Turns out, I have at least one faithful reader of my web journal, so I'm posting in order to make her happy (she was complaining that I hadn't posted since April).  A lot has happened since I posted last.

My story begins with a call from a graduate committee member at the University of New Orleans saying there existed a position and money for me if I could find an advisor.  A whirlwind 2 1/2 day trip to NO (JUST before finals, mind) and several emails later, I had an advisor, an acceptance letter to the conservation bio program, and a sweet financial hookup (tuition, including out-of-state fees, and a paycheck).  I've since been trying to line up medical and attendant care, both of which would go so much better if people would just RETURN MY MESSAGES!  Grumble, growl.  I've posted a help-wanted ad on Craig's list in NO for a PCA (thanks to the advice of my pal Kim) but haven't had any hits yet.  I'm not worried YET, but never fear, I'm sure I will begin to worry soon.

Then a week ago I get a phone call telling me the wife of a grad school bud had died of the cancer she'd been battling for a couple of years.  I was crushed.  I remember when Mark and Kala met, and it was one of those relationships which renews your faith in true love at first sight (at least until you remember it'll never happen to you).  Mark had recently been through an awful divorce in which he was swearing off women forever, then he took "a 2x4 shot to the backs of the knees" from Kala, and he was done for.  It was great to see.  I and three other bio geeks attended the funeral, and it was the second most memorable funeral I've ever attended.  Kala had had a lot of time to prepare, and her presence was strong in the poetry, Scriptures, and journal entries she had chosen to be read at the service.  She is a truly remarkable woman, and I feel blessed and honored to have made her brief acquaintance.

Let's see -- what else?  Oh yes, my van broke down at the funeral home.  My mother has been hired on at the VA hospital in Wichita in an as-needed (for now) position, so she's been going through orientation for a week-and-a-half with two-and-a-half weeks to go.  That means she and I are getting up between 5:30 and 6:30 so she can get to Wichita in time (did I mention I moved in with the parentals for the Summer?).  On MWF she is only in orientation until noon so she can get to work by 2 p.m., but on TTh she's there until 4:00, so I usually go with her and hang with my brother and Naomi (when she's home) in order to have a way to go to the bathroom by asking former PCAs or my pals for help.  The sleep schedule gets to be painful by about Wednesday (to bed between 11:00 and 11:30, up at 5:30 or so), but you gotta do what you gotta do.

Hope this little post makes SOME people happy!  :-)

I was reminded by a friend that I hadn't posted in a while, so I decided to log on and play with my blog a bit. I'll post an update on the happenings of the last couple of months very soon. Hope you enjoy the template I picked!

I was engaging in study-avoidance behavior (but still managing to not listen to my Muse and write on my story, gotta give me a little credit), when I found Kim had linked to another quiz. Pretty fun. Check it out:

Take my Quiz on QuizYourFriends.com!

I was checking up on my pal Kim and found this great quiz. Give it try! My results below.


Classic rock! Without you the other genres
wouldn't exist! You are the raw and original
sound of rock! Other genres may try to imitate
your rawness, but they can never be like you!


What genre of rock are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

It's been a while since I've blogged, as I'm sure many of you already know. It's been a hectic few months, and I'm presently on the edge, waiting to hear back from those graduate schools. I have two rejections (Univ. Colorado Boulder and Louisiana State), but the big edge I'm waiting on is from the University of New Orleans. The graduate coordinator of UNO called me last Thursday to inform me she has a position and a fellowship to offer me, I just need to find an advisor. The man with whom I originally communicated is not a member of the bio dept., and the man he suggested to be my advisor may be retiring in a year or so. She gave me the names of a couple of profs to solicit, so I popped off emails and CVs to both of them just a little while ago. Wish me luck.

I'm off to study for a history exam.

