We have nothing to fear but puppeteers

And fear itself, and giants and fairs, oh my!  But we might be overreacting about dirt.

Been a rough couple weeks with very anxious preschoolers.  One little guy was totally freaked out by a visit to the State Fair of Texas, and could not nap for days. I don't think he was sleeping much at night, either, as he was in tears most of the week and barely able to function.  And no, the little dude did not witness Big Tex going up in flames.

I have my own state fair anxieties. What are normal fears at age three, four, five, fifty+?  Growing Up Brave: Expert Strategies for Helping Your Child Overcome Fear, Stress, and Anxiety, by Dr. Donna Pincus, was a good guide on this topic.  Good reminders for the Halloween season, too!

Normal fears for preschoolers, ages 3-5:

• Costumed characters
• Ghosts
• Clowns
• Monsters
• The dark
• Sleeping alone
• Separation anxiety
• Specific fears such as dogs, bugs, water, blood, or elevators

And for all ages, debilitating anxiety and excessive stress make kids unable to store and retrieve information, to focus, and therefore to learn.

A second student is absolutely terrified of puppets.  She can play with a puppet herself, but seeing a puppet show sends her into a massive panic attack. Just anticipating an upcoming puppet show sets her into terror. Rather than remove her before the puppet show, we are trying to give her the coping skills to ride it out and the cognitive tools to understand the situation.

As for dirt, I'm just beginning An Epidemic of Absence: A New Way of Understanding Allergies and Autoimmune Disorders, by Moises Velasquez-Manoff.  The hypothesis is that medical elimination of bacteria, viruses, and parasites has brought a new slew of ailments in the developed world.  Ignoring the evolutionary functions of these "bugs" may be contributing or causing the skyrocketing rates of peanut allergies, autism, inflammatory bowel diseases, eczema, rheumatoid arthritis, Type 1 diabetes, multiple sclerosis, and asthma.  The costs of these diseases are in the billions of dollars each year. 

The book reviews in the New York Times, Wall Street Journal and Kirkus have been very intriguing.









© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Tdap dancing up the wall

I gladly clicked my heels and toes up to the Minute Clinic to get an adult tetanus/diptheria/pertussis (Tdap) shot so I can hold my grandbaby next week.  This adult booster vaccination became available in 2005.  Adults only need it once, although the regular Td is still needed every ten years.

Pertussis, aka whooping cough, is potentially fatal for infants. At your next annual exam ask your doctor if you are vaccinated.  Not just for your grandbaby, but for all grandbabies! That's the great thing about vaccines. When we are protecting the one we love, we are also loving and protecting the greater oneness of  our community.

Whooping cough is coming back with a vengeance. We thought it was eradicated, but it didn't stay that way when parents stopped vaccinating their children. Fears of vaccinations causing autism have been proven unfounded. But now there is an epidemic of parents who do not want to inconvenience or discomfort their children in any way for even the slightest moment, as that might be a tad inconvenient or uncomfortable for the adults. If you have not guessed, this makes CollageMama VERY, VERY CRABBY.




My shoulder was sore for three days, or my solder was shore. It was a short term sore shoulder for long term prevention. Whining of the individual weighed against a win for my community. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Every parent has to weigh for a moment the possibility that a shot might make a child uncomfortable for a couple days. Is it worth the immediate discomfort and inconvenience for the long-term protection of both the child and the larger community? Absolutely!


Whooping cough — known medically as pertussis — is a highly contagious respiratory tract infection. Although it initially resembles an ordinary cold, whooping cough may eventually turn more serious, particularly in infants. Whooping cough is most contagious before the coughing starts. The best way to prevent it is through vaccinations. The childhood vaccine is called DTaP. The whooping cough booster vaccine for adolescents and adults is called Tdap. Both protect against whooping cough, tetanus, and diphtheria.


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Say that three times fast!

Severely diminished lower left lung lobe.  That is Dad's latest issue, and if it wasn't so sad, it would be a good tongue twister.  He started on a "prophylactic antibiotic" yesterday to ward off pneumonia.  I would be happier if medical folks just said "antibiotic as a preventive measure".

You put that pink Amoxil in what???  

Dad is breathing a bit easier this evening, so I let him sleep and came on home in the rain.  Big Red will try to spoon in some pureed supper gunk if Dad wakes up.

I walked yesterday while fooling with my newly rediscovered digital zoom and optical zoom features on my camera.  This did not make for an aerobic jaunt or good photos, but a January walk in shirtsleeves is a gift.  And sometimes reading the owner's manual is actually helpful.  Who knew?

This post was not about pink when I started, but these things happen.  Maybe it's time for Lucy in the sky to wear rose-colored glasses.

Stunned to find blooming camellias in a little garden at the Dallas Arboretum.  I listened to the The Elegance of the Hedgehog audiobook last year, but I didn't really understand about camellias.  There's still a note in my bathroom drawer brain from that book about "the always in the never."

