tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65828963891847452012023-11-16T06:14:06.038-06:00My blog...because that's what I call it anyway.Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-28403040467013119792011-10-31T15:21:00.003-05:002011-11-02T18:44:53.323-05:00<span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="text-decoration:underline;font-weight:bold;color:rgb(0, 0, 191);"><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">UAB Students and Faculty Join Local Historical Associations for a Ghostly Gathering</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">Birmingham's newest history museum, </span><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer; color: rgb(204, 204, 255);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320090906_0"><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320092208_0">Birmingham</span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"> </span><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer; color: rgb(204, 204, 255);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320090906_1"><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320092208_1">History Center</span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"> hosted a "Gathering of the Spirits" </span><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer; color: rgb(204, 204, 255);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320090906_2"><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320092208_2">Friday night</span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"> in collaboration with the </span><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer; color: rgb(204, 204, 255);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320090906_3"><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320092208_3">Oak Hill</span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"> Memorial Association. </span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-size:100%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicLFJ4WFSCr0gq6v1WMmgCnXgmG86R9f0g-TvS7bVdl_chtXXW6SnGeoxgrmHxKvvW80p8YZOprFLyB12BhpZ2Pe3j_lV_T9Yc8u_RRV_MaHjYDeodQQc2fHw8y4emPEXu66jAZDYh_Sk/s1600/obh05.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 397px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicLFJ4WFSCr0gq6v1WMmgCnXgmG86R9f0g-TvS7bVdl_chtXXW6SnGeoxgrmHxKvvW80p8YZOprFLyB12BhpZ2Pe3j_lV_T9Yc8u_RRV_MaHjYDeodQQc2fHw8y4emPEXu66jAZDYh_Sk/s320/obh05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669755130303584914" border="0" /></a></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">Among the guests were:</span><br /></span><ul style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"><li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight:bold;color:rgb(0, 0, 191);"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">Louise</span> <span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer; color: rgb(204, 204, 255);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320090906_4"><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320092208_4">Wooster</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">, (portrayed by veteran stage actre</span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color:rgb(0, 0, 191);"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">ss Beth McCord - seated front left)</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">Birmingham's famous "Madame," infamous for her house of ill repute, is also remembered for nursing those sickened during the cholera epidemic of 1873</span></span></span></li><li style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">John Milner</span><span style="color:rgb(0, 0, 191);"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"> (portrayed by UAB grad student Jeff Hirschy - standing third from left), a</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">railroad engineer who played a key role in the founding of Birmingham</span></span></span></li><li style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">Emma Hawes</span><span style="color:rgb(0, 0, 191);"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">, (portrayed by UAB grad student Terri Hicks - standing, fourth from right)</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">whose husband, in 1888, murdered her and their two daughters with a hatchet, creating a nationwide scandal</span> </span></span></li><li>Early Birmingham entrepreneur Rosa Zinszer<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color:rgb(0, 0, 191);"> ; <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">(portrayed by UAB's Professor Pam King - seated second from right)</span> </span></span></li></ul><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-size:100%;" ><br /><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer; color: rgb(204, 204, 255);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320090906_5"><span style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320092208_5">On Saturday</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 191);"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">, Oak Hill Memorial Association hosted a guided walking tour of the historic cemetery.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">Members of OHMA portrayed some of Birmingham's famous and infamous characters and led visitors around for a tour that really brought our city's</span> </span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);">history to "life."</span><br /><span></span></span><br /><br /><img style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);" src="" alt="" /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-size:100%;" ><span><br />For more information about the museum and to become a member of Birmingham History Center visit <a rel="nofollow" target="_blank" href="http://www.birminghamhistorycenter.org/"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320090906_6">http://www.birminghamhistorycenter.org/</span></a></span><br /> <span>To learn more about Oak Hill Cemetery and the ways you can help preserve Birmingham's history, visit <a rel="nofollow" target="_blank" href="http://oakhill-birmingham.org/"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1320090906_7">http://oakhill-birmingham.org/</span></a></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8LQCL5R3Z8reeoaJNhheEG9tOgei6Cw41X7xajYGcTd94iPW4Z1JN9MbLmGTyGo2yh-_uGQPr_N0Gnlx3r5RXtacFnq8ZaqB7TFBcO3m8hS976D1-tqouIIG8zO0K5TvGOZe8gMNLSmY/s1600/aaobh.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMCtFIiCa-Xd3EpyN_zwIb3RK4CvxnZ4Tt7OQgedfpOfxWGxr9XWUvjJ1_XFCLEaHqqYxILBkCXf3B-9Jzz9r4MnMHYdLcmasD02HDlwE9W1_EHfkoWeA45625ObvcAS9Wrib8A-tGwI/s1600/aabh.jpg"><br /></a>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-81461769231087371262011-10-16T21:55:00.004-05:002011-11-12T12:02:02.588-06:00New favorite...<object style="height: 390px; width: 640px"><param name="movie" value="https://www.youtube.com/v/8UVNT4wvIGY?version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="https://www.youtube.com/v/8UVNT4wvIGY?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="360" width="640"></embed></object>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-62887861674681314942011-10-10T18:26:00.011-05:002011-12-04T10:49:57.917-06:00I am in love!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.birminghamart.org/FinElectra.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 427px; height: 454px;" src="http://www.birminghamart.org/FinElectra.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />And her name is Electra, an 23-ft liaison between Birmingham and the heavens. From her lofty position atop the original 1925 Alabama Power art-deco corporate headquarters building, this golden sentinel is a monument to our human achievement of harnessing the power of nature. However, she's also a stern reminder that if we abuse that power, she will not hesitate to strike us down with a shower of golden lightning bolts. Oh I am so smitten!<br /><br />My eyes are like saucers and my grin like that of a 4 year old in front of the world's largest lollypop every time I go into this building. I adore this place! I have no words to describe the inside. The first floor/mezzanine ceiling is, in one word, celestial. And oh, if only I could verbalize the tactile delight of running my hand around the carved stone rosettes that once adorned the outer facade of the original building, now integrated into the columns of the second floor that signal where old meets new!<br /><br />~sigh~ Isn't it beautiful?<br /><br /><br /><h3 class="r"><nobr>Leben ist schön!</nobr></h3>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-11341454560047042232011-10-08T11:21:00.011-05:002011-11-02T21:29:29.440-05:00One man's mold is another man's gold<span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >Oh for the love of mold!</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >Last week I was taken on a tour of the Stacks room in the archives. The Stacks room is, you might guess, full of stacks. Stacks of what, you ask? Stacks of old, moldy, dusty books, of course!</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >The tour was initiated by me asking questions of G, the map man. G is a retiree who volunteers at different historical facilities during the week for the love of preserving history. Anyway, I heard him fiddling around in his map cove and wandered in to see what sort of mischief he was making. (The archives is a painfully quiet and lonesome place sometimes, so I look for any excuse to go chat it up) So after talking about this and that map and half-scale blueprints for a steam locomotive (!) I asked what other goodies the archives held that I'd not been told about yet. So off to the Stacks we went.</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >The stacks reside quietly behind a locked door. G opened the door and at first all I saw was darkness. I followed close behind as G flipped switches as he passed them - click!- each illuminating a long row of shelves that spanned a goodly length off to our right. Click, Click, Click, as we walked... Click. Click. Click...etc. At long last we reached the end of the room and to the section I was most eager to see: the stacks and stacks and stacks of city court dockets. Some four, some six or more inches thick, these enormous books were used to record each person's name and the offense for which they were arrested, going as far back as the late 1800's. Some are in perfect condition, as if they'd been placed there only hours before. Some are reduced to just papers thinly held together by the string that once tightly bound them, the hardcovers hanging on, literally, by a thread. These are the ones I am interested in. What sorts of crimes were people being arrested for in 1889? As it turns out, such things as larceny, gambling, soliciting and vagrancy were the crimes that plagued the city back then. "Larceny of peanuts" , "allowing a viscous dog to roam free" and "reckless bicycling" are just a few of the offenses that were plaguing the citizens of Birmingham . There are many pages that list a 10-20 entries for "gambling", all arrested on the same day, at the same time. Apparently, underground gambling in the day wasn't underground enough. It is the same with drunkenness -- fifteen or more names often appear in a row, including, to my surprise, quite a few women.</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >As we left, G clicked each row we passed, leaving the dust and mold behind in its dark repose, until the next time one endeavors to take a trip into the past. Oh G, how I thank thee!<br /></span>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-45410129095479372642011-09-25T21:45:00.008-05:002011-09-25T23:03:39.069-05:00Blogs I like: "The Mind of Me"<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >A great blog! He is<span class="messageBody" ft="{"type":3}"> an amazing young man who writes to gain insight about addiction and how to use that insight to help himself and others.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia; font-weight: bold;" href="http://casey-alex.blogspot.com/">Click to check it out! </a></span><br /><br /><a href="http://casey-alex.blogspot.com/2011/09/09-20-11.html?spref=bl">The Mind of Me: 09-20-11</a>: Honesty. Open-Mindedness. Willingness. HOW. I find that these 3 principles improve my life every day I practice them. They are very simple a...<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span></span>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-41311132427450466572011-09-23T23:40:00.013-05:002011-11-02T19:56:42.880-05:00One from my archives... On Life and Death<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">This has been stored up in the unpublished section of my blog for two years now.</span><br /><br />_______________________________________<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g217/MJordan77/GreenGrimReaper.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 313px; height: 480px;" src="http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g217/MJordan77/GreenGrimReaper.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />To my shock and regret, I realized recently that I am actually quite </span><span style="font-size:130%;">superstitious.<br /><br />Miss CC has been sickly lately, battling some nasty bugs and concurrent pneumonia.<br />When she had turned dusky and we were speeding to the ER, I held her little blue hand and sang a little song. I smiled and cooed at her and tried to assuage <strike>her</strike> my fear. I realized then that since she was born I've had in the back of my mind this idea that we've been trying to avert Death's pesk</span><span style="font-size:130%;">y pursuit for the last two years, dodging and darting about, leaving a zig-zagged trail -- you know, as if that helps.<br /><br />And each one of these seemingly desperate events feels like it must surely be the last, because I've somehow managed to be influenced by our strange socially constructed notion that death, in its dark and smoky anthropomorphic form, does indeed hungrily pursue us and that eventually, if we are caught unguarded, will prevail.<br /><br />But it's not really this way. As unlikely as it seems, life prevails.<br /><br />Or perhaps it's just that these days we are blissfully ignorant of how diligently Death pursues us. Germ theory, antiseptics, vaccines, scientific medicine... all these things have had a profound impact on staving off Death and his pesky scythe. <br /><br />In pre-scientific medicine era, Charlotte would have been born only to immediately begin starving to death.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> There would have been no surgery, no IV nutrition, no ability to sustain life. This precious girl that's sleeping peacefully in my lap as I type would have been an unknown.<br /><br />*****<br />____________________________________<br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">That's where I stopped writing two years ago. And now a four-year-old Charlotte sleeps peacefully in my lap again. I can feel her heart beating slowly against my leg, and again I am pondering life and death. Her heart beats so slowly because of her faulty wiring. But faulty wiring doesn't mean faulty heart. Charlotte has, in just four years, touched more lives than most of us will in a lifetime. And though it seems like we've often had to sprint away from Death, I think really what's been going on is that Charlott</span><span style="font-size:130%;">e's been running so furiously towards Life!<br /><br />The piece is disjointe</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.freewebs.com/connerdavid/AngelPainting.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 327px;" src="http://www.freewebs.com/connerdavid/AngelPainting.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">d, which is why it never got published. I am a good started, not such a g</span><span style="font-size:130%;">ood finisher. I know when I started writing this two years ago I was going to finish it up by praising modern medicine and the doctors that saved her life for the third time. Two y</span><span style="font-size:130%;">ears later I still thank them, but I can't leave out one <span style="font-weight: bold;">very important person!