tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77321194405251940042024-02-18T20:32:59.090-08:00nora somethingevery need supplied*Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.comBlogger355125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-88487027045532143202011-09-03T12:53:00.000-07:002011-09-03T12:53:34.667-07:00She's gone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYupKKEupDXkA6ldb6gU_fjCL6MZ7xGEz9bHbDHOuHLnWtuZnbYONDCr1LeboIEAz7AqA_hsFLHqbA-7D4OksgUJF39Hg2e4L98NJO8ZmVAgFQGLTiVvCMi6Cjb4YDhOoSsQnC8usX6WrP/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="194" width="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYupKKEupDXkA6ldb6gU_fjCL6MZ7xGEz9bHbDHOuHLnWtuZnbYONDCr1LeboIEAz7AqA_hsFLHqbA-7D4OksgUJF39Hg2e4L98NJO8ZmVAgFQGLTiVvCMi6Cjb4YDhOoSsQnC8usX6WrP/s320/images.jpeg" /></a></div>
I am broken. But these words -- from Job, of all places -- are the duct tape binding me together.
<blockquote>But ask the beasts, and they will teach you;
the birds of the heavens, and they will tell you;
or the bushes of the earth, and they will teach you;
and the fish of the sea will declare to you.
Who among these does not know
that the hand of the Lord has done this?
In his hand is the life of every living thing
and the breath of all mankind.
-- Job 12:7-10</blockquote>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-44200793618220067292011-04-02T04:05:00.000-07:002011-04-02T04:11:01.284-07:00Operation Vernal EquinoxI've posted several times about my Neighbor Situation -- on the one side, a young family with a sweet little boy who seems unable to communicate without shouting, and on the other, a debauched recently-divorced middle aged man who blasts Nickelback through outdoor speakers as soon as the weather warms up pretty much all weekend long, even when he's not home.<br /><br />In all seriousness, I am glad these people are having a good time. Happy people make noise and hearing other people living their lives, to some degree, is part of living in a community. But between the shrieking and exceptionally bad music, I have spent the last few summers indoors. And even with the windows shut and A/C blasting, I can still hear these folks.<br /><br />But recently I scored what I think is some pretty cool mid-century modern patio furniture. Pale pale yellow metal in groovy rounded shapes. I just love it and so want to enjoy it. But preferably without having to wear ear plugs the whole time or waiting for some quiet at 3AM.<br /><br />My first instinct was to go all Gitmo on them, engaging in my own form of musical torture at an equivalent volume. Show tunes, I was thinking. Bad Christian rock (goodness knows there's enough of it out there). Or maybe Chinese opera. But the passive-aggressive (and childish) nature of this form of protest is wrong. And not neighborly.<br /><br />It's very likely that the process of reclaiming my back yard, even with gentle assertions of my own rights to space and time outside, will lead to interactions with the neighbors about how to rightfully do what you want on your own property but doing so in a way that doesn't prevent your neighbors from doing the same. Interactions I've been basically avoiding for fear of not knowing what to say in a winsome or godly way or just flat out wanting to avoid conflict.<br /><br />At this point, I think my strategy will be to have a pitcher of lemonade with me whenever I am outside puttering or just hanging out back there, ready and waiting for those who might want to cross a property line to chat. About the rigors of parenting a kindergartner. Or keeping chemicals in a pool in balance. Or whatever. Hopefully if I try my best to be hospitable in my conduct and hold a sincere desire to get us out of this suburban Cold War in my heart, it will at least be a step in the right direction.Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-60900145779297069402011-03-31T19:10:00.000-07:002011-03-31T19:10:59.908-07:00Play ball<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUBabGvJYmkuJvwMntpqz4N1iMtZaeoDSELrqKldDMnWy57dgLTTXQasADG1Wu4KFBjEk3NTO_CQDDT6By98YfEPv2EZm1CDEDmWvAHyKbq62b8M5w-vpS8vp_YTz8MDsIieF3gUVybY8/s1600/baseball-field.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUBabGvJYmkuJvwMntpqz4N1iMtZaeoDSELrqKldDMnWy57dgLTTXQasADG1Wu4KFBjEk3NTO_CQDDT6By98YfEPv2EZm1CDEDmWvAHyKbq62b8M5w-vpS8vp_YTz8MDsIieF3gUVybY8/s400/baseball-field.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><blockquote>"The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America is ruled by it like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again. Oh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come." -- Terence Mann, <i>Field of Dreams</i></blockquote><blockquote> </blockquote>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-83326611103147176102011-03-08T07:06:00.000-08:002011-03-08T07:06:06.208-08:00Day in the life of a legislative staffer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Ktc28Kut-KFZQnj1wbwTfnDgWdpjjcaFcuLiOhi0Y0KTW1zKmjNQWYMXbyzWHwnBBq1HnPyhQsNzxmUZbdz3q3N67HrsReb5MQWEJcfcED4gd4f2w-lN3YP81xA9AM8OXYT8VpMi9HOQ/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Ktc28Kut-KFZQnj1wbwTfnDgWdpjjcaFcuLiOhi0Y0KTW1zKmjNQWYMXbyzWHwnBBq1HnPyhQsNzxmUZbdz3q3N67HrsReb5MQWEJcfcED4gd4f2w-lN3YP81xA9AM8OXYT8VpMi9HOQ/s200/images.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><i>Scene: Fifth floor hallway of the Capitol. I was meeting with a group of constituents too large to fit in our office.</i><br />
<br />
Constituent A: blah blah safety net blah blah redevelopment money blah<br />
<br />
<i>Nora: *nodding, taking notes, making sympathetic noises</i>*<br />
<br />
Constituent B: We know things are moving quickly with the vote coming up Thursday, and..."<br />
<br />
<i>Nora: I understand. And?</i><br />
<br />
Constituent B: Do your shoes have <i>whiskers</i> on them?<br />
<br />
<i>Nora: Uh...</i><br />
<br />
Constituent B: And are those ears?<br />
<br />
<i>Nora: Ah, well, yes, they are.</i><br />
<br />
<i>*Entire group is now staring at my feet.*</i><br />
<br />
Constituent A: They're <i>mice!</i><br />
<br />
<i>Nora: They are. They are mice. They were on sale. And seemed whimsical at the time.</i><br />
<br />
Constituent C: They <i>are</i> whimsical.<br />
<br />
Constituent D: I think I see their noses.Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-91339608868341693442011-01-28T17:08:00.000-08:002011-01-28T17:08:29.447-08:00Today<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytJhlRWgwtRmHATpXPHbRnDKtyuCiZAFBe_i-K5J_VMwTbdnPVxzidohljKWcLtVXMGaUGL0Bym2nWO-wjaPZOdxQ1FUzND6whJi2j1U0qxoYcqlHSOm76N2O4TS7RuDMKbhs-6GHsGwt/s1600/232088808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytJhlRWgwtRmHATpXPHbRnDKtyuCiZAFBe_i-K5J_VMwTbdnPVxzidohljKWcLtVXMGaUGL0Bym2nWO-wjaPZOdxQ1FUzND6whJi2j1U0qxoYcqlHSOm76N2O4TS7RuDMKbhs-6GHsGwt/s400/232088808.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo via Twitter</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
