Diary – Page 15 – p i x e l s c r i b b l e s

Sunrise

I awoke far too soon. I hadn’t slept much, and I hadn’t slept particularly well, but my eager mind was done sleeping. I was here, in a new place, and it was time to see things.

I dressed, slipped into my flip-flops, grabbed my camera and headed out the hotel’s side door. The world was dark. A yellow light at the corner of the building illuminated the sign and a well-worn path through the grass toward the road. I followed that path and crossed the silent street.

The further I moved away from the hotel, the darker it became. I used my phone to light the ground in front of me as I picked my way through beach grasses and across what felt like a low mountain of stones. The early morning night enveloped me. Soon I stepped onto smooth sand. The ocean roared out ahead, invisible.

I put my phone away and gazed out into the nothing, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Stars appeared above me, and the sand around me grew vaguely visible, but the ocean lay black beyond me, knowable only through the charge of waves rolling onto the beach.

I was alone and the world felt wild.

For a time I stood, an alien encroaching on a dimension beyond waking life. Then practicality returned and I pulled my phone back out. It was 6 o’clock, and the weather app indicated sunrise wouldn’t come for nearly two hours. I slipped back through the blackness to the hotel.

I used the next half hour to plan and then shower: I’d get some sunrise photos, then head straight to town rather than going for a swim. At 6:30 when I went back to the beach, an orange-yellow gradient had already appeared beyond the now-visible, low-crested waves, offering muted backlight to a long smear of clouds.

Into this dim morning a handful of souls stirred. A woman moved down the beach from my left, picking up trash. A small boat jetted across the water the other way. I stepped into the churn of foam as it raced up and down the beach and marveled: it was so, so warm. And as I watched the light intensify over the water, an enormous fish suddenly flipped up out of the waves and crashed back into the sea.

The clouds blocked the sun at first, painted in cool pastels until finally starfire burned brilliant, searing an outline upon their crest. And then the sun burst through, and the ocean was bathed in gold.

As the sun broke the dark, so too did morning birds break the stillness. Birds with long legs and narrow beaks bustled across the sand and burst into flight over the waves. Gulls passed overhead in a smooth line. A tiny white bird with grey markings sped across the sand, stabbing its beak in to search for breakfast.

With the world alight, I saw that what had felt to my feet like mounds of stones were actually rolling dunes of seashells. At the top of the hill separating the beach from the road were flowering vines and shrubs with purple and orange blossoms, undetectable to me in the night. And next to the hotel, the dark shrub I’d passed to reach the road was filled with delicate white blooms.

I rinsed the sand from my feet at the outdoor shower and made my way inside for breakfast. The sun was up on my first day in St. Augustine.

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My weight loss surgery experience

On September 26, 2011, I had weight loss surgery.

Here I am right before the procedure. That day I weighed in at 257 pounds. I wore a size 26W (4X).

And here I am being released from the hospital a few days later, at 253 pounds.

After three months, I was already below 200 pounds. Here I am in November:

Over the next 15 months, my weight dropped precipitously, bottoming out at 127 in December of 2012. I was able to fit a size 6 at that time.

Around two years out from surgery, my weight stabilized in the 140 to 145 range. It’s stayed there ever since, and I now wear around a size 10.

I had struggled with obesity since I was a teenager. The most I’d ever been able to lose on my own was 50 pounds. I started investigating weight loss surgery in 2009 after recovering from congestive heart failure, but it took another health crisis to convince me to finally do it. In August of 2011 I was told, point-blank, that if I didn’t lose weight, I would go blind in my left eye. A buildup of fluid was pressing on my optic nerve and would soon block out my sight. I posted on Facebook:

Even though I knew it already, the doctor felt the need to repeat “IF YOU DON’T LOSE WEIGHT, YOU’LL GO BLIND” until I started crying.

Things were bad at that time. We had moved to Atlanta for Sean’s new job just months before, but he’d been shifted into contractor status, so he wasn’t guaranteed regular pay or health insurance. Meanwhile, I hadn’t yet found employment. I posted in a comment on the above status,

I am looking for a job and trying to eat healthier and work out more, but if being terrified into losing weight worked permanently, it would have happened back when I had congestive heart failure.