Having a brain in a drawer is helpful for those three a.m. questions.  When Dad walked up the hill from the bus stop after a day at work, we kids would meet him.  Then we would watch him as he emptied the change from his pants pocket and the brains from his shirt pocket.  Dad's brains were printed in neat draftsman lettering on tiny folded bits of paper.  My brains are never so tidy.



© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Recalcitrant with bur oaks

Standing in the middle of the preschool classroom pondering our students' future twenty years down the line, "recalcitrant" popped into my mind.  Didn't even know my slow mental search engine was seeking that word. True, I rarely realize my darn computer is searching the cosmos for updates or trying to run a comprehensive scan.  My computer's refusal to do my bidding is spreading to my head.

This group of  students doesn't so much kick (L. calcitrare "to kick," from calx (gen. calcis) "heel.") as push, distract, and wipe nose goobies on each other.  They stare at me unfazed no matter what, which is why I wonder, "Did I take my blood pressure Rx this morning?  Did I  pop the vitamin D, swallow the big horse pill calcium and multivitamin, and manage to not drop the tiny hayfever generic fake Claritin on the bathroom floor again?"  I'm getting too old to see a rosy future twenty years down the line.

Daily reviewing of calcium pill intake improved with beneficial fiber is Recalcitrant.  I could be the spokeswoman for this wonder supplement according to my ex.  Our relationship was already prickly that vacation on Galveston Island when he pronounced me "obstinate and recalcitrant".  I pronounced a dictionary a prerequisite for all future vacations.  "Obstinate" is easy to recall, but not so "recalcitrant".  

Obstinate is obviously an anti-osteoporosis med, or I've been watching way too much local t.v. news between five p.m. and six-thirty.  Ask your doctor if you may have low testosterone, chronic dry eyes, dry mouth, Frosted Flakes, insomnia, or marriage flashbacks.

As for the Brickel bush, I ran and found one, and hid myself away.  A Dr. Seuss Brickel bush looks a lot like this bur oak nut-cap photographed out at Oak Point Nature Preserve recently.  I got brickels in my britches, but I stayed there anyway.  


One student has lots of splinters in her hands.  She has been digging in the new layer of playground wood chips.  Maybe that's not the best idea. Should the school have to eradicate every potential source of splinters?  Perhaps that is the Rx in our current litigious educational climate.

Once upon a time in a city park a little girl rolled down a hill in the crunchy grass of autumn.  Prickleburs covered every square inch of the little girl by the time she reached the bottom of the hill.  Her dad scooped her up in his arm and set her in the '54 Chevy and drove her straight home.  Once there, she sat atop the tall metal Cosco stepstool/chair while her mother and dad pulled the pricklebur splinters out of her skin with tweezers while she sat very, very still.  


Was there a lawsuit?  Did the little girl ever do that diggity-dog dumb thing again?

recalcitrant 

1823, from Fr. récalcitrant, lit. "kicking back" (17c.-18c.), pp. of recalcitrare "to kick back," from re- "back" (see re-) + L. calcitrare "to kick," from calx (gen. calcis) "heel." Used from 1797 as a French word in English. Verb recalcitrate "to kick out" is attested from 1620s; sense of "resist obstinately" is from 1759.--Now flavorless and easily dissolved ....

obstinate 

mid-14c., from L. obstinatus "resolute, inflexible, stubborn," pp. of obstinare "persist, stand stubbornly, set one's mind on," from ob "by" (see ob-) + stinare, related to stare "stand," from PIE base *sta- "to stand" (see stet). Related: Obstinately.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

No more suctioning

Was thrilled when my eye doctor did not dilate my eyes last week.  If he had, he would have used Atropine.  This medication is also used to decrease bronchial secretions.  It's now on the "as needed" list for my dad, along with Mucinex.  


Rx googling might be unhealthy, but I found the information about Atropine on Wikipedia appropriate:


Atropine is a naturally occurring tropane alkaloid extracted from deadly nightshade (Atropa belladonna), jimsonweed (Datura stramonium), mandrake (Mandragora officinarum) and other plants of the family Solanaceae. It is a ... drug with a wide variety of effects....[The name] derive[s] from Atropos, one of the three Fates who, according to Greek mythology, chose how a person was to die. Atropine is a core medicine in theWorld Health Organization's "Essential Drugs List", which is a list of minimum medical needs for a basic health care system.


Well, dang, I just put Edith Hamilton back on the shelf since she didn't mention Thor's goats!  This time she writes on page 44:


Very important, but assigned to no abode whether in heaven or on the earth were THE FATES, Moirae in Greek, Parcae in Latin, who, Hesiod says, give to men at birth evil and good to have.  They were three, Clotho, the Spinner, who spun the thread of life; Lachesis, the Disposer of Lots, who assigned to each man his destiny; Atropos, she who could not be turned, who carried "the abhorred shears" and cut the thread at death.