</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> I have to thank Charlotte... thank <span style="font-style: italic;">her</span> for saving so many other lives </span><span style="font-size:130%;">with her kindness and purity and inspiration. Imagine what she'll do with the next four years! And the next, and so on!<br /><br />I feel so fortunate to be her mother, though I can't imagine what I did to deserve such a special honor. When s</span><span style="font-size:130%;">he sleeps at my side, or naps on my lap, I gaze at her with profound wonder and awe.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> To me, she hung the moon, as they say, and is busily paintin</span><span style="font-size:130%;">g the stars as well.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g217/MJordan77/GreenGrimReaper.jpg"><br /></a></span>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-9823806759510767862011-09-19T08:22:00.015-05:002011-11-02T19:59:52.453-05:00This one is all about me :)<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitlwH5nqmZJ1IV2VZBRcCn2pvgPkES5X4LU_mkJlmJlv4zBzsoayGJErwJ392J_YuDrFkjmn8VFhKHZJLhiaoZEVCNT1yJu9dCRsr0I_-VctEVBii2aD61SCXiEU5aRnQ7VlXi_cVYcqY/s1600/751093.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 14px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitlwH5nqmZJ1IV2VZBRcCn2pvgPkES5X4LU_mkJlmJlv4zBzsoayGJErwJ392J_YuDrFkjmn8VFhKHZJLhiaoZEVCNT1yJu9dCRsr0I_-VctEVBii2aD61SCXiEU5aRnQ7VlXi_cVYcqY/s320/751093.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654074480836978690" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />Finally things are getting sorted out!<br /><br />I've got two wonderful internships this semester, one at the local Public Library Archives. I am processing old dusty boxes containing legal cases from a few decades back. It makes me 'eart a-flutter to be around all the old dilapidated books and photographs and artifacts. (it also makes my lungs hurt so I don a surgical mask, the kind I'm always swiping from hospital clinic visits) The only problem at first was the struggle to resist the compulsion to push the button and let the moving shelves close in on me, smashing me betwixt moldy and dusty. But, then the archivist informed me that there are built-in preventions for that very thing, and so it's not possible. Damn. I mean, it seemed such an adventure.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxx1xgCXO6Q_XOuBiZBvVOqVnVwp08MJcsjIKIMPl0vknTzt0gtGx8cM9z0UF0iNQXZYz5OuSsm8xCKBwWpqMWrzIJrOxhzMHpWonp0UfriFdkXNxdxrM-jXhJBRn6lShdw_8SZva6QUM/s1600/110909_115508.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxx1xgCXO6Q_XOuBiZBvVOqVnVwp08MJcsjIKIMPl0vknTzt0gtGx8cM9z0UF0iNQXZYz5OuSsm8xCKBwWpqMWrzIJrOxhzMHpWonp0UfriFdkXNxdxrM-jXhJBRn6lShdw_8SZva6QUM/s320/110909_115508.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654068683223226306" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">The other is a paid internship in a similar setting. Oh how my heart throbbed when I first laid eyes on the wonders contained therein. Not only do they have old moldy books and things, but photographs, objects, blueprints, things I can't even identify but they are old and rusty and electrical looking. And art. They house all the corporate art, racks ad racks of it. ~sigh~ There is a museum section as well so I will be assisting with setting up exhibits. Heaven!<br /><br />So there's the fun stuff. The mo' funna stuff is that I've been enjoying the company of some lovely ladies, as we all try to find our niche in the artsy world. Heera, the soon to be locally famous celebrated <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hennabyheera">henna artist</a>, has been very busy attending events and promoting her art. She has also been busy covering me with henna.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5fPFpDCs7RDXhRYiVSQDqD-E-q3J0xsgUHYFVhNdlC4G-4BEhbX3znkZdgFNfgifcu7Dd-sEabsdV0M-mhVpYqG-T053i-QMQEi3QeltfOdldBIVQ5-dOTnu61ugq9jjBSzMvtibKZ0/s1600/jennahenna01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5fPFpDCs7RDXhRYiVSQDqD-E-q3J0xsgUHYFVhNdlC4G-4BEhbX3znkZdgFNfgifcu7Dd-sEabsdV0M-mhVpYqG-T053i-QMQEi3QeltfOdldBIVQ5-dOTnu61ugq9jjBSzMvtibKZ0/s320/jennahenna01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654065423343180722" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQbpAs9QxNmb1Ma35_qIQCGQVoWWCT4jL770fqoX6kJH7ef_-lovtu7pK2S6q0q9g9OkHMS3UGbtKHO1XHUiCb-GuMrCvIwXP79Rr5BnMkDe3UNSOq-EwJj6qAiXZ-Nd87wEx4n9FG5s/s1600/250347_175655912503482_100001772230765_423602_4055470_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQbpAs9QxNmb1Ma35_qIQCGQVoWWCT4jL770fqoX6kJH7ef_-lovtu7pK2S6q0q9g9OkHMS3UGbtKHO1XHUiCb-GuMrCvIwXP79Rr5BnMkDe3UNSOq-EwJj6qAiXZ-Nd87wEx4n9FG5s/s320/250347_175655912503482_100001772230765_423602_4055470_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654065419087759362" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />She does great work, wouldn't you say? Susan also has been ramping up her jewelry and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Motherly-Creations/102135299888052">Motherly Creations</a> business, and we three went in on a booth at the recent Babypalooza. I sold a goodly amount of babywearing ring slings.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVoC_lk8c_vdE4vunzDDO90_Z2CVPbQjNMwpGexcleXtwo7qar6ZY6EJCVW9Ky1OxdflMLHBRPgzm0fJVVgn7zBBL7OOYMqMefzy0jcz5CAzekhuUjcLRAEG3pIoZlUoFZfd3zj1qHDY/s1600/316874_117049991729916_102135299888052_82287_1898649_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVoC_lk8c_vdE4vunzDDO90_Z2CVPbQjNMwpGexcleXtwo7qar6ZY6EJCVW9Ky1OxdflMLHBRPgzm0fJVVgn7zBBL7OOYMqMefzy0jcz5CAzekhuUjcLRAEG3pIoZlUoFZfd3zj1qHDY/s320/316874_117049991729916_102135299888052_82287_1898649_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654070076917961762" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZpDQDb46PoAjVfm9kSevtfC3DjUG3BW4hhgvmo1eYFDjy9gIGhrK46wl-wOXFDujxfv2_sqG7luzTrXzO5aI1qeT3n_3QlZ-43AaoMKO6x7gTaQFX9ZgrRmFLohgasieRBG8LBP4zQ4/s1600/hennajenna03.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZpDQDb46PoAjVfm9kSevtfC3DjUG3BW4hhgvmo1eYFDjy9gIGhrK46wl-wOXFDujxfv2_sqG7luzTrXzO5aI1qeT3n_3QlZ-43AaoMKO6x7gTaQFX9ZgrRmFLohgasieRBG8LBP4zQ4/s320/hennajenna03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654065417977490738" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">(HennaJenna. The way in, as you can see, is through my brain.)</span><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-303934434967194032010-05-03T17:23:00.021-05:002011-11-02T21:31:27.347-05:00Hanging with the ladies...<div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5B5pJIcnfOxEdzWcEs5kBbmD9iB8O_eqwjqV_2Up7kJn5F2PrA6yWV1HqrwCiwgxFkdsFim0UCsdXstLVIwRuWmVUSX8YI9iAzhH1jkrpKM-tNdJDbQW7BblNAZzWUbSLXr7hg9eZz0Y/s1600/anole2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5B5pJIcnfOxEdzWcEs5kBbmD9iB8O_eqwjqV_2Up7kJn5F2PrA6yWV1HqrwCiwgxFkdsFim0UCsdXstLVIwRuWmVUSX8YI9iAzhH1jkrpKM-tNdJDbQW7BblNAZzWUbSLXr7hg9eZz0Y/s320/anole2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467203220522936818" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);font-size:85%;" >The green anole, one of the friends we <span style="font-style: italic;">want</span> to have around. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Click on any picture to see it larger, then click again to see it mo' larger!</span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyHfygNQM32p97058oFaSMZ8A-IZiXMvSU6eVgs4QiAZ3x8qV5zq1rUrbrPtmYwOudH_iDQ5YPYU9Wr55wNvyUtTTupmITARtChMXtZB8KkOtIqnJJ3PKE0Ud2QiiReil4NIYreH9KoeQ/s1600/anole2.jpg"><br /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-size:180%;">I</span>t's</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"> been an exciting time around the yard lately. Charlotte and Andrew and I have been welcoming back old friends and some new ones. The </span><a style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);" href="http://verbosejenna.blogspot.com/2009/06/how-to-not-make-friends-with-carpenter.html">carpenters</a><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"> are here again, though I can't say I'm too glad. Sure, they are pollinating every flowering bush and tree around but do they HAVE to make little condos in my decking? (like in this photo below I found at </span><a style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);" href="http://pestcontrolcanada.com/Questions/pest_photos_1801.htm">this really cool insect identification</a><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"> site)</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ISGfFitpK-IYx4FRza0cDIp9fcAtqQ9GVBDo9iZKtEJXdQFtc1lu1cIhBhF8W_lkvw5sfmW6ki4CE6RQAENVnIOaR34AQHHZVv0aRfxIsg4vKYt6Dx2scsjpYYtCNoyvaOCwLMY5t5s/s1600/carpenter+bees.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ISGfFitpK-IYx4FRza0cDIp9fcAtqQ9GVBDo9iZKtEJXdQFtc1lu1cIhBhF8W_lkvw5sfmW6ki4CE6RQAENVnIOaR34AQHHZVv0aRfxIsg4vKYt6Dx2scsjpYYtCNoyvaOCwLMY5t5s/s320/carpenter+bees.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467185805401309954" border="0" />(I robbed this photo off ther interweb.) </a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);">Yes, they're back. Leaving their little piles of dust:<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAdN4g30Pgtiym5N5aB7ZeSMBgF_MXtgkrQ2Urk1ITJRl2xERDt44UP0jlG8QcmhyphenhyphenLekccwCd1qQ0X8uNCivcr5sQ3lVE8X8uJ9zr-o_ywQg7BH6B002Ta4pQRMQSN_cB7oSl249-Pn4Q/s1600/bee.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAdN4g30Pgtiym5N5aB7ZeSMBgF_MXtgkrQ2Urk1ITJRl2xERDt44UP0jlG8QcmhyphenhyphenLekccwCd1qQ0X8uNCivcr5sQ3lVE8X8uJ9zr-o_ywQg7BH6B002Ta4pQRMQSN_cB7oSl249-Pn4Q/s320/bee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467185816849932962" border="0" /></a>I'll have to run them off somehow and fill the holes with steel wool and caulk, as per the expert instructions.<br /><br />Also hanging about today were about a billion of these:<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8MftHDwhuyt3J1dY-uMzfsCfAAq3XrZWftLy5sfs6RtHMtaiqTBRN390GcwCYnsyKNXYtLEDszcP20ReJhYXo5D3PReYsd2_jAeQd3fg_HIaS1mhI_IuoheqlM_tyP0XwiY73LEwwkRM/s1600/wasp.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8MftHDwhuyt3J1dY-uMzfsCfAAq3XrZWftLy5sfs6RtHMtaiqTBRN390GcwCYnsyKNXYtLEDszcP20ReJhYXo5D3PReYsd2_jAeQd3fg_HIaS1mhI_IuoheqlM_tyP0XwiY73LEwwkRM/s320/wasp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467185829428733858" border="0" /></a>She is a red paper wasp, no doubt taking a break from working on the structure that's going up under the awning of my front porch. Yes, she came at me just like that. The one and only photo I took of her and I think she'd be proud! I am presuming she is a she strictly because it fits well with my all-girl theme! But the females do build the nests so it's very likely. Could also be a male in search of a female to ask out on a date.<br /><br />A little while later...<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-WpOUbh1odjdTF7ApKqXHAgobIjwZAomA92TJqJvFKBjHj0kH8bhFJR2E7XN75qaTGnh1XBqP6dgi5nGsFUbtpf_vvhdD0QVkFj7WU390PdCzzTWwW7GF7P5ucWtLImEHPEn1jisZFo/s1600/hornet.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-WpOUbh1odjdTF7ApKqXHAgobIjwZAomA92TJqJvFKBjHj0kH8bhFJR2E7XN75qaTGnh1XBqP6dgi5nGsFUbtpf_vvhdD0QVkFj7WU390PdCzzTWwW7GF7P5ucWtLImEHPEn1jisZFo/s320/hornet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467185820902891330" border="0" /></a>This regal looking creature showed up. She is a Southern Yellow Jacket queen. Her highness hung out quite a while and was very friendly and compliant as I kept asking her to turn to the left a little... now to the right. I then tried using the magnifier add-ons but my anxiety about being 5 inches away from what I thought was a hornet fogged up the lens and the picture came out fuzzy:<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH50iXkJ-CziR1f-LE7CFkI5FHR8QpVrhSPwDU3ugw9oTNHv56aF4Ox-PYlls3w4b7VaZrRt6BRMWkGrsyZHaD7FO8aVORAYF39pmmi0epJpDYrNw4CZ7EEkDn3n_kEf3bRUdNyCUQ0JE/s1600/queenie.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH50iXkJ-CziR1f-LE7CFkI5FHR8QpVrhSPwDU3ugw9oTNHv56aF4Ox-PYlls3w4b7VaZrRt6BRMWkGrsyZHaD7FO8aVORAYF39pmmi0epJpDYrNw4CZ7EEkDn3n_kEf3bRUdNyCUQ0JE/s320/queenie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467648011717019138" border="0" /></a><br />And while all that was going on, this friend was hiding in the vines:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9r_PTZVtcK4siTs6B05C2z085iJkbih8bLsjMyEN9m4stlu1Ug-sOEJrGQjOYpEj5mdFBr-c3eAKL7zYgRt_AR2gdq4E2NhAOatyMyqqlI5bBQSjfLSU-KBN3tEkwOmL3pwfD0b1AvQ/s1600/anole01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9r_PTZVtcK4siTs6B05C2z085iJkbih8bLsjMyEN9m4stlu1Ug-sOEJrGQjOYpEj5mdFBr-c3eAKL7zYgRt_AR2gdq4E2NhAOatyMyqqlI5bBQSjfLSU-KBN3tEkwOmL3pwfD0b1AvQ/s320/anole01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467185841048018258" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">(Click on her and then click again to see her really close up)</span><br /><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);">It's our old friend the anole! We have these all over the place, and Andrew was taught at an early age how to make earrings out of them. :) This one we will call Annie, due to the braided stripe down her back (as seen in the first photo up top) that her brothers don't have. A close up of her reveals her scales are varying shades of yellow, green, blue and everything in between. She hangs out in the vines, snacking on insects and waiting for Prince Charming to come along.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"> </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:85%;" >*(and he eventually did!)</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);">*</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);">And that's just the back deck. I've got a wicked cool photo of a wolf spider that likes to visit but it's missing at the moment. And some various moths too but the stars of the show right now are the family of wrens living behind a misplaced stepping stone that's been propped up on the deck. More on that later.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);">:)</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-69661485086784431332009-12-05T00:28:00.036-06:002011-11-05T00:30:53.423-05:00Go gentle into that good night, Geoffrey Dylan Thomas<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.josephinewall.co.uk/goddesses/sadness_gaia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 363px;" src="http://www.josephinewall.co.uk/goddesses/sadness_gaia.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,Arial,Helvetica;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The miracle is this - the more we share, the more we have.</span><i><br />Leonard Nimoy</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">~~~<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I can still close my eyes and remember vividly the smell and the wetness of the summer grass as we lay on our backs in the darkness, side by side in Mira Vista Park. So vividly, in fact, that as I recall it now I feel like it's entirely possible to reach over and find you</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">r hand to hold.<br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3198/3146308832_5fdec3751b_o.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 179px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3198/3146308832_5fdec3751b_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"See the cluster of bright stars there?" you indicated with your outst</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">re</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">tched arm. "Look at the darkness <span style="font-style: italic;">betwee</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-style: italic;">n</span> them and concentrate, con</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">centr</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">at</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">e </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">on it and it alone," you told me as you tried to take me image by res</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">plen</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">d</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">ent image through your near-death experiences. Most people think that in death you move towards brightness, you explained, but in your experience it was </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">not that way.