This scene from Egypt today brought to mind images from the United States' own not-so-recent past.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbS6Aj3yloyoBAjefSCH2uuAAeQbYuzPBStLr5CjO2BVMHthCx6OWmHzteZHOntr1RMarJF0cMCfirSzxICTbyF00tH7CtBAo4qihTodlirRFUBRoMfj1jOQEAn0Q4W_VhWduwp2xeXzi/s1600/image_08_05_030_R07-2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbS6Aj3yloyoBAjefSCH2uuAAeQbYuzPBStLr5CjO2BVMHthCx6OWmHzteZHOntr1RMarJF0cMCfirSzxICTbyF00tH7CtBAo4qihTodlirRFUBRoMfj1jOQEAn0Q4W_VhWduwp2xeXzi/s400/image_08_05_030_R07-2010.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from AP</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Praying with and for the people of Egypt.Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-66835487350379172092010-12-27T17:52:00.000-08:002010-12-27T17:52:04.741-08:00Important workThe list of things I was supposed to get at least started on tonight is pretty long.<br />
<br />
Once my latest headache broke, I'd promised myself, I would Get Busy. The piles of unwashed laundry alone are borderline hoarder-y, never mind gross, and then there's the necessary wrangling of pet-fur dust bunnies, some of whose size rival that of the cat. I need to sort papers to do my taxes. Organize a drawer or two or 10. Find about six pairs of earrings that have gone missing. And so on -- you get the idea. The chaos is reaching epic proportions, and if it bothers me when my head hurts, it's definitely time to take matters in hand.<br />
<br />
But, it turns out, when you have a nearly-16-year-old dog, your time is not your own. As I earnestly outlined my semi-ambitious To Do list, I caught Daisy out of the corner of my eye. Sitting next to me on the couch and just watching me. And, I think, waiting. For me and my attention, which had also been a bit absent prior to the headache breaking.<br />
<br />
Putting aside pen and paper, I sat back on the couch and she climbed right into my lap, curled up into a ball, sighed maybe the most contented sigh I've ever heard, and was sound asleep inside 60 seconds.<br />
<br />
This, it turns out, is all I need to do tonight.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinCi3ioDxFl_XVpllBMM9AWXuWNrYePF8yKtx7xsyZoxl5TwCeQ6IRhUM3-iqhNKsZP9TjCPvLePbFG1tmk6R-DPef0nV81M_EAMtqI_dHMZJT-JSP3_Sgn5Xjt-avfgcfAWFmi2q0q1r/s1600/IMG00178-20101227-1651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinCi3ioDxFl_XVpllBMM9AWXuWNrYePF8yKtx7xsyZoxl5TwCeQ6IRhUM3-iqhNKsZP9TjCPvLePbFG1tmk6R-DPef0nV81M_EAMtqI_dHMZJT-JSP3_Sgn5Xjt-avfgcfAWFmi2q0q1r/s400/IMG00178-20101227-1651.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-24530839160062625742010-12-13T18:07:00.000-08:002010-12-13T18:07:23.867-08:00Having a spellI may have technically been born in New York City and lived my adult life in California, but I am a Southerner through and through. Raised by a mother from Georgia in suburban Houston, it's only been in adulthood that my accent has flattened out to where it's not immediately apparent where I'm from until I'm tired (or had a glass or two of wine...). The "y'all"s have stayed, though -- what can I say? it's a great plural. And I say other words strangely. The word "lever" is apparently not pronounced LEE-ver; the thing you use to keep the rain off you is not an UM-brella, but an um-BRELL-a; and so on.<br />
<br />
It turns out, when I'm under duress, the colloquialisms also come back. Daisy had a pretty bad seizure very early this morning; she's been having small ones off and on, and given her advanced age -- and given the fact that she is basically a little Southern old lady herself, a case or two of the vapors every now and then is not unexpected. But this morning's was especially bad, and scared me. Scared me enough, as it turned out, to bring the Southern dialect back in full force.<br />
<br />
I called the vet's answering service in a panic and was connected with a very kind and patient person who tried to get salient information from me about what was wrong with Daisy before she called the on-call vet for me. And I was telling her, over and over, what was wrong. She kept saying, "Beg your pardon?" "I don't understand," and "Can you say that again, please, ma'am?" And I thought (but thankfully did not say), "Are you learning impaired, lady? I mean, how plain do I need to be here?"<br />
<br />
It was only when I stopped to draw breath that she said "I'm sorry, but what do you mean she's had a 'spell,' exactly?"<br />
<br />
After much of the day at the vet, Daisy is home (she'll be heading back to spend the day there under observation while I go to work tomorrow), medicated on anti seizure medicine to the point that she is snoring with her tongue stuck out, and Boo is hovering protectively.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvncGxq-CLTxn0P0dNTrUqD1duuiEVN0K2WB95s3PPQp7o19llh_WLoXAwEKs5LXOCcGrAYJLt-kH_o2J3P7q1oIOvPmjT0UQwCukHl25rBv3TmsmXIMehFFxZSYMX2_h0z4yDCa6oZFIu/s1600/IMG00153-20101213-1738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvncGxq-CLTxn0P0dNTrUqD1duuiEVN0K2WB95s3PPQp7o19llh_WLoXAwEKs5LXOCcGrAYJLt-kH_o2J3P7q1oIOvPmjT0UQwCukHl25rBv3TmsmXIMehFFxZSYMX2_h0z4yDCa6oZFIu/s320/IMG00153-20101213-1738.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-75651375734330683802010-09-30T17:58:00.000-07:002010-09-30T17:58:17.644-07:00Could it be this simple?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTdyAf2ZS-fg3exGEoENftauPNSfSd_QsMdlsphJ1c8mPFXbT-JFgil_q7i7ZUjG2Z0gyaaWfCRY3dJiqPn9nAundRDSTXFFLe4qslzqKQkSzfS1HiarB54Q4cJIkcFuJcXN1AogWxM0E/s1600/46205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTdyAf2ZS-fg3exGEoENftauPNSfSd_QsMdlsphJ1c8mPFXbT-JFgil_q7i7ZUjG2Z0gyaaWfCRY3dJiqPn9nAundRDSTXFFLe4qslzqKQkSzfS1HiarB54Q4cJIkcFuJcXN1AogWxM0E/s200/46205.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>One of the message boards I frequent has a lot of other migraine sufferers who post there -- it's not a migraine board <i>per se</i>, but lots of us get them so it's a topic that comes up pretty frequently. I was browsing topics there today when I saw a post that caught my attention. It said, "Migraine sufferers, could your light bulbs be to blame?" And it contained a link to <a href="http://www.engadget.com/2008/01/02/are-compact-fluorescent-bulbs-causing-migraines/">this brief article from 2008</a>:<br />
<blockquote><i>Sure, we know you want to do your part for the planet and all that jazz, but what if conserving energy is killing you? Okay, well, it might not be killing you, but according to a new report out of the UK, it's possible that those new-fangled fluorescent bulbs <a href="http://www.engadget.com/2007/12/24/incandescent-light-bulbs-be-to-shelved-by-2012-in-us/">everyone is telling you to buy these days</a> may be aggravating your migraines, making you nauseous, or causing you physical pain (if you've got lupus). The Daily Mail says that because the bulbs work in the same fashion as typical fluorescent bulbs (which can be irritating to some), the subtle flickering inherent to the technology can cause problems. Britain's Migraine Action Association director Paul Jansen said, "For some people a migraine attack can be triggered by fluorescent lights, video screens, stroboscopic effects and flashing lights." And added that, "We hope that the Government will allow regular light bulbs still to be available to those who need them." On the flip side, compact fluorescent supporters say only older technology or low-energy bulbs have flickering issues, and that new models being produced are clear of problems. Surely that may be the case -- but we need something to blame this stabbing eye pain on.</i></blockquote>It would sure make sense -- my headaches have dramatically increased in the last couple of years, during which I have also switched the vast majority of light bulbs at home over to compact fluorescents (to save both money and energy). The majority of my headaches used to start mid-day (when I was coincidentally at work under fluorescent lights), whereas now I get them any time of the day or night. My exposure to fluorescents was also previously limited to my work hours, and now it's basically any time I am awake.<br />
