Christmas and Calculus

Okay, so it's New Year's Eve, but it's still the holidays -- which happen to be, in the section of my brain still heavily influenced by public-school education -- categorized under Christmas Break.

And yet hubby sits downstairs earnestly completing a calculus assignment. He's in the second half of a calculus I course that he's taking by correspondence through UT. This second half is actually his absolutely last month that he has to complete the class. He signed up in February, applied for and received an extension in October, took his midterm in December, and is now cramming the last half of the course into six weeks in order to meet a drop-deadline at the end of January.

This is why I'm not enrolled at University of Phoenix or any other online, self-paced school. Self-paced, for me, is a slow crawl, interrupted at regular intervals by domestic distractions and daydreaming. It's interrupted and slowed for him, too, but by professional concerns such as managing service engineers, travelling to visit clients all over the country, and wanting to spend time with our family. But one thing I know: his calculus experience is a perfect picture of why I attend traditional classes. My butt has to be in a seat in front of a lecturer, or else my self-pace will get me nowhere. And I have much further to go than hubby; at least he finished his undergrad -- I'm still slogging along in search of my degree. But I think it's good to know a thing or two about one's self, such as what kind of a student/learner you are: do you learn by traditional means (re: a teacher and deadlines) or can you teach yourself?

I have a friend, a former boss and mentor actually, that marvelled I was able to complete calculus with a passing grade at all, let alone a B. She was even more faint with unbelief when I told her this was calculus II -- and the course meant for engineers rather than biologists -- and I had aced calculus I. Which made me wonder how my former self-concept had been communicated to those around me.

Maybe what we know about ourselves is transient and subject to change. It would definitely seem to be the case when it comes to me, math and the sciences, and what I can and cannot do. I am discovering that my limits are there to be tested, pushed, and run over flat as I proceed past them, onward toward higher and greater goals.

So far this blog has seemed to be a chronicle of these self-concepts and the process of overcoming them. I'm a science geek, an eclectic art lover and amateur artist, a reader, a philosopher, a mother, a wife, a lover, a daughter, a gourmand... I am many things. And centered at my core is this insecurity to settle on one thing to be. Maybe that's good -- it keeps me from getting comfortable, keeps me reaching for more, keeps me from settling for second best.

Maybe putting my butt in a seat in front of a lecturer was key in discovering that I am yet to be fully discovered. And calculus was a big part of that, to which I am thankful.

I'm also thankful I don't have to cram in a half-semester of that crazy class over the holidays, and I can actually call this a break!

Merry Christmas to me!

Reclining

We are spending time with my mother-in-law this week. Her home is a solace to me and mine. I, unlike many unfortunate souls, love every bit of my mother-in-law. She is such a peaceful presence, such a calming soul that not a thing could shake her cheeriness.

Which is all-the-more evident this trip. My in-laws live on Galveston island, recently devastated by Hurricane Ike. We drove in after dark last night, which I was silently glad for. I was not ready to see the destruction.

I had not realized how important Galveston had become to me. It's a refuge, a place of relaxation and restoration for my family and me. My mother-in-law's home is luxuriant, modern and spacious, just off the west beach. The back patio overlooks their boat slip on the canal, where the kids spend hours cast fishing during spring break and summer family weekends. In light of my mother-in-law's demeanor and the solace of her home, I thought that all the rejuvenation vibes I picked up on our trips to the Galveston coast were centered there.

Until Ike hit, I didn't realize that Galveston had become an important player on my life's stage. It's an old acquaintance, a town lazy with history and funky with offbeat charm, a bit like my favorite Austin in some ways. When the island was evacuated and awaiting to be washed by the forecasted 17-foot storm surge, we said many prayers for mom-in-law's pad. I have a dear friend at church, a realtor aware of property value and the misfortunes that can plague homeowners from time to time, reached out in such a quirky way: She stuck out her pinky finger as a "point of contact" which I took in pinky-swear fashion, while she said, "We agree that there will be no damage -- Ike will not take her place."

And it didn't. There are houses sitting flat on the beach that were once suspended atop stilts, there are crumbled foundations and piles of debris sitting where dunes once rolled. There are houses missing much siding and some decking, but my mother-in-law's home, my resort getaway, is standing relatively unscathed.

What blessings are mine and ours to count!

This isn't to say that there was no damage. They lost a picnic table (probably to the bottom of the canal) and a beer-rator that lived in the garage. Ike also stole their golfcart while it flooded their small yet stylish entryway and ripped out most of their landscaping. But most of the house is as comfortable as it always was; the garden has been replanted, the debris has been removed and life is (at least for us vacationers) seems to be relaxingly normal.

We go into town for dinner this evening. I'm still hesitant what we'll find.

Interestingly, I began thinking what a great episode HGTV's Curb Appeal could produce here after the storm tore up so many facades and front yards, and even lives. I think it would be a great way to let them design like they give a damn (to borrow from a great organization of Architecture for Humanity).

What does it all mean? I'm glad you ask.

What it all comes down to is this: This is not a sleepy old town, but a resilient place where a survivor's spirit resides. Galveston will not only bounce back, but will thrive, surpassing its former self. Galveston will be a knock-out, rising from this setback with a fresh facelift and makeover that will make her thank Ike for pushing her towards a new life. And I will be there, reclining in her shade of solace, rejuvenating my own spirit for its return to my family's crazy life.

Enough

Finals, completed on the 15th -- check.
(sigh of relief -- check.)

Christmas decorations, dug out and hung indoors by the 18th -- check.
Christmas tree, purchased 7 days before Christmas (for $5) -- check.
Kids out for Christmas break -- check. School parties -- check.
Throw Christmas party on the 21st -- check. (outdoor decorations completed on the 20th.)

Grades, posted and confirmed on the 22nd -- check. Staight B's, a 3.0.

I wonder, when reviewing my application, if medical school admission boards will see my grades from this semester along with a copy of my family's schedule. Surely that would help. Surely there will be at least one mother on that board, who will look at my application with an impressed, "Hmm!" Surely that one mother will go to bat for me, will say, "Look how well this student did in Organic Chemistry -- the hardest class I ever took by far -- and she has two school-aged children!" Surely that one mother will convince most of the others sitting on said board that I am a sure bet, even if my GPA is lower than many other applicants, even if I don't have extensive volunteerism to list in my resume, even if I have not balanced 18-hour semesters with a job and community service.

One can only hope. And isn't Christmas about hope? Hope for the world, born in the form of a blessed, miracle baby, delivered by the bright light of a unique star. That same baby, grown into the one and only sinless man, both man and God, died so that I might live -- now that's hope. And that's just enough to keep me living my life to the fullest, giving my all so that I can walk this path; just enough hope that my all will be enough.

Dead Day

Heh, what a misnomer!! There's more activity here on the big hill than any day!!

Good luck to all my homies in academia on this semester's finals. May we prove that we have learned (at least temporarily) all that we need to have learned from this semester's classes, and then may we enjoy our end-of-year celebrations, each and every one!!

Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives

Two entries ago, I talked about this PBS documentary:

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/manyworlds/

I was reminded of it by a conversation with a friend at church last night. He only watches PBS, so I brought it up. Sure enough, he had seen it.

Says he in excitement and glee, "You want a copy? I recorded it!"

