How an Ankle is Unlike a Consequence

Somewhere between the ages of around 8 and 12 months, most babies begin to explore the fact that actions have consequences. Who hasn't seen a 10-month old delight in repeatedly dropping a spoon or cup or something off the side of their high hair, and there parent's eventual dismay (after the 100th time) in picking it up? The infant learns that actions have consequences - or essentially, the basic idea of cause and effect. It's not a difficult concept.

And yet somehow as adults, we can conveniently forget what we learned as an infant. There's all kinds of moralizing I could do here, but I'm not part of that kind of denomination, so I'll get to my own personal amnesia problems.

When I started this blog in June of this year, I had just finished the women's soccer league season. The bizarre-o question offered to me when filling out my profile was the title of this post.

In the beginning of the season, I had a brief, but vicious, battle for the ball with the opposition, resulting in something feeling oh-so-very-wrong and painful. I limped for awhile, came back in 3 days to play again - could only play goalie because I couldn't run - and even then, couldn't kick the ball too well. I played the rest of the season almost entirely with my left foot. Good practice for the left foot, I have to say.

And then I proceeded to "think it was getting better" for the next 7 months. Seven months is a long time.

What kept me from the doctor? The cost? The fact that they make you sit in their offices for unimaginable lengths of time to sit with you for 5 minutes and tell you nothing is wrong?

I was essentially told as much early last month - do some therapy, strengthen it, you'll be good to go. 7 weeks later, I find out I have a torn ligament and scarred bone/cartilage (the consequence of waiting 7 months to have it checked, and an extra 7 weeks for the doctor to get it right).

So, surgery is the ultimate consequence. Playing soccer voraciously and not understanding (or, more accurately, acknowledging) my body's limititations were the causes. The ankle was merely the vehicle used to demonstrate my stubborness and stupidity. Poor ankle.

As one of my astute coworkers said, "It's not like anyone's going to feel bad for you - you went and ran a 5-mile trail run after you found out you needed surgery." Indeed. He might as well have chuckled and said, "Idiot..."

Does misery love company?

My personal misery does not tend to love company. I think if I had to do "it" all over again ("it" being a job/career choice), I would choose something that worked almost entirely completely alone. Perhaps a forensic pathologist. An organic cotton farmer in West Texas? I hear there's land for sale there. I might have to talk to the two other people living out there - the one in the ol' Mississippi cruiser boat, and the other in the little shiny trailer c. 1952.

I'm actually having a hard time thinking up solitary jobs. Fish and game folks seem to be out there alone quite a bit. Me as a fish and game folk - ha! Now that's a good one. I could go back to one of my earliest posts and cite my desire to be a bike messenger - bike messenging doesn't seem to be in high demand in Idaho Falls.

Of course I'm not really owning my current career, since I have a hard time considering it a choice. And yet, what have my last 3 jobs been? Software engineer? My mom said, "You made it your choice by choosing not to take all the other opportunities you had." (approx. wording). Ouch. How true.

The first oppotunities I turned down were all the PhD programs in Linguistics I was accepted into - MIT, Stanford, University of Massachusetts, UC Santa Cruz. Then, it was the PhD program in computer science at Penn that I quit after about two months into it. Then it was turning down a second acceptance to UC Santa Cruz. Then it was leaving a place (DC area) with gobs of job opportunities (including one as a computational linguist at this company in Arlington that ended up getting bought out and every employee became quite wealthy - can someone hand me a knife - I'd like to stab myself in the heart - see, that I was offered and turned down because I was pregnant and the person who was my boss essentially said I'd have to not spend too much time parenting in order to be successful there). Then it was deciding at the last minute NOT to take the MCATs and finish my medical school application (we're up to c. 2003 now) - I could've lived the forensic pathologist dream! Then it was returning from Pittsburgh - where, anyway, who knows if I'd have any worthwhile choices there anyway. I probably would've been too busy being an essentially single parent to think about anything.

It sounds like I really don't need anyone else to help me create my misery. I do a good job of defeating myself. I'm the kind of person who always talks about wanting to have goals, but when I have one, it seems like I can't follow through. At least, I haven't in my post-college, adult life.

I try to focus less on "career" but unfortunately, the way I work now, it envelopes everything - work is like bookends on my day. Work most of the day, get the kids, do dinner and some other things, and then finish the night with work. It needs to back off perhaps. Or maybe I just need to back off.

On a different and final note, I cooked for no one tonight - how appropriate that such an event should happen the day after yesterday's post where I said I wouldn't care to cook even if there was no one to eat it. I made a one-dish meal out of November cooking light - a whole-grain version of a risotto. It would've really knocked my socks off if I had found the porcini mushrooms I needed - maybe I'm better off without them. I used these dried porcini mushrooms once that, well, we thought perhaps caused us to hallucinate. Ah well.