<br />
I need to do a lot more research, and even from a cursory Google search it seems the jury's out on the nexus between whatever flickering there might be in compact fluorescent bulbs and migraine headaches, but it sure makes me wonder.Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-59353342511921454872010-08-31T17:56:00.000-07:002010-08-31T17:56:23.008-07:00Various<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifLiRPEGnSI-D58KiTLvJW6rJvJiXKDROCIKO8j4AB87emf4oJyIVtPKFZKntTyJBu7P9ZfxKh8PAfH17_N8zbR7ohP6Ln_FAaMFJ9HjTq4cTCj_2skLFuln6fV_3S7QEPlkVeRkIKwjbJ/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifLiRPEGnSI-D58KiTLvJW6rJvJiXKDROCIKO8j4AB87emf4oJyIVtPKFZKntTyJBu7P9ZfxKh8PAfH17_N8zbR7ohP6Ln_FAaMFJ9HjTq4cTCj_2skLFuln6fV_3S7QEPlkVeRkIKwjbJ/s200/images.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><ul><li>Yep. I haven't written in a while. Head, work, blah blah. The reasons why are not interesting even to me.</li>
<li>The Legislature is in the death throes of its last two days of the regular legislative session (known as <i>sine die</i>, even though the technical time for that is the last day of November) -- and I am home. On the couch. Got hit pretty hard with stomach flu on Saturday and have been down ever since. All year the Legislature basically gears up for these final days, and while they are strange and challenging, they are also part and parcel of why most of us work there -- in spite of the weird hours and sleep deprivation and grueling sessions, it's what we do. And not to be there for these last two days has been ... interesting. </li>
<li>And in the last few days, a couple of my sisters in Christ have really preached to me through their examples. One became a first-time mom yesterday to a beautiful little girl -- after a pregnancy wrought with crippling morning sickness and all sorts of issues that arose from that. She too once worked in the Capitol and in the course of three years, she's now married, home full time and as of yesterday -- a mommy. It sort of blows my mind.</li>
<li>Another sister wrote on her blog about <a href="http://looseinthevineyard.blogspot.com/">her full hands</a> -- the blessing of being home with her children -- in a way that brought tears to my eyes. She acknowledged the work, the sacrifice of some things she loved from her single days, but was so clear about the blessings God's provided through His provision of a husband, children and a home to keep for them. Our lives, on the outside, could not be more different -- but her clarity and grace blessed me so much. </li>
<li>God's used both these women (and my case of the flu) to help me see that my value is not in "the building." It's the work I do, and having integrity where it's concerned is right and good, but I can serve Him where ever He puts me. The Capitol's environment can be a bit like a vacuum -- it's hard to imagine doing other work, or how your skills would even translate to the private sector, or what else you'd even be good at. Five years ago, it would have been unthinkable for me to be home these two days. I would have been beside myself. This year? I'm on the couch, eating Popsicles and sipping Gatorade and waiting for my sea legs to come back.</li>
<li>I have no idea if these ramblings even make sense.</li>
<li>In other news, Daisy's carb fixation has shifted from potato-based treats to the broader starch category. I've been making and eating lots of rice over the last couple of days, one of the few foods I have been able to keep down, and Daisy's prancing and begging has been nonstop. Her new favorite thing is teaspoon-sized balls of cold rice.</li>
</ul>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-81206258894789321522010-07-23T07:52:00.000-07:002010-07-23T07:52:31.679-07:00On pins and needles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuX0QUFcvLDh6-A6qaplMOcawH_5yyODIoUCQRhxZCODxg2GlkSan1bidWwF1Gv8AH8HFJmiu_PkLCYffhi43FFr42e7kBh9A2hmpq698H9-0jMWPE4tSYZ2CYwjSYahujEaYXYMI-s7Ls/s1600/acupuncture-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuX0QUFcvLDh6-A6qaplMOcawH_5yyODIoUCQRhxZCODxg2GlkSan1bidWwF1Gv8AH8HFJmiu_PkLCYffhi43FFr42e7kBh9A2hmpq698H9-0jMWPE4tSYZ2CYwjSYahujEaYXYMI-s7Ls/s200/acupuncture-2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I've tried so many things to alleviate my migraines -- lots of drugs and drug combinations, standard chiropractic and cervical chiropractic adjustments, adjusting my diet -- and so far, nothing has worked in a durable way. I've wanted to try acupuncture for a while, but I didn't know anyone personally who'd tried it and/or could give me a referral to a non-quack.<br />
<br />
A couple of weeks ago, lunch with a friend led to a friend of hers recommending an acupuncturist; this woman, too, had had several migraines a week and after being treated with acupuncture weekly for a couple of months, no longer had any. She's now gone a year and a half without a migraine and gets acupuncture monthly as a preventative treatment. I could barely believe my ears ("I can even drink WINE now!" she said), so one thing led to another, and I had my first acupuncture treatment Monday.<br />
<br />
I have to say, meeting with the acupuncturist was really different from my standard office visit with an MD. The acupuncturist took a really thorough medical history, including looking at my tongue and drawing a picture of it for my treatment chart. She spent a long time sort of pressing on my abdomen and lower rib cage. As she pressed I kept thinking "But it's my head that hurts. What is she doing?" And then -- ow! A tender spot right under my ribcage on the left. Weird. But she said "Aha!" She want to the same location on the right side, and there too was a sensitive spot. Apparently, soreness in these areas correlates to "congestion" in the liver and gall bladder. That congestion in turn correlates to headaches and migraines.<br />
<br />
Talking through my symptoms and triggers took a long time, and then -- out came the needles. She placed several on both sides of my abdomen where the sore spots were, a couple on each of my feet, and then a couple more in the backs of my hands and forearms. My job during all this? To lie on the table and relax. It was not in the least bit painful, but the sensation coming from a few sites where the needles were placed was interesting -- sort of a tingle or radiating feeling. After about 20 minutes, she pulled out the needles. Done.<br />
