There is a young man employed by the hospital in which I work who appears have a condition that most refer to as “Down’s syndrome". This man is a delightful chap whose sole job is (as far as I am aware) to fill the Purell dispensers. In a hospital of approximately 250 beds this is no small chore. The way that this works for him is diagrams of where the dispensers are located. He can often be found in the hallways with his little cart looking at his diagrams and locating every dispenser in the area. All in all, he is quite good at what he does as long as the dispensers are on the diagrams.

     One of the delightful traits of most people with Down’s syndrome is that they tend to be jovial and get great amusement out of the smallest things. When I started working in the neonatal intensive care unit I noticed that the young man would sometimes peek into the glass doors to get a better look at our tiny patients. While I was at work the other day standing by my patient’s room and stringing IV tubing the young man walked by the room to check the dispenser. He carefully added Purell and then peeked his head into the slightly open door. His entire face lit up in awe and fascination at the four pound bundle in the crib. Unable to contain himself he clapped his hands together and exclaimed:

“Baby!”

   He flashed me a sheepish grin before continuing on his way. This little moment made my day.

      David and I have been carefully setting aside small sums of money each month to be able to soon afford removing our popcorn ceilings and repainting the interior of our house. One of the sticking points on this project is the question of asbestos. Our house was built in the early 1970s- before asbestos’ damaging effects on the human respiratory system was known. Not all homes built during this time used it, but some did. I have done some extensive research online as to what we ought to do. You can get the popcorn tested at a center for around $25, but beyond that most sites had conflicting information. Sometimes even calling the same center different days (spoke with different people) resulted in different answers. Was it safe to remove the sample for testing ourselves? Do you need multiple samples or just one? If multiple samples where do you decide to sample? If there is confirmed asbestos do we need to report it? Isn’t there just a way to find- I mean somebody built this house isn’t it documented somewhere? Etc. You get the picture.

      Yesterday I was chatting about home improvements with my neighbor. It just so happens that we own essentially identical homes (her floor plan is a mirror of our home’s). She stated that she had removed one of the room’s popcorn ceiling, but was debating on doing the rest of the house because asbestos removal is expensive. Asbestos? Yes, she informed me. Our house as well as the neighboring houses that were all build around the same time contain asbestos.

     The moral of the story is that sometimes when you have a question it doesn’t need to cost you hours of research and $25…just go ask your neighbor.

     It’s Wednesday night and I am once again David-less. Between working full-time, going to grad school, and subbing in various community orchestras I don’t see much of him these days. Which, of course, is never a good thing because it leaves me to my own devices on more nights of the week than normal. Devoid of our normal Wednesday evening activity (community group has been moved to Fridays) I was left with an empty house and my take-home work from the hospital staring back at me. So, like the reasonable, hard-working person that I am I left the work sitting at the desk and headed out the door for the gym as I saw that they were offering a spinning class tonight.

    I arrived with a few minutes to spare and quickly scribbled my name on the roster to reserve a spot and waited for the step class to finish so that the spinning class people could move the bikes onto the raised platform that classes are held. The instructor’s name was “Sandy” on the board and I was expecting a female and a normal round of jumps, hills, etc. that these classes have to offer. Five minutes after class is supposed to start in rolls the instructor, a slim man with tattoos wound around his arms in biking shorts, a torn t-shirt and red  socks displaying the spinner emblem. The best part, though, was his white towel with a bright orange ribbon sewn around the hem.

“It’s Wednesday Night, Baby!”

     Commence the most difficult spinning class I have taken to date. I think, in part, because it was taught by a boy. I survey the class from my space in the back. There is the normal smattering of gym night people: young women, a few young men, and only a handful people who look a day older than 35. The one exception was a distinct older gentleman who appeared to be from India wearing pleated dress slacks and thick 80’s style glasses. 

“Push it baby! Push it baby! One! Two! One! Two! Faster! Gear it up! Push! Pull!”