Now I know I'm not the only science geek within the circles in which I run. I am, however, continually surprised when science geeks that are incognito come out and proudly profess their PBS predilection.

Anyway, check it out; it was awesome!

Observations

I've noticed this week other students -- my peers -- have begun calling me ma'am.

Oh, dear...

Putting this into perspective -- just last fall, I was carded regularly when buying wine. Wonder what has happened this year?

I also determined to get myself back on a regular workout schedule this week, even if that means just 20 minutes in the gym 2-3 times a week. I noticed right away that this seemed to energize me and helped me focus better when studying.

Maybe (after time and consistency) it'll help me blend in better again. My vanity isn't letting me take this "ma'am" stuff lying down!

O what delights!

I just registered for my spring 2009 semester. Intellectual heights awaiting me come January 2009:

• Physics,
• Organic Chemistry II (yes, the fun continues!),
• Microbiology, and
• Genetics

Labs for one and all (well, except naughty o-chem; scheduling conflict. Shame.)

If ANYone would have told me ten years ago that in spring 2009 I would be taking these classes, I would've laughed in their faces, right before I clipped them. Innit funny where life can take you?

This is great! I'm excited about these classes. University has uncovered a voracious scientific curiosity within me that I never knew existed. Oh, what delights await the inquisitive!

The boys and I watched a PBS documentary that followed indie-rocker Mark Everett on a journey to trace the life of his father Hugh Everett, who died 26 years ago when Mark was 18. Elder Everett is the physicist responsible for the theory of alternate dimensions which has been in turn inspiring and incensing physics scholars since the 1950's. The program was a really cool introduction to some of the principles of quantum mechanics, and it captured the attention of two boys who are already showing dangerous tendencies toward thought experiments and scientific inquiry. When I told them I was taking physics next semester, there were high-fives all around. I'm a hero, a super-genius, a ROCK STAR to my kids! (ri-i-ight!!)

Now, in light of my *yawn* keen interest in physics applications such as the Hadron superconductor (which, btw, I feel kinda bad about apparently cursing, since it broke on its first trial after I publicly thumbed my nose at it here) you may be asking, "What exactly will sustain you through an entire academic year of physics education?"

I'm glad you asked.

I love mind blowing party conversations about physics, especially when there's tequila involved (Don Julio Anejo is best for this, right Eric?) and I enjoy taking concepts to their next logical (or illogical) conclusion. I'm an avid Star Trek fan, which was responsible in part for infusing pop culture with quantum mechanics. But when you start spending billions of dollars on physics research intent on finding antimatter (whether or not it actually exists) I find myself on shaky ground in terms of practicality. Maybe someone can explain what value the Hadron will add to the world for its high-dollar budget, when there are children whose families can't afford to put shoes on them.

Maybe I'll learn that next semester.

Float like a Butterfly

I celebrated my 37th birthday this past summer. This was my birthday present from hubby.

(This is for you, Mom!)

The butterfly tails trail down the side of my back, flowing back and forth over each other, and cross to the right side at my lower back. I got major props from my tattoo artist for going so big on my first tattoo!

For my next trick, I'm thinking lipstick-red highlights...

Before anyone starts thinking that I'm in an early midlife crisis, or trying to stay hip on campus, you must know that I've always been a little ... shall we say, expressive. Maybe eccentric. Never boring (see earlier post on my fear of blah.)

I tend to think that I finally got up enough guts to do something I've always wanted to do. Sounds like a lot of what I'm doing these days!

Hubby will get one, too. The sooner the better. (tattoos are super-sexy!)

Bodybuilding and Breakfast Tacos

At 7:37 am today, I looked around the house to determine what was missing, and I realized it was the noise of stress. Dad had whisked Luke away to school a couple of minutes earlier (so he wouldn't be late like he would've if he rode his bike that close to tardy-bell time.) Nate had already headed out for the bus stop. Suddenly I found myself alone in the house without even the heady, frantic noise of my mental to-do list rattling about between my ears.

The peace was so pervasive I could touch it. I smiled, closed my eyes and breathed it in, and moved on to breakfast.

I'm here alone, cooking only for myself. What do I want? Breakfast tacos!

But not my typically healthy tacos (or I should say taco, since I usually only eat one) of egg whites and lite cheese on wholegrain low-fat tortilla. Wes came home from his grocery-shopping excursion with traditional tortillas so fresh they were still warm. So I made tacos (yes, two) with those yummy-soft morsels, cheese (still lite), bacon (well, turkey bacon), and eggs (okay, still egg whites).

And ate them (both) surrounded by the peace of my home. I didn't feel (too) guilty until the last bite was gone. The experience was too genuinely gratifying to be accompanied by guilt. But it did make me think a bit.

*Confession time* I have gained about five pounds since last May, three of which have happened since the beginning of this semester. I began the semester with what I thought was a workable workout plan. Somewhere in the last couple of weeks, however, I confiscated the two hours I had set aside for weight training and applied them to studying. I guess I robbed Arnold to pay Einstein. And somewhere along the way I decided it was too mentally taxing to concern myself too much with the overall nutritive value of my meals. I still have some habits I don't normally dispose of; I choose wheat over white (well...usually) lean over fatty. But veggies? Fruit? Counting carbs and fat grams? Limiting caffeine and amping up water intake? HA! I'm seriously lacking in those areas.

A little background here, in case you've wandered in from off the street.

I ended each pregnancy with the scale needle pointing to a number larger than 215 pounds; I am 5'4". Needless to say, that's too heavy. I finally overcame a lifelong weight problem with fitness and nutrition, a journey of enlightenment that started when Luke was a toddler and has branched off into my premed studies. Before I started university, I became a certified personal trainer and a group fitness instructor. The fitness industry was trending toward degreed and licensed fitness professionals, so I began my undergraduate degree pursuit studying exercise and sports science. I always had the doctor goal in mind, but realized that the exercise science route would probably take twice the time as biology would, and the mirror reminds me I'm not growing younger.

But even before my fitness fetish led me to teach, it led me to compete. Bodybuilding. Actually, figure competition - more like bodybuilding 'lite'. It's the beauty pageant's long-lost cousin, emerging on the bodybuilder's stage. A little less muscle, a lot more glam.

This is me at my last competition.

Compared to the *now* photo on my profile, it's obvious that I'm not quite in the same physical condition. Which is fine, really, considering what it took to get there. My alarm clock would wake me up at 4:30 am every morning to workout before work. I consumed so little calories that I could barely think, and they were all precisely partitioned into percentages coming from lean protein, complex carbohydrates (not much of these,) and healthy fats (even less of these.) It took so much attention and mental energy on top of the physical output that it became an obsession. PLUS, I leaned out so much that I entered amenorrhea (my periods stopped) and it took my cycle six-plus months to recalibrate. Talk about horrendous hormones...

Although I've determined that it's not worth it to me to pursue bodybuilding, I still would *love* to hold on to the healthy lifestyle changes I made that brought me down the scale and to my current educational pursuit. I hear, however, many premed students lamenting the paradox of neglecting their own health in order to become a health care provider. I have personal experience in my background that should keep me from that paradox; it should firmly ensconce me far away from that paradox.

My best friend has regularly expressed surprise when I divulge that my workouts are no longer regular. She always assumed that once I won the battle over laziness I'd never relapse. Truthfully, I assumed that, too.