I don't have much luck growing datura aka jimsonweed aka moonflower in Texas, but we grew it from seed every year in Omaha.  It attracted lovely evening moths around our deck.  I took this photo at Texas Discovery Gardens, so datura can be grown here, just not by me (a common refrain of my brown thumb gardening song).

Working with the hospice aide and RN, the skilled care facility nurse, I got a new order in place banning all future use of the dreadful ineffective airway suctioning device.  Proactive use of nebulizer breathing treatments and the medications to decrease bronchial secretions will be used instead.  Dad's blood oxygen level is good now, so he can use oxygen just when it makes him more comfortable.  

While Dad napped I finished reading Caleb's Crossing by Geraldine Brooks.  Hellebore is the plant used to induce visions by the Wompaontoaonk people in the book.  Hellebore is from a different family than datura.  Just thought you would want to know.  

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Waiting for the bus with Neil and Gus

So, that is the first and last time I watch Rachel Ray make Moroccan mini meatballs while I iron.  The fresh mint and garlic and lamb and zucchini and tumeric and coriander just sounded so rich I had to go spend fifty bucks at Kroger, but I had to substitute ground beef for the lamb.

The mini Moroccan meatballs played billiards in my gut all night.  My stomach muscles are in the corner pocket.  Little sleep to start the school week.

Cue Paul Simon's

"Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover". 

I got to Dad's room about 3:50. He was watching Judge Joe Brown at high volume and talking very softly. He was back on oxygen with a different machine now from hospice. He was all cattywhoochee in the bed with his feet hanging off, so I went to find his aide to help me pull him back into the center.

Realigned, Dad told me he'd "been selected", that he was "perfect to be interviewed". Then he kept saying, "I think we can go anytime," but also asked me to get him some coveralls. I said he didn't need coveralls, so he asked for a shirt and slacks. He wanted me to pull up with the big red car so we could go to the Home Office.  Amen.

Dad's nurse says he is now on two antibiotics, oxygen, and breathing treatments. His doctor saw him on Friday and ordered another chest xray. She saw him again today, according to the hospice social worker. I always seem to be two days behind with information about xrays or meds. I suppose it's the lag between the xray and the results, combined with the weekend staff change.

The nurse said that after the breathing treatment she was suctioning Dad's throat trying to get out a "big glob". Dad didn't want her to get it out. She said he would be able to breathe better. He said he didn't want to breathe better. 

In the middle of all this the little old lady who always asks if I have seen Neil started ranting because the bus wasn't there yet. She thinks the nurses station is a bus depot. There is a certain similarity with all the people speaking in tongues, but the floor is less sticky and I'm not so scared to go in the restrooms.

I went back to Dad's room. He was watching Judge Judy and saying how much he liked Judge Judy and Judge Roy Bean and Nancy Grace "even though she is always wrong." Then I got a call from the hospice social worker whose name is, drumroll please:

•  
•  
•  
•  
•  
•  

Eden. I kid you not.

Eden was concerned because we do not have a Texas Out of Hospital Do Not Resuscitate form on file, but now we do.  Also, The Five Wishes, Dad's advanced care preference document is not recognized in Texas. Eden says it should be because it is the most detailed directive available.
Eden told me the hospice chaplain had visited Dad today about the same time as his doctor. Maybe the chaplain visit turned into being "selected for an interview". Dad wanted to tell his aide about his "selection" after supper.

I asked Dad if he saw the doctor today. "No time," he said. "I got on the train very early to come to Plano." At some point he also told me he "drove to Schuyler and Plainview". Maybe the sound of the oxygen machine makes him think he's on some mode of transportation.

Dad's supper was the ugliest meal I've seen since we brought him to Plano. Boiled purple cabbage, green peas, gooey bread, red juice (thickened), a scoop of ground ham with yellow gravy on top, vanilla ice cream, and a frosted chocolate brownie. This makes up for the meal with minestrone that looked almost good enough for me to request.

When I tried to feed Dad he slapped at me, so I let him struggle along. It was very sad to watch. He kept flopping over to his right, so he could hardly suck the juice through the straw. I kept propping him up.

I had a little chat with Fritzi and told her I'd done the very best I could for Howie.  I just pray that he will get on the bus, Gus, with or without coveralls. 

Tranquility Base suggests eating dessert first.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Do not follow produce into that good night

I offer a motto on this 2011 New Years Day: 

Never follow a pick-up truck loaded with large fruits and/or veggies. 