    The class allowed little time to rest between the periods of intense riding. The instructor had a funny habit of talking out of only one side of his mouth and winking at people who caught his eye. Twenty minutes in and my lungs were loudly reminding me that I had forgotten my trusty red albuterol inhaler. The older gentleman was starting to get a furrow on his brow, but I noticed that he was not adding difficulty to his bike like the rest of the class. He surveyed all of us white people sweating it out. I could see him laughing at us behind his thick glasses:” stupid Americans. Turning that knob makes this difficult.”

“Push!Pull! OW! Bring it home! Put that road behind you! Push! Pull! Come on, baby!”

   Thirty-five minutes into the class and my stomach is thinking that the dinner I ate an hour and a half  ago isn’t compatible with this level of cardiac output to my legs. I could feel the hot sweat dripping off my face down my arms.

“It’s Wednesday night, baby!”

The class finishes up. The man in the thick glasses never even broke a sweat. I chat it up with an old co-worker of mine from my days in the medical unit who also happened to be taking the class. I am exhausted. I am so going back next week.

     A week ago marked my one year anniversary in my current job position in a neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). The job was a longtime goal of mine and actually having it in my grasp seemed so improbable and wonderful at the same time. I spent the first few months immersed in the world of critical care. The unit seemed big and the nurses grouchy and all the information impossible to comprehend. The acronyms and medical mumbo jumbo rolled off the tongues of the staff much faster than I could ever understand them. I spent most of my time asking ceaseless questions: where do I find this item? why are we doing that? what does this machine do and why? what is that drug for? what does that mean? we are going to do what at the bedside?

      One year later I am still often overwhelmed with the amount of responsibility and activity that occurs within the walls of our little unit. The nurses are a bit more friendly and the words and procedures more familiar, but the job is not all it is cracked up to be. While I truly enjoy the position it does not hold the attraction and draw that it once did. I love the constant learning and being frequently presented to new and different cases, but I find that even in this there is not satisfaction.

“Indeed, I count everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him….” Philippians 3:8 ESV

“There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil. This also, I saw, is from the hand of God, for apart from him who can eat or who can have enjoyment?” Ecclesiastes 2:24

       This Wednesday started out as any regular Wednesday. Breakfast, getting David off to work, straightening the house, and reviewing my list of errands before heading off to Hopelink to volunteer. For just this week I delivered to an extra person as her “regular” volunteer was unavailable. I had agreed to do the extra delivery weeks ago and nobody stopped me from collecting a second round of eggs, milk, bread, and other staples. I chose to deliver to the new lady first, carefully winding my way through an unfamiliar Kirkland neighborhood. Her house was pretty easy to find, a small pink house with an overgrown yard and porch full of hanging wooden knick nacks. I rang the doorbell and a woman peeked at me in confusion from behind the blinds. It took a lot of gesturing at the full grocery bags to get her to open the door.

Lady: What are you doing here? What are those for?

Me: I am from Hopelink. Your regular volunteer wasn’t able to make it this week so I brought you your groceries.

Lady: (confused) My volunteer delivered to me yesterday.

Me: oh, hmmm….

Lady: But my son, you know, he’s been in the ICU on a ventilator and everything. He’s getting better, though, and he is probably going to come live with me for a little while…I sure could use some extra food.

Through a communication snafu the Lord had provided this poor lady with food to feed both her and her son for the week. God works in the little things and it was such a blessing to be part of it. 