<br />
I'm going to go weekly for a while. I really hope it will provide some relief.Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com1Elk Grove, CA, USA38.4087993 -121.371617838.274285299999995 -121.60507729999999 38.5433133 -121.1381583tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-66809910929617341552010-07-17T15:31:00.000-07:002010-07-17T15:31:48.662-07:00Eliana tells the taleI can hardly stand how cute <a href="http://www.diapers4three.com/">Christina and David</a>'s kids are anyway, but Eliana's retelling of last night's adventures is almost more than I can take, cuteness wise.<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YIb0YEEDfA8&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YIb0YEEDfA8&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-12852159009113255422010-07-17T14:03:00.000-07:002010-07-17T14:03:07.405-07:00Party like it's 1998Someone seems to be a bit tuckered out today.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGVFjK0gkuIxoJ8fXW5TZsNsxhwL2bUSeAWkP3kstxav_yjZUvtOnK3kx-W6capOilvgRM6AdaA1ExJ_s6FywlRUQyApZZxQpEYE2Iec1FKp0nNmYMblVpzKLtkIWMk6XSFSjRTHazZyi/s1600/IMG00097-20100717-1237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGVFjK0gkuIxoJ8fXW5TZsNsxhwL2bUSeAWkP3kstxav_yjZUvtOnK3kx-W6capOilvgRM6AdaA1ExJ_s6FywlRUQyApZZxQpEYE2Iec1FKp0nNmYMblVpzKLtkIWMk6XSFSjRTHazZyi/s400/IMG00097-20100717-1237.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Someone has I think realized she's a lot closer to 105 in human years than 21, so she's paying a but of a price for last night's bacchanal. And she seems a little embarrassed about the whole thing, too, if that's possible.<br />
<br />
Her feet are better today and based on the snoring and drooling, she's resting comfortably.Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-29616249395001524862010-07-16T23:11:00.000-07:002010-07-17T15:29:02.672-07:00Daisy's brief but glorious life of crime<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiygUMSiiXi7eqADJV6_ZMnaUultWpaJQswlxvHYetXbctsP-0lsefIRiblES0_O1Ufmc7K_Nif83XDq-oLkxl-USwS2xZygK4j5Av9xDOvixeX0wy8reSyBa_9Zl3aHBy6J8m81QOrjEil/s1600/flyer.cfm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiygUMSiiXi7eqADJV6_ZMnaUultWpaJQswlxvHYetXbctsP-0lsefIRiblES0_O1Ufmc7K_Nif83XDq-oLkxl-USwS2xZygK4j5Av9xDOvixeX0wy8reSyBa_9Zl3aHBy6J8m81QOrjEil/s200/flyer.cfm.jpg" width="154" /></a></div>Daisy is, as I am sure most of you know, your basic small, pampered, inside dog. While remarkably spry, she is still 15 years old, so most of her adventures these days involve chasing the cat, begging for potato-based treats and sneaking upstairs to my room when I'm not looking, wriggling under the covers of my bed, and sleeping. <br />
<br />
I have a small back yard with a largely decorative, three-foot-tall wrought iron fence around its grassy area. The whole time we've lived here, which would be nine-plus years, Daisy has never once tested the fence's integrity. The visual boundary was sufficient -- this area was her yard and she had free reign within it. But she never went outside the little fence without her leash -- never even tried to.<br />
<br />
The guy who cuts my grass came today, and sometimes he doesn't close the little iron gate into the back yard when he finishes. Often I come home on Friday afternoons and it's half open, so I know to check it on Fridays in particular when I let Daisy outside when I get home. Today was no different -- the first time I let Daisy out after he left this afternoon, I visually checked the gate. It was closed; out she went.<br />
<br />
Except it wasn't closed, because after a while, I realized I'd lost track of time and went to let Daisy in -- and she was gone, the iron gate swung fully open.<br />
<br />
The next few hours were not great. Crying. Hyperventilating. Combing the neighborhood. Berating myself for not putting my cell number on her tags. Designing and printing and hanging fliers. Calling Shu! and freaking out. Walking and driving around, calling for her, listening for her, watching the sky getting darker and darker while realizing she is 15 stinking years old and a slightly feeble inside dog, not some sort of young outdoorsy creature, and the best case scenario was that she was scared and lost somewhere. <br />
<br />
Shu found someone on Craigslist who'd seen her at like 6:30 near the park by my house, and he talked me in to the area via Google Maps, and then as I was walking in that area, a couple said they'd seen a small dog running but didn't know what color is was. Adding to the fun -- I have no answering machine at home since I switched to cell for my main phone service. So I kept coming home every little bit and dialing *69 (like a creepy teenager) to see if anyone had tried to call while I was out looking since they couldn't leave messages. Finally at almost 10:00, pay dirt -- *69 gave me a number to a guy, Nathan, who had Daisy at his house! Which was almost a mile away in the opposite direction to where the Craigslist lady had made her sighting. Daisy Mae Clampitt had covered some ground.<br />
<br />
With Shu! on the speaker phone I drove over -- to find Daisy drinking bottled water out of a cute little bowl surrounded by gang bangers (complete with scary tattoos and shaved heads) sitting in lawn chairs in a circle around her on the driveway. I ran to her -- she was completely unhurt, a miracle in itself -- and she looked at me puzzled, like she had no idea who this sweaty crying lady was. The guys were very sweet about the whole thing, and she hung over my shoulder, looking back at Nathan longingly as I carried her to the car for the drive home. Halfway through which she seemed to remember "Oh, right, the lady who feeds me," and climbed into my lap.<br />
<br />
So, to sum up, Daisy is out on her own a matter of hours and manages both to join a gang and find herself a boyfriend. She is a little tender footed from her adventure (it was 103 or something crazy today, so I'm sure the the texture and warmth of the pavement have made her feet sore) but otherwise just fine. I, on the other hand, may need a little more recovery time.<br />
<br />
Thanks to everyone for their prayers and concern. And to Shu!, for his cool-headedness and rapid operational strategy. It takes a village.<br />
<i></i>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-13472094881998594262010-07-08T12:36:00.000-07:002010-07-08T12:36:37.307-07:00The latest from Wisteria Lane<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXZYUxqW-xJiNEvOmlFX2ky4E2WAk-KQSxW8qPgR0ZVBf9M8r4Qak987zd8uQ8NCeyyPZReTE0KE3l-7_abNvBz0pc_PVJP80cSiOEWBZMXxRLwNgQ-MjAupbBU0VQo5v0Da_bAfde50O/s1600/Markwort-Wiffle-Ball-Plasti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXZYUxqW-xJiNEvOmlFX2ky4E2WAk-KQSxW8qPgR0ZVBf9M8r4Qak987zd8uQ8NCeyyPZReTE0KE3l-7_abNvBz0pc_PVJP80cSiOEWBZMXxRLwNgQ-MjAupbBU0VQo5v0Da_bAfde50O/s200/Markwort-Wiffle-Ball-Plasti.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I have been home the last couple of days, weaning myself off the most recent failed anti-migraine drug. Going on the meds is always hard, but going off is definitely worse. I'm not going to lie -- it's been pretty rough. And if any of you hear me say ever again, "The doctor wants me to try a new preventative drug and I think I'm going to give it a shot!" you have my advance permission to smack sense into me or take away my prescription card or to otherwise take whatever steps are needed to intervene and make me not do it. Really.<br />