I was just reading my Friday edition of the SF Gate newsletter and reflecting on the comments Mark Morford makes at least once a week about our country's confusion as to why the population is so obese and dealing with so many health issues. Can you say, "Duh?" It amazes me just how many people don't realize the crap that gets pumped into our beef and our chickens that winds up accumulating in our bodies to horrendous levels because we're so indoctrinated by those "Beef -- it's what's for dinner" commercials. If you want a real eye-opener about that steak you're getting ready to put on the grill, just read Ruth Ozeki's My Year of Meats. It ain't fiction, kids -- that shit's for real.

Now let's get one thing straight before you decide to stop reading -- I am not a vegetarian. I love steak, I love hamburgers. Further, I am female and sometimes need an extra dose of iron once a month. "Is she a hypocrite?" you may ask. If I were, do you think I'd be writing this entry? The majority of red meat I consume comes from my parents' cattle. I know EXACTLY what has gone into these cattle, i.e., no antibiotics, no growth hormones, no ground up cow brains and spinal cords in the feed. It is organic, and let me tell you, it tastes so much better than what you get in the grocery store (unless you shop at an organic grocery store). Plus I have the peace of mind of knowing my body can process the meat easily. I was tickled a couple of weeks ago when I heard my dad is thinking about buying some chickens. Oh what a glorious day that will be!

Then there's the fast food. Any fast food. I've been cutting it out of my diet for the last month, and the energy I have in exchange is well worth it. Even my crazy class and work schedule isn't dragging me down. "But the convenience!" I hear some of you yelling. "Sometimes I'm just so tired when I get home from sitting at a computer and tippy-tapping away that I don't want to cook." Leftovers, baby. Cook a big batch of your favorite something on the weekend when you're rested and there will be plenty to savor later when you're worn out from work and the kids. Here's another bonus -- you actually save money when you're not spending four or five bucks a pop at Mickey D's or KFC a day. Not only that, you're saving money on trips to the doctor, or should I say LACK of trips to the doctor?

Yes, for cryin' out loud, I'm a hippie. I've never been in denial about it; I've always embraced it. I'm not perfect, though. Those refined sugars are turning out to be a bear to eliminate. I'm not much in the candy department, never have been (except for the occasional bit of dark chocolate, but it's better for you than milk chocolate), but I hooked myself on pop in high school. As with any other bad habit, it's a slow journey. Prescription medication forced me to go completely caffeine-free, but that was no biggie since I was already mostly caffeine-free anyway. I started my weaning process by allowing myself one can (preferrably) or one 20 oz. bottle (usually) every other day. After a while, the cravings just seemed to go away, mostly. The other key was finding a substitute, kind of like some smokers take up chewing gum. I now have a variety of herbal teas in my cabinet that is seconded only by the grocery store itself.

I guess what all this rambling is leading to is that I realized that if I want to live a long life despite the MD and in hopes of getting into that PhD program in ecology (remember, I'm a hippie), I need to make some changes and stop putting so much crap in my mouth. The changes aren't even that difficult. It isn't that hard to find a source of organic produce, milk, and even meat (and you don't have to have parents who grow their own cows). Cost, you ask? Yes, it can be more expensive to go organic, but if this broke college hippie can do it (on a fairly regular basis -- I'm no saint, after all), anyone can. Stop bitching about how your ankles are breaking down as you drive your overweight fanny to Burger King, get your slovenly ass out of the complimentary wheelchair at Wal-Mart, put that Hungry Man dinner back in the frozen food section, and try those yummy veggies in the produce section. Buy your hamburger organic, or at the VERY LEAST buy the 96% lean stuff instead of the 85%. Tiny changes, kids. You'll be amazed how easy it is.

I just received AGAIN an email about the Eid stamp put out by the USPS, and I have to make a few comments -- if for no other reason than to keep my BP down a couple of notches.

First of all, let me point out that this is not the only holiday stamp of any faith put out by the USPS. In fact, I'd wager a heavy bet that Christmas stamps outnumber all other holiday stamps put together.