But it's not really laziness. There are, after all, so many hours in a day. If I have to re-allocate minutes from sweating to studying in order to survive in school, I have to hope that I can pick up fitness habits again before I develop adult-onset diabetes, or even severe "Dunlap syndrome."

Now, if I can convince my husband to not buy homemade flour tortillas...

An Oldie but Goodie

Transplanted cornea still sees after 123 years
But 'my vision's not great,' says 80-year-old man who received eye in 1958

OSLO - Bernt Aune’s transplanted cornea has been in use for a record 123 years — since before the Eiffel Tower was built.

“This is the oldest eye in Norway — I don’t know if it’s the oldest in the world,” Aune, an 80-year-old Norwegian and former ambulance driver, told Reuters by telephone on Thursday. “But my vision’s not great any longer.”

He had a cornea transplanted into his right eye in 1958 from the body of an elderly man who was born in June 1885. The operation was carried out at Namsos Hospital, mid-Norway.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this is the oldest living organ in the world,” eye doctor Hasan Hasanain at Namsos hospital told the Norwegian daily Verdens Gang.

In the 1950s, doctors expected it to work for just five years, Hasanain said. Such cornea operations date back to the early 20th century and were among the first successful transplants.

“It wasn’t unusual to use corneas from elderly people who had died,” Aune said.

The Eiffel Tower was built from 1887 to 1889. U.S. inventor Thomas Edison patented a film camera for motion pictures in 1888.
-------------------------------------------------------
Wow!!!

I'm feeling much better

(I'm not dead yet!) I think I'll go for a walk...

Took the weekend to sharpen the saw. I studied some, but went to church more and spent time with family and friends even more. Didn't realize exactly how much I needed the refresher.

I still don't know what I made on the midterm, but am already grasping the material much better. I'm prepping for labs and lectures for tomorrow, and am standing on much more solid ground now.

So, no more whines or complaints (at least not for now...)

Wishing I had something more noble, intellectual, or at least pithy to say than this, but I don't. I just couldn't leave me poor blog in such dire straits as was left with the last postings. Gawrsh, who wrote that!

Picture Perfect

Ouch! That's what I feel like today:

http://nbcsports.msnbc.com/id/27156844/displaymode/1107/framenumber/13/s/2/

Coping

That's something I'm not doing too well, at least not today.

In my first post I discoursed about the growing demographic known as non-traditional students. My mom, who went back to college when I was a kid, told me that there wasn't even a name for it when she did it. Since so many of my generation have discovered that you can never stop learning (for some reason or another) we've named ourselves.

I know that there are others out there doing what I'm doing. I know they're carrying full-time class loads while parenting and spousing and home-owning and all the other things that go on in their lives. What I don't know is, do they all feel like they're losing their f***ing minds like I do??

I'd really love to know...

I took my organic chemistry midterm this past week. I haven't seen my grade yet; in fact I'm frightened to. It occurred to me on my way in to take the test, careening on the edge of panic and sleep deprivation, that it might be a blessing to fail the test and the class, because I understand so little about this foundational subject that I don't think I could go on in chemistry from here after this semester. I have heard how hellacious this class is, I just didn't really believe anyone who said that. I had no real standard to compare it to. I thought, well general chem was difficult at first, but I got through both semesters of it with an A -- surely o-chem is manageable!

*whimper!*

This class has removed my liver in an unceremonious manner by way of my throat, without anesthetic. And I'm only halfway through it. I'm expected to continue on, sans liver, and leave the class after the final with a smile, as if I learned something. (Besides how to live without a major organ, that is.)

I tend to think it's not just organic chemistry, though. It's that, on top of all the things that come with life past the traditional student age bracket. But when I look around (on my whiny days, wondering if I'll make it) at other mature students -- grad students, or even those pursuing doctorates while working full time in their career (which, undoubtedly, is a much more stringent regimen) -- I'm the only one I see complaining. Of course, this only reinforces my self doubt.

If there are any other mothers-or-fathers/full time students who happen to be reading along and want to chime in, please do, and save this poor girl from what has become a 24/7 self-deprecating pity party, please?!

(Okay, end of the painfully-insane drivel I'm calling a post)

Neglect

O poor blog
so empty and white
not full of words
both pithy and light

Do you weep from neglect
with head hung low?
Or do you wait patiently
for your screen to glow?

O poor blog
do not despair
One day organic chemistry
will let me up for air

On that day with words of glee
or pain, depending on test's grade,
I'll cover you from length to width
with thoughts, ideas, and ...

or I'll prepare for the next calculus test. (I need a drink!)

Lifted comment...

...from a post over at White Coat Rants.

http://whitecoatrants.wordpress.com/2008/02/07/canaries-in-the-coal-mine/

(I hope this doesn't constitute plagiarism; I'm giving full credit here!)

Says Michelle:

Americans who complain about US healthcare should try being sick in Canada.

I’m an American who has now lived in Canada for ten years. The newspapers are full of stories of people waiting. Patients wait for days in emergency for a bed because the nursing shortage has resulted in permanent bed closures. Patients wait two years for hip replacement because we don’t have enough orthopedic surgeons or enough operating time.

A woman was diagnosed with recurrence of ovarian cancer and waited three months for surgery.

We have old facilities that are overwhelmed with increasing numbers of ED patients and a newer ED that closes at 8pm. We hold fundraising dinners to buy cardiac monitors. People go to the ED for anything and everything because it’s “free.” Doctors can’t set their fees; the government decides how much to pay them.

The government also runs the nursing homes and decide how many there will be. Are you surprised that we have a shortage of those as well? So patients who don’t need to be in hospital take up beds that are needed for acute cases.

This is a very astute observation and comparison, if you ask me. Requiring free emergency care (ie: tax-funded health care) would make ED staff -- including ED doctors -- government employees. But in light of some laws already handcuffing medical practitioners, that may be a more appealing alternative. At least they'd get paid, right?

EMTALA (Emergency Medical Treatment and Labor Act) mandates hospital and ambulance services for anyone needing treatment regardless of citizenship or ability to pay -- and it makes no provision for reimbursement. With EMTALA in mind, the government is attempting to employ medical professionals anyway, only without pay -- which, in any coherent definition, would make them slaves, no?? Forced work without pay? Hmmm...

EMTALA, by the way, was buried in Omnibus legislation in 1986, when it was passed into law. I wonder how many legislators knew exactly what they were doing to their constituents that pay taxes on incomes earned by treating patients?

Canadian stories such as the ones in Michelle's comment, ED docs' stories from bordertowns in Texas, and the previous article comparing care in London to care in New York, make extremely clear to me that free care, or even one-source payment for care, is not the answer. What is the answer? Stay tuned, as I try to carve out time to work on that one.

Then again, you might be waiting a while for that...

News article of interest, eh ol' chap?

Here's a link to an interesting read:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26794291/from/ET/

It's a comparison of US healthcare and UK healthcare. It's slightly entertaining, as it's an editorial-type piece, not just informative. Her description of the hospital stay she recently endured in London reminded me of horror-stories coming out of the local hospital in the small Texas town my husband is from. But that's a subject for another blog entry...

Anyway, if I were given the choice, I'd choose what we have here at home over what some are saying is the gold standard across the pond there in Britain. Even if I were walking in this journalist's shoes.

oh, by the way, I'm "that" close to officially dipping my toe into the hospital world; I should start physician shadowing within the next couple of weeks! V-E-R-R-R-R-Y excited!!