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">By this point, you'd died numerous times. Born with a defective heart, you needed immediate and innovative surgery -- the kind that gets written into textbooks. You were famous before you eve</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">n knew how to say your own</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> name, my friend. I recall with astonishing clarity how it felt to run my fingers along your scars; the zipper running the length of your chest that indicated where you'd been forcibly thrust apart to gain access to your ailing heart; the portal where you'd been outfitted with the device that would </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >suggest</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">(and I use the word with trepidation) the only beat you ever did follow. It was on the operating table that you'd found yourself so terribly alone, and yet so terribly free... a freedom that, ironically, begged to be shared. And so on that summer night as Antioch slumbered you tried to show </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">me your death, artfully crafting the words that painted a picture of your experience. I followed along with my imagination, indeed believing I could see what you described.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Geoffrey Dylan Thomas, I hope your final j</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >ourney exceeded the magnificent and wonder you described to </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >me that night.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">~ ~ ~</span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.gourmetgirlmagazine.com/09/08/images/the_green_hills.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 411px; height: 272px;" src="http://www.gourmetgirlmagazine.com/09/08/images/the_green_hills.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">Our first "date" found me clinging to you from the back of your </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">m</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">otorbike. We meandered along the winding county backroads -- deep wrinkles through the soft skin of the gently rolling California hills. This time of year the grasses were young and tender (as were we) and there was a chill in the air. I thought I'd never stop shivering but I also didn't care. On and on you drove, up the back way to the top of Mt. Diablo where we stopped to eat what we'd brought along. You showed me a cool place to hike, and after around or about "4:20" you told me the story of the world, Geoffrey style.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/141/355447335_b22a3d5093.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 420px; height: 276px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/141/355447335_b22a3d5093.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">You owned everything you talked about -- the people and the places. You could form these things into something almost tangible, something that could be held in your hands and distributed to those who cared to listen. As a result everyone could own a bit of it, and thus own a bit of you. Everything about Antioch, San Francisco, Berkeley, Black Diam</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">ond Mines, Mt. Diablo, Stinson Beach, Little Manuels(!), the river, the bridge, this house, that park, etc... I learned from you, Geoffrey. You taught me to fish, to play cards, to drive a motorbike, to smoke and drink, and things I can't mention here because it would make m</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">y father blush! It was you that drove me to Martinez to get my driver's license, and it was with you that I blew up the engine of my dad's car trying to drive up the hills of San Francisco.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">You showed me that a good way to spend a day was to take a blanket and some bongos to the middle of a wide-open park and play along with the sounds of the turning earth -- sounds I didn't know how to hear until I met you.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">When I think of you, Geoffrey Thomas, I think of playing in the rain and long drives all over California. I think of the besto pesto at the Waterloo Cafe, mismatched socks, lots and lots of pot smoking, lots and lots of loving, and one really big, hateful, horrible, hurtful, horrendous argument. You were right, by the way, and I should have told you that sooner. I'm sorry. </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">~ ~ ~</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My own heart aches to know that yours eventually failed you. Thanks to the forethought and kindness of an unfortunate stranger, you were given a few more years to truly touch people's lives. I wonder how you felt in those first few moments after you woke up from the surgery. Did you wake and listen for the familiar clicking of the artificial heart valves? I wonder if you mourned their absence. I wonder how you felt to know you now marched to a new beat of someone's indescribably extraordinary gift.<br />When I think of you, Geoffrey Thomas, I think </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">of the the mysteries of life and death and how you regarded them with equal reverence. When I think of you, Geoffrey Thomas, I think of how you taught me and others to hear the earth's heartbeat through rhythm and song. </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">How beautiful it is then that you led the members of </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-family: verdana;" href="http://www.lpch.org/aboutus/news/releases/2007/reunion.html">The Heartbeats</a><span style="font-family:verdana;"> to tell the miraculous stories of life after heart or lung transplants</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> through the rhythm of drums and bongos.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoiUEOmjuVDGHkOWGewVzAEihRNWcyGIvzhNH1s3ameB4aq2XK7AFu58_amHXIePOuWOnqoEyUjZTuh88AuO4h5HPhNBw5KI8wEQ5NF5-dZobkAHeA8BF4SaX4vNeMvx82cd5oMxhl0U/s1600-h/geoffreythomas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 362px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoiUEOmjuVDGHkOWGewVzAEihRNWcyGIvzhNH1s3ameB4aq2XK7AFu58_amHXIePOuWOnqoEyUjZTuh88AuO4h5HPhNBw5KI8wEQ5NF5-dZobkAHeA8BF4SaX4vNeMvx82cd5oMxhl0U/s400/geoffreythomas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414525175908923778" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Geoff, when I think of you I think of a lot of things, but in the end I can sum them all up with one word: <span style="font-weight: bold;">life</span> -- for you were so full of it. You embraced it and took command of it because you knew what most of us still can't fathom: it is only borrowed... and for too short a time. </span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">♥ You will be missed by so many people, Geoffrey ♥</span><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />~ ~ ~<br /><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ></span>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-72055601613862114832009-11-21T09:32:00.001-06:002009-11-21T09:32:47.913-06:00The Arc PSA -- Respect!<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gM96e0yWjhI&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gM96e0yWjhI&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-15323458423107291612009-11-10T15:00:00.011-06:002011-09-21T08:42:06.462-05:00The Arc National Convention 2009, or, Why I braved TSA, butt numbness, a brisk run from concourse C to A and rain-soaked luggage<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Last night Charlotte and I took a stroll around the house. "Stand up... come on, stand up," I cheerily urged her on. She stood up on her own, but nervously whined for me with outstretched arms. With me behind her holding on to her little hands, she took slow and deliberate steps, her tiny naked toes pressing down firmly, her tiny feet </span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >slightly pronated. <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, these moments,</span> I thought. Mom helping child. Child feeling safe in mom's steady hands. She could walk on her own, but she either gets scared or she simply just doesn't care to try. If she only knew that she doesn't really need me... she could take off, untethered, unaided, unhindered.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-snc1.fbcdn.net/v2107/157/41/1352488148/n1352488148_246814_5141.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 491px; height: 450px;" src="http://photos-snc1.fbcdn.net/v2107/157/41/1352488148/n1352488148_246814_5141.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">But, I ask, what glory is there in not needing someone?</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">~Need needn't be a negative!~</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">*****<br /></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Charlotte was born with Down syndrome. Her first few weeks were spent in </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">NIC</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">U</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"> while she recovered from what would be the first of many procedures. During that time, I pondered what changes this would bring to my life, to our family, and how her life would be different from that of the typical child I had been expecting. I didn't spend more than a few days grieving that theoretical “typical” child because it only took a few days to realize what a truly special person Charlotte already was, and was destined to become.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">That was over two years ago, and I can honestly say that this beautiful girl has left nothing but happiness and changed lives in her enormous wake. She doesn't walk, or talk much yet. She doesn't do a lot of the things a typical 2 year old does. She does different things. Not better, not worse... different. And, more importantly, she doesn't let that trouble her. As long as someone can help her.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Now obviously, we don't want Princess Charlotte to be carried around forever. She will have to learn to do some things on her own eventually. But for the rest of her life Charlotte will need a little assistance. Her outstretched arms won't always indicate "help me walk" but it's fairly certain that Charlotte will always need, in some way or another, the assistance and kindness of people. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">So, how is that different from the rest of us? We all need interdependence in some way. Why would we want to give up this </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >gift</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"> of needing others? Being dependent does not negate one's creativity, competence, or individuality. It certainly doesn't negate worth. In fact, in many ways, being dependent only strengthens all these things. </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >It gives us a model for human civility and it gives us confidence to face our challenges. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">We all have limitations and it's only when we acknowledge and accept our need for interdependence that we can really know ourselves.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">So, it is with pride that I carry out the role of one of Charlotte's helpers and with honor that I pursue ways to help Charlotte achieve whatever she wants. I'll be in </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Pittsburgh</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"> this week for the </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255); font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.thearc.org/NetCommunity/Page.aspx?pid=411">Arc's National Convention</a></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"> where I will learn how I can guide Charlotte, and others like her, to be as creative, as individual, and as competent as I know she is.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-snc1.fbcdn.net/v2107/157/41/1352488148/n1352488148_241399_7389.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 604px; height: 401px;" src="http://photos-snc1.fbcdn.net/v2107/157/41/1352488148/n1352488148_241399_7389.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Charlotte's little feet may not be carrying her places yet, but her sweetness gets her wherever she wants to go!<br /></span></div>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-56048029890642526372009-10-28T07:33:00.004-05:002009-10-28T07:53:15.727-05:00No bathroom breaks on this evolutionary journey<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.wired.com/images_blogs/wiredscience/2009/10/cockroach2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 492px; height: 250px;" src="http://www.wired.com/images_blogs/wiredscience/2009/10/cockroach2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Ok, you know it's cool:<br /><br />These <a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2009/10/cockroach-recycling/">oogly little creatures</a> that we'd rather not have as guests actually have lots of guests of their own. They play host to some waste-product-lovin' microbes and the relationship is so efficient that cockroaches have no need for potty breaks. One needs the other as much as the other needs the one. Ahh, symbiosis.<br /><br /><br /><blockquote>"<span style="font-weight: bold;">To survive in hostile environments, cockroaches rely on their own vermin: </span><em style="font-weight: bold;">Blattabacterium</em><span style="font-weight: bold;">, a microbe that hitched a ride inside roaches 140 million years ago, and hasn’t left since.</span> <p style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="margin: 0px 0px 5px 5px; float: right;"><script type="text/javascript">digg_url ="http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2009/10/cockroach-recycling/";</script><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script><iframe src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.php?u=http%3A//www.wired.com/wiredscience/2009/10/cockroach-recycling/&t=Cockroach%20Superpower%20No.%2042%3A%20They%20Don%u2019t%20Need%20to%20Pee%20%7C%20Wired%20Science%20%7C%20Wired.com" width="52" frameborder="0" height="80" scrolling="no"></iframe></span></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;">Researchers who sequenced the <em>Blattabacterium</em> genome have found that it converts waste into molecules necessary for a roach to survive. Every cockroach is a testimony to the power of recycling — thanks to their microbes, they don’t even need to pee."</p><p><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2009/10/cockroach-recycling/">Wired Science: Cockroach Superpower No. 42: They Don't Need to Pee</a><br /></p><h1><br /></h1><p></p><blockquote></blockquote><br /><p></p></blockquote><p></p>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-75323888539032033892009-10-22T02:04:00.006-05:002009-10-22T04:12:17.763-05:00Flu, Ew, and FluA bit of mish mash.<br /><br /><br />Funny:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/33347533/ns/health-swine_flu/?ns=health-swine_flu"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Swine flu provides foolproof excuse for slackers</span></a><br /><blockquote><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left; margin-left: 40px;"><b><strong>Sick students or paranoid professors?<br /></strong></b>But the biggest temptation for faking swine flu might lurk on college campuses, many of which have been hit hard by the H1N1 virus.... nearly 40,000 cases have been reported since August. ...