Second, while the occurrences we're asked to REMEMBER were perpetrated by Muslims, it is extremely unfair to equate every Muslim with those Muslims. Even Bush doesn't do it. It would be equivalent to saying that KKK members and Hitler represent all Christians. Here at the university, I've had the privilege of meeting and getting to know a few Muslims, and they were just as saddened and outraged by the events of 9/11 as any Christian. In fact, when a candlelight vigil was held on campus, more students of Middle Eastern descent attended than did American students. How shameful is that?

I applaud the USPS's attempt to be multicultural. This country is not just made up of white, Christian, able-bodied individuals of Northern-European-descent. This country is a beautiful conglomerate of nationalities and ways of worship. Everyone keeps yelling about peace on Earth and goodwill toward men, but they don't seem too interested in trying to actually live it. How are we ever going to achieve these goals if we spend all our time bashing each other and tearing each other apart? Would that we spent more time talking with each other and learning from each other. How mch happier might we be?

It really sucks to be reminded just how bass-ackwards some people's and some states' thinking can be. A group of people with disabilities is suing the state of Tennessee under the ADA in an attempt to get that state to make its courthouses accessible. One woman in the suit, a court reporter, has had to turn down 23 jobs because she was unable to get to the second floor of the buildings due to lack of elevators. In one job she had taken, a judge had to carry her into the bathroom and sit her on the toilet because she couldn't get her wheelchair through the door. A man in the suit whose legs were in casts due to a car accident was forced to pull himself up the stairs to his hearing while court employees and a judge laughed at him from the top of the stairs. His case wasn't heard that morning, so he had to make his way back down to the first floor for lunch. When he refused to struggle back up the stairs for the afternoon session, the judge had him arrested for failure to appear.

One would think this would be an open-and-shut case of blatant discrimination with no danger of being thrown out, but the state of Tennessee and other states facing similar suits are yelling "11th Amendment" in order to not have to make any accomodations. For those of you not up to date on your Constitutional amendments (admittedly, I'm a little rusty myself), the 11th Amendment reads, "The judicial power of the United States shall not be construed to extend to any suit in law or equity, commenced or prosecuted against one of the United States by citizens of another state, or by citizens or subjects of any foreign state" (thanks to Cornell's law school for providing the full text of the Constitution online). The states aren't being sued by citizens of other states -- they're being sued by their OWN friggin' citizens! Unfortunately, there seems to be a real danger that federal appeals courts may allow this cock-and-bullshit to fly and declare that the states don't have to provide reasonable accomodations for employees or plaintiffs/defendants. I don't think I need to go on for lines and lines about that injustice, nor do I need to bring up comparison after comparison of other discrimination suits in a similar vein which were ruled in favor of the plaintiffs (Brown vs Topeka BOE, anyone?). The author of the editorial I read did that well enough, so I'll refer you to the NYTimes online, Sunday edition.

I do, however, feel the need to comment on the judge's and employees' behavior in the incident of the man in casts, which has undoubtedly been repeated by them and other states countless times. I'm outraged that people can take such obvious pleasure in another human's pain and humiliation. They basically took this man's dignity and stomped the dog shit out of it right there in a building meant to uphold the law -- the same law which includes preserving the dignity of people. The courts in Florida upheld the right of a woman to die with dignity by ordering the removal of her feeding tube, but the same federal courts in other states may say, "To hell with your dignity. You're just a second-class person anyway because you're a cripple." It's so ironic to read this editorial when we're about a week away from celebrating the birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It's unreal to celebrate the emancipation of a group of people when there is still so much blatant discrimination in our country of all groups that are not American-born, white, Protestant, middle-class (or should I say upper-class nowadays?), able-bodied people. We are not the land of freedom and equality that our leaders love to claim we are; rather, we are a country full of people suspicious of and hateful toward anything and anyone different than us. When I think of that, a deep sadness begins to mingle with the outrage.

After reading this article in the NYTimes Online, I am even more grateful for my parents' determination to keep my siblings and me out of an institution. I have a friend who protested a group home in San Francisco a couple of years ago, but even then I guess I never really grasped how many people are forced into "gulags" rather than being allowed to stay in their homes. It always seemed dumb to me that my annual review for self-directed care included a question which asked, "Do you wish to continue self-directed services rather than enter a nursing home?" In my mind (and sometimes out loud) I always answered, "Well, duh," but it appears the painful reality is that a lot of people don't get that choice.

