The sky is falling!

You may have heard: we're all going to die of Ebola!

Calm down. We're not all going to die of Ebola. Why, do you ask? We don't live in West Africa.

Please take a minute and read this: Assessment of Ebola Virus Disease, Health Care Infrastructure, and Preparedness — Four Counties, Southeastern Liberia, August 2014

Before this is over, there well may be more imported cases of Ebola in the U.S. There may even be a few infections here, depending on how well cases are identified and managed (see Spain, or at worst, Nigeria). But that's where it will stop here.

Then look again at Liberia or Sierra Leone and think to yourself, "This is exactly why we pay taxes." (As onerous as that is.) No doubt we could manage our tax dollars a bit better, but I am grateful to live in a country that has a long-standing public commitment to infrastructure in public health, medicine, communication, transportation, etc.

All of which is so important to have in place BEFORE the crisis happens. I have not been involved at all in the response yet, though that could change at some point. I only know what I read in the news. I have no insights on how well things have or have not been managed. But, I do know it is unrealistic to blame the global public health response for not fixing a fundamental lack of infrastructure and generations of war and poverty in the past six months. 

I heart my neighborhood, part 523.

Having just been to the grocery store at 11pm, and being amused at a very similar situation (imagine this level of barren on every aisle of the store), I had to share this gem from the neighborhood page:

I made this.

Well, I didn't so much as did the dirt and the water and some cool genes, but still... these are all blooming in my yard right now!  As in, I took each of these pictures this very morning.

I've put many, many hours of work into this yard since I bought my house a few years ago. It still has a ways to go (notice you're not seeing any wide shots!), but this spring things have finally seemed to start growing into something recognizable. It has been remarkably satisfying to be seeing some tangible results... turns out gardening may not be the best hobby for instant gratification.  Maybe this will make those summer hours of weeding a little less tedious. 

My neighborhood is classy.

Much could probably be said about the following…

I'll just leave it at welcome to the newest neighborhood watering hole!


Edited to add:

Also this from the neighborhood Facebook page:

Hobbies.

I used to be a reader.  I'm still hopeful I can recover that aspect of my being, but for now it's just not relaxing.  And last year, I decided if things were going to be stressful with work, I needed some outlet for distraction.  At first there was a lot of Angry Birds. (Don't judge.)  But what I really needed was a hobby.

First, there was my garden.  This is still relaxing, but not nearly as much so on days like today when it's over 100 degrees and humid outside.  Even my garden doesn't want to be outside on days like this, I think.  This year has been more productive than last in some ways, although less so in others.  On the edible side, I have managed to eat from my yard at least a handful of: peas, potatoes, tomatoes, beets, beans, squash, basil, blueberries, blackberries.  The figs will be ripe soon, as will the peppers.  The jury's still out on the eggplant.  And more tomatoes, if the squirrels don't get them all.

Some evidence of the produce.

And the flowers.

Then, the cooking. I'm a messy cook, and not at all graceful, and I hate doing dishes, but it's fun to play in the kitchen.  In the past month in addition to the normal meal routine (which, let's face it, is sometimes just cereal for dinner, too), I've experimented with making my own bread, yogurt, pesto, pickles, and bbq sauce.  These have mostly worked out successfully, though I've still got a ways to go with the bread.

Finally, sewing. After many years hiatus, I took a sewing class at a cute little co-op in Atlanta last year to remind myself how to do more than just sew a straight line.  Skills beyond said straight lines have been slow in coming, but I've been trying to find smallish projects to keep it up.  The other week I made a cute little baby bib for a coworker.  Or, the pattern was cute, at least.  The perfectionist in me almost couldn't bring myself to actually gift my much less polished version. (Of which I don't even have a picture!)  But, hey, the kid's just going to stain it with carrot mush and spit-up anyway.

And guess what? A hobby or three later, things have been looking much better.  And extremely domestic, I know.  But, even when things don't work out right, having done something active and tangible makes a difference. Also, I think all my friends started dating people at about the same time, so I entertain myself a lot these days.  