To Do's and Not To Do's

On today's To-Do List:

1. Gather at least 5 potential sources for a paper in biology lab.
2. Fold laundry.
3. Study for calculus test (TUESDAY!!)
4. Prepare for labs next week.
5. Walk the dog -- EXERCISE!!
6. Church tonight.
7. Prepare to teach Sunday.

But for now I choose to focus a bit on #5. Copper the dog is jonesing for a walk, and I will soon oblige him. He's part beagle, part bloodhound, all cute and loving! He's the kind of dog that will ferociously protect our family from invading frogs and cats, but lick robbers to death. And while beagles have a genetic disposition to run away, Copper seems to have (finally) overcome it and just waits for us at the gate. But put him on a leash, and look out!

The beagle part battles the bloodhound part on our walks. He gets so excited that he pulls on the leash, forging ahead as fast as the owner on the other end will let him. I decided at one time that Copper is a sprint-interval doggie; he likes to run all-out for 1-2 minutes, and then walk the same amount of time, for about 4-6 cycles. Which works well for me, since I like to do that, too. Copper's little body seems to be made mostly of fast-twitch muscle fibers, which give him a lot of power and speed for about 1/2 mile (maybe a bit more) but leave him breathless and helpless for long-distance walks. Once, he actually sat down before we got to the last mile of a 3-mile walk and refused to go further. I felt the need to carry him, he was panting so hard! Needless to say, a marathon is definitely not on Copper's to-do list.

There are other times, though, when the beagle of the beast seems to be (mostly) in check, and the bloodhound takes over. Those are the times that Copper resembles a canine vacuum cleaner. As soon as we hit the sidewalk, his nose is to the ground, sniffing after any trail he can pick up. Yet even then, the beagle creeps back in; while his front half is busy sniffing, his back half gets antsy, so he ends up walking sort of sideways as his hindquarters try to overtake and pass the front end.

We adopted Copper a couple of years ago on spring break. Prior to that I had relaxed my no-pets policy and gave in to the boys' requests for mice. We were at Petsmart to buy mouse food for Runner and Boomerang (neither of which are still with us, may they rest in peace) when we met Copper. He was in the PAWS pen in front of the store, wrestling with another dog, when he sniffed Luke out and commenced to making friends and stealing hearts. Luke was afraid of dogs -- deathly afraid -- since he was barely walking. Yet Luke fell for Copper. We would've gone on about our day without adding a dog to our family had Luke not put his foot down and said, "I'm not leaving without that dog!"

So we left Petsmart with mouse food, dog food, other various and sundry dogcare accessories and information, and a dog -- and with wallets about $300 lighter. Today, Luke plays with Copper occasionally, but he mostly waves to him as he walks past him toward his Legos. *sigh* But Copper has gained a family that feeds him and loves him, and Wes and I have gained a new walk/run partner.

On our walk/runs, Copper sniffs and marks, and I observe and admire my neighbor's landscaping prowess. We lovingly call our neighborhood "Pleasantville." It's deliberately designed to look like a scene from Leave it to Beaver. Only I don't wear pumps and pearls while vacuuming (or walking the dog) like June Cleaver.

There are some gorgeous yards in this subdivision! So many different colors and varieties of blooms and bushes and vines and trees, so many shapes of leaves and perfectly-coiffed lawns of full and fluffy green grass. Perfectly sparkling white picket fences surround family getaways in the back yards of these perfect houses, marking where perfect families reside. I find myself planning what I want to do with my landscaping, getting ideas from my neighbors, while I'm out exercising my body. I lapse into a bit of a dream state occasionally, visualizing a perfectly level back yard behind my house, complete with a great deck or rocked-in patio, topped by a canopy garden lights strung between the shade trees that sparkle in the twilight while we entertain. The scent of jasmine wafts on the breeze from vines covering the fences. Colors converge from various flowering bushes, perfectly pruned and arrayed. Tiki torches and lanterns light paths encircling the little garden patches, leading to a bench here, an arbor there...

Suddenly I'm ripped out of my reverie by a reminder of my to-do list:

1. Gather at least 5 potential sources for a paper in biology lab.
2. Fold laundry.
3. Study for calculus test (TUESDAY!!)
4. Prepare for labs next week...

And I shake it off, and return to my reality with a sigh.

Before I started school I had a pretty nice yard. It wasn't perfect, because I'm not a perfect gardener. Our home is only about eight years old, and we started from scratch in our yard. I have a short-sighted tendency to plant things too closely because the bed looks too sparse when the plants are first put in; next thing ya know, they're crowding each other and fighting for food and root space. At any rate, I began well, and we had a pretty nice look going. There was color in the front yard, with rows of white brick circling several flowerbeds. There was symmetry in the back yard, and while I wanted vines to line the fences and grow up lattices against the garage, I at least had a start with sage, boxwoods, and lantana in a variety of shades. Plans were made for planting more trees, and possibly a small kitchen garden.

Then the nudging on to higher education came; my yard has suffered ever since.

Copper and I return from our walks, tired yet invigorated, to a yard that sometimes grows more weeds than grass, complete with patches where nothing grows at all, and flowerbeds that grow more grass than flowers. He doesn't care -- he just wants to lie down after a long drink from the water bowl. But I have to put on blinders, because I know that my priority is research and homework, not gardening. What little time is left after that will go to laundry and dinner.

The unfortunate truth is there are only 24 short hours in everyone's day. Only so much can be crammed into those limited hours. This is a universal truth that nobody escapes. I feel at times that I have enough responsibilities to fill at least 30 hours on most days, when they're all piled up together in a big heap on my to-do list. Some days, my to-do list looks more like a dream list -- the list compiled of all the things I want to do, I wish to do, I dream to do. Only I dream of boring things like yardwork, while others dream of travel and shopping. But my list still looks dreamy (full of things that'll only get done in my dreams) especially when viewed in the light of what has to be done to prepare for tomorrow's classes or this week's tests or Nathan's band trip next week or Luke's chess tournament in a few days...

So I choose to neglect my yard. I'm sure my neighborhood association will not approve, and they may even send me a letter just so I'll know exactly how much they disapprove and on what grounds. It'll go in the pile of mail, along with the other low-priority stuff that will not get my attention today. I have to set priorities when so many things are screaming for my attention; at this stage in the game, school (and exercise -- why neglect my own health while endeavoring to become a healthcare practitioner?!) trumps yardwork.

And regardless of what my neighbors think, Copper still loves me.

Stem Cells

I decided I (finally) needed to start doing some medical reading. Behind the eight-ball, ya think??

At any rate, this was an intriguing abstract from a study I will read in depth:

Scientists Generate Stem Cell Line from Patient with Lou Gehrig's Disease

Privately funded scientists report successfully generating stem cells from a patient with an inherited form of Lou Gehrig's disease, or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). Starting with skin cells from the patient, the scientists used viruses to insert factors to reprogram the adult skin cells into induced pluripotent stem cells (iPSC) (see Human Skin Cells Reprogrammed). Once they had generated an ALS-iPSC line, the scientists coaxed the cells into becoming the type of motor neurons that are destroyed in ALS. These iPSC-derived motor neurons carry genes responsible for ALS and hold great potential for investigating the ALS disease process in human cells. Scientists are still uncertain whether the iPSC-derived motor neurons will degenerate in the same way as the patient's naturally occurring motor neurons. Ongoing experiments are comparing healthy motor neurons to the ALS-iPSC–derived motor neurons. If the iPSC-derived motor neurons show signs of ALS-like degeneration, they will be invaluable for observing events in the course of the ALS disease process and for testing potential ALS drugs on human cells in the laboratory before the drugs are used in humans. Science advance online publication, laboratory of K. Eggan. 2008 July 31.