How stupid is it to advocate nursing homes for people with disabilities when it's obvious they cost so much more than in-home care? Even medical in-home care costs less than a facility. State governments want to save money. Wouldn't it make more sense to get people out of the gulags and into their own homes than to cut money to people already living in their own homes? All the latter does is force many of us into homes which are (did I forget to mention?) more expensive.

And what is that protection crap all about? Who's being protected here? Maybe the closed-minded ABs who want to live in a fantasy world that everything is perfect and that there is NO possibility that their child could be born with MD or CP or that they could wind up a quadriplegic after that guy who has six DUIs and has never seen a minute of jail time broadsides their car on a perfectly sunny summer day? Whatever.

I visited a gulag here in Wichita when I was deciding how I was going to live away from home for the first time to attend college. The longer I stayed there, the more and more trapped I felt. When Mom and I tried to leave, our van wouldn't start. I went into the first panic attack of my life -- a full-blown one complete with tears and an attempt at hyperventilation. I was convinced that if I didn't get out of there RIGHT NOW, I never would. It was, quite literally and with no exaggeration whatsoever, the scariest experience of my life.

I had no idea then how lucky I was to have parents that refused to send me to an institution no matter how much the doctors insisted it was the best course of action. I'm starting to realize it now, 30+ years later. I know how much of a hardship it was for them to take care of three of us with only a little help from Medicaid and SSI to pay doctor bills and from MDA to pay for surgeries and wheelchairs. There was no one but them to take us to the bathroom and bathe us and dress us and get us in and out of bed and haul us around to school and doctor's appointments and MD clinic. The only reprieve they had was one week in the summer when we went to MD camp. But they did it, and if they ever discussed among themselves that they'd made the wrong decision years ago, I sure could never tell. Some kids weren't as lucky as us, and that makes me sadder than I could ever express in the written or even spoken word. I got a glimpse of how sad and trapped their lives are when I visited that gulag, and I can easily say I'd rather die than live like that. My heart and soul just couldn't take it, not after my parents raised me to live free.

My mom IS Boudicea! I just found out that the strongest medication she took after getting off the IV is 600 milligram Ibuprofen. She never even filled her script for Loratab. What a stud my mother is!!

OK, it's been awhile since I've made an entry into my blog, but since I doubt that anyone reads it anyway, it's probably no big loss, eh?

Just on the off-chance someone actually DOES read this, here's what's been shakin' the last few weeks:

-- Lots and lots of school work, which is what I spend my days typing rather than entering in my blog

-- My mother (who has lovingly been dubbed Boudicea by my "big sister" Lisa) had a laproscopic hysterectomy and was in her pharmacology class four days later making an A-level presentation on lupus

-- I've been in and out of my doc's office for the last three weeks trying to determine why I've been having heart palpitations and headaches. Preliminary diagnosis is anxiety attacks with a new spin (the headaches), but just to be sure I'm having to wear a "King of Hearts" monitor for a month (starting today) to ensure my rhythm is OK.

-- I'm trying to catch a cold. I'm just thankful it's not strep.

Yeah, I lead a hell of an exciting life. One positive thing I can say is the Columbian hottie who works the info desk in my building noticed this morning that I was under the weather and seemed genuinely concerned. Hey, it's a small pleasure, but I take 'em as I get 'em.

Neither by hope nor by fear -- Isabella d'Este (1474-1539), marquessa of Mantua, Italy

These words describe how Isabella d’Este lived her life. She neither hoped that only the best would happen nor lived in fear that the worst would happen. These words struck deeply into my heart when I read them since they seemed to be words of advice ringing down through the ages from Isabella to me. I am standing at a crossroads in my life. I cannot hope that what is best for me will fall into my lap. I must decide what to do and then take steps to ensure that it happens. I cannot live in fear either. In order for my dreams to be fulfilled, I may have to make drastic changes to my life. This is not easy for me since I am most comfortable when my life is a routine. However, the best things in our lives do not happen in the everyday routine, but when we step off the path or turn onto a different road (I’m suddenly thinking of that “left turn at Albuquerque” which always put Bugs Bunny into a unique situation). That change may seem dark and scary at first, but it may just be a smoke screen to try and scare us away. We must not fear. We must not hope for a path clear of stones and thorns either, since that most assuredly means we would encounter boulders and boa-sized vines. We simply must trudge on, knowing our dreams lay just around that frightening bend.