<br />
But since the Legislature is, if not in formal recess, in sort of an informal stupor, I haven't missed much. And it turns out there are all sorts of fascinating goings on here in the neighborhood which I don't get to enjoy while gainfully employed.<br />
<br />
For instance, the neighbor whose daughter stole my door mat and blocks me into my driveway with her car? Has apparently reunited with her husband. I know this because over the 4th of July weekend there was a giant WHOMP! sort of noise early one morning and, lo and behold, a semi dropped off one of those enormous rectangular container thingies people load their stuff in when they move. Except this one was refrigerated. (Why? Is there a moose or something in there?) Anyway, he and the rectangular thingy were both here through the long weekend. And now the container is gone but he's still here, with the Nickelback blasting. So, yay. A reunion.<br />
<br />
The little boy next door who constantly screams continues to do so. His grandparents have been visiting so there's been lots of wiffle-ball-like behaviors followed by uproarious applause, and he's been screaming at them that he loves them, too, just like he screams at his mommy, so that's a really nice thing. At one point his grandmother said something like, "We are so proud of you!" and he screamed back, "I KNOW!" Ha.<br />
<br />
Daisy's love of potato-based treats continues apace. I've made tater tots a couple of times over the last few days (potatoes + salt are something that's agreeing with my rebelling digestion), and both times I've caught her while they were baking licking at the opening where the oven door's hinge is and scratching at it. By the time they're out, she just paces and whines and snuffles 'til I share with her.<br />
<br />
And I watched "Cloverfield." If you haven't seen it, please don't.Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-76061526655046482692010-07-03T11:33:00.000-07:002010-07-03T11:33:15.028-07:00Finding something you didn't know was lostMy mom and I had a, shall we say, challenging relationship. We were very different kinds of people in the first place, which didn't help matters, and while we had some degree of love for each other, I don't think either of us liked the other a great deal. Then there was the brutal childhood and string of stepfathers. I wound up leaving home at 18, finding my way to Alaska through a series of misadventures (pretty much as far away from her as I could be from her and not need a work visa) and winding up in California, where I married and basically built my life as much without her as I could.<br />
<br />
But I was an only child. So try as I might to stretch the bonds between us to near the breaking point, and I went years at one point without speaking to her, we eventually settled into a somewhat brittle relationship just as I was finishing college. Recently separated, I was more open to some sort of family, even if it wasn't exactly ideal. And she had made some changes in her life that made this a safer thing to try out.<br />
<br />
Just about two years later she was diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer, which she fought tooth and nail. I went home every 28 days to be with her for the weekend following every chemo treatment, and those years are a literal blur. Somehow having a pretty demanding job at the Capitol here, shuttling back and forth, managing doctors and caregivers and, eventually, hospice from afar. She died in 2001; I packed up her house (with lots of help), moved most of it to California and basically carried on.<br />
<br />
I kept a lot of her books; I love books myself, maybe more than she did even, and though the majority of them weren't things I'd choose to read personally, it seemed like a way of keeping a piece of her close. They have been stacked in a spare bedroom in my house, mixed up with books of my own, waiting for me to find the gumption to organize them properly.<br />
<br />
Cut to this week, when I found myself ferreting around up there for a particular book. When instead I found this.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2JNtfN5yF5uzzDFfrN38r5rg9CCTDoLXmGa6QHNMNJtJYYU9rZfAScmpLn8fZHynq1-gUp6QJdGyjZqhzbHIKb6422D-TBihWDOq8GDclhrZqsQdBzZWCZnHyP5Q-mm-cjiA1Rni1K3P1/s1600/IMG00070-20100701-1602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2JNtfN5yF5uzzDFfrN38r5rg9CCTDoLXmGa6QHNMNJtJYYU9rZfAScmpLn8fZHynq1-gUp6QJdGyjZqhzbHIKb6422D-TBihWDOq8GDclhrZqsQdBzZWCZnHyP5Q-mm-cjiA1Rni1K3P1/s400/IMG00070-20100701-1602.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
A very old Bible. Weird that I hadn't noticed it before, but I figured it was my grandmother's, since she'd attended church. I looked inside.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mGslSKf01-6635MrCFpovwO1-EztJLCvYf1bHNy4VpEyAqDN6NXZchKY-hmdpm74TnFKQlGjylZbKf8swOL2P0GbcDqwLU8eokMga25Yn1E9C4AuY4RZiMHhhbCKM_iyH2tTNEsqnG_O/s1600/IMG00071-20100701-1605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mGslSKf01-6635MrCFpovwO1-EztJLCvYf1bHNy4VpEyAqDN6NXZchKY-hmdpm74TnFKQlGjylZbKf8swOL2P0GbcDqwLU8eokMga25Yn1E9C4AuY4RZiMHhhbCKM_iyH2tTNEsqnG_O/s400/IMG00071-20100701-1605.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
It had my mother's maiden name in it. Weirder still. Then, the clincher...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXNn55AAiEGsfjum08Uj_YM_XvHShpJQfjCfHja1Eb6nGDzTxKb2taJA_wmJqnHi2BahygQ4_dSt1kMrA5YF8elfY_rgd_v8n9xvQCuqbQfhLoxvavLxdNMF_j9L4JmJ4FW91eUM2Y_P3/s1600/IMG00072-20100701-1603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXNn55AAiEGsfjum08Uj_YM_XvHShpJQfjCfHja1Eb6nGDzTxKb2taJA_wmJqnHi2BahygQ4_dSt1kMrA5YF8elfY_rgd_v8n9xvQCuqbQfhLoxvavLxdNMF_j9L4JmJ4FW91eUM2Y_P3/s400/IMG00072-20100701-1603.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
It had been given to her by her father. Who died when she I was think 7 or 8. <br />
<br />
As someone who felt so separate and apart from her mother even in the closest of moments, this remembrance of her as a little girl, as some one's daughter, bowled me over. A snapshot of her from a time when she was small enough to call her father Daddy and before all badness and craziness and disease. And now that I am a Christian, that we share some connection -- however fleeting, however small -- to the same text.<br />
<br />