This week I'm going on vacation, and I'm going to try again at the reading thing. I have a lengthy backlog of well-intended book sale purchases, but I've yet to decide on the perfect vacation book after a lengthy separation. I'm open to suggestions.  Or recipes.

Adulthood, revisited.

So, in the last week I've now had two cars towed due to mechanical problems and the 16 year old AC unit in my house is on its last legs and needs to be completely replaced.  Or, as was pointed out yesterday,  in 5 days I managed to break two cars and a house.  (Thanks, Brooke.)

Lesson: Being a grown-up is also expensive!

Turns out being a grown-up could be overrated.

Adulthood seems so great when you first start doing it. Living on your own, making your own decisions. Exciting! Fun! Adventures!

I could go to bed at 2am if I want (hah!), or 9:30pm. (Or let's face it, 8:30pm if I'm feeling really crazy.)  M&M's for dinner? Sure. Vacations to the other side of the world on short notice? Check.  Sleep on the couch because you just washed your sheets but didn't plan enough time to dry them before you needed to go to bed? Done it. And now I'm even adult enough to have a guest bedroom as back-up!  (Oh yep, done it.)
Psst. Please don't look in my bedroom right now and judge me, with the covers piled up on the middle of the bed next to a neatly folded pile of sheets, unmade. I just really hate making the bed, okay? That's part of the grown-up stuff that's not so fun. All the chores you especially hate are yours. 

Know what you don't quite get right away? Being a grown-up IS great, for much more substantive reasons than that.  But it's hard, and frequently uncomfortable.

I think I've mentioned before that it's been a really stressful year or so, mostly because of work. I feel like I'm in that awkward growing pains phase in life where I'm inexperienced enough to still be making a lot of mistakes, but experienced enough that I'm the one on the hook for them now… I'm not anyone's student or fellow anymore. I'm supposed to be learning how to be the one in charge.  (I'm finding this feeling is true for a lot of people at this stage in our lives, whether it be early in careers or marriage or parenting.)

Want to know what's really hard? Learning how to do it gracefully, not getting defensive or aggressive, learning when to stand your ground or when to take the hits and do what needs to be done, even in the times when it's not your fault. I've seen some really good examples of that in the last year, and some really bad ones. Lucky for me, I have a wonderful supervisor who happens to be one of the really good examples.

On the upside, a working group conference call that has felt to border on verbal abuse in recent weeks was actually pleasant today. It might be a breakthrough.

In the meantime, it makes a difference when you have people in your life who are in your corner.
Like this:

The virtual neighborhood.

A recent gem from my neighborhood's Facebook page:

Makes me kinda wish I'd left some shoes out.

A confession.

I love TV.

My parents are movie people. Oscar night was significant in our household growing up. They regularly go to the dollar theater, at least a couple times a month, and regularly give me the summary/review on the weekly phone call. They cover a wide variety of genres, and know a seemingly endless amount of movie and movie actor trivia. Not so much gossip, mind you, but trivia. This, no doubt, helps them with their daily NY Times crossword puzzle.

My siblings and I, however, are TV people. As a child, my brother could practically recite the TV listings -- there would occasionally be arguments over who got to read the TV Guide first on grocery shopping day. (Seriously.) My sister likened many important family events to "this is just like that time on Full House...".

Don't get me wrong, I really like movies, I even love some of them. I also get that movies (well, ahem, film) is probably the more classy thing to like. Oh well. There's just something about having a series of bite-sized 20 or 45 minute stories at intervals over an extended period of time that I find endearing.  Even when episodes can basically stand alone, I prefer watching them in order.

In truth, I don't think I really watch all that much TV these days. But, I do have a few shows that I keep up with, usually while fixing/eating dinner (thank the internet!).  And I didn't realize until they were back after the winter break how much I missed them.