I've become convinced in the last five full weeks of classes that education professors sit around in a smoky back room somewhere and think up all sorts of stupid busy work for their students. I haven't done this many little crap projects in . . . well, frankly, I can't remember EVER doing this many little crap projects. I can't even resort to caffeine to give me a boost through since my new BP medication REALLY doesn't like caffeine. The headaches just aren't worth it.

While I'm ranting and raving, let me just say the US Postal Service can BITE ME! It took me three days last week to receive my new Junoon CD because my mail carrier just couldn't take the time to wait for me to go down to the front desk to sign for it, and she wouldn't let anyone else sign for it either. I'm convinced they saw that the package was from Pakistan, they thought it was an al-Qaida recruitment tape, and they wanted me on video for Homeland Security. Fascists.

On a couple of positive notes, the CD rocks (I love "Pappu Yaar"), and I'm heading out to the Great Plains Renaissance Festival tomorrow.

The literary world is abuzz with the news that Stephen King has been chosen as this year's National Book Award recipient. Lit snobs are offended, but I couldn't be happier. The premise of the award is to honor those authors who have made a contribution to the world of books, and I think it's pretty obvious Mr. King has done just that. Not only is he prolific and has probably induced many to read who otherwise might not have, he has endowed scholarships and libraries as well. He is even returning the $10,000 prize check to the National Book Foundation to use in its literary programs.

So what if he is considered a GENRE writer? I think the snobs are jealous of his popularity and his bank account.

This just in:

Researchers say in NYTimes Online Magazine that Buddhist meditation IS in fact good for your mental and physical health. Whew! I'm sure glad that's finally been decided. Isn't it funny how nothing seems to be accepted as credible until the words "researchers say/state" are placed before or after the declaration? As far as I'm concerned, millions of meditators can't be wrong, whether or not they're validated by researchers at the Universities of Wisconsin-Madison and San Francisco and at Harvard.

With all the current debate about global warming, it was interesting this morning to read this article in the NYTimes Online. Robins 250 miles from the Arctic Circle? Nope, no global warming here, folks.

In other news, Monty Python is hitting Broadway. I was forwarded this article this morning. As a big MP fan, I would love to see what they do with this. I'm not too sure about the name "Spamelot" since Spam never made it into "Holy Grail," but hey, they didn't ask me and Idle's show isn't likely to make to Wichita, KS, for me to tell him.

Well, I sent out my solicitations to professors on Monday after much formatting and printer problems over the weekend. Twenty-three profs at thirteen universisities in nine states should be receiving my pleas for sponsorship at any time. Wish me luck.

In related news, the Fall semester begins tomorrow. I have an Italian Renaissance history class in the morning followed by a pre-birthday "mini-celebration" with my friends Jack and Diana (no, I'm not making that up). I may or may not be going to my book club in the afternoon, but I certainly will be going to my Plant Physiology course in the evening. This last is taught by one of my very favorite profs in the Department of Biological Sciences. Dr. Ray Fox is one of the most difficult instructors from whom I have ever taken a class, but I can honestly say I also have an extremely high retention rate since class is never boring. He's a funny and delightful man who's always ready with a wisecrack or a wise word of advice. He's also the individual responsible for my smooth transition into the bio department at a big university from a rinky-dink community college (he was assistant chair and coordinator of undergrad studies when I came for a campus visit back in late 1990 or early 1991). And if that weren't enough, he hooked me up with my undergrad advisor who later became my thesis advisor who will always be my hero and mentor and good friend -- Dr. Karen Brown Sullivan. Ray still refuses to take responsibility for that last, but I remind him of it every chance I get.