<p class="textBodyBlack"> “Students can e-mail their professors whenever and say, ‘I’m too sick to come in, and I don’t need a doctor’s note, and there’s nothing you can say about it.’” </p><p class="textBodyBlack">At Texas A&M University, the student health center was so overwhelmed by sick students seeking excuses that health workers there composed an all-purpose student excuse form and posted it online, no signature required.</p><p class="textBodyBlack">For educators ... it can be frustrating to have to take a student's excuse at face value. “Several students, they’ve gone three or four class periods without coming to class, and they‘ll come back and say, ‘Oh, I had swine flu.’ And I don’t know how to handle that,” Jackson says. “I’m basically being told to believe everybody.” But to really pull off the excuse of swine flu, which tends to linger, students would have to miss a week's worth of classes, which, some students realize, is really more trouble than it's worth."</p></div></blockquote> <p class="textBodyBlack">Just skimming through the article, I first thought it was funny in the way ridiculously stupid minor injustices are funny. I thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">hmm, I've already admitted to being injected w</span><span style="font-style: italic;">ith 60 micrograms of antigen </span>(four times the effective dose required to develop immunity) <span style="font-style: italic;">so if I make the above claim then you know whatever's going on that dictates I skip class is too embarrassing to tell the truth.</span></p><p class="textBodyBlack">But when I re-read it this part in particular gave me pause...</p><blockquote>“Last week I pulled the swine flu card to get out of a blind date,” says Ellie, a 21-year-old student at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities.</blockquote><p class="textBodyBlack">The swine flu card? Ugh. I am sure the thousands of people who have had the flu and the families of the 43 children that have died from it so far wouldn't find "pulling the swine flu card" to be funny in the slightest, especially since that card was stacked against them. </p><p class="textBodyBlack">Still, an interesting article on human nature.<br /></p><p class="textBodyBlack"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="textBodyBlack">_______________________________________________</p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Name that pink stuff!</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.fooducate.com/blog/wp-content/media/Mechanically%20Separated%20Chicken"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 445px; height: 334px;" src="http://www.fooducate.com/blog/wp-content/media/Mechanically%20Separated%20Chicken" alt="" border="0" /></a> <div style="text-align: left;">Could it be:<br /><br />a) ice cream<br />b) that denture glue stuff<br />c) meat<br />d) hint: it's c<br /><br />Yepper depper. Mechanically separated chicken that ends up being hot dogs. Mmm. Now, I tried for about 10 minutes but couldn't confirm the origin of the photo. I saw t his through a FB post that linked to a blog so it's anyone's guess, but I reckon it could be true even if it is being piped into a cardboard box, which seems very odd -- I want to believe that's what it is because otherwise it probably isn't very funny.<br /><br />Which leads me to...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________<br /></div><br />Many thanks to DC today who warned me about the impending platypus flu pandemic (though apparently this is old news)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://fakenews.today.com/files/2008/08/flu.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 428px; height: 286px;" src="http://fakenews.today.com/files/2008/08/flu.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://fakenews.today.com/2008/08/27/a-startling-new-outbreak-of-platypus-flu/">Platypus Flu Outbreak Info:</a><br /><blockquote>(Crotch Lake, Ontario Canada) In yet another outbreak of the maddening platypus flu, the Center for Disease Control has issued an alert warning health care providers to be on the look out for any new outbreaks of the influenza. Shown here Anita Lay displays some of the characteristic symptoms of the strange disease. While the disease ultimately leads to dementia, loss of memory, and end in apparen t brain death, one the initial symptoms include bugged out “crazy eyes”. In addition, patients will continuously attempt to make their lips look like those of a platypus, which gave the disease it’s cruel name platypus flu. <p>In the usual quiet town of Crotch Lake many parents are heard warning their children “If you don’t watch it, your face is going to freeze like that forever.” Platypus flu is limited to adolescent and pre-teen children, usual</p> <p>ly appearing as early as 8 or as late as 17. While patients may already be suffering the later stages of the flu at 18, there have been no new outbreaks in patients older than 18 years. One of the difficulties in early diagnosis of platypus fever, as it is also called, is that the symptoms resemble so closely to children just “horsing around.” Typically the only way accurately rule out just plain old tom foolery is a Magnetic Resonance Image of the cranium, or as parents have always referred to it, “getting you head checked out.”</p> <p>Photo Courtesy of Flickr Creative Commons: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/alvarogan/">Koramchad</a></p> </blockquote><div style="text-align: center;">_______________________________________________<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">And I just had to add one more, because you people just don't laugh enough! :-D<br /><p class="textBodyBlack"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://media.peopleofwalmart.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/1532.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 600px; height: 375px;" src="http://media.peopleofwalmart.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/1532.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></p><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);" href="http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/?paged=13"></a><br /><br /><br /></div></div></div></div>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-27833343228563764772009-10-03T14:05:00.005-05:002009-10-05T21:11:12.821-05:00We think we're done with the flu... and other stuffCharlotte has been quite sickly lately. The poor lass has had 104 fevers, has been coughing, sneezing, shivering, trembling, fussing, crying, and feeling just generally miserable. I'm 99% sure it's the flu, and since about 95% of the flu that's being circulated right now is H1N1, then we're fairly sure that's what she had. It has definitely struck our little town, with numerous kids out of the elementary school (some from A's classroom in fact) and with the middle and high schools having significant numbers absent as well. We've also come into contact with some other people who reported back as having it a few days after we saw them... so... that's what we're figuring.<br /><br />I won't say 100% though until I see how it spreads amongst our family.<br /><br />*Ugh, as of Monday she's still sick. Doc says could be a few more days still. <br /><br />Anyway, here's how Charlotte does sick-time:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ4EI9McBsRBOCc0KY4TZwoyI9wwNMKFZYk00X8OxZwmjWg1Ncb1_m3IT-7OPGbiz09a21K1hS0iV_iMLoZcPQYfAePQ_KMY8ThhT6_nLMcSeuJIBHAQwOJcAF3G5zxVwxcNDWU3gzbOs/s1600-h/DSC_0412.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ4EI9McBsRBOCc0KY4TZwoyI9wwNMKFZYk00X8OxZwmjWg1Ncb1_m3IT-7OPGbiz09a21K1hS0iV_iMLoZcPQYfAePQ_KMY8ThhT6_nLMcSeuJIBHAQwOJcAF3G5zxVwxcNDWU3gzbOs/s400/DSC_0412.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388455071899022642" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQL6Ic7zsGHF6TN2_A_x0-vEZiGqWoBRKztIowY3GWRLExvq31yTrjL83Mfi3FYu2Of6LtpieWM544rj5xcGwxHnEu_jzsHqBhbybITflPuHBQxSMqZ1Ir8UGSYGRoczFfWsMfvkoLnNQ/s1600-h/DSC_0416.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQL6Ic7zsGHF6TN2_A_x0-vEZiGqWoBRKztIowY3GWRLExvq31yTrjL83Mfi3FYu2Of6LtpieWM544rj5xcGwxHnEu_jzsHqBhbybITflPuHBQxSMqZ1Ir8UGSYGRoczFfWsMfvkoLnNQ/s400/DSC_0416.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388455062485621186" border="0" /></a>I did manage to get a smile out of her for this shot but it was the only time she smiled in about a 48 hour period!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">A few days before:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIomcrGBcaeKs_LazgL_O75xdsiuv4YHObjmvs8O5aBaO9KZZ80mnc9_zJFRaaX-h_BtBBrkdV-4Pn0zN2ol8ltAROoPZO7GYVTrmg9F_J3WxqNso1x7GNA1ly2YrMY6Ah_QR_FJyu7II/s1600-h/DSC_0353.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIomcrGBcaeKs_LazgL_O75xdsiuv4YHObjmvs8O5aBaO9KZZ80mnc9_zJFRaaX-h_BtBBrkdV-4Pn0zN2ol8ltAROoPZO7GYVTrmg9F_J3WxqNso1x7GNA1ly2YrMY6Ah_QR_FJyu7II/s320/DSC_0353.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388457623769468818" border="0" /></a>______<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Daddio/Grandad with the sproutlings. They were making hats for him and forcing him to play the MASH game, while he demonstrated how to use fancy-dress suspenders. Yeah, I don't know. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKhThIm10tYZOW2l8OaJK0g0CUXkCN7EgdBxrvibj6wPPYlfFM_3IdBo__C2kmfs8SPJvHpAFQtlr7mxtb9kKCkMpg0RFWIQ8w2AzP2TmpbX0ENkBH8QlIbqycyv2AQHoO7OjW6BKab8/s1600-h/DSC_0020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKhThIm10tYZOW2l8OaJK0g0CUXkCN7EgdBxrvibj6wPPYlfFM_3IdBo__C2kmfs8SPJvHpAFQtlr7mxtb9kKCkMpg0RFWIQ8w2AzP2TmpbX0ENkBH8QlIbqycyv2AQHoO7OjW6BKab8/s320/DSC_0020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388457652421049282" border="0" /></a>______<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Madison and Andrew playing in the water... during the rain. I guess it falls under the whole "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em."<br /><br /><br />Andrew filling up his hat with water.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4O4PILED9nrttn6kqu3owDb0Gkww7pg4cNRcAb9Igh2p2t4anLgZQAee7h8qNSY9CHsrtoBMtigLzGtOyg9Xco4NcY29epDnuu4W4krg996FLsichSQrOeLyddRZIXYxAfbW-zGQ_-OU/s1600-h/DSC_0002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4O4PILED9nrttn6kqu3owDb0Gkww7pg4cNRcAb9Igh2p2t4anLgZQAee7h8qNSY9CHsrtoBMtigLzGtOyg9Xco4NcY29epDnuu4W4krg996FLsichSQrOeLyddRZIXYxAfbW-zGQ_-OU/s320/DSC_0002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388457630233805874" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Now putting water-filled hat on. <br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXSvEbc-AG6A8u9-v2ju0QXct5ehfJPVpJ5vepVpZkZMTBxxJE0gKpKQ0WKSWPmYX4W0Y0h2cx8D6_5cq9-PvaLWMXA-hhDmWccqZis0y9V_am8L6zcgKqur-OEvseoKGVnsNBmTGvpo/s1600-h/DSC_0004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXSvEbc-AG6A8u9-v2ju0QXct5ehfJPVpJ5vepVpZkZMTBxxJE0gKpKQ0WKSWPmYX4W0Y0h2cx8D6_5cq9-PvaLWMXA-hhDmWccqZis0y9V_am8L6zcgKqur-OEvseoKGVnsNBmTGvpo/s320/DSC_0004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388457640122040226" border="0" /></a><br />Thumbs up for Hat 'O Water.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpftTHcDXGN7vQN-TGv59aENXeeTqnpFjL_PdqUuMB0dN60KRRbE3ICxxiqdKp7XwH-gYggR6C9wlCTmf6U8oySjZBfEknURv66v7WMr2dFumRkchFGiKkJGvoH54sGvfWtyKUv2BofPY/s1600-h/DSC_0005.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpftTHcDXGN7vQN-TGv59aENXeeTqnpFjL_PdqUuMB0dN60KRRbE3ICxxiqdKp7XwH-gYggR6C9wlCTmf6U8oySjZBfEknURv66v7WMr2dFumRkchFGiKkJGvoH54sGvfWtyKUv2BofPY/s320/DSC_0005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388457648046390978" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-31308449992459494802009-09-29T19:47:00.010-05:002011-11-02T20:05:30.243-05:00For Dad -- "A Glorius Dawn" (Cosmos tribute)This video has been making the blog rounds I see and I am dutifully perpetuating it -- though I first heard about it on NPR.<br /><br /><br />Long ago, (in a far away land) my dad, a very young and intellectually curious kind of guy, introduced a very young me to the poetic wisdom of Carl Sagan.<br /><br />Carl Sagan then introduced me to the wonders of the realm of space and time that expands out as far as the mind is capable, and then some. It is with profound fondness that I recall watching Cosmos with Dad in the living room of our home in a somewhat still fledgling Trussville, Alabama. Our house was new, part of a neighborhood of only a handful of houses, flanked by woods on nearly all sides. So on cool spring nights, Dad and I could be found stretched out on the back deck atop the aluminum chaise-lounge chairs with the woven vinyl piping stuff, enjoying the quiet, unfettered view of the night theater. It was the first time I recall that heady feeling of my mind "stretching" and it was because of Carl Sagan and these nights of sky watching that I became addicted to curiosity itself.<br /><br />I distinctly remember these Saganisms like "I believe our future depends on the how well we understand this cosmos, in which we float like a mote of dust in the morning sky."<br /><br />How well I remember that first time I pondered the "simplest thought like the concept of the number one..." (and of course, that moment when I realized that not everyone's number one was <u style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"><a href="http://verbosejenna.blogspot.com/2009/05/when-senses-intersect.html">like mine</a>)</u> and taking that singular one and turning into a googol. I was struck with both wonder and horror when I realized that "World" could in theory, be little more than what fits on that speck of dust floating in the morning sky. Because after all, the brain has its own language, testing the structure and consistency of the world, because the brain does more than just recollect, it generates abstractions... and in my astonishingly young mind, I suddenly found myself wondering...is my whole world just an abstraction???<br /><br />There are as many universes as there are grains of sand on all the beaches? That's very heady stuff for a five year old (was I really only five?). And I'd lie if I said all this deep thinkin' didn't produce some fairly frightening nightmares. Recurrent ones, actually. Recurrent dreams of lying in my bed in a room with no roof, vulnerable to the unfathomable darkness and infinity of the universe. To be fair, there was also that pesky one about the volcano in the backyard forcing me to lock all my stuffed animals in the bathroom before speeding away in my aunt's hideous purple Ford Galaxie. Interesting. Was it really a Galaxie?<br /><br />Anyway, there ya go. It's no wonder I have a fondness for dear Carl. He was one of my first teachers, I guess you could say. And so it follows that I always put Dad and Carl Sagan together in my mind. So, I thought of you, Dad, when I saw this.<br /><br />And since that show first sparked my curiosity "billions and billions" of tv shows ago, I have learned, and am learning still, that there are indeed as many worlds as grains of sand -- within our own world, each within another world, within that one, and so on. And it reminds me that, as the late great Wonderer said:<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"><span style="font-size:130%;">"A still more glorius dawn awaits, not a sunrise, but a galaxy rise. A morning filled with 400 billion suns. The rising of the milky way..."</span><br /></span><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zSgiXGELjbc&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zSgiXGELjbc&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />Yeah so I've been very girly about all this and cried through it almost every time I've watched it. I think it's because it takes me back to a time when I was that child filled with wide-eyed wonder, with the whole world spread out before me, full of endless possibilities. I thank my dad for having the foresight to make sure we watched this show, and for taking to time to talk to me about it afterward. Life has finally brought me back to that place of wide-eyed wonder, and I know without question that the world really is full of endless possibilities.