"Work like you don't need the money, love like you've never been hurt, dance like no one is watching. Enjoy these Satchel Paige brand tampons."
- As quoted by Liz Lemon on 30 Rock.

While I'm unlikely to join a jazz dance team for the local WBNA franchise, it makes me feel like 2012 is starting off well. Also, this:

And seriously, if this episode doesn't crack you up, you might not have a sense of humor:

That's all. I basically don't understand TV snobs.

(Disclaimer: I do also read books.)

There be bugs.

I've been spending the holidays at home in Arizona enjoying, among other things, the beautiful weather.  Having grown up here, I have absolutely no nostalgia for cold or white Christmases.

In part to celebrate the sunny, 70 degree weather in December, we trekked over to Phoenix the other day to the Desert Botanical Gardens and wandered around for the afternoon.  In other (larger) part to see a current art installation, showcasing giant wooden bug sculptures scattered strategically throughout the park.

They were fun to see, but I mostly enjoyed wandering around the trails for a few hours and remembering how beautiful I think the desert is. Lush green trees and grass are beautiful, I know, but the desert is just so unique.  Besides, the Sonoran desert in southern Arizona is actually quite lush.  For a desert.

Among the oddities of plants and flowers and bugs (e.g., fairy duster, jimson weed, assassin bug, devils claw, boojum tree, ghost flower, hedgehog cactus, prickly pear...), I was amazed at how perfectly life seems to adapt to every extreme of geography and climate. Of course that seemed to mean there wasn't a plant there that didn't have thorns or spines or stickers of some sort. Well, or poison.  Some were pretty creative and/or downright deceptive.

Related side note:  I did end up bleeding at one point.  My own fault.  (Really though, you end up with a lot of cactus stories when you grow up around the desert. Occupational hazard.)

I even learned a few things. Did you know:

• There are four different and unique desert ecosystems in the US, and Arizona is the only state to contain parts of all four?
• Arizona has been called the hummingbird capital of the world?
• Daddy Long-legs aren't even spiders?  Also not poisonous.  

Traveling.

In the last couple months of blog hiatus, I haven't been home much... on travel as often as I'm here. A lovely trip to Australia on vacation for two weeks (my sixth continent!), and a work trip to London for two weeks (yeah, life is rough).

I think my subconscious is happy to be home. Last night I dreamed that squatters had moved into my house while I was gone. (Well, in my dream it was my house, even though it looked nothing like my actual house.) I noticed their stuff right away, but was still on hold trying to call the police when people started showing up. By then word had gotten out, and there were like 50+ people trying to come into my house.  I finally got them to leave... even though they didn't really get why it was a problem. They were awfully obliging, though, at least I got nice squatters. By then, my phone call to the police had been disconnected, so I called back, but sat on hold for another 30 minutes or so before I woke up. Apparently my subconscious also doubts the efficiency of the DeKalb County police.

I've been back for a week now, can I still blame the weird dreams on jetlag?  Only one more short work trip before Christmas. Which is good... I've committed to get a lot done before the end of the year!

With a door.

As of Monday, we moved into a new building at work, and I now officially occupy an office, with a door!

(It's still a little sterile at the moment.)

After many years of shared space, and 4 years here of having half a cubicle in a room with 9 other people, this is SO MUCH BETTER.  I think I'd generally been pretty good at blocking out the ambient noise when I needed to, but I'm amazed how much easier it is to concentrate when I'm not in a relatively small room filled with several other people's conversations and conference calls and typing and breathing and... okay you get the point.

I'm still getting used to the layout of our new space, but I may have already done previously unheard of things like shut the door for an hour to finish up a presentation I was stressed about.  In my past life, someone would always manage to interrupt at just the wrong time.  Tomorrow, conference call in my own space without disrupting anyone.  I may not be out of the cubicle farm forever, but for now I am enjoying my new walls.

And yet somehow all I can think of is this:

The first harvest.

Seven beans!