Of interest to me in this study:
1) The stem cells were generated using adult stem cells.
2) They were generated in the hope of observing the disease progress, in order to run drug trials that will not harm actual patients, which I would assume would allow for more progressive and innovative (read: risky) research.
3) The scientists running the study are privately-funded.

1) Why did the scientific community go to embryonic stem cells? Was this their first approach, or did some study or another suggest that they would work better than any others? It would seem, from the chronology that I've observed (admittedly, not in detail), that experimental success with adult stem cells is being reported only recently. Is that because the trials are just now coming to conclusions and they started the trials concurrently with embryonic research?

I wonder at the level to which we've sunk if our first thought is to start with an embryo. I guess it boils down to your definition of a living individual. If you believe that the baby growing inside a mother is merely a growth of cells, then they are cells that belong to her, they are part of an individual that reserves the right to do whatever she wants with her body. But if you recognize the embryo as an individual from the moment of conception, then that embryo is the most precious and innocent of all live, and deserves our utmost protection. The thought of fetus farming is reprehensible to me, as one who has taken medicine as her life's calling.

None of this is to say that I don't support the research -- I am sold! We should learn all we can, and innovate as many cures and preventions as possible. To that end, this study is extremely promising, because all individuals are served and protected, even the smallest of all.

2) Human cell petri dish -- how cool is that?? With this method, researchers can be as progressive in their drug protocols as they deem necessary without causing any harm. They can push the envelope and forge into new treatment territories. What a great place to start!

3) Privately-funded scientists would seem to have more freedom to innovate than those who are government-funded. Granted, the other side of the coin is the risk that your benefactor would not like the results you're observing and would threaten to pull the plug if you don't produce evidence to their liking. And there's the chance that the well would run dry. But on the upside, you would surely have more freedom, less parameters, and far less red tape than with the government funding your research.

On that note, I looked up John McCain's statements regarding health care and research. This was of interest:

Stem cell research offers tremendous hope for those suffering from a variety of deadly diseases - hope for both cures and life-extending treatments. However, the compassion to relieve suffering and to cure deadly disease cannot erode moral and ethical principles.For this reason, John McCain opposes the intentional creation of human embryos for research purposes. To that end, Senator McCain voted to ban the practice of "fetal farming," making it a federal crime for researchers to use cells or fetal tissue from an embryo created for research purposes. Furthermore, he voted to ban attempts to use or obtain human cells gestated in animals. Finally, John McCain strongly opposes human cloning and voted to ban the practice, and any related experimentation, under federal law.As president, John McCain will strongly support funding for promising research programs, including amniotic fluid and adult stem cell research and other types of scientific study that do not involve the use of human embryos.Where federal funds are used for stem cell research, Senator McCain believes clear lines should be drawn that reflect a refusal to sacrifice moral values and ethical principles for the sake of scientific progress, and that any such research should be subject to strict federal guidelines. (http://www.johnmccain.com/Informing/Issues/95b18512-d5b6-456e-90a2-12028d71df58.htm)

Admittedly, it's only slightly interesting, because it's the talking points, the public statement found on his website. But, from my limited knowledge, it lines up with what I believe to be right. I will learn more in the days and months to come, and will continue checking the alignment.

NOW??

I have tried from the onset of this blog to not make it political; I figure I'd leave the soap-boxing to other bloggers, like my buddy Eric over at http://20thhole.blogspot.com. (You're welcome, E!) In fact, I try to reserve forming my opinions until I've done the research, and I don't count my daily dose of NPR Morning Edition as research. I'm aware that all news programs are sensationalist and that there's so much to the news than what is reported.

But I feel that NOW (the National Organization for Women) has forced my hand. I heard an interview with their president, Kim Gandy, this morning making an unprecedented statement, that NOW will be endorsing the Obama/Biden ticket. They don't usually make endorsements in general elections (at least not publicly), but Gandy claimed that Sarah Palin's appointment made it clear how crucial their endorsement was this year. A woman tapped to run for such a high office has scared NOW into endorsing the other, all-male ticket. Makes sense right? (How I wish you could see me roll my eyes here!)

I was impressed when John McCain appointed Alaska governor Sarah Palin as his running mate, even before I knew anything about her -- mainly because this election, on a social level, is historically significant. No matter which party is elected in November, history will be made and an underrepresented minority will take up office in the White House. And that's cool.

I'm trying (but not too hard, I must confess) to learn more about Governor Palin and her positions and policies. On a personal, woman-to-woman level, I am impressed that she seems to have made the balance work: She is an intelligent woman who has achieved sufficient status and power in her career while raising children. She is making her dreams come true on all the fronts. That is enough to make me applaud her, but not necessarily vote for her. Yet the picture is unfolding in front of me, the facts are rolling in, and I like her more and more every day. She wants more affordable fuel and alternative energy, she adheres to a moral and ethical center policy-wise that impresses me, she seems to be honest and clear-headed in her decisions, and she seems to be innovative and forward-thinking without selling America out.

NOW says that only 42% of women favor Governor Palin for the vice-presidency, and that number goes down 10% more when you talk to single women. Gandy stated in her interview that, although Palin is being portrayed as a feminist, she holds positions that are "anathema" to women's causes, because she believes in the sanctity of life regardless of how it comes about. She went on to say that Palin is "so completely out of step with American women."

I have to ask -- WHICH WOMEN? WHICH 42% responded to this poll that shows such a lack of support for the only woman in the running? And how, since I -- an American woman -- find her policies reasonable and can relate to her positions, can she be "completely out of step with American women"? She's not out of step with me.

Raise your hand if you have ever participated in a political poll. Say, "aye!" if you've been asked for your views regarding issues or politicians in order to be quoted by a news service. Give a shout-out if you've ever nudged your buddy while watching the news and said, "See that percentage of people polled? I'm one of them!"

I've never been asked to participate in a poll of voters, yet I am a voter. I have heard over and over again how leaders I support are losing favor among the American people while I continue to support them. And now I hear that a woman that I see as making American history is out of step with the overarching group called "American women," a group to which she and I both belong?

Puh-leeze!

I endeavor to stay away from partisan politics. I have been tempted to vote according to the Right to Life list of prolife politicians, disregarding their record on any other issue, but as I've grown and studied, and developed my critical thinking skills a bit more, I find myself more apt to look at many issues, not just the "values" issues. Even on the values issues (which I am in no way demeaning by saying this) I find myself a bit more pragmatic than I used to be. While I personally disagree with gay marriage because of my biblical perspective, I don't think it's the roll of my government to determine whether or not gay couples should be afforded the same financial or healthcare rights I get as a married person, nor do I think the Constitution makes any statement on the issue whatsoever. While I agree with Palin and other conservatives that human life is sacred from the moment of conception, I feel that conservatives would gain a lot more ground in their prolife policy agenda if they would scale back the rhetoric a bit. Those are hot-button issues that I may garner some flack over, and they're not the only issues, but are sufficient enough to express my political vantagepoint. All-or-nothing attitudes, when it comes to politics, will get you more of the latter.