<br /><br />(and it has just occurred to me -- I may have figured out the reason why I totally dig guys who wear turtlenecks and blazers! <span style="COLOR: rgb(204,0,0)">♥</span>)Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-46851226272012350372009-08-18T23:25:00.022-05:002009-08-21T15:15:57.694-05:00The Town Hall Meeting; aka The Giant Straw Man ConventionFrom the Representative's website:<br /><br /><a href="http://bachus.house.gov/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=867&Itemid=104#"><span style="font-size:78%;">CONGRESSMAN BACHUS SAYS TOWN HALL WAS AMERICA AT ITS FINEST </span></a><br /><a title="Print" onclick="window.open(this.href,'win2','status=no,toolbar=no,scrollbars=yes,titlebar=no,menubar=no,resizable=yes,width=640,height=480,directories=no,location=no'); return false;" href="http://bachus.house.gov/index.php?view=article&catid=40%3A2009-press-releases&id=867%3Acongressman-bachus-says-town-hall-was-america-at-its-finest&tmpl=component&print=1&layout=default&page=&option=com_content&Itemid=104" rel="nofollow"></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-size:78%;" >WA</span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:verdana;" >SHINGTON – Congressman Spencer Bachus (AL-6) today thanked citizens in the 6th District for their participation in his Town Hall on Health Care.<br />A crowd estimated at two-thousand people filled the Cahaba Grand Conference Center in Birmingham during the meeting on Monday.<br />Congressman Bachus made the following remarks.<br />"The Town Hall was American democracy at its finest and I hope the spirit of fairness displayed will serve as a model for the nation. People on both sides of the issue spoke with passion, but were treated with respect and civility by a large crowd. I am opposed to a government takeover of health care because it will lead to rationing, reduce quality, and raise costs. But the meeting raised areas where we can find common ground, including making private insurance more affordable and accessible, curbing fraud and waste, and making sure illegal immigrants don’t participate in any taxpayer-funded program. I want to personally thank the two-thousand people we estimate were in the room, as well as hundreds of others who wanted to attend. Your participation is vital and by speaking up you have already made a difference."</span><br /><br /></span>********************<br />Well, okay, there are some things about this press release that are true. There were indeed over 2000 people in attendance. It was an amazing turnout. We arrived 30 minutes before the doors opened to find the line already wrapped around the complex all the way to the back. The seats filled quickly and many, like me, sat cross-legged on the floor between the stage and the front row or between aisles while others stood wherever space could be found. As anyone who is familiar with central Alabama might guess, the crowd was maybe 95% white, comprised of mostly professionals (we saw many attorneys and doctors -- and I was <span style="font-style: italic;">thrilled</span> to see my favorite history professor, now retired). While in line, it was interesting to listen in while groups of men in company polos and khakis conducted frat-boy type posturing, each in turn giving his generalized projection for the future state of affairs. Now and then a sign-bearer would slowly stroll by, saying nothing but hoping someone would read their message. Close behind would follow a card-bearer in flowing skirt and sport sandals or a bearded and braided man donning some t-shirt message about constitutional rights, passing out web addresses for their grassroots organization. It was the most civil demonstration I've ever witnessed.<br /><br />And sure, the Town Hall Meeting is American democracy at its best. However, I wouldn't say that <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> town hall was democracy at its best. This was a rally, plain and simple. Still, it was comparatively civil. But, this is Alabama -- people don't get real fired up unless you insult their mama or their Jesus, or try to take away their gun rights. Well, and as we will see, the topic of illegal immigrants.<br /><br />I do agree the main themes of the night were as he stated, "making private insurance more affordable and accessible, curbing fraud and waste, and making sure illegal immigrants don’t participate in any taxpayer-funded program." In fact, they seemed to be the only themes -- with emphasis on the last. And unfortunately, anyone that wished to introduce anything other than those three topics was quickly boo'ed. The problem with the three themes is that they all had to do with changing the system that's in place now, not about how these ideas would be addressed in the bill.<br /><br />Now, I am not a Republican, but I can respect this man and was honestly impressed with Rep. Bachus's ability to diffuse anger. But mostly I was impressed by how craftily he developed a straw man in response to questions, particularly those made by proponents of this bill, so large and blatant you could just sense the fire danger. Quite impressive skill there, I must say. And although I know that comes across as sarcasm, I genuinely do admire good debate skills and he certainly does possess them.<br /><br />And as the night went on, our flammable friend only got bigger. If the question had to do with the problems with the current insurance system, he'd throw up a chart representing how many of the uninsured are actually illegal aliens. In response to a multi-part question regarding how this bill will affect the elderly, the ballroom erupted in raucous applause when he shouted, "If you are here illegally, you don't get health benefits!" When someone asked whether this bill could be repealed in the case it is passed, he responded with more about illegal immigrants.<br /><br />Ok. Can we burn this straw man down already? We get it: illegals bad. But it would seem Rep. Bachus would have us believe that if only we could change immigration law, we'd have a perfect health system. So, as in the case with other Town Halls across the country, it's clear this one didn't accomplished much of anything, other than to further underscore the divide between the two sides. Still, way to go District 6 for a relatively civil <strike>meeting</strike> rally.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><strong></strong></span>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-76661197588035718212009-07-23T17:59:00.003-05:002009-07-23T18:16:07.834-05:00Cellphone + microscope = Cellscope!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVMpI9aazY1HZvJ1u5fC74nrhTBKw_I1GnSAn4R93g8G0Rx-NL07BjHfusflki-YDlL2BQ68L-rd5KfqHasGBTAl8SEaQZ4gnzU5Jnzla_SUQ8shoWP0bHRLc2bXsXIy8DyksY5Bg7gc/s1600-h/CellScope_mobile_phone_microscope.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVMpI9aazY1HZvJ1u5fC74nrhTBKw_I1GnSAn4R93g8G0Rx-NL07BjHfusflki-YDlL2BQ68L-rd5KfqHasGBTAl8SEaQZ4gnzU5Jnzla_SUQ8shoWP0bHRLc2bXsXIy8DyksY5Bg7gc/s320/CellScope_mobile_phone_microscope.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361796370711816946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">I don't always repost on the cool things I come across but this was worth it, even if KC and Harvey are the only ones that will really share my enthusiasm. </span><br /><br />The folks at <a href="http://fletchlab.berkeley.edu/research_cellscope.htm">Fletcher Lab</a> in Berkeley have fitted a light microscope to an ordinary cellphone. It can snap a photo of a specimen which can then be zipped off through the ethereal radio waves to a clinician for review. Great application for regions not served by hospitals or clinics. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">"The CellScope project focuses on the development of a modular, high-magnification microscope attachment for cell phones. Due to its portability, affordability and functionality, the CellScope will enable health workers in remote areas to take high-resolution images of a patient's blood cells using the mobile phone's camera, and then transmit the photos to experts at medical centers. This device can reduce both the cost and time of performing critical disease diagnoses, as well as provide early warning of outbreaks in poverty-stricken regions in the world. </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"> The CellScope team is developing a range of prototype lenses of varying lengths, giving either low or high magnification, depending on the lens and the application. The team envisions that the final product, after the optics are optimized, will be only a few inches long and weigh less than a pound. Already, they have successfully imaged malaria and tuberculosis (TB) using the CellScope system with image quality comparable to standard diagnostic microscopy. Their current focus is on developing applications to tuberculosis (TB) diagnosis and monitoring. Over the next year the team plans to carry out a pilot field study in collaboration with partner and begin the revision of the CellScope based on field test data."</span>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-6353668989774168832009-07-08T17:00:00.011-05:002009-07-26T15:49:18.982-05:00Birthday Girl<div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div>Charlotte was suffering from unknown malady number three on her birthday:</div><div><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356214833177489586" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqT6JgZWPg1ZZR-qOySqhtGSs7oFVYQfXiLBWqOyq895TRQzc9zNB6cWffn_HqbsMxwmD9-hJd_FQrC25lccxSqKVl6DpvJBhBdUyJdxeVywiF6oUOQyQeavY5qIXg_wnYaZvhTQgtN0/s320/DSC_0015.JPG" border="0" /></div><div><br /><br /><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356214855254022242" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 275px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVf7HXkn1lEXWJZALO6UWN6HfQHMUzfoTbyf8NMCA-Q_sj-5sNdIifF6shvZ0VtrseMNYKhBKJgdSExrPRDri4NY1pOs6FcROOfkgq0g5coY8rjwYiT9g1sycqz4xCoomaKuvpq8eQkw/s320/DSC_0056.JPG" border="0" /></div><div><br /><br /></div><div align="center">But she was able to muster up some sunshine.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356593783457933554" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 235px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9BXBCe9Q67XQbqWDz0KrGPLeJmoPFqt5ENJC80EGJR-Oggc4uvwsY7QO-01hi1x5MexDiSuzCnJWwASkKnPK_HrggbMCllQKso9Js7KedW4fTTpkpHbV2dDngs_V_2YknyanUesTTsk/s320/DSC_0065.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center">and even tend to babydoll's needs :)</div><div><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356593795887502418" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZ3HAY7HD_hVhKpZZDWDrbvK1E284N0_OLrgTJXZ_laxWEeQb6PYcWM3nKg8qNYuMxdC6azeaRjgPkEevPA70pNEoY0SpctFHtbJE-ggDkh4CU_JUJamfG3Z_E1BF2zdUkQsQeMgG8JE/s320/DSC_0071.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356593800146201506" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7sgVhQDod84zurdCEnRNMAj3nHH-0p1vyqexrUbOL_q9H0tjqEEWPjUAOsvf8BRXIiSy8bi9K-SM-EDNyUXEW-PVHQC5Qyt4SDD-25gTqpLcpPv_mKao-ojRGPxGTlu_8lkRJ02QJ4TM/s320/DSC_0089.JPG" border="0" /></div><div><br /></div><div align="center">And of course at the 2 year mark she has accomplished some significant milestones!</div><div align="center"></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZjhU402ggZfIks0X_19JNY2dfY_s6CjeSniZIeQmxxDrP9PMQrI8l95bw0iGLnITmTxIUErq37pc5lFRIxglRMDXUkCLkSyDFpQe6GXLTOH7bBGqo1Om5IxlSaMhxmTJb3uzJiQQJg-0/s1600-h/DSC_0115.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356593810166455170" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 214px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZjhU402ggZfIks0X_19JNY2dfY_s6CjeSniZIeQmxxDrP9PMQrI8l95bw0iGLnITmTxIUErq37pc5lFRIxglRMDXUkCLkSyDFpQe6GXLTOH7bBGqo1Om5IxlSaMhxmTJb3uzJiQQJg-0/s320/DSC_0115.JPG" border="0" /></a> And of course, there's this kid, who has figured out how to make really cool photos.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiew8mo2e8kPOLQFuzze4zLl-hfUd4s3Ko5LSZ1FZbDMfDATL5dIKCXpjGxJfPPhIrGAgwic7FTVV4b9lXZLMKr7u6V5d-jKaJmkl2DkKSZ6PDKITGGXawdoUn1ExIMLj85g0fD_LvNZwk/s1600-h/DSC_0040.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356593776991740386" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiew8mo2e8kPOLQFuzze4zLl-hfUd4s3Ko5LSZ1FZbDMfDATL5dIKCXpjGxJfPPhIrGAgwic7FTVV4b9lXZLMKr7u6V5d-jKaJmkl2DkKSZ6PDKITGGXawdoUn1ExIMLj85g0fD_LvNZwk/s320/DSC_0040.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Ok, so with a week gone by and Charlotte on the mend, we resume plans. </div><div></div><div></div><div>But Grandad needs to think a while...</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358729509283868818" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNb0cAfzFatWY6vG2Xf4cAN-CfXol-UWWB0GkpX84KxSCjkZOOeR6q_S3B65EeF-BxVWNmGqWp7Ypu57UWP3UgUqe93WbBKXYZgFHuvplazzMLyBuch3zOymA1OXB9dk88jAQ0rxiLVgM/s320/DSC_0164.JPG" border="0" /> Ok, thinking done and over with. On to better things. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358734273312566210" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjiXZK0_RZe511NzMwRpzC2xL_FusUkJQi8ABFwTL7KA2GV-WftA1s8uDDP5Oeo5Gs3_DHffYTj5tPr6uikNiJJtds2PnjQjQ_8GMeB0TF9WCyQ7M-cTo1wYWoXYCtqIY7Uy7-oU167dA/s320/DSC_0242.JPG" border="0" /> </div><div align="center">(Righteous dudes.) </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">(Sorry everyone else, I either didn't get a photo of you or I promise you wouldn't want me posting the one I did get -- or I just got lazy)</span></div><div align="center">Charlotte gets to play in water while we wait.</div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358729516202266178" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGPJRIofs8Hacze0p1LnVv70jBohXJqPoOu4-d9fbHvDxIfO5HSFOrrgqRlYQ_gAtnuAHOgLr9eDKS19pEb3VNyOooPrAK90orhPvFtX2jUZ9WRe0CSIbKlXv9A0znJMDqV5hvT6rHtg/s320/DSC_0179.JPG" border="0" /></div><div></div><div align="center">Madison says it's ready.</div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358734252029603314" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 254px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_4QKAMKyuKawbC_GZIIcSEe4aaaiMdKJ_X-xBUGFz6abyC_jD6Qo1SGi3DTpZebzkBeRpUxMGMTBIYz7PKnmQyblBU8ACo_UiwRFQDc77UmQLcyCnoKGGYYYa4CvOYeiyHI6x1aafFc/s320/pool.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358729522656909442" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLH9JeMvQikiVUDU8X3x-gf_aLWpD3EwQUoy8X4gMLGJSAOYJdtndujNStJ7JtNPRou9_kGJoomYuDMYBbeOTb2gnlo0Z0EvGkB45l8LhS84SsZ0GkDy1-qzy4fIboZogTl9IgRngGTYo/s320/DSC_0192.JPG" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358729529610920002" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 319px; height: 201px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNrMHVxDCvriMKgww5B6jKrwZVHnpIQqS_G9sQ2p5X_POSleFVeKJ7Azt2Yuis6LnrvU2t8pzEQHsFGU3toiwIyX8VLA2_AwGhdXOtD3kVDk4ClH9XkFoCF-WS7EzpIN0cQ1IbIAWimi0/s320/DSC_0194.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358729538158923490" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZVqBk2pS6i0XIKUCsH4aelLSllf3z9GZPETLw-JDJOhQ96HEU01yOF5j6au-Ufl8x5g1o1mk0zDDjIdpfRbl4gcAkxsJ4Fkopb1eYy_0cXLtMCnKD2qHTDjPxuZ7I3sO0unveNMFswV8/s320/DSC_0196.JPG" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358734267445881138" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHSTP8eGTWQBxdFttUXe1brRpYpjdIE1z-JTiHrIpBEkcOvTMddybBKO9teq7w6ZWc-Uy2PiXSSo7hJ19aaeJZ_IbXNtxWeSlYN7_hgEiQhVsfjDEO7xJmyT24YkZvsESlEqGmjON6Vn8/s320/DSC_0215.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358734261442064082" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx7Wp_B_KIxMmqwITKYNET4Jwts5RMna9XPS59OyCWd4rmLsVCWRLsW9DKFMNjzeTIgoWK5BfPtKbC0BtHZpCQKzEgewML1VYJJqVrCpfsMFb8gAb7XAL2twe0DRY0dwQndZkgbJ-0HLk/s320/DSC_0203.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358734279375435538" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT7h4bOitJ-RVGvRYLrxYblcpBq0eBOxaiGeKWLbpZVFQRFl_w5wnj74jHWRNOPkl5PkzdJ62SKYFAmbXP1RQCoWq7gsY1r6sk1M3s_hzn3PhKmBmbK_azXdHxJwcIacQO98WFDm-3I_I/s320/DSC_0244.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358738180714878066" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 212px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9c7eVfBOIGWxHYPL3_MvrD7iSeDLJQVJUeMwWady4gGXJvyFsLmb5X-o7Q6hYLhJ5J-zbmyQ4dJr1JQHq8icRKMwK2kpPvcAKCHRnF4Ad6xtgJG8LXcnmE3HAuSZzSh_xBECaPkhbYMw/s320/zlindsay.jpg" border="0" /> Happy Birthdays for Madeline and Charlotte<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358738152206470706" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEAy8H9k7qeoo0qcxl-uqyL5hwQaoJpYQC9IEvAlCZ4cVcvdzfdOtQExWVZ-KuA75xp_mKy5TEWW0B6iXPsqcS9pKM266gIfVNbHghxPS6uzi_UKK-M_SnH3y6iC-_sk0osLoPBCYhZA8/s320/DSC_0251.