I'm looking forward to being in a science class again. It's my life, folks, and I miss the opportunity to keep up on the latest hypotheses. I'm a geek, what can I say?

I was just reading The New York Times online, and I came across this editorial about the widening gulf between intellectual and religious thought. The author points out that three times more people believe in the virgin birth of Jesus than believe in evolution.

Why do people insist on making belief in Deity and belief in evolution mutually exclusive? Case in point -- a sermon at a local Southern Baptist church a couple of years ago was entitled, "God is right, Darwin is wrong." I know plenty of people who believe in both, that one stems from the other. I just so happen to be one of them. My brother made a very good point a while back in a heated Bible study. A devout church-goer loudly proclaimed, "God created the world in six days!" My brother calmly replied, "Yes, but how long is a day to God?" How long, indeed? And why would we be given lovely and complex brains capable of inductive and deductive reasoning if we weren't meant to use them?

What many people don't realize is that Darwin wasn't some rebel trying to undermine church doctrine. From what I have read and learned, he didn't announce his ideas for quite some time because he knew people in the church wouldn't understand what he was trying to do and attack him as Godless. Evolutionists today are still attacked as Godless heathens who are seeking to undermine the faithful. Yeah, we're a bunch of guerrillas running around with our dinosaur bones and our fossils held out before us like automatic weapons, telling the faithful they can't believe in God AND understand Darwin. The problem is that many people I know who believe in evolution are some of the most faithful people I've ever met. I could ask each one if s/he believes in a higher power, and each one would resoundingly answer, "Yes!" Darwin was a religious man who read the clues God left just lying around for us. New scientific discoveries shouldn't be seen as an attack on religious faith but rather an enrichment of it, because each new discovery is a testament to the beauty and complexity of the Higher. I'd rather embrace the Great Spirit's gifts than argue about them.

I've been so obsessed worrying about grad apps and whether I'm getting financial aid that I've been remiss in posting the pics of my newest niece, Romana Nichole Maynard, daughter of one of my bestest buds in the whole wide world, Zabrina. Be sure to check out Romana's hip, baby tie-dye threads on the "I Wear My Sunglasses at Night" page, lovingly made by Aunt Dawn and pal Maria.

The book I'm currently reading while waiting for advice on my grad school letters has shot me down memory lane at 167 miles per hour, back to the days of middle school and early high school. The Center of Everything is a coming-of-age tale about a girl growing up in small town Kansas. I can imagine Laura Moriarty digging out all her old diaries to write this one, because she mentions things I had forgotten -- I mean, I thought I was the only one who had ever watched Voyager (the time-travelling tale, not an installment in the Star Trek saga). Herione Evelyn mentions nearly everything we went through in the early to mid 1980s, from pictures of C. Thomas Howell and Ralph Macchio in Tiger Beat magazine to the Contras in Nicaragua. Evelyn was forbidden by her mother to watch The Day After, but I was allowed to watch it, and it scared the bejeezus out of me. I remember raising money in my eighth grade history class to send to Ethiopia. But the history takes a back seat to the everyday occurrences in the book, and some of Evelyn's experiences are funny reminders while others are painful. I too was a free lunch kid and didn't realize that that meant my parents were poor. I nearly cried as Evelyn watched her first crush's eyes turn to her best friend. I watched her cope in the same way I always did -- in homework, the only area of my life in which I seemed to have any control.

The story so far has done a lot to remind me of who I was and how far I have come. I've often said that you couldn't pay me to go back and live over those early days of adolescence, but I'm sort of doing just that by reading this book. I'm reliving the envy of not being able to afford the hip clothes, the pain of unrequited love, the embarrassment of being different. I'm also reliving the satisfaction of occasionally being told that being smart is a good thing, the realization that the pretty girls had their own sets of problems, and the joy of knowing that this too shall pass. Growing pains, they called them. That was an understatement if I ever heard one.