       As one can probably tell from the tag cloud one of my favorite hobbies is to bake. I really like being able to create something that looks and tastes amazing, especially when things in my life are stressful. It is relaxing somehow. This past year has been marked by moving away from my standard recipes and experimenting with more complex recipes. I think that I must talk about it a lot because for Christmas my wonderful loved ones gave me things like aprons, cook books, a baking book, and (wait for it) my very own Kitchen Aid mixer! The mixer was a gift from my husband David. It is bright red to match our tea kettle (red is also one of my all-time favorite colors; if it wasn’t for David this whole house would be full of red) and has a bowl-lift mechanism instead of the standard way of the top hinging upward. It looks so big on my kitchen countertop! I feel quite spoiled even having an automatic mixer but it is kind of wonderful at the same time. Inspired by it’s size and color the mixer has been christened Clifford. Of course, I couldn’t wait to use it so here was breakfast the day after Christmas:

Whole wheat blueberry muffins! Here is a link to the recipe: http://www.eatmedelicious.com/2008/02/whole-wheat-blueberry-muffins.html

Okay, so we didn’t blog every day, but we got off to a good start to begin with. There is still plenty of snow on the ground and this evening we made snow ice cream in celebration of David’s childhood memories. It was fun and easy and I am going to share it with you :)

In a blender place

1/2 orange (peel removed and diced), 2-3 tablespoons of sugar, 3/8 cup milk, a splash of vanilla and a dash of salt. Puree.

Go outside and get clean, unblemished, untouched snow (several cups worth). Add snow in large spoonfuls to mixture and blend in between scoops until recipe resembles ice cream. Makes 4-6 serving

Eat before it melts. Enjoy!

     The original plans for this Saturday before Christmas was a trip to Baltimore to visit David’s cousins and some old fiends. But as any of you who have been following the news know there has been quite a bit of snowfall along the East Coast and David and I opted to play it safe and stay here at the homestead. We did wonderful things like make Chex mix and walk around while it was snowing. I really like how the snow crunches under your feet when it is freshly fallen. The snow is just gorgeous and it is still falling quite rapidly. David, John, and I are sitting by the Christmas tree watching the snow fall and listening to Linda practice for Christmas Eve service. It feels so picturesque. White Christmas here we come!

The theme of the day today was grocery shopping.  We (mostly Megan and my Mom) spent a while this morning figuring out what meals we would eat for the next several days, what recipes were entailed, and what ingredients were required.  In addition, there were several odds and ends that needed to be picked up as well, culminating in a massive grocery list.  All four of us embarked to the local McCaffrey’s, split up the list and began gathering up all the various items!

As it turns out, grocery shopping is not that exciting, so instead of describing the rest of our shopping trip in painstaking detail, I’ll share an amusing anecdote with you.  While Megan and I were in the produce aisle, I noticed an elderly lady reaching for an item on the top shelf and having some difficulty retrieving it.  I walked over to her and offered my assistance, but arrived just as she finally coaxed the item off of the shelf.  In response, she gave a stern look and said, “You should have gotten here faster.”  I told her that I was sorry and promised that next time, I would be quicker, to which she replied, “Apology accepted,” and went on her way with an ever so small twinkle in her eye.

In other news, the weather service(s) are predicting about a foot of snow tomorrow. (!!)  NJ snow predictions have a tendency to be over-inflated, but the storm system is already dumping on NC and VA pretty good, so we’ll see what happens tomorrow…

     The third day of our New Jersey extravaganza finds us mostly at the homestead. I went running (admittedly the first time since running the half marathon) in the frigid morning with John and then promptly fell back asleep and roused around noon (9 am in Seattle). David and I spent the afternoon wrapping gifts and spending time with Linda. This evening we went over Princeton to visit John and Lucy (longtime friends of David). We had a grand time chatting about home ownership, families, work, and life in general and realizing how old we are that this is the stage of life in which we find ourselves. It was a nice, relaxing day and now we must sleep in preparation for tomorrow which will be a flurry of planning and shopping.

     This post feels short so I will post a quick little story. David and I are staying in his old bedroom. There is a little wooden clock on the wall that makes a ticking noise, although not like a gentle tick-tock. The sound reminds me almost exactly of the sound that my toaster oven makes when it is running and I have found myself lying awake in the bed waiting for the *bing* letting me know that my toast is ready for consumption.