This guiding principle for life's journey came to me a dozen years ago on an I-35 entrance ramp in Austin, TX.  My eldest son, Speech-Debate, had just spent a few days at the University of Texas attending an honors colloquium for high school seniors.  The other two guys and I drove down to collect him.  Heading home we pulled onto the Interstate behind a pick-up filled with cantaloupes.  Melons started bouncing out of the truck bed and onto the highway, all around our Buick.  Boing-guh, boing-guh, boing-guh!

During this week's long road trip bringing Dad to Texas, we were stuck behind a white pick-up truck carrying watermelons.  Nine hours into a twelve-hour drive Dad discovered the Jeep Commander's passenger side sun visor. He could reach it and maneuver it to the side window and back. The low sun blazed into my eyes, and out, leaving trails like Sixties Kodak flashbulbs. The Arbuckles added intermittent deep purple shadows between flashes. The pick-up's cargo added the threat of imminent watermelon attack. One hill I got ahead of the pick-up. The next I was back behind the danger.  Post Traumatic Cantaloupe Syndrome made it very scary.  Repeat.  Repeat.

My sister and I preferred to compare our four-state drive to Thelma and Louise, but Rodney Dangerfield and Chevy Chase popped to mind. In 1986's Back to School, Rodney Dangerfield's character is inspired by Sally Kellerman's reading of a Dylan Thomas poem .  Nobody will mistake this for a cinema classic, but it was my introduction to the poem:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And against following the watermelon!
 © 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

Cherrypickers and the absurdity of life

Each night this week I'm falling asleep with tears quietly running down my cheeks and into my ears.  I pray a dear friend will soon be lifted from her pain.  She wrote me today reminding me to enjoy this beautiful weather and the amazing absurdity of life!


This was the perfect day to contemplate absurdity. I won't attach photos, as you will see this clearly in your mind. After morning preschool "work time" the class headed out to the playground. The attention deficit boys and the ones who hadn't done a speck of counting or remembered to flush the toilet were suddenly totally focused.

Tree trimmers were at work on the lot next to the playground, riding up and down in a cherrypicker and wearing safety neon yellow vests and hardhats. All the little boys climbed to the top of the playground fort to watch the men at work. When a guy in the cherrypicker waved at them from on high I was surprised the ecstatic kids didn't wet their pants.  It was better than catching a World Series home run ball.

Near here in Arlington, TX, the World Series continues with sports celebrities and media hype.  I like baseball.  I loved sharing Texas Rangers games with my young sons fifteen years ago in the Pudge Rodriguez/Rafael Palmero/Nolan Ryan/Steve Beuchel years.  Even earlier I loved sharing cherrypicker moments.

I treasure the parenting times spent dining at a giant truckstop near Omaha.  We ate diesel-scented pancakes for supper while our little boys watched big rigs gas up outside.

Got a call at 2:30 today informing me that Dad fell out of bed.  He forgot to use his call button when he needed help.  No injuries.  Just the embarrassment of waiting on the linoleum for the "cherrypicker" hoist to lift him off the floor and put him back into bed.

Life is absurd.  Growing old is the pits, but so is not getting to grow old.  Gather ye rosebuds while ye may and watch the cherrypicker, too, although Robert Herrick didn't actually mention tree-trimming in "To the Virgins, to make much of Time".

Hey, Girl. The hunk with the yellow hardhat is waving at you!  Maybe he'll give you a boost.

© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

Actonel advent calendar

You wouldn't expect that a once-a-week medication could ruin your life. Then again, you might not think your life was ruined because your mom made you take fourth-year French in high school [see YRMLM].

For two and a half years Actonel has been ruining my dad's life every Thursday morning. Actonel is a prescription medication for prevention and treatment of osteoporosis. It's taken with 8 ounces of plain water when you first get up for the day, before any other food, drink, vitamins, or medicine. Then you have to stay sitting up or walking around for half an hour. No rolling over and going back to sleep. You can read the newspaper, watch birds in the backyard, argue with a teen about why he should take that fourth year French class, wash your face, get dressed, make coffee, do the Sudoku, surf the cable tv channels, and cook breakfast during that half hour. Just don't recline.

Trouble is, for two and a half years, every Thursday morning, Dad does it backwards. He gets up, washes his face, gets dressed, makes the coffee, looks in his pill organizer, and then takes the Actonel pill with 8 ounces of plain water. He spends the next half hour thinking that Actonel has ruined his life. He keeps thinking along that line the rest of Thursday.

At least Dad remembers to take the Actonel and the calcium supplements for his osteoporosis. For this we thank the Ezy-Dose Four-A-Day Weekly Practidose Medication Organizer #91350 from CVS, the best $9.99 I ever spent. The pill organizer is $14.99 online now. It's pretty sturdy, having survived a couple years of heavy use. We call it the "Advent Calendar."