The health insurance we’d had through Sean’s job would expire in a month, and that insurance flatly refused to cover any form of bariatric surgery for any reason. I could prove it was a medical necessity, but they didn’t care. I felt so, so stupid for letting pride keep me from pursuing weight loss surgery back when I had insurance that would have covered it.

In this time of despair and desperation, extraordinarily generous family members came to my rescue. I’m not sure I can ever repay them.

I had the duodenal switch procedure done at Pacific Laparoscopy (PacLap) in San Francisco. Due to my circumstances, I was able to go through the approval process fairly quickly. I had to fill out a lengthy health and weight history questionnaire; undergo new tests (blood tests, chest X-ray, EKG, echocardiogram); have my GP, my neurologist, and my cardiologist sign off on the surgery; and have a psychological evaluation. We started the process on August 31 and managed to get everything done by September 14. Mom and I flew in on September 21, the pre-op appointment was September 23, and the surgery happened on September 26.

My relationship with food

Immediately post-op, I could only take in three sips or bites of clear liquid at a time. That first day I had broth, jello, a popsicle, decaffeinated tea, and juice. The next day, soft foods like cream of wheat, applesauce, mashed potatoes and yogurt were added to my tiny meals. After that, I was able to eat more solid food. But it was very difficult for me to eat. I could barely take in two or three bites, and I didn’t enjoy eating. I had to force myself to eat, and I had to be careful not to have even one bite too many, as that would have caused me to throw up.

Those first few months, eating right wasn’t very difficult for me. I couldn’t eat much at a time, and I hated eating and never felt particularly hungry, so it didn’t really matter to me what I ate. I’d grill a chicken breast and just eat that. A few hours later I’d eat a bowl of plain Greek yogurt. Later, I’d have a bowl of peas. Small frozen dinners were a mainstay. I have many pictures from restaurants demonstrating how very little I was able to eat. In this picture from September 2011 I’m taking home a piece of quiche and three links of sausage from J. Christopher’s; I had managed a couple bites of quiche and one bite of sausage:

The next time I went to J. Christopher’s, in October, I simply ordered the three sausage links and nothing else. I made other allowances when eating out as well, such as eating the fish and leaving most of the rice when I ordered nigiri, turning down side salads, and skipping dinner bread. Food choices were relatively easy; I had to focus on getting protein. My next priority, if I had any room left, was vegetables, then whole grains. Simple carbs were something to be avoided, and in the beginning, it was fairly easy to do so.

Over time, though, I gradually became able to eat more and more. Most of my stomach is gone, so I will never be able to eat as much as I used to, but I can eat a decent meal in one sitting these days–the size meal health and diet experts usually say you should be eating. I have also regained my enjoyment of food. I remember in the beginning wondering why other weight loss surgery patients were eating food that was bad for them, when it was so easy not to. Around the two-year mark, I understood. Food was delicious again. It was no longer a simple matter to avoid bad foods. This is something I’m still struggling with. While it is likely impossible for me to ever be obese again, I can still make unhealthy food choices that have an impact on my health.

Along with only accepting decreased portion sizes, my body reacts a little differently to food now. I can’t usually handle having sugar in the morning. If I have it, I end up feeling awful for about two hours. If I have a dessert in the evening, I generally choose something far less rich than what the old me would have gone for, for similar reasons. Eating really rich desserts doesn’t give me the pleasure it used to. Sometimes even a simple ice cream cone is too much.

I also don’t enjoy eggs the way I used to. There was a time when I absolutely loved eggs over-easy. They are still delicious, but I feel strange while and after eating them. The effect is short-lived, but it’s odd enough to make me seriously consider whether or not I want eggs. This is kind of a shame, since eggs are such a good source of protein.

Of course, the most notorious food effect of the duodenal switch is gas due to malabsorption. This has been a struggle for me. According to PacLap, foods that cause gas include white flour, white rice, sugar, beans, vegetables, some fruits, milk and milk products, and processed foods. I can avoid white flour with minimal effort. White rice is more difficult for me, but I haven’t found it to be particularly gas-inducing. Sugar, of course, is a challenge. I should be avoiding it anyway, as my surgery doesn’t affect the absorption of sugar. It’s hard to know what vegetables and fruits to avoid; I haven’t really figured that out. As for milk, I love having a bowl of cereal every now and again, but it may not be so great to do so. The big one, processed foods, is difficult to avoid in our packaged-food culture. Now that I’m working full time, I rarely feel like cooking, so I’m sure I’m eating a lot of things I shouldn’t be.