Lucy, dear heart that she is, felt sorry for me today. She took pity and ate the dish, mushrooms and wild rice and pearl barley and all. And claimed that she really liked it. Asked for more, and also claimed it was better than Daddy's risotto - because that didn't have enough flavor. She said later, "I really did like it, actually. I'm not just saying that." It was very touching. She's a sweet kid.

Mooseheads in the Basement (Post 12/12/06)

NOTE: THIS IS A SORT OF AMUSING POST I FOUND IN MY DRAFTS FROM 12/12/06. I EDITED OUT WORK-SPECIFIC INFO - I THINK THAT'S WHY I DIDN'T POST IT AT THE TIME.


When I first came to Idaho to house shop over six years ago, I really sort of kept my mind open - at the time, having a lot of positive, anticipatory feelings toward the place I'd be moving to. I kept the typical thoughts on Idaho-type places in the "being-judgmental" bin in my head. For example, "Every house will have one or more animal heads or portions of animal heads."

Well, not every house. I decided I couldn't purchase a house with animal heads. I knew, logically, they'd be removed before I'd move in (one would hope), but I had thought there would be some bit of bad karma to the place forever more, having housed part of a dead thing for some amount of time.

Many houses have animal heads. Generally, they are in basements. People live in their basements here. I'm in my basement right now, in fact. When you realize how non-damp and non-drafty and completely cozy basements are in Idaho, you learn to live down there, too. I have not, however, gone so far as to shoot something and nail it up to stare at me each day.

Anyway, that's my little "Living in Idaho" schpiel for the day. On to the personal aspects of my life. So, last week, we had a fabulous work dinner attended by all the folks who have worked on the [Can't say!] project past or current. We had a large side of beef cooked to perfection, as well as a spread of a whole bunch of other things - one certainly didn't go hungry.

The moose, along with some exotic deer, mounted fish, and other formerly woodsy animal folk looked on. I didn't realize that you can mount real fish.

Lately I've been trying to think about what to make for Christmas and New Years. I love holiday dinners. But really, I love any day's dinner. I especially like Christmas because it's a great excuse to make more cookies. So far this week, I've tried out two different dishes - Salmon in roasted tomato sauce (from Cooking Light), and Roasted Chicken breast with sun-dried tomatoes and artichokes (from my head and whatever I had in the refrigerator). I love cooking. I decided this week that I love to cook so much I'd cook even if there was no one to eat it. The salmon actually went over quite well with the kids - Ethan said, "Mommy, it's beautiful." And he ate it, too.

Living the spiritual

I'm waiting out the baking time of some banana bread right now, so beware - I'm feeling chatty. This bread may really suck - I was missing yogurt - one of the ingredients, because a certain bottomless-pit member of my family ate all the yogurts before he left this week. Tsk tsk tsk. I have to be truly annoying about it.

I substituted. I'll let you know how that baby turned out. I already had a pumpkin chocolate chip bread stick to the pan. Fortunately, for all of us, including my tummy that would like to increase in bulk, the bubble bread turned out just perfectly.

On to the topic alluded to by the title. Spiritual indeed. I carry my camera almost everywhere, and yet, not on my latest cross country ski jaunt around the old trails up at Targhee. I'm not quite sure what it was about last Saturday, but the world out there seemed so unbelievably exquisite. It was bone chilling, no doubt - what with the slight wind, falling snow, and temperatures hovering somewhere under 10 degrees (that's Farenheit, friends) - why be explicit about the number. But I thought it was beautiful. For whatever reason, I felt a spiritual presence.

Things seemed clearer. I saw myself with my flaws and open sores - I took a look with knowing that I wasn't alone, that I could look, that I could look, see, and decide to change, to improve, to be happy.

All I could mostly see was white. Pure white - an occasional pole, a tree trunk here and there. And I could hear nothing (or almost nothing, an occasional wa-hoo from the far side of the ski mountain - it was fantastic powder).

What a contrast to the feelings and emotions I've had in the actual church structure lately. The church structure where I feel so little at home, so alien, and I don't hear the voice of God - and certainly not much of a spirit.

I know that being a member of a church community is extremely important - supposedly - and I can understand it. I can, to a certain degree.

A woman died in during our church service on Sunday. I saw her face after she died. David was with her, next to her, when she died. She smiled sweetly and died. She wanted to die in church.

She, more than anyone I've encountered at church in the last two years or so, demonstrated the presence of the Spirit in the church.

It's hard to understand or say precisely what's going on in my head. I've been so unhappy about going to church. What am I trying to say?