NOW states that they are endorsing Obama and Biden because of their extensive record of support for women's rights. I've spent some time on the Obama-wagon. I admit, I was enamored with his crowd appeal, with his charisma, with his traditional black-preacher speaking style. I confess to watching Obama-girl on YouTube (it was a guilty pleasure) and kind of relating to her crush. But one thing I've never fooled myself into thinking was that Barack Obama has an extensive record on anything. Yet Kim Gandy, who I'm sure is an intelligent and strong woman of position, made a statement in a nationally-broadcasted interview that would lead listeners to think that the Democratic candidate has been in national government long enough to have amassed an extensive record. He just does not have enough experience under his belt to make it in the top office. I am willing to wager that he will have different opinions on many of the planks in his platform ten years from now. That's just life -- we live, we learn, we grow. If we don't, we're not really living. I am just more comfortable with someone who has done more of that living and learning before (s)he becomes President.

I still recognize that I did not get the entire story from this short interview on a left-leaning news show. But what I did hear frustrated me enough to make my voice heard.

Hadron, Schmadron!

...I say thumbing my nose and stifling a yawn (trying to hide my intellectual shame).

Two nights ago I first heard about the new superconductor circling underneath France and Switzerland. I was finally in my pajamas after a l-o-o-o-n-g day, ready to veg with a glass of wine and the last half of a CSI rerun, totally minding my own decompressing business when Wes walks in and casually announces:

"So they've built a new superconductor and plan on testing it this week. Some people think it's going to create a million tiny black holes through which the planet will be sucked up and destroyed."

Normally, I'd banter with, "Really? So, who exactly is 'they'? Our swinging neighbors? I wondered what all that racket was this weekend, but I assumed it was just one of their legendary parties." And then segue into some asinine conversation about swingers and black holes, which Wes would've thoroughly enjoyed.

That's what I'd normally do. This night, as shot as all my nerve endings and synapses were, I responded with, "Huh."

Announcement forgotten.

Until last night, when Wes felt the need to educate me on the Hadron supercollider. He calls me into the office -- again, finally in pajamas, kids finally tucked in for the night, just as I was heading to the kitch for (yep, you guessed it) a glass of wine -- with a tantalizing note of excitement in his voice. You know the note, a bit flirty, a bit intriguing, the excitement edging its tones with something that says, "I know something that's gonna interest you, and you HAVE to come here!"

So I went to the office, all a-quiver with anticipation of this fascinating tidbit that I'm sure he had for me, only to find a cued-up YouTube video (view it here if you dare: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T3iryBLZCOQ ) -- it's this ridiculous rap-styled tutorial, way too long and repetitive to remain interesting, about the Large Hadron Collider (LHC). It's one of those pop-culture knock-off attempts to convince science dummies and kids exactly how hip science really is. It's like Bill Nye, only worse. (I shouldn't say that; I actually like Bill Nye. I had a crush on him when I was a kid -- or was that when my kids were little? Hmmm, can't remember...)

So finally when the bad rap is over, I had to ask with a sigh, "Where on earth did you find that?" He answers. Then I had to ask (while stifling a yawn), "Why on earth did you want me to see that?"

He answers by explaining the concept to me. About 2/3 of the way through his lecture, he finally catches on that I'm not very interested -- I think it was when my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I slumped over onto the ground where I immediately began snoring.

I finally commented, "I don't think it'll destroy the world, and I don't really have an intellectual or spiritual problem with it -- I don't think this is heresy or blasphemy or the Tower of Babel, necessarily. What I do think it is, is an astronomical waste of money, time, and effort."

Maybe I'm wrong. But I just don't see what good it will do for humanity to know exactly what happened to all the antimatter (which, by the way, if "they" don't know where it went, nor has it ever been seen, how do "they" know it ever existed in the first place?) or to find the ever-evasive Higgs proton that's supposed to be the central component of nuclear physics (or something) that nobody has ever actually seen.

Unbelievable. It's unfathomable to think that so many people get excited enough about this to spend their life pursuing it, and billions and billions of dollars that could be used to -- I don't know, provide clean drinking water and peace for millions in underprivileged countries that we in the "progressive western world" have pillaged for their resources for centuries??

But maybe -- just maybe -- as one who is studying chemistry for a minor, who will be taking physics in the next several months, maybe I should be interested. Maybe I should be intrigued and entertained by geeks in hard hats and labcoats lipsynching rap lyrics and saying, "yo, yo, that's how we do it in the LHC, b*tch!"

*yawn*

Just when you think...

Just when I think my kid is growing up too fast...

I mentioned a few posts back that Nathan, who is now Nate, has embraced puberty and the pseudomaturity of the middle-schooler. I sighed over his sudden interest in his personal grooming and his newly-honed fashion sense, and I chided myself for the need to check on him.

The next day, I did drive by his bus stop. Not because I was checking on him, but because my truck was pointed in that direction when I parked it the night before, and that's the way I had to drive to leave our neighborhood. Honest!! But since I was passing by, I thought I'd wave, suppressing the kid-embarrassing maternal urge to blow him a kiss.

When I looked for him, he wasn't there. Other kids were there, even his best friend Matthew. Oh, no! Panic set in.

So I did what any mother would do -- I rolled down the window and asked Matthew if he had seen Nate.

"Uh, yeah," Matthew said, "he's in the tree."

With my eyes I followed his pointing finger into the top branches of the corner tree, and saw my super-cool, hairgel using, newly matured son. "Hi, Mom!" he proudly called over the sound of rustling leaves.

Good, the little boy isn't gone after all!

... and I'm okay with that

In the minds of many observers, the typical science student is very serious, very singular in focus, and very boring. I know this because I've been that observer. I've seen the girls that are too busy studying to fix their hair and makeup. I've overheard the passionate discussions about the lab experiments being conducted that week while I stifled a yawn. I've giggled inside when I see a science geek's eyes light up when discussing the mathematics of DNA sequencing. Yep, science students, whether it's because they think in different stratospheres than the rest of us, have impressed me and many others I've talked with, as being pretty dull. And I've maintained this stereotype, even after becoming a science student myself.

Weird, I know.

And I have, for most of my life, harbored one single fear, one concern that can send me shrieking into the back closet locking the door behind me -- that I would become boring. *gasp!* I think this hangup against monotony is the culprit behind my ever-changing hair color, my many and diverse interests and pursuits, and probably my _________ I dunno, you fill in the blank. Whatever strangeness that can be seen in me, blame it on my boycott on boredom!

I have, subconsciously or otherwise, carried this dread of becoming uninspiring into my degree path. Since I've re-entered university, and since I've declared my intent to continue on to medical school, I have taken three dance classes (modern, ballet, and contact improvisation), a science-fiction literature class, and have entertained the thought of voice lessons as well as ashtanga yoga. The only thing that has kept me out of art classes is the time commitment; I could never find a way to squeeze a 4-hour life drawing class into my schedule (darn it!)

This semester, along with 12 hours of math and science classes, I registered for Arabic Cultures. My thinking? My ultimate goal in this life of doctoring is to do medical missions, and specifically, missions to Arab countries such as Egypt and Sudan. So when I saw the class offering I jumped on it, figuring I'd need to know a little something about how to conduct myself within these cultures when the time comes.