There's a note in the Thursday morning compartment of the Advent Calendar that reminds Dad to take the despised Actonel. The only thing Dad despises more than his Thursday morning Actonel is the Boniva tv commercial with Sally Field. Boniva is a once-a-month osteoporosis medicine, so it probably has four times the life-ruining potency of Actonel. Dad is not alone in his life-ruining opinion of Actonel. His rehab roommate, Melvin, carried on at lenghth on the same subject.

Every few months I make the bold suggestion that Dad set his Actonel pill beside his bed on Wednesday night. He could take it when he gets up on Thursday morning before he even washes his face. What I really need is for Santa's elves to put a new note in the Wednesday evening slot of the Advent calendar. It just needs to say, "Set the Actonel by your bed and take it when you get up tomorrow." The note does not need to be written in French.

© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder

The new printer's devil

Took my lucky pen to the persuasive writing workshop at the Dallas Morning News today. So many pointers to record!

Yesterday the kindergarten students made styrofoam prints of their skeleton drawings--black ink on white paper. Bones made a perfect match for their ability and the linear necessities of drawing into Styrofoam. Alas, my choice was made because of my calcium musings and not brilliant teacher insight. Still, success is good!

Don't know when the pen began to leak. The ink on my hands seemed leftover from the printmaking, not fresh during the writing workshop. None of the editorial writers or volunteer contributors mentioned that I had odd, rapidly-multiplying black spots on my face. Maybe they thought I was going to a Halloween party as the bubonic plague, or else they were awfully polite.

This brings to mind the phrase, "printer's devil". A printer's apprentice was always covered in black ink from head to toe, like an art teacher. Wikipedia offers other explanations for the expression.

Looking in the mirror, I wondered what happened to our media-fueled obsession with black mold. Stachybotrys was the asbestos of the mid-Nineties, but when did it last make headlines? This is what the Center for Disease Control currently advises:

What should people to do if they determine they have Stachybotrys chartarum (Stachybotrys atra) in their buildings or homes?
Mold growing in homes and buildings, whether it is Stachybotrys chartarum (Stachybotrys atra) or other molds, indicates that there is a problem with water or moisture. This is the first problem that needs to be addressed. Mold growth can be removed from hard surfaces with commercial products, soap and water, or a bleach solution of no more than 1 cup of bleach in 1 gallon of water. Mold in or under carpets typically requires that the carpets be removed. Once mold starts to grow in insulation or wallboard, the only way to deal with the problem is by removal and replacement. We do not believe that one needs to take any different precautions with Stachybotrys chartarum (Stachybotrys atra), than with other molds. In areas where flooding has occurred, prompt drying out of materials and cleaning of walls and other flood-damaged items with commercial products, soap and water, or a bleach solution of no more than 1 cup of bleach in 1 gallon of water is necessary to prevent mold growth. Never mix bleach with ammonia or other household cleaners. If a home has been flooded, it also may be contaminated with sewage. (See: After a Hurricane or Flood: Cleanup of Flood Water [external link]) Moldy items should be removed from living areas.

Summary
In summary, Stachybotrys chartarum (Stachybotrys atra) and other molds may cause health symptoms that are nonspecific. At present there is no test that proves an association between Stachybotrys chartarum (Stachybotrys atra) and particular health symptoms. ...

What should persuasive writing students with spotty faces do? The CDC recommends not worrying about it until after trick-or-treating.

© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder

Standing at stud

North of Edmond, Oklahoma on I-35 there are signs for a breeding farm:

"Lost Opportunity standing at stud"

Clearly this horse doesn't have Cialis for performance when the moment is finally right!

Headed either direction, the sign is not to be missed for brainstorming creative racehorse names, breeding confusion, bogging down in misguided notions, or begetting rumors and innuendos.

Pull off to refuel at Guthrie, and set aside dreams of Marvel the Mustang. He's almost for real...

© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder

ESL by Avodart

I rarely turn on my television, so visiting my dad is like learning a foreign language by the total immersion method. If a family arrived in the United States and wanted to learn English by watching television, the first phrase they would master would be, "ask your doctor about." Soon they would be able to recite "in the rare event of an erection lasting more than four hours, seek immediate medical attention to avoid long-term injury."

True, Dad's viewing tends toward ESPN, the Golf Channel, the Weather Channel, CNN Headline News,and MSNBC, with some local news broadcasts thrown in. The ads on those stations repeat ad nauseum. I'm somewhat embarrassed to report that the most effective ads for holding my attention (although not longer than four hours) are the Avodart museum miniature model ads.

When I grow up, I would love to work in a museum creating exhibits. Museums always feel like home to me. So even though the actor has to make frequent trips to the restroom, I think he's got a cool job.

My small sons loved the army miniatures at the 45th Infantry Museum, and the great model railroad layouts at the Omniplex in Oklahoma City and the Union Pacific museum in downtown Omaha. Their all-time greatest hit was the huge miniature model at the Alamo. When will the Avodart guy remember the Alamo??? Maybe the next ads will feature the prostrate actor creating a miniature Iraq for the Bush Library!