Thanks to the surgery, I am realizing more clearly that I have a strange relationship with food. When I am at a restaurant I love, I feel bad that I can’t eat everything. I want to enjoy the different dishes all at once. It’s as though I believe each particular visit is my last chance. I’ve found it frustrating to have to choose, and also to have to eschew foods I used to really enjoy because they will have ill effects on my stomach.

At the other end of the spectrum, there was a time when I would eat and eat and eat out of boredom. I can now pretty easily tell when I’m doing this, because I’ll be full and still trying to eat. During these times, it used to not matter to me so much what I was eating. Now, if the food doesn’t have enough protein, or if it’s too carby, I’ll get irritated by it, which I consider a good thing–it’s like a knock upside the head telling me to make better choices.

Exercise

Immediately following the surgery, I was encouraged to walk as much as I could without over-fatiguing myself. I was also encouraged to walk up and down stairs. I did pretty well in both regards. While I do spend a lot of time at a desk or on a couch, I tend to get antsy if I’m in one place too long. I like to be up and moving.

At first it was very frustrating how quickly I would get tired. I also wasn’t allowed to reach over my head or lift heavy objects, which was quite annoying for someone as independent as me. Sean was a huge help during this time.

Recovery took about three months. At that point I was able to pretty much go back to normal. I remember the first time I did an exercise video after having surgery; I was shocked at how easy it was without all the extra pounds weighing me down.

During the rapid weight loss period, I kept walking, did workout videos at home, and joined a gym. Unfortunately, after awhile these efforts dropped off, especially after I started working full time again. Now, at nearly three years out from surgery, I’m not particularly active. I do try to take the stairs at work, at least in the parking garage, and I go on photo hikes on the weekends…but I really need to do more, for the sake of my cardiovascular system. I’m considering taking up running again, or trying to ride my bicycle to work.

I can say that thanks to the surgery, I have plenty of energy, and if I feel like spending an entire day walking around, I can do it with no problem. This is not something I could say before this dramatic weight loss.

Next steps

Weight loss surgery helped me with the hardest part: losing over 100 pounds. It’s up to me to take advantage of this opportunity, to make good choices for my health. It’s something I have to work on every day. My fight to eat better and be physically active will never end.

There is one other thing I might do to make my transformation complete, and that’s reconstructive surgery. After losing this much weight, there’s a lot of skin left over. While I’m not unhappy with the way I look, the skin can be irritating to deal with. I don’t feel comfortable wearing sleeveless shirts, for example, and certain articles of clothing don’t seem to fit right. Health insurance generally only covers this in cases of medical necessity, so I would have to pay for it out of pocket, which I’m not sure is going to happen. Still, it’s something I keep in the back of my mind.

Final thoughts

Simple pride kept me from seriously pursuing weight loss surgery until it was almost too late. I felt that I should be able to lose weight on my own, and that if I couldn’t, it just meant I was weak. In other words, I was too proud to accept help. Eventually it got to the point that I had to choose between being proud and blind, or humbling myself and keeping my sight. It seems like such an obvious choice in hindsight, but when I was going through it, it was a struggle.

The lesson I’ve learned from this is that accepting help does not make you less of a person. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It just means you’re making smart choices.

Every day I look in the mirror and like what I see. Every day I pull on clothes I never thought I’d fit into. Every day I feel healthy and strong.

I am so happy that I had weight loss surgery.

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I wonder

I wonder if I got so quiet because the internet got so loud.

House-hunting infertility dream

Sean and I have lived in apartments the entirety of our marriage. We’ve thought about buying a home before, but the time has never been right. It’s starting to look like a good idea these days, though.

Last night I dreamed that we went to look at a house together. It was waterfront property on marshy land, such that there were boardwalks to get from the street and driveway to the door. The house was huge, and there were at least half a dozen real estate workers there to show it to people. I was wondering the whole time why we were there, because there was no way I wanted a house that size.

The house was three stories tall. I really only remember the top floor, which had the bedrooms, a kitchen, and a courtyard-like area, but we toured all the floors and they were all gigantic. Around the time we finished looking at the third floor, the head real estate agent cornered us.