On the first day, members of the class were asked to introduce ourselves with our name, major, and why we were taking the class. I carefully constructed my introduction in my mind as my turn approached (as I'm sure everyone does, right?!) The professor was taken aback, expressing surprise that a biology student would be remotely interested in anything other than microscopes and biospheres.

Stereotype confirmed. *sigh*

As the semester started rolling, however, I found myself giving too much time to this class, which stole time from organic chemistry and calculus. The stress started adding up more and more as the weekends ticked by with busy family schedules -- birthday party for the boys, homework for the boys, shopping for the boys, church activities, and a girls' night which I had on the calendar for months (not to mention an ever-pressing urge to blog!) And for some reason, my husband still wants dinner and clean laundry, and an occasional snuggle. I know, can you believe it?! I didn't have near enough time to commit to the books, and the lectures were whizzing past, leaving me dizzy. I wound up Sunday night with my head in my hands, tears streaming down my face, wondering what on earth was I doing?!

From some other place, somewhere far removed from me, from deep recesses of some ancient well, I heard my voice shouting, "God, you gave me this dream and goal, but why?! If you want me to do this, you need to show me how!!" Okay, so it wasn't that dramatic, but it was a desperate prayer -- and one answered right away with an overwhelming sense of peace as the solution made itself apparent.

I dropped Arabic Cultures Monday morning. I explained to my professor that I knew now why so many science students seem uninterested in anything but science -- because there's no time for anything but science when science is your major.

The same day, I officially declared Biology as my major, with a minor in Chemistry. By filling out one single, simple form, I embraced the uni-dimensionality (is that even a word?!), the singular focus of the science student. I officially became boring.

And I'm okay with that.

Here's the thing. Despite my natural interests in the arts and literature, and my lifelong avoidance of math and science, I am finding I have a good aptitude for the coursework in my major. Still, at times it can be a slog. I don't have a burning fascination for the subject matter of the medical prerequisites; sure, I'm interested, but I can rarely go as far as to say it intrigues me. I don't lie awake puzzling over cell meiosis and why vertebrates evolved the mechanisms of sexual reproduction. I don't dream about ways to bend protein sequences just so, in order to achieve a desired outcome. I don't wake up and bounce out of bed, eager to titrate acid solutions and calculate the derivative of tangent.

I do lie awake some nights, though, wide-eyed and dreamy as Wes and I discuss the future's possibilities. I visualize myself scrubbing in for surgery. I thrill at the thought of setting bones in Africa and playing with the children of patients in far-flung impoverished countries. I cherish the thought of hugging a grateful patient and praying for those in need in real time. I dream of working with my husband to bring proper healthcare to the people in whatever corner of the earth God leads us.

Organismal biology and genetics and organic chemistry and physics (and a list too extensive and tedious to lay out here) are the steps that will take me to those smiling faces, equipped with things that can help them live longer, fuller lives. So that they, in turn, can impact their world in a way they couldn't without the medical help and the loving touch that I will one day give them.

Maybe I am boring -- but maybe not; I still have word-creating powers!! (Recall, if you will, uni-dimensionality? What'd I tell ya, I'm a supergenius!)

But for a season, I am a Biology Major and Chemistry Minor. This is what I do, and not much more.

... and I'm okay with that.

Go G(r)eek!

Fashion Statement of the semester: Go Greek! Whether your signature style is a black tee emblazoned with these words in pink, or a strapless beach dress with 'Go Greek!' scrawled across the chest, we gotcha covered (mostly)! You and the several hundred other girls involved in sororities on campus that are dying to look just like you.

I was struck by yet another element of my life on the perimeter, and no, not the fact that I live out of my truck during the week. The two little words 'Go Greek' showed me my extremely limited involvement in university organizations, academic or otherwise. I am a member of the TSU Premed/Predent Society. I considered joining the Non-Traditional Student Organization (NTSO) but I got the strange feeling that there would be much whining about the woes of scheduling, families, and not fitting in (heh, that's what I do here!) And as a requirement for a class this semester, I am a member of the new Arabic Cultures Club -- we'll see how that goes, but methinks it'll be interesting.

I've never really had the desire to rush a sorority, even when I was a traditional university student 18 years ago (gulp!) There's a bit of non-conformity in my DNA that involuntarily scoffs during rush week. But I see the human need, even in me, to belong to something bigger than oneself, to have a group with which to identify.

That group, for me, would wear a tee-shirt that boldly pronounces

GO GEEK!

No, really!

Actually, the group I most readily identify with is the one for whom I am the most responsible: my family. While I feel a touch of pride in my Premed Society membership (read: I pay my annual dues and attend as many meetings as I can squeeze into my packed schedule) and I tend to wear my Mature Student Martyr patch prominently on my shoulder, the ones that depend on me the most are the three boys (hubby included) that live in my house.

I'm good with that. But I still struggle with the involvement issue. No, not to belong to a sorority or any other social clubs on campus, to make sisters for life. Medical schools look at involvement beyond your GPA when assessing potential students. They want to see more than just premed society membership, they want to see involvement such as holding office. They want to see diversity of interests and the discipline shown by fulfilling and maintaining commitments, all while holding a solid GPA in the toughest sciences and math classes.

My family is made up of four multi-faceted individuals, with far-ranging interests and passionately held viewpoints. Debate around the dinner table is common, as well as silliness and raucous laughter. We read up on diverse subjects, we study much, we experiment with art and music, we enjoy exotic and eclectic cuisine -- Luke loves ahi tuna, and Nate continuously requests Moroccan lamb stew -- and we exercise our bodies with many different activities (we get bored easily.) While we may not see eye to eye on everything, we all agree on one thing: We're a bunch of geeks! I'm a firmly committed member of this geek society, a fixture in the family landscape. I hold offices, such as Head Buyer, Executive Chef, Domestic Administrator, and Secretary of Schedule-State. While I defer to Wes as President, I tend to think I hold a lot of pull in the decision department. All while staying on the Dean's List, and stretching myself to the outer limits intellectually with 15 hours of university-level classes.

Surely, this will be enough?!

I'm hoping that the committees at the med schools I apply to see it that way, at least.

Open letter

My sons,

You probably wonder why I am choosing to go to school when you, who are required to go, would rather not. You probably shake your heads in bewilderment when I scramble to finish assignments and worry over grades, knowing that I have chosen this stress called Higher Education, that I don’t have to do it, so why do I? Why do I take away attention that used to belong totally to the two of you, and put it on things like History, Psychology, and English? Why do I have to spend so much time with my nose in books while I used to spend it building Lego mansions or creating crayon masterpieces or snuggling with you? Why now, since I seem to have been fine without college for all of your lives, do I choose to return to school now?

When I was about your age, Nathan – around back when I was ten – my mother went to college. She had been waiting tables at a dinner theater, bringing drinks to people there to be entertained and to get drunk. On a providentially pivotal night, she discovered that the most important mentor of her youth – her high school band director – was seated at one of her tables. He was as surprised to see her as she was to see him! He said to her, “Lee, what are you doing here?” It wasn’t a query of pleasant surprise, although he was happy to see her. Rather, it was an expression of disappointment, for she had been one of his most promising students, the first chair flautist in one of Texas’ best high school bands. He was basically asking her, “Why are you settling for this when you could have everything you’ve always wanted in life?”