Just what is the tag line for the commercial? Our hypothetical language-learning family and I can never decide if the man has a going problem, a growing problem, or a groin problem. Learning English on t.v. is going to be grueling.


© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder

Neapolitan Sky

This evening's storm was short, but a doozy. The electricity went off twice, so the LEDs are blinking their irritation. Walked outside afterward. The sky to the north above the Walgreens store's red neon glowed as a dessert delight. A little bit neapolitan ice cream, a big blast of patriotic bomb pop, and a just-washed fresh fruit parfait, completely harmonious, but each competing for the spotlight. If I were the slightest bit meteorological, I'd say that the ions were tingling.

Just above the Walgreen's the sky was a cut glass trifle bowl of homestyle vanilla ice cream scoops just the teensiest bit melty. The next layer was a thin band sometimes watermelon pink, but changing to raspberry sorbet the next glance in my rearview mirror. On top was the widest band of tingling velvet blue frosted with lavendar like a close-up photo of a blueberry, or a lush, gorgeous, itchy mohair sweater designed by Mark Rothko.

Here in Dallas, we are really tired of television weather personalities talking about "upper level lows". To separate the problems, I'm tired of the weather allegedly produced by "upper level lows", and I'm sick of weather personalities on television news programs. The weather segment of the news keeps expanding to fill in for the absence of actual news reporting. Now we have to hear about "dry lines" and be broadcast live from somebody's backyard picnic.

Top Ten List of what I want from my local weather report:

10. An honest family guy writing with chalk on a blackboard map who can pronounce city and county names correctly. Bowtie optional
9. One brief report of somewhere in the world having a hideous weather calamity so I can say, "Thank heavens I don't live in _________."
8. That the phrase, "ask your doctor if _______ is right for you," doesn't arrive in any of the sponsoring commercials.
7. A Doppler radar map in purdy colors.
6. An air quality/allergy/ozone report summarized as "Don't inhale."
5. Rainfall total for the month
4. Expected overnight low temp
3. The current temperature
2. Do I need to take cover for the approaching tornado right now?
1. Will it be a school snow day in the morning?

I became a cloud watcher in the summer of 1973 at Ten Mile Lake near Hackensack, Minnesota. After my first airplane flight I spent a couple extremely rainy weeks at a friend's cabin on the lake. The days of rains chained together, braided with the Senate Watergate hearings and Johnny Miller's win at the U.S. Open on the black and white tv screen.

Never mastered the names for the clouds, or any of the science. It's only as a painter that I'm interested. The painter, and the kid sitting in the grass eating a ten cent bomb pop.



© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

I haven't had a good night's sleep since Hector was a pup.

Twas a hellacious night of mental three-headed dog-walking, dental drilling dreams, and idiothermostatic irregularities. Somewhere between the hotter-than-Hades throwing off of blankets, the post-flash chills, and trying to remember if Dr. Deavers was the dentist or the doctor in old-timey Pierce, Nebraska, I got hung up on Dad's phrase, "since Hector was a pup."

My Auntie Em used the expression "since Hector was a pup" often, so I sense it came from the early 1900s. In Miss Madsen's seventh grade English class we studied Edith Hamilton's Mythology and Homer's Iliad. Hector, as everyone knows, was the true Trojan hero slain by Achilles and dragged all over tarnation in front of his parents, Priam and Hecuba. Dr. Louise Pound expounded in her 1927 work, The Etymology of an English Expletive, on the origin of "tarnation".

Feeling dragged through the cycle for yet another night, I'm wondering what's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba that he should weep for her. Maybe Hecuba is tossing and turning, and keeping Priam awake all night. Maybe Hecuba is considering asking her doctor if hormone therapy is right for her. How did hellfire and damnation get twisted into tarnation? How do carnations get dyed all those tutti-frutti colors for bouquets for sorority initiations?

When was Hector a pup? Was Hector a bully? Why is Heck a nickname for Henry? Who were the other two lawmen known as the "Three Guardsmen"* of the Oklahoma Territory besides Heck Thomas? Was Heck the one who killed Bill Doolin? What Led Zeppelin song had the howling dogs of doom?

No Quarter (Jones/Page/Plant)
Close the door, put out the light.
You know they won't be home tonight.
The snow falls hard and don't you know?
The winds of Thor are blowing cold.
They're wearing steel that's bright and true
They carry news that must get through.
They choose the path where no-one goes.
They hold no quarter.
Walking side by side with death,
The devil mocks their every step
The snow drives back the foot that's slow,
The dogs of doom are howling more
They carry news that must get through,
To build a dream for me and you
They choose the path where no-one goes.
They hold no quarter. They ask no quarter.
The pain, the pain without quarter.
They ask no quarter.
The dogs of doom are howling more!