I keep turning the book over in my hands, wanting to sort of get familiar with it. Its pages are yellowed and its binding weakened, so I have to be really careful, but I've officially moved it out of the piles of books to be sorted some day and down to the family room, where I can see it every day.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBLO-rURuwpzrtMWNg_ElycMTJqwi3ISLKX6NRmyqeDXpVQLxdZGQnyKyE2yEgglg17Qpr0gfF63JlnPW4ZnG40ksflHXqNQdYbPqW4BCqgl1RibrnCsGoKTM9q8lWaIkf8_E6OzSi9jZ/s1600/IMG00073-20100701-1604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBLO-rURuwpzrtMWNg_ElycMTJqwi3ISLKX6NRmyqeDXpVQLxdZGQnyKyE2yEgglg17Qpr0gfF63JlnPW4ZnG40ksflHXqNQdYbPqW4BCqgl1RibrnCsGoKTM9q8lWaIkf8_E6OzSi9jZ/s400/IMG00073-20100701-1604.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-62492486872095556382010-07-01T18:04:00.000-07:002010-07-01T21:12:36.141-07:00Maybe it's time for a webcam<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJlxQorrHAIzI-iYS-QvFmxGypYI6hnU6nNfWCc0M8fvpdOfy4C_CPDIiA3d7TpFmfK1aB6I9rqaPnUCKKaH_Vz5bpOjbYQskgL40juWS7BQ8gA5WRddClTC49ev8z4roNmimyifthZZN3/s1600/raccoon-ate-your-garbage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJlxQorrHAIzI-iYS-QvFmxGypYI6hnU6nNfWCc0M8fvpdOfy4C_CPDIiA3d7TpFmfK1aB6I9rqaPnUCKKaH_Vz5bpOjbYQskgL40juWS7BQ8gA5WRddClTC49ev8z4roNmimyifthZZN3/s320/raccoon-ate-your-garbage.jpg" width="240" /></a>I take <a href="http://www.drugs.com/ambien.html">Ambien</a> to help me sleep.<br />
<br />
I've had bouts of insomnia since I was little, and about six weeks or so ago, when I hadn't slept for a couple of days and I mentioned it in passing to my doctor during a migraine appointment, she prescribed Ambien. The sleeplessness might or might be a symptom or causal agent for my headaches, we agreed, but whatever the case, I should be getting some sleep. Every day.<br />
<br />
And the sleep has been amazing. Sound sleep undisturbed by my neighbors' garage band and domestic squabbles and pool parties. I actually look forward to going to bed now and wake up feeling much more rested. But I have (apparently) been experiencing at least one of Ambien's most famous side effects -- <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/03/13/AR2006031301317.html">sleep walking</a>.<br />
<br />
It started out with small hints of something being awry. For example, one morning I came downstairs to find the doors of my TV armoire closed. I rarely close them, since the TV runs so warm and I want air to circulate freely. I didn't remember closing it before I went to bed, but whatever. <br />
<br />
Then there was the Peanut Butter Incident. I haven't eaten peanut butter since I made the connection between nuts and headaches, and I thought I'd thrown own my last jar. Imagine my surprise when I found an open jar on my kitchen counter one morning -- its lid off and a spoon sitting next to it. All lined up, the spoon licked clean. Apparently my unconscious mind remembered I still had peanut butter in the pantry and wanted a snack. Thankfully there weren't finger marks in the jar.<br />
<br />
But finally this week, when I woke up on the couch in the family room with no idea how I'd gotten there -- no memory of getting a blanket out of the linen closet, going down the stairs and curling up with the pets on the couch in the middle of the night -- I had to laugh. I guess I should be worried about what all else I do in the night, that I'll sleepwalk to the garage and paw through the garbage cans like a raccoon or buy a car online or something. But truthfully, the nighttime antics have mostly amused me. The idea that there's a Sleeping Nora who has a pretty interesting life going on, with the wandering around and eating snacks and potentially watching cable. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>For the time being at least, I'm going to make sure all my blinds are closed before I head to bed and keep looking for clues in the morning.<br />
<br />
<i>Edited to add: Eric reminded me that I also rearranged the kitchen in my sleep! I'd completely forgotten. I woke up one morning to find Sleeping Nora had moved an entire shelf of cookbooks, an espresso machine and coffee maker to different places in the kitchen. I like the arrangement just fine, as it turns out, but that was pretty weird, too.</i>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-15372645656248418162010-05-31T10:01:00.000-07:002010-05-31T10:01:00.277-07:00On Memorial Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsWBBWHwgbfOYIj7cUygRnrmKM9CQbJxJPY9fUYmFM3Enp79gyAwKnr9Xi2Lggoj78na6SI_lu4VDgZ6XMRrMbiZzMEgtqkJhupdIqVlEf8d2FdjmIh8IgvLxpcLt7VyYoHYiQWGfuDOcv/s1600/ihatewar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsWBBWHwgbfOYIj7cUygRnrmKM9CQbJxJPY9fUYmFM3Enp79gyAwKnr9Xi2Lggoj78na6SI_lu4VDgZ6XMRrMbiZzMEgtqkJhupdIqVlEf8d2FdjmIh8IgvLxpcLt7VyYoHYiQWGfuDOcv/s200/ihatewar.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>These days I'm reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B002HJV79U/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_1?pf_rd_p=486539851&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=0684804484&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=022YMA0WHGMRJ8FT3QS5"><i>No Ordinary Time</i></a>, an amazing book by the way, and as I've read about the days leading up to World War II, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franklin_D._Roosevelt">President Franklin Roosevelt</a>'s faith in the American people has been striking -- faith in their ability to meet challenges, to overcome want and to strive despite overwhelming circumstances to make the world safer, fairer and more open. <br />
<br />
But he knew that none of that came without a price. That however much isolation from Europe's tyrants we were afforded by ocean borders, as long as we stood for something that flew in the face of subjugation and cruelty, eventually we would have to join the fight.<br />
<br />
FDR had no illusions about <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">war's</span> horrors, price and reality. And to whom it would fall to bear their brunt. With the Great War still sharp in Americans' memories and Nazis sweeping through Europe, he committed the country's military materiel (such as it was at the time, given protectionist world views), factory production, and eventually its young men (my father among them) to the second world war in a generation.<br />
<blockquote><i>I have seen war... . I have seen war on land and sea. I have seen blood running from the wounded... . I have seen the dead in the mud. I have seen cities destroyed... . I have seen children starving. I have seen the agony of mothers and wives. I hate war.</i></blockquote>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com1Elk Grove, CA 95758, USA38.3591901 -121.42276138.2245836 -121.65622049999999 38.493796599999996 -121.1893015tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-10882752216391946212010-05-30T07:33:00.000-07:002010-05-30T07:33:31.129-07:00Acoustic KillersLifted from <a href="http://blackbird17.blogspot.com/">say la vee</a>. An acoustic version of The Killers' "All These Things That I Have Done." What a sweet voice <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Killers">Brandon Flowers</a> has.<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/MY1h5MU9Kqo&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MY1h5MU9Kqo&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com0Elk Grove, CA 95758, USA38.3591901 -121.42276138.2245836 -121.65622049999999 38.493796599999996 -121.1893015tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-41058301949660065632010-05-22T06:23:00.000-07:002010-05-22T06:23:42.546-07:00Eat mor chikin 4 free<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuOh7cTL_-Jv79pLBRbyY9wx0e-peCrstOBcJ9YeFvpP2qI96oPLcna3XqL5XtwH4_XBFkWQo3pk9xQDOqOPA4iZj94nx5JpD5CWHCAnvLTM257M01pPlVvAykFwj9I2Oqy1fCb4MuINO/s1600/sidebar_cow_eatmore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuOh7cTL_-Jv79pLBRbyY9wx0e-peCrstOBcJ9YeFvpP2qI96oPLcna3XqL5XtwH4_XBFkWQo3pk9xQDOqOPA4iZj94nx5JpD5CWHCAnvLTM257M01pPlVvAykFwj9I2Oqy1fCb4MuINO/s200/sidebar_cow_eatmore.jpg" width="100" /></a></div>Chick-fil-A will be offering free spicy chicken sandwiches from May 31-June 5.<br />