You may think seven green beans is nothing to write home about, but since only a couple of weeks ago all my garden's plants were tiny, yellow, and dying, I'd like to celebrate the fact that I was able to nurse some of them back to some semblance of health.   (After I almost killed them in the first place.  Hmm... Münchausen, anyone?)

Let's just say 2011 hasn't been my best ever start to vegetables.  But, I think I will be able to salvage a few beans, peas, tomatoes, and maybe some beets and carrots this summer.  Don't worry.  I'll keep you posted.

Some things never change.

I was sorting through some old photos the other day, and had to laugh a little at these:

Yes, sleep is much better than play.

Why get someone else do something when you can figure out how to do it yourself?

Although, according to many photos I apparently rarely wore shoes as a child.  So, that's different.  

But, I like this one:

Aren't the 1980s wonderful? 

The five year plan.

Probably about 10 years ago, my mom made some off-handed comment along the lines of "well, five years from now you'll be married, anyway, maybe with a kid"... and from that moment on, it became legend. The "Five Year Plan", it was dubbed (I, of course, never being one to make something out of nothing).  This became a regular source of teasing my mother. Especially as the years ticked away. I even had roommates who used to ask me after my weekly phone call home for the update on "the Plan". What year was it in now?

In reality, I've hesitated to ever have much of an actual five year plan. As if having a five year plan was somehow a commitment that would require my life to turn out exactly that way.  I was talking to my supervisor at a recruiting event the other week, and the subject of five year plans came up... this being a common interview question. It doesn't have to actually work out that way, she said. But you should have something to say. Some idea at least of what you're working toward. Chances are something else will come up along the way, and that's fine. You just adapt.

Well, considering the "Five Year Plan" has not materialized as initially laid out (even though it was never actually laid out), I realize that makes perfect sense. The trouble is, I'm a bit too literal. Most of the time, I can't even commit to a favorite color, ice cream, movie, or book. My favorite answer? It depends. Lame, I know. But, it does!  Regardless, I know that's true for everyone, and no one actually cares if it is literally your favorite. It's just something you say. And it might be different the next time someone asks. And that's okay, too.

All of this is to say, I've been thinking a lot over the past several months about where my life is headed and what I want it to be. Maybe a bit neurotically at times. But, without any significant impending life decisions on the horizon, my life is pretty stable and, I worry, sometimes stagnant.

While I may struggle to pick favorites, I am willing to say that A River Runs Through It has been on my bedside table for at least a month now... reading and rereading passages I could probably cite by memory at this point.    I don't have any good reason to feel such nostalgia for the book -- I grew up in the suburbs and I've only ever fished once or twice... with bait (gasp).  I think I read it for the first time in high school, and I don't recall if that was before or after I watched the movie. I mean, this might have been motivating, right?  :)

But, I think it one of the most beautifully and lovingly written books I've ever read. Published when the author was 73 (his first book, after a career of teaching literature at the University of Chicago), it's the type of book that could only be written by an old man. One who had already lived and reflected on a lifetime of love and loss.

Maybe because I'm still moving forward in my own story, I find sometimes that it helps me to think about what I'd like it to look like on the back end.  A main theme of the book is of the redeeming power of mastery:

"One of life's quiet excitements is to stand somewhat apart from yourself and watch yourself softly becoming the author of something beautiful, even if it is only a floating ash."

On the one hand, the book posits, pure talent is something special, but is innate; the truly gifted come that way:

“At that moment I knew, surely and clearly, that I was witnessing perfection. He stood before us, suspended above the earth, free from all its laws like a work of art."

But even so, expertise can be learned through practice and dedication:

"My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things - trout as well as eternal salvation - come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy..."

"One reason Paul caught more fish than anyone else was that he had his flies in the water more than anyone else. "Brother," he would say, "there are no flying fish in Montana. Out here, you can't catch fish with your flies in the air."

That's perhaps the comforting part to the perfectionist in me, most of my life being much less than pure talent.