“I hear you’re pregnant!” he accused me. “Are you just having fun, touring houses for for exercise?”

“Um,” I said, and suddenly Cheryl and Reid were there, overhearing.

“I hear you felt it kick!” Reid said to Sean, who nodded awkwardly.

“Yes, no, that’s our child there,” I said, pointing to a brown-haired two-year-old someone was carrying.

“I know that can’t be true; you can’t have had the child that fast!” the real estate agent said.

“Okay, fine,” I sighed. “The truth is, we just started trying.” I glanced over at Cheryl and Reid, knowing that this was news to them and that now they’d get their hopes up. “And we’re seriously looking for a house to buy.”

“Oh. All right then,” the real estate agent said, and backed off.

Sean pulled Reid aside then. “Actually,” he said in a low, unhappy voice, “Luigi told me that it could never, ever happen for me.” (Apparently in dream-canon he had a fertility doctor named Luigi.)

I started crying in the dream, and woke up snuffling a little, although not actually crying in real life.

Weird that in the dream, Sean was the one with infertility.

My offline life

One benefit to streamlining the time I spend online, and specifically cutting back on social media, would be enriching the time I spend on other things. Lately I’ve been feeling that my life is somewhat empty. Work is great; it’s challenging and fun, and my coworkers are awesome. But what do I do other than work? Go home and either get online or watch TV (or, typically, get online while watching TV). My main activity beyond this is photography, which I love, and of course I want to keep doing that. But maybe I want to do more of it. And there are other things I want to do that I haven’t worked on in forever: writing, reading more long form pieces and books, studying Japanese.

I also want to feel more connected to Atlanta. We’ve lived here for three years, but after a burst of exploratory activities right after the move, we haven’t really done much to integrate ourselves into the community. We’ve settled into a routine of restaurants, and we have few to no other activities outside the home. (This is probably more important to me than it is to homebody Sean.)

There are two groups I have frequently thought about being active in: the Atlanta Web Design Group and the Japanese Language Meetup. Right now I am supposedly a member of these groups, but I never go to activities. I’m always “too tired” or “not in the mood”. I think this general lack of motivation is fed by the easy distraction of social media and TV. Sure, I could go to that event, but it’s so much more comfortable to just sit at home and scroll through feeds or marathon a show.

As an introvert, it is important for me to have down time away from others, and recharging after a workday is crucial. I’m not saying I think I should be cramming social activities into every day. But surely I could do something weekly or every couple of weeks…especially if that something will help me learn and grow in areas that are important to me.

In general, I feel that I should be contributing more and consuming less. These days I rarely cook. I do the bare minimum to keep the apartment clean. I have a box full of ticket stubs and brochures and memories that I keep telling myself I’m going to turn into scrapbooks. All I have to do to talk myself out of doing any of these things, when I even think of doing them in the first place, is simply distract myself with input: social media, TV, “news” articles that don’t really enrich me.

I have also always felt that I should be serving my community in some way. I donate to various causes, but it doesn’t feel like I’m really doing much. I want to be on the ground somewhere doing something that has a direct impact. Whenever I think about what that would be and how I would incorporate it into my life, I always convince myself that I don’t have the time. And indeed, if you look at my day, you will see that it is full. It’s just full of the wrong things, I think.

If I can figure out a way to stay connected online without devoting my entire day to it, and if I can stop automatically turning on the TV whenever free time opens up, I can start working on improving myself. Hopefully, that will lead to better friendships and more opportunities, and I’ll stop feeling unfulfilled in the non-work sphere.

My online life

For some time I’ve been pondering the changes that have crept into the time I spend online. Once, my blog was my home page. Whatever I was doing, whether I had an RSS reader open in another tab or I was watching an anime episode or I was chatting with someone, I’d go straight to my blog to put down my reactions.

These days I rarely post to my blog. Most of my reactions to what I read or watch or talk about go to the social media dumping ground, where they disappear forever.

My process of content discovery has changed, too. Where once I had many news and politics websites, blogs, and other interesting feeds ready and waiting for me in Bloglines, now I rarely read anything that isn’t linked on social media.