Then, of course, we must consider why heck is a euphemism for hell. Hell is a euphemism for having to walk the three-headed dog before you've had three mugs of black coffee. Cerberus is the three-headed hound guarding Hades. A cold day in hell is when Cerberus licks the pump and freezes his tongue on the handle.

*Chris Madsen and Bill Tilghman
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

Dear Blogger.com

I love "labels" for blogs. I love that they bring in new readers. It's great that assigning labels is helping me understand the nature of my pontifications. My dad refers to my posts as "pontifications". I prefer to give them a rose-colored title of "ponderings". Thanks to my brother, I've been terrified of ending a sentence with a prepostition for, oh, so many years. "Helping me understand the nature of my pontifications," is just a way of writing, "figuring out what I blog about." Is there such a thing as prepositiphobia?

But really, dear Blogger.com, couldn't you create an easier way for folks with hefty blogs to edit past posts and add labels? I'm working on over one thousand posts. It takes way too long to navigate through my pontifications using <<Newest < Newer 101-150 of 1026 Older > Oldest>>

© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

Mullygrubs and collywobbles

O, the woe! Awoke with a stomach ache. Ate some of the bread dough before I baked the runzas last night. Now I have etymological difficulties compounding my intestinal discomfort.

Does eating too many fresh baked goods cause mullygrubs or collywobbles! This isn't Pierce, Nebraska. Where's Grandma when I need her? Should I call 911?

mulligrubs
"fit of the blues," also "colic," 1599, fanciful formation.

collywobbles
1823, fanciful formation from colic and wobble.

Uses
- Punch October 1841: "To keep him from getting the collywobbles in his pandenoodles."
- Cuthbert Bede The Adventures of Mister Verdant Green, 1853: "A touch of the mulligrubs in your collywobbles?"


THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.
II.—THE NEW MAN. Punch 10/9/1841, p. 154.

...The new man, at first, is not a great advocate for beer; but this dislike may possibly arise from his having been compelled to stand two pots upon the occasion of his first dissection. After a time, however, he gives way to the indulgence, having received the solemn assurances of his companions that it is absolutely necessary to preserve his health, and keep him from getting the collywobbles in his pandenoodles—a description of which obstinate disease he is told may be found in “Dr. Copland’s Medical Dictionary,” and “Gregory’s Practice of Physic,” but as to under what head the informant is uncertain.

Baby, You Can Botox My Buick!

Just when I thought "cosmellision" was the latest word, I'm informed that malls will soon have "cosmedical centers" where shoppers can bop on in for a $400 Botox treatment along with a three-pack of Fruit-of-the-Looms and a lucky bamboo plant.

The "light medical" plastic surgery procedures are probably not for people who buy Lite Beer from Miller. In my demographic "Klinger" is a corporal at the MASH 4077th, not the sixty-year-old Georgette Klinger spa-chain. My mall is the excellent dork-walking facility, Collin Creek Mall. If anyone invents a beauty treatment based on trekking across melted asphalt to doors marked by the squirrel & acorn symbol, I'll be looking mighty fine!

I just love this quote from Maria Halkias' story in today's Dallas Morning News:

People pay $500 for a jar of something with no science behind it...We're going to raise the beauty bar.

Can't you just see it? The cowboys from the Beauty Bar Ranch walk into the Klinger Saloon in the post-ghost town of Mall Gulch. When they put their elbows on the bar the balding bartender wipes his hands on his apron and asks, "What'll it be? Sasparilla? Two percent fortified milk? Liquid Plumber? Pepto-Bismol?" No way! The cowboys want to pay $500 for a jar of something with no science behind it!

Storm clouds are a-brewin'

Please don't tell a nervous preschooler that we are likely to have severe storms and a tornado and "our umbrellas will not help at all". This is the beginning of spring in Tornado Alley, and the beginning of tornado obsession for preschoolers. If this student's teacher really told him that our umbrellas were useless, that person should be flogged for inciting a riot.

Like the first recorded case of bird flu (or pink eye, or head lice) in humans, the first case of tornado obsession is the tip of the spring preschooler weatherphobia epidemic. This disease spreads at light speed from preschool to play group to playground. "Oh, Lordy, Ms. Louizeey, wheeze all agonna die!"

From now until May, I dread the slightest dark cloud over the DFW Metroplex. Mass hysteria is likely to ensue. Thunder. Tornado. Katrina. Bugs. Fear of the water being turned off for plumbing repairs. Fear of flushing toilets. Fear of things that don't go down when the toilet flushes. These are all major sources of hysteria in the preschool classroom. One fear morphs into the next then compounds, swirls, kicks into warp speed, and adds those special Disney features from Pinocchio, the Lion King, Cruella DeVille, Ursula the sea witch....