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358738163121846322" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IlLJ-apr7Jcqcdl5JNDCo_47uouAT7fLAFC0Sf4LdDHSkUh0RW8SSQF2K0aEWoBxING0c_Dk3Vwee7TO1mobunREqCaZLbJ-vHOjAOYIUbpfRu7aTWWTFAxD7nUgiKHav-_7aQ_0lQI/s320/DSC_0256.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358738175306575890" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyLJ24Y73hmNEtUMdmngC91UgiS0ADKIrOoaz0n-WvuqQOlBvOrvSKgsxBc9SY_ErxOukd3vZ2h0O-izl4D_LC7s8wNS1jfHYLENZ2Tdu_-U-Dgqoozk1Cu7lm6yuEvK0U4x3S3aXORYg/s320/DSC_0267.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358738166541124082" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 213px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsm2iXrznAYK12qrHrie1iShTPKb8Vz84S6qc21C0gxHNTGsl6PMFqPBZxbnuiAOsUXiCBEkzcR4f1bl_crD-JRrWd0S7xIbBqSh5tIehyphenhyphenVoHTe-_qj7rVK7CEPYEA338jx697oqO1ck/s320/DSC_0270.JPG" border="0" /> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-44781896019349490492009-06-26T12:47:00.023-05:002010-11-01T18:08:52.754-05:00The Most Infectious Agent of All<div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>Catch on fire with enthusiasm and people will come for miles to watch you burn.</em> ~ John Wesley</span><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352079455194885794" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 286px; height: 400px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_EEKVdUx3_ajlMtGr55dIcBrEEfMa2j9p0nkiyhUCtaK0bmr3NWYQyV1_nNgkMKuG93LqM5jWcNFluHIYORrYb6r44N9rWf7NnBnfk5hzouIOi-McR3qkDQp-89Grraqu7WBdVBNlbog/s400/agarplates.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;">One</span> fine day</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> in Microbiology lab the students lined up to get their agar plates dosed with various infectious agents such as <em>Staphylococcus <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">areus</span></em>, <em>E. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">coli</span></em>, etc. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >An inoculation station was set up at one side of the room across one long table -- one <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">swabber</span> for each of the four types of bacteria to be cultured. A student would approach, agar plate in hand, and said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Swabber</span> would dip into the bacterial-laden broth and rub a bit on the appointed sector. The student would then step over to the next bacteria station and get swabbed with that particular bacteria and so on until all had been visited. This was repeated for six plates for each of about ten groups. So, that's an awful lot of swabbing. </span></div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Perhaps not so noticeable during all this swab, swab, swabbing was that another contagion was being spread as well. It didn't come from a culture of dangerous, flesh eating or gut rotting bacteria. It wasn't being sneezed out as a virus or anything like that. This contagion was being spread via a very innocuous manner not likely to alert the hapless host to its super virulent nature. Very simply put, one of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">swabbers</span> was making little gram-positive smiley faces on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">agars</span>. Now this may seem like a thing of very little significance, but not for those who were being systematically polluted by this act of enthusiasm. Upon receiving his or her plate back, each person showed immediate signs of having been infected as they were soon struck with strange fits of... ack!...<gulp> smiling. Yes, the simple and effortless application of a smiley says: <span style="font-style: italic;">"hey, this if fun, this is interesting! Microbiology rocks!"</span></gulp></span><br /></span></div><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351977508709062946" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 400px; height: 294px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRlCZKrdQr3WP7VVrVT_U_9RKiRFUmV0OZqr52E2ABEWbQZjQHGPSQkP9nKDxyE0_Qg1sHpAAjXzjG1abAMZAR-i9qicp8hMsV31T_kTY_nTmhsWe90Dr_pVimKYbjrWN2LdezJXabBZE/s400/agar03.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:78%;"> (It was supposed to be a smiley anyway)</span></span></p><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">The most infectious agent, it turns out, is enthusiasm. It can strike suddenly and with a virulence unmatched by any bacteria or virus. </span></span><strong></strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Enthusiasm is what makes teachers extraordinary and students</strong> <strong>successful</strong>.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><blockquote></blockquote> The Greeks used the term to describe someone intoxicated by the divine inspiration of the gods. (yes, I looked it up!) Art, poetry, philosophy, all these things were the result of this divine possession. Of course, today it just indicates a devotion to or fascination of a particular topic or ideal. But I prefer the former meaning that presumes the enthusiastic person is in possession of some sort of "essence" that can move between individuals, if allowed, and is ever <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">replenishable</span>.</span></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Now, sadly, some people seem to display immunity. Indeed, in any particular population, there will be a certain percentage of people who are immune to the effects of enthusiasm. They can't even be asymptomatic carriers. Not. One. Bit. We all know someone we suspect of having this condition, right? It's really too bad they can't know the happiness within brought about by, say, holding a really large model </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">of a heart.</span></span><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352069261482680226" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 246px; height: 400px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPAYkL3anoz9v8qwqAhCdJ9L-fEX5KBMc6BtxMXDxZfFk7buQfYQ7wXy1h9fUO6o_A3Cu2rodsUpRIo9bXA28kBAcUOmCcZR7i7j7M0Rbo_V_-UsD4MMi1__QGcwe5NJVFsOyw0ifYwc/s400/halstead03.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">(Enthusiasm. Get infected today.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></p><p align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now, it's true that some people with an abundance of enthusiasm often get mislabelled (to put it kindly). It's the risk one takes when revealing any part of their true self. And it's a risk that, in my opinion, is always worth it in the end. After all, as Ralph Waldo Emerson knows, "nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm."<br /><br /></span></p>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-28399323452482915972009-06-19T13:09:00.015-05:002009-06-22T06:29:25.183-05:00How to not make friends with Carpenter Bees<div align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349108302523028210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 202px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhYPAbuLr_wGTwrhgx5nV-H9BbwmRlkdx08W5O2pikwu8l37sb9fBsSwLCvyBfekC9TBUisDHlAoETnGXDuDz4JHuURrTK8nt45IwQJBfqwSkfCTiobbosuXPGROcxestddmx3sgoCBU/s320/bee01.jpg" border="0" /><br />I was perfectly set up at my kitchen table: The laptop was hooked to a larger external monitor so I could see my virtual cadavers on the big screen. All my books, notes and paper were spread before me in a semi-circle. I'd been studying well into the morning by now. Leaning back in the chair, stretching and yawning, I looked out the open doors to the back deck and nearly fell over. It was swarming with bees.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">Well, on a sunshiny spring day such as this, this seemed a great thing. The plum and apple trees were in full glorious bloom with their limbs now above the level of the deck giving me a distinct feeling of being in the treetops. The honeysuckle growing up the fence was sending it's fragrance over on the morning breeze. It all seemed so... spring-full!<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">But then I noticed these were no ordinary bumblebees. Nay, these bees, friendly as they may have seemed, were of the carpenter variety. And they were moving in.<br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349138218123572466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 198px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1bT38mHzsONvP-nBnyyGQBLExdJeS5y8hP-dNDKg9SV1rItwI-sfenw7Go9pzu2256Ml4XMNj4SuaqhbOAXvMRwdz349XPdlipCz-23vAS7xCnczCgbEsaO1A_it3lAbLzy2spz5r5OY/s320/bee04.jpg" border="0" /><br />Now, you may ask "are you sure it's a carpenter?" Well, it's a good question. They may not, afterall, be carrying their union card. And you may not catch them with a mouthful of sawdust. So let me point out some distinctive features of these fine craftsbugs. <div align="justify">Carpenter bees do look just like bumblebees in size and shape. But carpenters have a smooth, black, glossy abdomen whereas bumblebees have black abdomens covered in yellow hairs.</div><br /><div align="center">Below is a Bumblebee. <span style="font-size:78%;"></span><span style="font-size:100%;">It is soft and cuddly looking, right? Fuzzy, striped.</span></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349142056309915410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY42U7SjLzw1tY8J5Iqi8KmWbLeYcQV6AKvnL-1xN1ArNCciBiDL9Z8Hg7U9ciYZ5vVkGvknMAJ8-FZcUi-p-wA8ZZXLfGTVq3W-ewsWUp_4Oop1y8oLrMtdE2F62XO8AHh8Qm1-moiH4/s320/bumblebee.bmp" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">And here you have its crafty cousin. This bee has a smooth, hairless rear, and, more importantly, it's sawing its way through my deck!!!<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349108307764818066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 317px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMgd3d7S3Gol6mZJVd-Ug4rnj7bYBLkCD_8pWZlo0q2PPsZdXV_cOn3HBYjyJbtGf9hQD6yo0FUFJJLuPn06OYr2sOjMnK-fzBKG_7wALqCNM78fV_D8ulXIedbSDbHBd_KRweCdMXss/s320/bee02.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center"><br />Look at this one hanging on -- come on, you know it's cool! </p><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349108312540313778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 299px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMD3Drx7Cy7cbH0g4BJuXkA4YGjWqc0baiDo44orEUtxzpuQW17sUlRO7iMPHHXI-qoUV0RMreP3ZRu_t0DAOHhymwUTjwT7JuYmYIDwwK8epeOchG10jjO_QTFnqTkYIFDwCdI9eLe1M/s320/bee03.jpg" border="0" />So, the good news is, the males don't have stingers at all. The bad news is, only the females dig these holes, so they're the only ones you'll likely ever have to deal with. But, the other good news is, they rarely use their stinger. In fact, you can handle these if you're careful and so inclined to do so.<br /><br />However, as much as some of us would like to keep these around as pollinators (and heck, just for company) they have the unfortunate habit of chewing through wood. So I set out to discourage this -- and poison-free as well. I've read that you can simply plug up the hole with some wood putty. But I found this didn't deter them for a second. They just started chewing right back through it, possibly rather annoyed that they came back after lunch break to find their new sugarshack had just been stuffed with crap.</p><p>Still not wanting to coat the place with poison, I experimented with different glues (some of which were probably poisonous to <em>something, </em>yeah<em>)</em>. Nope. They just regarded it as a minor setback and went back to work excavating. In the end, I went out there with a heated glue gun and filled the holes. I was surprised at how much I had to pump in before it started overflowing. I was also surprised to see this did not stop one very determined bee from getting itself half-stuck in glue.<br /></p><p></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349146899647123266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 273px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5fuXUMGryGMTWhuQoIXn_BdfWlMsnArCSJrNEiOlak_OSNx0al4HMwogtpq-PC3kj0htJY2fs51Y1-S-dEBYvnzb0xJVZJNxmy52eMqIBSk8MODTDZ90rw5GCYhGOrh0-F-abRrQ6oc/s320/stuckbee.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">(R.I.P, pretty Bee)</p><p align="left">So I stood there a while, right arm across my waist, left arm bent up and making a fist upon which I could prop my befuddled head. And I thunk it over.</p><br /><p align="left">And here, folks, is the result of all that thinkerating: </p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349117716875730546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTXk0m6rOv1UzvyqhNp6Fxe_-r9WCl2KHOKTeu1RHLmvdfLjHX4dGCT9QEyiv7WtJNgbV5ahlPJqi9f34SsE-URpXAcsUBodojQPaafdJ0E5tJd_3fRemj3bEdNpdaCMZFQjplPZNYkA/s320/bee07.jpg" border="0" /> I started sticking some spare pegs into the holes. They were a perfect fit! Wood screw hole covers would have worked just fine but this is what I had on hand.</p><br /><p>So, a bit of glue, in went the peg and voila! They can't get in now! I placed eight of these in this way and watched to see what the little ladies would do about it. Sure enough, they could not get back in. Now, twice they started new holes and those got pegged as well. Finally, I was sure they had given up. Until I saw this:<br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349108323122869570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 307px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaYIBDdjHsL7JmnRA0mMBhCXv65mOHBO9kFYoPXsgXuslhM0ifCMw0ZHyh-5txl3ZNBRsn-yiE51KE8WqClyP7_46nNZROwRq5IO_xSaKBGXdwZSDeqVPKlUQ-3Kfrbq12sfKeMmx5MCE/s320/bee05.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349117722209628674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 284px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUzXpD9VwyicKYkmo2LQAeMsXeMhig1OBvUXBIP5xFAaj3pMY5e3zcV_e5qBGSL3idH31WgC0S31rpuEX-mpp6crlBo8HfYtUzp5fhULDcXSQRcPPmmoKTTPCHl3JleF-tN5nXx-HmdpQ/s320/bee06.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p>Now, you've got to admire that tenacity! Not wanting to let all that hard work go to waste, she is attempting to gain entrance to her gallery from the side. She'd have done it, too, if I hadn't run her off. Sorry, sister. </p><p>So there you have it. A short visit from some friends that I unfortunately had to turn away. I closed up their properties and posted tiny little "Condemned" signs on them. But I suspect the were very soon happily chewing through someone else's deck. </p><br /><p>Check back again soon as I'll be telling all about this beautiful lady and the conversation we had about our children:<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349153872080499394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 302px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOTG5XeLpVsKU_A1y0l57hjx8Hvjv6AkSE2jA_O0As6FGxb6_HRtC05HPPw1r5eluxprAa7UjPHnvgwUGqUAn_s64D4vT2OSgbE3kI0K_igxqwfQgei6YE0T_EN2oQ9gDdkO5NZf9SeM/s400/widow.jpg" border="0" /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-19766083711912915072009-05-26T16:32:00.043-05:002011-11-02T20:07:27.392-05:00Synesthesia<div align="center"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340313085157084018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 70px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbylW7AUzIQgycQkjPgT-caDEBXA6t8jG34M1i4CjSWn1AJV42b6LcS_82Ge3bXRo0_mENfj2auyTbuYrxPGFK_BqJgX4-2nCdOCLBa5ntuAC2iCK3ELh66jdh-OYqxBfdIqngMxwZLs/s400/synn.jpg" border="0" /><strong><span style="color:#009900;">___________________________</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#663366;"><strong>Blended Senses</strong></span><br /></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#009900;">___________________________</span></strong><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340313086644000018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 73px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz42MjyhYnVKsx4crOmhCDQQ5ObZRhmg1X35XHtdJA3bgYXVyQJ7cfHHcB4HGpYhcqEj4Md75x3WyYGXKVZFBTte2MVIuDYJpX1s0eEZIoxhyphenhyphen43wIZ7JpQbyD77-ZN5-yiun0iEoZ6Lh8/s400/synnum.