I watched the TBN channel last night for about 5 minutes and wanted to renounce my faith. I DON'T WANT TO BE A PART OF THAT FREAKING NONSENSE - MORE THAN NONSENSE - HATEFUL BASTARDS. Who are those people in the audience? Let's shout and shake with utter hatred, and claim it all in the name of God/Jesus! Let's demonize one single thing we view as a sin (homosexuality) and focus on it if it's the only sin in the world! Isn't that guy leading that sh*t guilty of a bit of pride? Hubris? Yikes. That channel is so frightening.

Unbelievable. And then in my own church, let's gossip and fight over all the most petty things you could possibly imagine (and honestly, I just know the half of it, I'm sure). Let's refuse to change, let's chase away those damn young people (i.e., anyone under the age of 50), let's in-fight until we've lost the little spiritual energy we have left! No volunteers, an unbalanced budget ...

I feel so much closer to God on the cross country ski trail. The other folks I see out there (the very few), I smile, they smile, we might say hello (if we can breathe), and we communicate - we're in this together. Great to see someone. I appreciate you, with all your faults, just for being there. And we ski on.

And yet I know there has to be some kind of hope somewhere for the actual church - I read great books of hope for our book club ("The Church on the Other Side"), I see former politicians (Sen. Danforth) on Jon Stewart coming out and saying, look, I'm religious, I'm not a complete idiot, I don't hate everyone, and look, I want to show people (as best I can, and with true humility) what Christ was actually about.

But where do I go? Do I stop going? Do I actually try to express myself? Why can't people be honest? Especially those that claim to be Christians? Do I just go skiing instead? Do I look for another church building? Won't people be faulty there, too? Sure they will, but are they all that disturbed? Does God exist in this world where there are so many that go forth in his name, proclaiming hate? Why are they the loudest? Can it be stopped? Do we have to let our religion "go"?

I rarely "go there" in terms of religion. I'm not sure why I went there tonight. I'm sure those of you in my family reading this (if there are any) are perhaps a little confused - I miss the days of the Catholic church where you go - somedays you feel something, somedays you don't - but you go home and you feel a community because of a shared culture, really - and there isn't all this crap. Committees out the ying-yang, gossipers, control freaks, etc. Ugh.

I need to stop. I've said enough. And David, if you ever start reading the blog again and make it this far, sorry about the whole bottomless-pit comment. You have every right to eat a yogurt or two. I should've checked on the availability of the ingredients before I started baking the bread. I slightly burned the top anyway. It doesn't look or smell bad though. I hope it comes out of the pan.

Family Education

This morning was bitterly cold (single digits) with a cornea-searing sunshine that put me in quite an awful mood. I don't like cold, bright days - it just seems so inconceivable that the sun can shine so brightly with absolutely no warmth.

The day warmed up, though, as did my mood. As part of my new "Quest for Independence", the kids engaged in all kinds of seemingly normal, but not always performed activities - things such as putting their shoes on the rack or clearing their dishes from the table.

Ethan, emerging from the swim team locker room 19 minutes after the release of class, seemed a bit shocked that I would hold him to his 15 minute limit. I said, "Ethan you took 19 minutes! That is so long!"

"I don't know what 19 minutes is!"

Hmm, true. "It took you almost half as long as your practice to get changed!"

"What?" (Typical Ethan response)

"You took too long."

"But I'm not fast Mommy, I'm just not."

Indeed. The road to independence for Ethan will be torturously long (for me).

Lucy is sort of a different story. She is very dramatic. After requesting that she eat the 3 tiny broccoli spears I had given her (in a Chinese-style ginger sauce), Lucy replied,

"I really can't eat that broccoli in that disgusting sauce. It's completely gross." (Or something to that effect)

"Lucy, you make me feel so good about my cooking when you say things like that."

"Mommy, you said exactly the opposite of what you meant."

"Yes, I did, Lucy, that's called sarcasm."

So Lucy proceeded to practice sarcasm over and over and over again. She found it extremely amusing.

She said, "But Mommy, you get to do whatever you want all the time" (in continuing to discuss the Quest for Independence).

"Really... and how is that?"

"You get to eat dinner when you want to."

"Not until I cook it... I would prefer to come home to it ready."

"Well, you should just tell Daddy to come home early and cook it."

"Really, see, I could ask and ask and ask until I'm blue in the face, and I'm pretty sure that'll never happen."

And I followed, "And that, my dear, is called exaggeration."

Some kids practice math facts, other kids practice sarcasm and exaggeration. We hone what we must to survive in this family.

I'll end with a photo of the moon at the close of the afternoon. I'm fascinated by the moon out during the day. I googled the logic and reason behind this, and I comprehend it from a scientific perspective, but I still am transfixed by it every time I see it.