I’m starting to feel like I’m part of a neverending content churn…that I skim, retweet or share with a blurb, and then move on without truly connecting to issues or to the people I am supposedly sharing with. There are exceptions; if I write a longer post about a link I’m sharing on Facebook, I will often receive replies, and sometimes even get into a good discussion. But this is not the norm. I spend so much time just keeping up with social media that I don’t typically write detailed blurbs these days.

I feel like something in me is atrophying.

A good friend of mine deactivated his Facebook account quite some time ago, telling me it was too much of a distraction. This is a person I’ve long admired for his self-motivation and achievements. On Facebook he would often post thought-provoking articles and discussions. When he first left, I wondered, “What will he do to fill all that time?” And then I realized how silly of a question that was. Of course, he would read and do real writing, not to mention be fully present in the moments of his life.

I would like to get back to a point where I read more thoughtfully and write more frequently. I’d like to feel more well-informed on news and political issues. I’d like to have my thoughts archived here, in my space, rather than on a third-party service that cares more about quantity than quality.

"I WANT TO BELIEVE" RSS shirt from Diesel Sweeties (not currently available) — “I WANT TO BELIEVE” RSS shirt from Diesel Sweeties (not currently available)

I’m not sure how to go about effecting the change, though. Despite my “I WANT TO BELIEVE” RSS t-shirt, it seems like the format is dying, at least in terms of reading web content. I’ve looked for a good Bloglines replacement a few times and never quite found what I wanted. It’s important to me that I be able to get to my feeds from multiple devices, since these days I do a lot of reading on my phone. I would want a reader that doesn’t show me content I’ve already read on another device. The last time I looked for a good iPhone app for RSS feeds, I was disappointed at the interface. My Windows 8 tablet/laptop hybrid, a Lenovo Yoga I call Tampopo, doesn’t have much in the way of reading and saving options. Its native news reader doesn’t export to Instapaper, which is what I’ve been using on my computer and phone to save articles to read later, and of course that news reader doesn’t let me choose RSS feeds. For that matter, I don’t know if the websites I want to read are even still publishing RSS feeds.

I’m also not sure about how to stop spending so much time on social media. I’ve taken social media hiatuses before. While the time away is refreshing, I always seem to get sucked back in. In the case of Facebook, it’s because that’s where the people I’ve been close to in my life are, and it’s a convenient way of keeping up with them and letting them know how I’m doing. I worry about losing touch with those people, and with people who don’t use Facebook. I rarely talk with the aforementioned friend who left. Were I to stop using Facebook, I would need to come up with some sort of system of staying in touch. Those of you who are naturally social probably find this amusing, but I am extraordinarily bad at maintaining relationships. I want to be a good friend, but it takes actively thinking about. Facebook has made it much easier. (Though perhaps that in and of itself is a problem: relationships by nature aren’t “easy”, so maybe there should be more of an effort on my part.)

With Twitter, it’s a little weirder. Despite having minimal followers, I feel like one of the cool kids there, and I am somehow afraid that if I stop using Twitter, I won’t be a real geek anymore. And to be fair, I have met several great people through Twitter, and I get a lot of interesting content about social issues, politics, and the web there. Even if I manage to find a good RSS reader and plenty of feeds, the people I follow on Twitter could still surprise me with content I wouldn’t normally see. It’s important to me not to live in a cultural bubble; I want to be challenged. Twitter and Facebook both expose me to ideas and opinions that don’t just go merrily along with my current world paradigm.

One time, I tried going through every single person in my Facebook friends list and hiding them all from my news feed. That way, when I logged in, there was nothing to read; I had to go to individual profile pages to see updates. After awhile I started adding a few people back, and then that felt unfair, so I re-added everyone.

I sort of wish that instead of a news feed, I had a dashboard of friends, and I could see previews of their last few posts beneath their profile pictures. I’d get more of a general overview of how a person is doing, and I could easily drill down from there. With a news feed, I really only see stuff from people who post a lot.

On Twitter, I’ve gone through mass unfollowings and followings to try and maximize my time there. I haven’t used any of the various follower tools and apps, though; I just use the web interface at my computer, Tweetbot on my phone, and the Twitter app on Tampopo. Due to app limitations, I do the bulk of my account maintenance–followings, unfollowings, etc.–at my computer. Maybe if I used a tool, I could make my Twitter usage more efficient; I don’t know.

Here are some thoughts, ideas, and goals based on what I’ve discussed above.