The question struck her in her center, and she began asking herself, “What am I doing here?” The next semester, she was studying music at Eastfield Community College in Dallas.

Your Nana Lee worked most of my childhood. She sold real estate and she worked as a secretary, but she mostly worked as a cocktail waitress, because the money was better. Neither she nor my dad finished college. They were passionate about me and your aunt, and about music, but because they had to work most of the time to support our family, they couldn’t spend much time with any of us. It’s easy to get stuck in that pattern – do something you don’t love to make money for the kids you do love, which takes time away from the kids, but you don’t have enough education to make money doing what you love, so you keep on doing something you don’t love…

It wasn’t easy, but finishing college changed her life completely; Nana Lee no longer settles for something less than what she wants. She earned her degree shortly after I had already left my college education hanging high and dry. Sure, I started – studying music no less! But life’s road can be full of twists and turns that are easy to miss if you’re not careful. I let a few of those turns throw me off for about 15 years.

I don’t regret any decision I made, because around all the turns I found you. I met Daddy and came into the strongest love I have ever known: one that grows stronger steadily by the day, and one that produced two amazing boys. When Daddy and I met, we were both in university limbo. After a wild 14-year ride of courtship and marriage, we are both just now getting back to our educations. Unfortunately, you two seem to bear the biggest brunt of our procrastination. Because our time is filled with more than just you and your care, you have to share the load of household chores. I can only imagine that’s not as bad as sharing your parents with the university.

Why am I doing this now? I refuse to settle for anything less than best. I realized shortly after you were born that Nana Lee wasn’t just settling for second-best for her life, but also for my sister’s and mine; that was what she endeavored to correct by going back to school. You two deserve the best, and your children will deserve the best. If I can give you anything (besides my good teeth and charming disposition) I pray I can give you this wisdom: Never settle! Finish your education before you set off on your own road in life, so that the trip will be smoother, so that your families will not have to settle for less of you in their lives. Learn to do what you love for a living so that you won’t be picked dry by a boring job. That is the best way to ensure that there will be more of you to share with them.

Live well, my sons! I love you both.

- written in the fall of 2005 -

Go-Time

Last night I heard myself say words I've never said before:

"Tomorrow is just go-over-the-syllabus day; I don't really have to go to class."

Wes looked a bit like a puppy dog who cocks his head in confusion, trying to decide exactly what it was he just heard. His eyes changed almost imperceptibly, just enough for me to get the message -- which was you're kidding, right?

"I'm kidding!" I say backpedaling fast (I wasn't.) "Of course I'm going!"

When I finally got out of the house this morning, about 15 minutes late (grumble), I had to resist the urge to drive by Nathan's bus stop on the way to Luke's neighborhood school, just to make sure they were where they were supposed to be. Nathan has been up early every day this week, pulled from the comfort of his bed by the anticipation of his new middle school status. He's decided to revamp his image, telling his teachers to call him "Nate" and using hair products. *sigh* He seems to be embracing preteenhood and life in junior high. But it's more than the social life of the prepubescent that's making him seize the day. I told Luke this morning, "I think Nathan is actually excited about the work of 6th grade!" To which Luke rolled his eyes, looking horror struck, muttering, "He is! It's so weird!"

Luke is the opposite, at least to hear him tell it. He started telling us how much he was looking forward to next summer break before this summer break was over. He complains about learning new things ("I already know everything" -- he told us when he was four years old -- "I'm a genus!" Yes, as in, genus-phylum-species), about being bored, about getting up in the morning ("I'm way too tired for school this morning!"), and on and on... But he has come home happy and full of stories the last two days. On the first day of school last year, I came downstairs to find him sitting at the table totally dressed, including his backpack and bicycle helmet, eating his Rice Krispies. I saw him pedaling up the alley on his morning commute today, faster than he's ever ridden. Does that sound like a kid that r-e-a-l-l-y hates school? I didn't think so, either.

At any rate, I knew the boys were fine. They know the school-morning drill, and they execute it well. I also knew my compulsion to check on them was nothing more than a thinly-guised stall tactic.

In the truck on the highway, I asked myself in frustration, loud enough to be heard over the morning news on NPR, "What's my deal? I'm never late on the first day!"

I didn't have an answer.

Texas State University is in a little-big town called San Marcos, about 20 minutes down IH-35 from my little-little town, which is about 30 minutes south of Austin. This campus rocks -- sprawling across several miles of hills, it's an aesthetically-pleasing blend of old and new, with a river running through it. San Marcos' population explodes every new semester with the incoming class moving in for the first time or back for another round. Yet San Marcos stubbornly holds on to its redneck spirit, its old-timey small-town feel, refusing progress. That includes bridges.

There are no bridges going over the railroad that goes right through the center of town. And the tracks are used many times a day by trains. Long, s-l-o-w trains. Inevitably I find myself waiting on a train while en route to class at least once per semester, reading the graffiti on the boxcars that serve as sort of travel stickers, letting you know in which cities the train has rested overnight. But I've never waited for the train on the first day of classes; I'm usually early enough to miss it.

Not today. (I hate trains.)

Since I already own my own home and I don't think Wes would like dorm life, I commute. Commuters park on the outer rim of TSU campus, known as "the perimeter." There is a bus system that shuttles commuters from their parking lots in outer Mongolia to the heart of the campus, but to call them reliable would be like calling Genghis Khan a teddy bear. I usually walk in. If possible I return to my truck to change out books between classes, which means I walk in (read: climb The Hill) several times a day. I gained a couple of pounds this summer with the cut in activity; after today's walking I'm surprised it wasn't more! Anyway. It's about a 15-minute walk at a comfortable pace, or an eight-minute walk when I'm late, like this morning. Despite the speed, the panting and sucking of wind, the pounding heart, and the sweat pouring down my back and face, I sunk down into a chair in my 8:00 calculus class -- late.

I've had two lectures thus far today -- Calculus II and Organic Chemistry I -- neither of which was just go-over-the-syllabus day. In fact, the syllabus was abandoned within the first ten minutes of both classes as we dove right into the material. By the time I was done with calculus, I had my answer to why I was late: I'm afraid I'm not ready for this semester. I've scheduled 15 hours of intense courses. Add that to Nathan's new school, Luke's old reticence to do school at all (don't even get me started on homework -- uggh!), Wes' demanding work schedule, involvement in ministry at our church, the responsibilities of home ownership, and the unyielding guilt of never spending enough quality time with the kids -- well, it can be pretty overwhelming. The last time I did a semester like this, I swore it was the last time ever. Yet here I am again.

Why, you ask?

I'll tell you why.

I keep thinking, if I can't hack a heavy semester in undergraduate school, what will I do in medical school: Curl up under my bed in the fetal position and suck my thumb? And then, what will I do during the gruelling hours of internship and residency: throw down my clipboard and stethoscope while telecasting my crazy desperate wordless scream around the ER? No, that's not acceptable. This is my proving ground, this is go-time, (this is insane!) this is necessary to build my foundation, my character, my study habits.

Besides that, if I don't pick up the pace I won't leave TSU until 2015! I'll get the "Most Semesters Matriculated" award handed to me with my degree. That's not acceptable either.

This is doable. This may be my life for the next several months, but it's doable.

Okay, now I'm ready