steps of Bardach to get a specific research question or questions."
  
• My dogs bark and whine and wake me up in the middle of the night.

Of course, to balance my evil mood and the inevitable pissing and moaning, I must also note:

• I am not on fire.
  
• I am going to be able to change the grading basis for my quant class
  
• I got a good grade on my last major paper(s).
  
• My sweetie loves me and brings me cookies and is nice to me when I am sick.
  
• I am done with two out of five classes.
  
• I found a good, loving home for my extra spaniel.
  
• I am one priviledged white upper-class spoiled brat.
  
• I have more friends than time (certainly not the same ratio as the past four years!)
  
• I get to spend the holidays with my fabulous family.

Okay, maybe I feel better. I still reserve the right to snarl and snap. Just because.