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">December 2000</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8qhTG5W095uUaGThZn-1p_p4RAzDxP5KR9AWddseBY1dC2fcLm1J72tWF5XHofjWWCCYgB3W-ta8-fiz4C_IKGGb-RZe9EJuTxdeJ70ODbVWqkItI0fgjEr8shv05bqcS1VRU51X3J6w/s1600-h/solar-flare2psp.jpg"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340307017633721970" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 227px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8qhTG5W095uUaGThZn-1p_p4RAzDxP5KR9AWddseBY1dC2fcLm1J72tWF5XHofjWWCCYgB3W-ta8-fiz4C_IKGGb-RZe9EJuTxdeJ70ODbVWqkItI0fgjEr8shv05bqcS1VRU51X3J6w/s400/solar-flare2psp.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"><br /><br />“I have a headache,” I tell her. She is walking </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fwy1XBfElcs941vKhQb8SKMcIeRLM2LqIDhGNGhNXsOJxdHojivvPouX51jvSr40B9bFLCXaPXjkUN-wv3o-SO-gZAt07LIwfDMoxMip8aitW-VySCpYJbXY7-VIs_IdH1i5jGfOwrk/s1600-h/solar-flare2psp.jpg"></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">away now and I’m trying to open my eyes. <em>Why are we outside?</em> <em>The sun is in my eyes, damn it... </em>drenching everything in red-orange blur. All I can make out are the silhouettes of people standing around me. Oh, here she comes. “No. Now. Something now” I say. I can’t wait for pills to work. The silhouettes start getting jittery. Some have their arms folded across their chests, others are gesturing wildly. One is coming closer.<br />“Do you know me?”<br />Of course I know him… the doctor with the red-orange hair. Wow, his sweater matches his hair. <em>Nice</em>, I try to say, <em>makes you look heavenly...</em><br /></span><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#cc0000;"><strong>_______________________</strong></span> </div><p align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I am told I spent the next few days in ICU in a coma-like state. I finally woke up, still in pain. I had been transferred to the Red Room. The walls were a deep burgundy and the nurses wore head-to-toe maroon complete with matching face masks. I was confused. In Star Trek, they only don the reds for surgery. Had I been in surgery?<br /><br />Actually, I was in quarantine until they figured out what sort of meningitis I had. All I remember is that everything was so red.<br /><br />Months later, I was telling someone what I remembered from the Red Room.<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">“What red room?” he asked.<br />It was only after lots of arguing and phone calls that I finally conceded that room may not have been red after all. As it turned out, neither the first sunshiny room nor the doctor had been red-orange and the Red Room was actually white. So why did I see them in these colors? Had I gone crazy?</span></p><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#993399;"><strong>__________________</strong></span><br /></div><div align="justify"><br /><br /></div><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I wasn’t really surprised. This was not the first time I’ve seen things differently than some people. Actually, one <a href="http://cytowic.net/">researcher</a> says that as many as 1 in 23 people may have some form of <strong>synesthesia</strong>. Like me, these people may experience any variety of combined sensory perceptions. The most common form is colored letters and numbers in which a person involuntarily perceives letters and numbers (and other graphemes) to have color. For instance, where you see this letter "A" as being black, a color synesthete will see it overlaid with a different color. One synesthete might see it as orange, another might see it as blue. For synesthetes, this perception is very real to them, just as the black letters you are reading now are very real to you.</span></p><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Other forms of synesthesia include having the perceptions of color (and/or shapes or texture) through hearing, touching or tasting. For example, when <a href="http://home.comcast.net/%7Esean.day/Synesthesia.htm">Sean Day</a>, a colored-hearing synesthete, hears music he will perceive various colors in his visual field.</span><br /></div><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Another interesting form is lexical-gustatory*, a type of synesthesia in which words evoke taste in the mouth. Just like with most forms of synesthesia, people with this condition have in the past been dismissed as attention-seeking or hallucinating. As one of synesthesia's ambassadors to the world, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6BO1wYshzs">James Wannerton</a> has subjected himself to countless hours of research and brain scans (and film crews) to educate both academia and the general public. People don't "suffer" from synesthesia and it isn't a disorder. It is simply the way some people perceive the world.</span></p><br /><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;">There are about 5 common types but in all there have been reported about 61 subtypes of synesthesia. Here are a few examples from a list compiled by Sean Day:</span><br /></p><ul style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);"><li><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">General Sounds --> Colors</span></div></li><li><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Phenomes --> Colors</span></div></li><li><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Tastes --> Colors</span></div></li><li><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Personalities --> Colors</span></div></li><li><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Grapheme Personification</span></div></li><li><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Object Personification</span></div></li><li><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Emotion --> Flavor</span></div></li><li><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Smells --> Sound</span></div></li><li><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Pain --> Sound</span></div></li><li><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Sound --> Flavor</span></div></li></ul><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;">When I was in pain and percieving everything around me to be drenched in color, I was experiencing "Pain --> Color" synesthesia. But it is not the only type I have.</span><br /></p><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><br /></div><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>______________________<br /></strong></span><br /></p><br /><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I first realized there was something different when I was about six years old. From the backseat of the family car, I was complaining about how it was difficult to keep up with days sometimes because once you got to Wednesday everything flipped around the other way. In my mind, Monday starts out with Tuesday to its right, and with Wednesday to its right. But once we're in Wednesday, the whole line flips around and now Wednesday presents with Thursday to its left, and Friday to its left, and so on. It's actually more complicated than that, but that's the easiest way to describe it. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340891768876782834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHsLc5sT0szhb5Kwtfna9hi_wdzmfb1l3KcPxEh7jl3FgSA0dsNtqO-p_92yWQZ3MEtou1vscCMnA2BHMKyT0d1VmYWowEgKhXQ-aIWQuPNXSe1elm_r5jeh4OVcdu1m70dIQAqRo1sv8/s400/montues.JPG" border="0" /></span></div><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:78%;">(Above: Monday, dissipating, Tuesday and Wednesday follow)</span></div><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;">My dad thought this was intriguing and asked me questions about how I thought of clock time. I remember him saying something like "wow, she has such a fascinating concept of time and space abstracts" which I remember to this day because it sounded so Carl Sagan-ey. (One of my favorite memories was sitting with Dad watching Cosmos on PBS) </span></div><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" ><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">My mom's response was equally memorable: "I think she may be retarded."</span> </span></span></span><br /><br /><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;">(Yes, that's the word she used. I mention that because, like so many others who have had their perceptions questioned, it embarrassed me -- I immediately shut up and <u>never</u> mentioned it to her again. )</span></p><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">But the difficulties I was describing were not limited to days of the week. I have this same trouble with numbers. 1 starts out with the rest of the line going off to its right, but occasionally when I get to a certain number, the view flips, turns, tilts, and so on. Many times, positive numbers continue off to the left, or straight up, or back to the right. As you might imagine, this complicates learning mathematics just a bit.</span></div><br /><br /><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">But the biggest problem I have with doing figures is that not all my numbers get along with each other. Almost all the numbers detest 2's bitchy disposition, while 9's Spock-like steadiness can mediate any situation. Certain numbers just don't like having to stand next to others, and will fidget just like first graders being asked to stand in line and wait -- eventually, they wander off.<br /><br />This assignment of personality and gender to letters and numbers is called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ordinal_linguistic_personification">Ordinal Linguistic Personification</a>, in which ordered sequences, such as </span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">ordinal numbers</span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">, </span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">days</span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">, </span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">months</span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;"> and </span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">letters</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> are associated with personalities. Similarly, with object personification, everything that can be perceived gets involuntarily attached to it some sort of personification. It may be a gender and personality or it may get attached to it a color that represents that. Numbers, letters, months, grass, trees, furniture, clothes, books, even people. Even my own body parts have this sort of personification -- I recall as a small kid acting out "plays" in the bathtub with my fingers and toes, as each was (and still is) a different character. </span></span></span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify"><br />My synesthesia actually isn't as pervasive as it might sound. I've always had it, so I don't know any other way. It does sometimes dictate my emotions and decisions however. I develop almost obsessive fondness for some people because I like their color -- I just want to be around them all the time! Conversely, I regret to say I may not like some individuals based purely on the same thing. Recently, I entered a room that had all orange (yuck!) desk chairs and I desperately wished I could turn around and run!<br /><br /></div><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);">Most synesthetes have remarkable memories, as this gift functions as a natural mnemonic. Unfortunately in some cases this isn't so for me, especially when having to learn new concepts. If the thing or concept has no existing "relative" it takes me while to figure it all out. But typically, because of these strong emotional/personification and in particular the color associations, synesthetes have remarkable memory. I don't know why I don't -- maybe all those drugs I did in the 60s? <span style="font-size:78%;">(Relax, I wasn't actually alive in the 60's)</span></p><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify">Which brings me to another point: synesthesia is not the result of psychedelic drug use. It is constant, involuntary, and has been a part of the individual since they can remember.<br /></div><div style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="justify">It also tends to run in families, so researchers across the globe are trying to tease out the gene responsible. Hopefully, through this type of research we will learn what gives some individuals these unique perceptions and, as with any research, learn more about the mysteries of the human brain as well. </div><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);">___________________________</p><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="left">*<span style="font-size:78%;">Gustation involves activation of cranial nerves to process sensory input from the tongue in the form of sweet, salty, bitter, etc. But this only plays a small part in the perception of flavor. Flavor is the integration of gustation and olfaction and somatosensation. </span></p><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);" align="left"><span style="font-size:78%;">Flavor synesthesia does not involve the same neural pathways. In other words, when James Wannerton hears the word "London," the mashed potato taste he experiences occurs in the absence of molecules that trigger olfaction, and without the </span><span style="font-size:78%;">activation of the sensory portions of the cranial nerves typically associated with gustation.</span> </p><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);">___________________________</p><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);">More about synesthesia: </p><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);">Sean Day and David Eagleman:<br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DvwTSEwVBfc&hl=" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" fs="1&rel=" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></p><ul style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);"><li>David Eagleman's <a href="http://www.synesthete.org/">Synesthesia Battery</a></li></ul><p style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);"></p><p><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Richard Cytowic on Synesthesia:<br /></span><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bj8f_Bg8cdg&hl=" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" fs="1&rel=" height="344" width="425"></embed></p><p></p>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-17387751742184234952009-05-12T06:42:00.006-05:002011-11-02T20:11:03.735-05:00Mother's Day and The Defenestration of Folk Music<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5A99-VBf0vIslA8nVgdfC7PwisAc5JfZnhTO0pg3Cx75t6_VoZ6iAhmn7XmV8sx64ZivmiK53Jl1cfdVzNWWFnVOBPhJ2dmC9Nf_70aSKTBxgYDJrPe1ZMa4hw_-8_ojakS4eXP7naw/s1600-h/mom.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348860638731968802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 323px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5A99-VBf0vIslA8nVgdfC7PwisAc5JfZnhTO0pg3Cx75t6_VoZ6iAhmn7XmV8sx64ZivmiK53Jl1cfdVzNWWFnVOBPhJ2dmC9Nf_70aSKTBxgYDJrPe1ZMa4hw_-8_ojakS4eXP7naw/s400/mom.jpg" border="0" /></a> (Mom... young, as I remember her) </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><div align="left">The following are excerpts from something I wrote in 2005, seven months before Mom passed away. (These are only highlights, the whole thing was excruciatingly long)<br /></div><br />_______________<br /><br /><div align="left"><br />On rainy or boring days, or just anytime Mom got tired of me, she would send me to my room with an armful of her albums. Yes, I mean the round, black, vinyl kind, believe it or not. Carly Simon, Joni Mitchell, Phoebe Snow and others - they were my surrogate mothers. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">... </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">When Mom was mad at Dad, or one of us kids, or just life, she would put on some Carly Simon (or the like) and ramp up the volume. For the next 4-5 minutes we were all her quiet, trembling captives while a husky female voice belted out despair and anguish on Mom’s behalf. This was her method for expressing all sorts of feelings and ideas. Yes, music was her medium. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">... </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">When she loaded me up with an armful of albums she wasn’t just giving me something to do, she was giving me her toolbox, her art supplies you could say. I'd be alone for hours in my pale yellow room, lying on the floor with my feet propped up against the wall. I'd stare at the ceiling or into nothing at all while the smooth voices and mellow harmonies carried me far away from Mom's bi-polar hell. It was my favorite place to be, and a few years ago when I was instructed to find a "peaceful place" to ease birthing pains, I thought about lying there in my yellow room on my back with my hands behind my head and my feet in the air, keeping beat with my feet to Joni Mitchell's guitar strums. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">... </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">My mom had moods that could shift faster than Alabama weather. And any trigger would do. And sometimes there seemed to be none at all, like the day I watched my record player sail out my second-story window, followed by Joni Mitchell, then Linda Ronstadt, then Phoebe Snow. After she left I looked out to see glass and plastic and machine parts all over the driveway. The defenestration of folk music. But if her fleeting intention was to take away the music, she was too late. It was mine. It was in me, woven around my heart like the very vessels that supply it life. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">... </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I only recently came to understand that all the insults I bore and all the projectiles I avoided and all the ear-bursting music and screaming really had nothing to do with me. She didn’t hate me. She hated her illness. I think she would rage until her energy was spent, only to discover she still had more blazing anger inside, with no way to let it out or to be consoled. And when Carly Simon or Joni Mitchell could neither say it for her, nor give her solace, her frustration turned into everyone's catastrophe. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">… </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">When I sit alone in the quiet and think about those times, I don't see a mother expressing disdain for her child, but a woman who fiercely wished she could be more. And it is only then, that after 30 years of not really knowing this person as a mother, I can understand this person as a woman. To quote her beloved Joni Mitchell: “every picture has its shadows, and it has some source of light.” Without a good portion of each we have no depth. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">... </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">It has not been perfect, and it has not been ideal, but it’s my life. It is made up of beautiful song writers, and beautiful song lovers. I know my mom loved me because she gave me music. And I can give it back to her when I sit by her bedside and sing to her. She stares at the ceiling or into nothing at all while my voice carries her far away from bedridden hell. Maybe deep down *she* is still in there, dancing and humming along and knowing that this tune is my way of saying, “thanks Mom, I love you too.” </div><div align="left"></div>_________________________ </div>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-67309105180910723222009-05-09T10:30:00.013-05:002009-05-09T20:36:33.943-05:00Charlotte's Heart<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlJxKKRhqJRJ9IkpqqltNNblrTG54QFGoYZUhyphenhyphenidvKOwxh5H9s6Dle90QbET7Scde6gssks_cXX_CylpU1CP39asN9KPWqP5OukhsTe_UShsVh7YxBIGqHnA1Wjk8WQoPsAivpXIk78w/s1600-h/cc02.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333888709785936850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlJxKKRhqJRJ9IkpqqltNNblrTG54QFGoYZUhyphenhyphenidvKOwxh5H9s6Dle90QbET7Scde6gssks_cXX_CylpU1CP39asN9KPWqP5OukhsTe_UShsVh7YxBIGqHnA1Wjk8WQoPsAivpXIk78w/s320/cc02.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Some of you have asked about Charlotte's surgery.<br />She had open heart surgery when she was three months old to correct Tetralogy of Fallot. A slideshow of that is at the bottom of this blog. _________________<br /><br /><p></p><p></p><br /><br />TOF happens to 5 out of every 10,000 babies. Heart defects of any sort are fairly common in individuals with Down syndrome, like Charlotte.<br /><u><strong><br /></strong></u>It is four (tetra means four) related defects:<br /><br /><br />1) <u>Pulmonary artery stenosis</u>: the artery taking blood to the lungs to go fetch more oxygen is narrow and thus...<br />2) <u>Hypertrophy of the right ventricle</u>: the right ventricle wall gets thicker because it has to work harder to get the blood through the narrowed pulmonary artery.<br />3) <u>VSD- ventricular septal defect</u>: a hole in the septum (the wall) between the two ventricles and thus...<br />4) <u>Overriding aorta</u>: because the ventral septum is faulty, the aorta kind of fumbles over it. All this allows oxygen-poor blood to leak through and get mixed with oxygenated blood. Leaning the mixture, so to speak.<br />_____________<br /><br />Charlotte was considered a "pink Tet" baby as opposed to a "blue Tet" because her defects were such that she still got enough oxygenated blood to keep her "pink." Even still, during one clinic visit, the cardiologist decided it was time to get her fixed up. So, about a week later we found ourselves at UAB awaiting the famous Dr. James Kirklin, son of the famous Dr. John Kirklin of Kirklin Clinic fame, to perform her surgery. I have to insert here that I have the greatest respect for this man and will forever be grateful for the kindness he showed me. He mended Charlotte beautifully and although she bears a scar, it is minimal compared to others I have seen.<br /><br />It was also discovered during surgery that she had a PDA -- patent ductus arteriosus. The blood vessel between the aorta and the pulmonary artery usually closes shortly after birth... unless it doesn't and then it's called patent (open). About 3000 babies in the US are born each year with a PDA. It can close later on its own, or may require surgical repair. Charlotte's leaks so very little now that we're not going to worry anymore.<br /><br /><br />As a result of having to fiddle with such a small organ, Charlotte now has AV heart block. Her two sinus nodes that tell the heart when to do its pumping are not in agreement, so the result is a lower overall heart rate. I am told that this sort of iatrogenic heart block generally is not a huge concern (??), though she will eventually require a pacemaker, but that's down the road yet.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32ulDmQdiBnfeJ0nsq3tPm3QdC21XlwlhDoIa2V-hp4xK6pgk2ZTtaJDeYNUs-OJPzzc2oPXfRwC_QfChM74nNm-uTcDv4d2Lx6kIBRzcnBCoj6BbmWTUS5QpwLQ6UtAaawMxHDrkdMk/s1600-h/beautifulgirl.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333892474162639698" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 219px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32ulDmQdiBnfeJ0nsq3tPm3QdC21XlwlhDoIa2V-hp4xK6pgk2ZTtaJDeYNUs-OJPzzc2oPXfRwC_QfChM74nNm-uTcDv4d2Lx6kIBRzcnBCoj6BbmWTUS5QpwLQ6UtAaawMxHDrkdMk/s320/beautifulgirl.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />For now, she's happy and healthy and growing more beautiful each day.Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-9507726791889561542009-05-08T19:52:00.010-05:002009-05-08T21:09:26.310-05:00CHARLOTTE'S TICKER<div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWumBdnHN_bSJ6sxnG7pcqXZ5maENODeek5QU_szqL5x_lEiX6-3iHcZZGqqSNcIoMtN2_Mpx5eaIF1W_6mEsMUbyVaMPocBLMHyUdOkYP_grzj78KEO1D_hvRxXtfXsPcAeU6n3LKYXQ/s1600-h/cardio13.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333625724975620994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWumBdnHN_bSJ6sxnG7pcqXZ5maENODeek5QU_szqL5x_lEiX6-3iHcZZGqqSNcIoMtN2_Mpx5eaIF1W_6mEsMUbyVaMPocBLMHyUdOkYP_grzj78KEO1D_hvRxXtfXsPcAeU6n3LKYXQ/s320/cardio13.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">Charlotte and I braved the humid Alabama weather to get her periodic pump check.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">First she got radiated and electrographerated.</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333622452509474946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cpopiRRZGMiyG9Chfli7pr-w_l5XhBF7LGvJ5_LF4itfldDO6tceQgVzmyGdaEkbj8_R4ZZfYpmM3xudDGv0vmbB0JB6F-h6dCOth8NsC0WhnGk-PkHAF0Q0fKL3JECGgX1q7zZfy5M/s320/cardio08.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333622446889537986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 263px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSY6RJOp36f7RLG8kiHVlkeREp4aLV1lWhBezvF87FyYUCTryOrN2lYd5LMdL4mutwsoCja_PMYHYid3yvrKrno2IpV4ETaOadma5WPmQFzwST6LW8aOn2e-QZq5T7LPKK-3iLL02QKmY/s320/cardio04.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333622442681125346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 272px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGbIe8Oqa5eEKqui1oaClVj3jM-DilnqsVjhwnLgODQjYsaK_B4PfRekX1sHjp257pKZmvVlUGj4EXAWu_-uOMAK-7QCiRri0cgoJQgGaRM-Qiu-AyasdvRa3yyn83msAwOqz8vL2gc1A/s320/cardio03.jpg" border="0" /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Had some play time with her friend Kianna.<br /></span><br /></strong></div><strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333624055785438818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEoFCAy4bVvYuug-nxZ5P09Gq2l_2OHzSV7RieijGgz0GS6SHcAlAsPuGfzbQDW7PaINg6-gqoMgRFXJRM3xT9_m1-ox1BgfqGnIRbrzOo4SIkpICe3L-IbLCodWvt6DhgxYAkmkdf5OQ/s320/cardio05.jpg" border="0" /></strong><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333624061256611122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiBG3UgakliRkKYp6vq7jrN9TDiPkzvvlbdLU_8m8WHxjO5L94Tq0_eO72f_XIDdTlj2yuhqyTG_oVWCCVZd7LFMkg3pLxrU_v95GFmuX4F5cEX7BI9bqVfdMecuKTPhtZpGFMgmpfpo/s320/cardio06.jpg" border="0" /> <strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">... and later, a familiar face showed up!</span> </span></strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333624069023200306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 251px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV84G6D7wUGjrOXvuLHdC354FrfIy7THCt7BnBThfHl3NBEpUZvwMlL-YbcoPqhtAmNDOlm7S5c1wTNIeIoyLgtkN3d_3MRJStNExtWzeyfiLgDIA1cKc0sJ_ugI1WVDgxOdyeGeZv0as/s320/cardio07.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Doctor Colvin listened...<br /></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333624070559735074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjauyrwmeuzIIOIbAgp1AeS1-bvy9solvESyHCdbUu948urhxEATy6buz5XbqWQuWlF-wZFRVLQ4w4rUPCi9rVMuy9aHrfL8lxlDOpQq2RX5qGCgu2efzpuIYprj3rZRbXP5ZZIMIbXhoI/s320/cardio09.jpg" border="0" /><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">...and looked</span><br /></span></strong><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333625721551091202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqHfeWLxXew_P5vBVbPW5tKSEkxlADi8owS2AgtbZmlKEXybJzPYMLYyInuMMlXuusRnOqEPsAZI7ij9nItlTyuwACzacxg7KALCSyCCzUKP7ETEtZJTfIkY2f_lw229BQxF0CGEnGtu4/s320/cardio10.jpg" border="0" /><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">...and then it was off to get hooked to the Holter.<br /></span><br /></span></strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333625725730376962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7Axak8GUncGQOSVN1LSDG4i9KnYTd0N43V7lGcCO9UWN7VelftEUV7cRz9JR3n7pb6Zp6LqzmW6crtzh5UUhMej5e30H7SD4FALYGvkkCT41HE6JBMo-sFy6mG9t8bityLKjII0T2fI/s320/cardio12.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>And then she's done for another year!</strong></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333625729791744370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_LgrxCYyojirhzUCp8zaBg9WQf5ZHiXkvdD1Dmy3mQm0SVfAt0-X93T_iNLsgMxkCZs3kAeHKoJla5MNu22VH4gm-N5UwQZQaXechzd3e05LM-wyKmrb_S8gX673iCvpp_JEQOjO61k/s320/cardio14.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333625731338089266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 282px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCsdfY-1bdJVGZ4qbvGETia-ud3xxzKploePY9VknAG11VxGlgATHmGMNG3V27Kga26DEpzk7oDCSmYmfjin2zJ4_cgZdH57vo8h_rdydf08w9dJGOWlVuLK1z3DSHoulORtePUApOWU/s320/cardio15.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">(and you know this one can't miss a photo op)</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333629941830592914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cMxzx1hHK4fNnU4JlzRmbJ0Fap40nhnxifggvptYeQly-_MPdiyXUY4hcaDnCOHlkICm_rJbpE1Bx2-_1TGaP2KsIBfXldsTYqASyRd8KbrlwqG7x7hpRoHyLx2_OUylEo0s38C4oZc/s320/cardio01.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"><br />The Holter monitor records heart activity while she's wearing it. After 24 hours, we take it off and send it in to be analyzed. To help the analyzer, we keep a log of her activities that could explain any unusual readings.<br />____________<br /><br />Charlotte's log read something like this:</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">10:45 - start monitor</div><div align="left">11:00-11:15 - nap</div><div align="left">12ish-12:30 - lunch</div><div align="left">1:20- 2:00 - climbing/falling/climbing/falling/climbing/falling...etc.</div><div align="left">2:30 - heard beeping sound, found she had unpacked monitor and was pushing buttons, hope that doesn't matter</div><div align="left">2:30 - accidentally scared the crap out of her when I discovered her doing this </div><div align="left">2:45- <strike>napping</strike> bouncing on bed</div><div align="left">2:50 - crying</div><div align="left">2:55 - ticked off</div><div align="left">3:00 - really pissed</div><div align="left">3:10-4:10 nap</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">____________</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Anyway, it was a good visit with nothing but good news. The PDA is all but closed and not something we're going to even think about anymore. She will not need pacing at all for the following year and maybe not even for two or three more. She's strong and healthy!</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333624048669063122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheoncRtHoVGdLM9_I6NXHSDcyxVqTvCSuOG1QThtcTx_sG3W3aGTG69J4HgI-gxPCEAlYYXCJPG6xO1cfm7bDN1x5b8jkd_m5n4ywpT_JURBuC2ySyyf7DG88GHeZM4Oj7v3fL9p_YtJk/s320/cardio02.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div><div align="center"></div>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582896389184745201.post-53315871344168630662009-05-05T16:17:00.004-05:002009-05-05T16:30:28.663-05:00Pigotry?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_96vJqO9-rZ6kHDhHYNV9fILeR2GpZUtFZuCNKfwf9KJaa_UZWExROF_G7HbII7BXbs1efHSze069omDZ1Y-wf2K-EfBsdglxVUAnUP6a9Z-PGhl1C7jE1N7AiXZWNv1qRfR_Hcjdd4/s1600-h/Avian_Flu_Mask.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332455376840757970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 233px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_96vJqO9-rZ6kHDhHYNV9fILeR2GpZUtFZuCNKfwf9KJaa_UZWExROF_G7HbII7BXbs1efHSze069omDZ1Y-wf2K-EfBsdglxVUAnUP6a9Z-PGhl1C7jE1N7AiXZWNv1qRfR_Hcjdd4/s320/Avian_Flu_Mask.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://www.surfdoggie.com/pages/070926-101152.html"></a><br /><br />Malkin scapegoats immigrants for flu spreadApril 28: Michelle Malkin claims that the spread of contagious disease is a result of "uncontrolled immigration." Is the Republican echo chamber stirring the American melting pot with its classic recipe of hate and fear? Margaret Carlson of Bloomberg News joins "Countdown."<br /><br /><a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3036677/vp/30464779#30464779">Video.</a><br /><br />I don't even have anything to add. It's just... sad.</div>Jen Averehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12357617794252082569noreply@blogger.com7