Fast forward to junior high health class. Remember the color filmstrip about chewing tobacco and mouth cancer? There is no scarier footage in all of Hollywood's special effects than those technicolor photos of rotten jaws and diseased tongues. The second best motivational video award belongs to the driver training film with the teen driver whose head is sliced off "on a guy wire". Then the film shows slices of the young driver's brain, and you will never, ever want to eat the macaroni salad at a family reunion so long as you live and drive. I'm so old my sons are all beyond driver training, but I hope they are scared to death of chewing tobacco and guy wires and mayonaise.

A kindly but gruff allergist once told me that I was just too diggety dog smart and sensitive. I shouldn't read about symptoms or diseases because I really couldn't help personalizing the manifestations. "You are too sensitive to ever eat onions again," he told me. "It doesn't matter if you are actually allergic to onions or not. You have read about anaphylactic shock. You know too much for your own good." The double secret agent with the special handshake says, "If I tell you the code, I will have to kill you." This message will self-destruct. Cue the theme song.

Hypochondria is phoning the doctor whenever things don't go down the flushing toilet. It is being reallio-trulio sure that nonflushers are symptoms of fatal diseases.

hy·po·chon·dri·a (hp-kndr-) n. 1. The persistent conviction that one is or is likely to become ill, often involving symptoms when illness is neither present nor likely, and persisting despite reassurance and medical evidence to the contrary. Also called hypochondriasis. http://www.thefreedictionary.com/

For preschoolers, the equivalent is going to tell the king whenever an acorn plunks on your head or the sky gets the eensy-teensiest-weensy bit gray. Oh, my gosh! Our umbrellas will not help at all! Wheeze all agonna die! Flush and be sure to wash your hands.

Things that go beep in the night

About a month back I decided I was going crazy. This time for real. I was waking up in the night hearing small electronic beeps. Or really just one beep. At a time. At a wake-up.

The beep was soft, but it was IN MY ROOM, and nearly every night, like a cricket working for the KGB. Was it Dick Cheney and HRH The Dubster doing a bit of illegal spying on Cream of Wheat/Nick At Nite Democrats? Or was it some diggity dog instant message thing caused by having college student sons home for the holidays sharing my computer?

Worse! What if it was endobeepia? What if I was hearing beeps that weren't really there? Just learned about endomusia, the hearing of music that is not really there. Are they coming to take me away?

They're coming to take me away, Ha-ha
They're coming to take me away, Ho-hoHee-hee-haa-haa
To the funny farm
Where life is beautiful all the time
And I'll be happy to see those
Nice young men in their clean white coats and
They're coming to take me away, ha-ha!

No, thank heaven. I switched from Norton Antivirus to McAfee Antivirus in December. McAfee's default settings include beeps and bonks when updates are available--usually in the middle of the night. I can change the defaults, and turn off the beeps. Now if I could just get rid of the Cheney cricket KGB images.

Admitting powerlessness over the kiln

My life for the last month has been pretty unmanageable. Firing student clay projects has taken over. I dream about loading and running the kiln the same night I dream I have a new baby to care for. Pretty much sums it up. Dealing with a kiln is as time-consuming, demanding, irrational, draining, and occasionally cute-as-a button, as a new baby. A new baby with colic.

My first son was a colicky baby, and I survived. I was crazy as can be for the first year of his life, though.

The kiln has cute moments. It looks like a cross between your great grandma's washing machine down in the cellar and R2D2.

The Online Etymology Dictionary and the Free Dictionary give me some insight into kilnosis, my current mental state:

Stir-crazy 1908, from stir "prison" (1851), probably from Start Newgate (1757), prison in London. stir-cra·zy (stûrkrz) adj. Informal
Distraught or restless from long confinement in or as if in prison.

Cabin fever n. Boredom, restlessness, or irritability that results from a lack of environmental stimulation, as from a prolonged stay in a remote, sparsely populated region or a confined indoor area.

I've been diagnosed with Kiln Captivity Disorder aka firing fever. This syndrome was first isolated among orangutans in zoos who created fabulous bowls and vases out of stuff they found on the floor of their cages. Ick. Zoos are improving all the time, and most orangutans get to go to the arts and crafts center twice a week nowadays.

Feels like I have spent the last month loading clay projects into the kiln, running the kiln (firing), unloading the kiln, reloading the kiln for the next batch. Now we are doing the second firing to glaze the clay. Glazing is the high wire circus act for an art teacher. The pieces must be placed into the kiln so that they don't touch each other, and they must be precariously balanced on goofy spiked tripod supports. After that, you just have to say your prayers and hope for the best. Burning incense and sacrificing a virgin or two might be good moves.

No wonder I'm considering going into a different line of work. Did I mention I teach preschoolers to roll clay coils by pretending to be a really bad lounge singer? And isn't this wire sculpture by Steve Lohman great?