I'm not sure that puts me any closer to a five year plan, but at least I can start to recognize areas in my life that need a bit more mastery.  And, where I haven't actually put in much effort.  It's the practice and dedication part that is the challenge.  Unfortunately Netflix is sometimes a bit more appealing...

Viva la electricity.

After a big storm in Atlanta this week, and several downed trees in the neighborhood, I was without power at my house for a couple of nights.  What to do? No TV or music. No cooking or baking without the stove. No internet. Cell phone almost dead without the ability to charge. No hairdryer after a morning shower. Assembling what I could for meals with the contents of my rapidly warming refrigerator.

The first night was spent more worried about the raging storm outside (and whether those large, violently swaying trees in my yard were going to remain upright) than being cut off from my usual routines.

The second night was quiet without the storm... no humming of appliances, no option of having the TV on in the background or music playing from my laptop (with its now-empty battery). It was also very dark. I guess I don't generally recognize how much ambient light is generated from modern conveniences -- clock on the microwave, charging cell phone, etc. I did some dishes by candlelight, and then read a book by flashlight for a little while before going to bed early.

All in all, it was lovely.

(For 24 hours, anyway. Of course, when I woke up in the middle of the night and saw my flashing clock and realized the power was back on, I may or may not have checked my email... not because I was expecting anything, just because I could.)

No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks.

Four years ago I was in a state of panic, just a couple short weeks before defending my dissertation.  It took me several more weeks after that to settle down and realize I was actually done.  No more school!

While it's true that I don't miss being a student (after going straight through my life's formal education -- 23 consecutive years of being a full time student!), I did always think I'd go back to academia after a brief stint at CDC.  Well, I'm still at CDC with no plans or real desire to make a change any time soon... and the longer I stay the harder it probably will be to go back.

The one thing I have missed about not being at a university, though, is teaching.  If you'd told me that even a decade ago, I wouldn't have believed it.  My mother is a teacher, my sister is a teacher, but I never really thought it was for me.  So, I was surprised during my second year of grad school to discover that I actually liked teaching.  And specifically teaching epidemiology.  I was even more surprised that after teaching the same cycle of classes for four years in a row I wasn't bored with them.

Recently I started co-teaching an introductory epidemiology course for the fellows and junior staff in our Center at work.  It's pretty informal, and I felt a little rusty at first, but lately Thursday afternoon has been the part of my work week I look forward to the most.  My friend Sara sent me a link to an article she read about epidemiology, and as I've been sitting here reading the chapter for this week's class, it reminded me how cool it can be.

This week, causal inference!  Sounds exciting, no?


(Also, this one always makes me smile:)

The others.

My parents were in town for a visit this week, and my mom talked for days about some article she read in the Mormon Times last week. After meeting my friends on Sunday, she promptly looked it up online and forced me to read it. (I'm not quite sure what that says.)   While it isn't exactly the experience of my youth -- I kept my mouth shut -- I can relate, given my formative years in the midst of Mormon culture:

Holding on to the 'others'

I was a good kid. I followed the rules, I worked hard, I got good grades, and importantly, I didn't talk back (...well, to people who weren't related to me, anyway). I was generally well-respected by leaders and peers at church, but not very close to any of them. I got along well with the few adults who themselves used to be nerdy kids, but otherwise I don't think anyone quite knew what to do with me. I didn't look or dress like they did. I was more interested in books than shopping or sports. More interested at the age of 15 in talking about what I might want to study in college than what my wedding would look like. Wedding dress fashion show for a Stake activity? Are there really not other life/social skills that might be more important for teenagers?

In the grand scheme of trials and angst, you're thinking, that is not a big deal. I agree. So, the rational part of me would have a hard time explaining how it could have been as painfully lonely as it was.

Also, I had questions. Lots of them. Consequently, I struggled to express myself with the certainty that was expected of the "faithful", "chosen generation". But, I was also too shy to ever bring it up and attract confrontation. When younger, I spoke up in Primary or Sunday School because no one else would, but after a while, I just stopped talking. It only make me stick out more.