<br />
I am compelled by this. Chick-fil-A chicken is pretty much perfect as it is now, but I love spicy things. I really, really, really hope it's not gross. <br />
<br />
You have to make a "reservation," but who cares? Free is free, y'all. And my birthday's that week, so yay.<br />
<br />
Go here:<br />
<br />
http://www.getspicychicken.com/<br />
<br />
And in other Chick-fil-A news, the last time I ate there I had the nuggets and highly recommend them. Really nice breading-to-chicken ratio thanks to the overall greater surface area.Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-60864340444179570972010-05-19T19:28:00.000-07:002010-05-19T19:28:24.648-07:00There are no wordsAn engineer's guide to cats.<br />
<br />
I... yeah. You just have to watch, really.<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mHXBL6bzAR4&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mHXBL6bzAR4&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-34131777527689423732010-05-18T16:52:00.000-07:002010-05-18T16:52:54.078-07:00Changing my tune on the iPad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Dk0bhL3NhXYUkI_VMuPuRs4n8UdUqGz5d8kOe2kpkvZlhTgYRb8puRXyDA0rPLsXhRxDE8c5jgYPGji8kCRPbXyvjUGzqOOJpPi8q83ZR67pYM-PN-qhXUddGsfhcznaVhm-HfnXr26x/s1600/ipad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Dk0bhL3NhXYUkI_VMuPuRs4n8UdUqGz5d8kOe2kpkvZlhTgYRb8puRXyDA0rPLsXhRxDE8c5jgYPGji8kCRPbXyvjUGzqOOJpPi8q83ZR67pYM-PN-qhXUddGsfhcznaVhm-HfnXr26x/s320/ipad.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>I'm a self confessed Apple junkie. I just love how well their products work as well as their design -- so much so, that when my <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">MacBook</span> recently made a pretty serious suicide attempt, I nearly immediately replaced it with an <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iMac</span>. The laptop has since mysteriously came back to life, more or less, so I still use it occasionally -- when I want to cuddle with Daisy on the couch, for example -- but most of my hardcore work and surfing is now done on the desktop, and I love it, too.<br />
<br />
The night last month when I bought my <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iMac</span>, the Apple Store was just a-swarm with people fiddling with the store's <a href="http://www.apple.com/ipad/"><span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iPads</span></a>. And, really, I just didn't get the furor at all. Its screen was too small, I thought, to be of real work use. And even if it were bigger, it's hard to produce multi-page documents if you're typing on a <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">faux</span> (touch screen) keyboard. I already <a href="http://norasomething.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-precious.html">have and love a Kindle</a>, so its book reading ability didn't suck me in. And its ability to <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">watch</span> videos wasn't a selling point for me. Basically, I need a portable computer to be a portable <i>computer</i>, not an overly ambitious <a href="http://www.apple.com/ipodtouch/"><span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iPod</span> touch</a>. This was the first Apple product* that I wasn't drawn to at once. <br />
<br />
But then, I read <a href="http://gizmodo.com/5541821/the-ipad-is-such-a-great-travel-computer-im-selling-my-laptop">this</a> today from <a href="http://gizmodo.com/"><span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Gizmodo</span></a>. And as quickly as that, my mind has been changed:<br />
<blockquote><i>I went nearly 24 hours without charging my <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iPad</span>, watching four hours of video, reading books for a couple of hours, getting in a few rounds of <a href="http://strategerygame.com/"><i><span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Strategery</span></i></a>, and still had a bit less than half of my battery life left when I hit the ground three planes later. That longevity changes the experience profoundly, more than making up for the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iPad's</span> deficiencies for me. Except for editing video, there's not a single thing in my <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">workflow</span> that I can't do on the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iPad</span>, and I haven't even begun to experiment using <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">VNC</span> or other screen sharing tools to connect back to my <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iMac</span> to access its "real" computing power.<br />
...<br />
But I returned from this trip convinced that this form factor has legs. (And everything I came to appreciate about the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iPad's</span> merit as a travel computer should apply to Android and <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">WebOS</span> tablets, if and when those actually make it to market with a consumer-friendly level of <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">UX</span> refinement.) Since I have a power-guzzling traditional computer on my desktop to do all the heavy lifting when I'm home, I don't see a place for my laptop in my life right now. I had an inkling that might have been the case when I bought my <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iPad</span>, but I had to take a leap of faith to be sure.</i></blockquote>If the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iPad</span> can easily produce documents with the simple addition of a <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Bluetooth</span> keyboard, weigh next to nothing and have a really long battery life, then it meets all the needs I could want out of my <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">MacBook</span>. Whenever my <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">MacBook</span> finally does die for real, I know what my next Apple purchase will be.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">* Leaving aside <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">iPhones</span> because I have/had cell phone provider/Outlook compatibility issues that drove my decisions in this arena. </span>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-1173019626799269842010-05-11T20:02:00.000-07:002010-05-11T20:02:08.927-07:00A vending machine made of winYep, that's bacon in there.