I can't really explain, especially to those not of our faith, just how much of your life is encompassed by membership in such a tight-knit community. We don't really do casual. Now that I'm older, and have some life experience I'm struck by how much collective effort of that culture was spent on (a) trying to define with exactness what a good person was supposed to be like, and then (b) trying hard to fit that mold, and/or (c) trying hard to at least make it look like you did.

It wasn't really until I moved to Boston after college that I finally started realizing it was okay to be different and still have a meaningful place the church. And that, heck, I wasn't even really all that odd. (An old roommate used to call the Boston singles' wards the Island of Misfit Toys).

The saddest part to me is this: there are probably more people who feel like they're the ones on the outside than not. It's easy to think you're the one feeling out, and look around at everyone else seemingly having a grand old time. But that's not the reality. I think confidence is much less frequently the motivator than insecurity.

So why is it that we pay a lot of lip service to the idea that everyone has different gifts, but less to the reality that in a world of people from different backgrounds/interests/cultures/talents, there might just be more than one good way to talk/think/feel/act and still be True. As the author says, "It's no surprise that middle- and high-school culture usually treats young people with these virtues as if there is something wrong with them for not being like the "normal" kids — but LDS culture should be a haven for them."

It's harder and more vulnerable than it seems to open yourself up and just be who you are, however minor those differences may seem. We all want to be appreciated, and recognized, and valued. "There's more than one way to lose sheep." Basically, if you don't find reasons to value someone and their own unique contributions and perspective, someone else will. So, if we practice what we preach, it should be us.

I'm going to live to 100.

According to this article, anyway, summarizing new analyses of a 90-year long follow-up study of over 1,500 Americans. (Emphasis below added by me.)

See this:

Reality:  One of the best childhood personality predictors of longevity was conscientiousness — "qualities of a prudent, persistent, well-organized person, like a scientist or professor — somewhat obsessive and not at all carefree," the authors conclude.

And this:

The authors also looked at a study of Medicare patients that found that "neuroticism was health-protective."

I found it comforting :)

The power of forgetting.

I found myself sorting through my "Carrie box" while home over Christmas (my childhood bedroom no longer exists in its previous form, but I do still have a little space in the closet), and smiled a little at some of the things that were saved... certificates and diplomas of course, a few school projects, a throw pillow that I sewed as a youth, a poster of bald eagles (really?).   I felt oddly sentimental about my old orange and white teddy bear. And the old yearbooks and memories of old friends.  Though Suzie from math and youth conference really should have signed her last name, because while she "will never forget the memories", I'm having a hard time remembering.

It made me think of one of the episodes of "This American Life" from a couple years ago, about school picture day in high school:

"What Sydney's picture doesn't show is the decisions that are weighing on her. She's deciding right now if she wants to take the really hard advanced placement classes, or get more involved in sports, or maybe art. She's just old enough to choose who she'll be for the very first time, and feels like there'll be consequences."

I remember that feeling.  I mean, this would be my LIFE.

Ira Glass then asks her, "Someday when you're older, do you think when you look back on your high school years you'll remember these choices that seem so significant now?" Unlike most of the other kids, she says no. She can't remember most of her life up until then, so why would it be different in the future? "Where has time gone?" she asks.

Where indeed, Sydney.  My mom was asking me what some of my old friends were up to, and I'll admit I had to do a little Facebook stalking to come up with some of the answers. We've all grown up, moved on, and outside of a few weddings I haven't seen much of some of them in the last decade.

I had a friend who used to be really opposed to Facebook. "If I lost touch with someone after high school, there was probably a reason," she'd say.  While that may be true, I sent some emails to people I haven't talked to in at least 10 years. High school may not have ended up defining the course of my whole life, and I'm really glad that I've changed a bit since then... but it was a real part of the life that has turned me into the person I am now, and it was nice to refresh some of those memories for a little bit, anyway.