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKgkL5TWiLYDhOYz2sEaCB3lwwhazaMt42YKHawd91OjfyhYrtBBZNmtnU-As_quzgQHkaxtOT2ZKwedfYN7Ce2m8b1UctK6YCDFUr8fL3tVztn_SqhFPORw1b2jBJ_yN6GqUo2CzAKSM/s1600/IMG_2030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKgkL5TWiLYDhOYz2sEaCB3lwwhazaMt42YKHawd91OjfyhYrtBBZNmtnU-As_quzgQHkaxtOT2ZKwedfYN7Ce2m8b1UctK6YCDFUr8fL3tVztn_SqhFPORw1b2jBJ_yN6GqUo2CzAKSM/s640/IMG_2030.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>And various other forms of meat. But really, the bacon is the point.Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-32296738121406807252010-05-09T06:30:00.000-07:002010-05-09T06:30:00.510-07:00Happy Mother's DayAn old favorite. I like this ska-ified rendition.<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CEnwgi4E69w&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CEnwgi4E69w&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-60631689026752968072010-05-08T17:05:00.000-07:002010-05-08T17:27:56.955-07:00Memoranda<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8O7eIOBQh0BxewLMmPFvVnihTK1BMAyQTBw_LT2RqqiJR2XPyyWRBgAb0Ul0yS7WphIyh8mTaEcQEcqHm_zs6MFMv3ZtKIM6jOuUzzZAHZTaCZDga8SR7Rb2ItOUNtGQlSDqsjCQczzI/s1600/blog-nickelback%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8O7eIOBQh0BxewLMmPFvVnihTK1BMAyQTBw_LT2RqqiJR2XPyyWRBgAb0Ul0yS7WphIyh8mTaEcQEcqHm_zs6MFMv3ZtKIM6jOuUzzZAHZTaCZDga8SR7Rb2ItOUNtGQlSDqsjCQczzI/s200/blog-nickelback%5B1%5D.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>To: Fellow neighbors on Wisteria Lane<br />
From: Mild-Mannered Lady Who Does Her Best to Keep to Herself<br />
<b>Re: I have apparently found my breaking point</b><br />
<br />
So, I don't say anything when your pot and/or cigarette smoke drifts over the fence and through my open windows. Or when you decide that the thing to do at 12:30 AM is to throw yourself, cannonball-style, into your pool, whooping when you hit the water. Or when your garage band practices and one of the guitarists (because you need more than one when all your "band" seems to play is the same section of Steely Dan over and over...) is flat, seriously flat -- to the point that I, a non-musician, cringe pretty regularly at the dissonance. It's all part of living in a community. Or something.<br />
<br />
But I am not kidding when I say this -- turn down the freaking Nickelback. I can't make you turn it off completely, I don't guess, and I can't blame you for wanting to blast music while you're composting your plants or cleaning your pool or whatever, but if you continue to bombard your general vicinity that faux rock music after the sun goes down, I guess we'll see what our little suburb's noise ordinances specify about appropriate times of day and decibel levels. Because aside from being clear about <a href="http://www.gnpcb.org/esv/search/?q=1+John+4%3A10">the depravity of my sin and my complete reliance on Christ to pay the price for it</a>, I am also pretty clear about music. And Nickelback? No. Just -- no.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2b79gYEeBlEithDBsFL3JiBiMCdFqxt2k13jBCVGYpPgI-MlLV-MYVlLKBQ_SzMVc9neeJvcKTH4NnFClQCWLtkUf-aJ2BCLS4wjGJhfUCIPN70rnz77TOKbaFwO_uAkyzDNL0SMFsvJS/s1600/Litter+Box+Unhooded.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2b79gYEeBlEithDBsFL3JiBiMCdFqxt2k13jBCVGYpPgI-MlLV-MYVlLKBQ_SzMVc9neeJvcKTH4NnFClQCWLtkUf-aJ2BCLS4wjGJhfUCIPN70rnz77TOKbaFwO_uAkyzDNL0SMFsvJS/s200/Litter+Box+Unhooded.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>To: Boo<br />
From: The Human You Barely Tolerate Who Feeds and Houses You<br />
<b>Re: It's me or the vet -- you make the call</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
Cat litter? In your eyes? Both of them at the same time? How did you do this? And why won't you let me get it all out so you can see and/or not get some sort of really gross infection?<br />
<br />
And while we're at it -- stop growling at me. Honestly. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPy8xvoW8_Te3mrbXjbgEnDjzVCZhO5VNXn27zNa0NGU2QCK6locZvLnJOQ7Yx6R3k2hIxnQrUXLRnhAbYgHnP2dy70B6dcVREQKjIbWx7HQGXh4jgFtmZEKFZkrmGc5FrmTz0mFYhLmw_/s1600/Studio_4_compressed_15846_2349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPy8xvoW8_Te3mrbXjbgEnDjzVCZhO5VNXn27zNa0NGU2QCK6locZvLnJOQ7Yx6R3k2hIxnQrUXLRnhAbYgHnP2dy70B6dcVREQKjIbWx7HQGXh4jgFtmZEKFZkrmGc5FrmTz0mFYhLmw_/s200/Studio_4_compressed_15846_2349.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><span id="goog_585960633"></span><span id="goog_585960634"></span>To: CNN<br />
From: Frequent viewer<br />
<b>Re: All sizzle, no steak</b><br />
<br />
Your <a href="http://cnnobservations.blogspot.com/2010/03/cnns-new-hd-studio-features-versatile.html">new fangled high def studio</a> makes me dizzy. It's oddly open and the camera crews following the "talent" around are really distracting and the new graphics packages often contain misspelled words or are incorrectly punctuated.<br />
<br />
You've got too many things going on, and too few of them are news.Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732119440525194004.post-84568808811116853822010-04-30T19:04:00.001-07:002010-04-30T19:33:48.992-07:00Try not to be too jealous of how I spend my Friday nights<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuSl2oCKYmis8ZhgaI1IEb3OZ8-7174B3opFjkc0iF7XzUkVN6A_z4fBrohr6pIou1gMcTIHvNcjRorvmovaiTbY0br4MiFHtxwGOhLIsklGQbO2cKXPH0ejMeeswHXn21r2IhEcodEpCY/s1600/lightbulb.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 158px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuSl2oCKYmis8ZhgaI1IEb3OZ8-7174B3opFjkc0iF7XzUkVN6A_z4fBrohr6pIou1gMcTIHvNcjRorvmovaiTbY0br4MiFHtxwGOhLIsklGQbO2cKXPH0ejMeeswHXn21r2IhEcodEpCY/s200/lightbulb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466123712324975826" border="0" /></a>I don't know how to fold a fitted sheet. How I have manage to be almost 45 years old without mastering this, I am not sure, but there it is.<br /><br />Tonight, trying to get a jump on my weekend chores by throwing in a few loads of laundry, I've been wrestling, quite literally, with queen-sized fitted sheets. The flat sheets and pillow cases have easily been folded into tidy rectangles, and then there's the fitted one sitting next to them -- a cottony lump without corners, without true folds. Just -- there.<br /><br />I found myself thinking, "I'm sure there's a method to this or an easier way or <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span>. I wish someone could just <span style="font-style: italic;">show</span> me."<br /><br />And then -- it occurred to me. Al Gore's internet! And YouTube specifically! Someone *would* show me, in a manner of speaking.<br /><br />I am apparently not alone in the "how the heck to you fold one of these things, anyway?" category. There were quite a few how-to videos on the subject. I liked this one, mostly because the man's accent sounds like home to me.<br /><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YHTyH2nuFAw&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YHTyH2nuFAw&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="480"></embed></object>Nora :)http://www.blogger.com/profile/00121275890271547209noreply@blogger.com3