I want to spend less time content-churning and more time learning.
I want to stay in touch with friends and family, but maybe not bombard them with random links all the time. To that end, I need a place for link sharing and discussion.
Perhaps I could use blog posts to share and discuss links. I could do roundups for short blurbs and long posts for detailed analysis, just like I used to.
To maximize my input, I need to rework my current system of reading. I need to find a solution that lets me pull in content from provider feeds as well as content I save to read later. An export to Evernote function would be ideal for pieces I have read and want to keep for reference.
I need to evaluate ways of spending less time on Facebook. Maybe cold turkey is the way to go. Maybe there’s a way I can just cut down on it, like limiting it to a certain time of day. Maybe I can filter my friends’ posts so that only certain types show (although I’m not sure this would be best).
I also need to come up with a way of keeping in touch with people who are important to me, so that I’m not favoring people who post on Facebook.
I need to figure out why I’m using Twitter, and whether those reasons are good enough to keep using it.

Looks like I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.

Twilight Zone dream

I woke up after dreaming this and had to write it down.

INTERIOR, gentleman’s clothing store. The proprietor, played by a young William Shatner, and an assistant are preparing a suit and hat for a wealthy customer and debating how to word the description of the hat. Eventually they decide that since they can’t vouch for the materials used in the making of the hat, they will give the gentleman a different one.

A young woman representing the client arrives and inspects the suit and hat, finally giving them her approval and accepting them in a box. As she is heading back to the street (off-camera) where her employer is waiting in a car, the three of them hear shots ring out. The woman races outside. Moments later, she bursts back into the shop.

“He’s been shot, and the cash he was carrying is gone. He had two bodyguards with him and they both vanished. The only way they would ever give up is if they had no way of identifying the villain. Literally no way of recognizing him.” She’s in shock and worried.

Outside, the villain, played by Benedict Cumberbatch, is listening, holding a gun and a wallet. He starts to laugh disbelievingly to himself over the idea that he’s unrecognizable. He looks at the wallet and gun and starts grinning furiously, the laughter coming a little harder, as he thinks how ludicrous it all is, but how wonderful it would be if no one could ever recognize him.

The people inside the shop hear him and emerge. Laughing, he looks at them as if to say “You can recognize me, obviously!”

But he’s surprised when they stare in abject horror rather than sounding any alarm. The woman screams and takes several steps back. The shopkeeper says, “My god.”

Confused by their reactions, the villain starts laughing again. He steps toward them and they all back away. Still laughing, he dances in front of them, waving the wallet and gun. All the shop staff and woman can do is stare, frozen to the spot.

Finally the villain is so creeped out by this that his laughter fades away, as does his smile. He turns and runs.

Eventually he comes upon a shop window with a mirror, and he stops for a look at what in the world they were reacting to. It is now that we see him as everyone else does.

He has no face. The front of his head is a smooth, blank, oval mask…no mouth, no nose, no eyes.

It’s just us

Last night, Sean and I decided not to try to have a kid.

The decision has taken nearly 15 years. It all started in 1999 when, after cancer treatments, I was told that the likelihood of becoming naturally pregnant was extraordinarily low.

I spent five or maybe even ten years trying to recover from that news. During that time, Sean and I met, fell in love, and got married. In the beginning, my lack of fertility wasn’t an issue; Sean didn’t want children at all, though he said it would be okay if it happened.

Obviously in my case it wasn’t going to just “happen”. I approached an endocrinologist fairly early in our marriage (we were still living in our first apartment, which was destroyed by fire in 2005) and started on hormone treatments, but all this did was allow me to have normal periods. We were in our mid-20s then. As time passed, more health issues cropped up for me, and I also started finding my career path. The fertility problem was put on the back burner.

Sean’s mind started to change around the year we turned 30. He started looking at kids with the sort of indulgent expression you see on daddies, and we’d talk about names we liked and how we’d raise a child. Eventually we decided that once my health issues were taken care of, we’d see if anything could be done fertility-wise.

That time is now. I’ve had surgery to help me lose weight, taking me out of obesity and ending my sleep apnea and pseudotumor cerebri. At this point I’m the healthiest I’ve been in years. I was all set to talk to my weight loss doctor on Friday about what I needed to know about trying to conceive.

Then, yesterday, I read a CNN article that reminded me of exactly what position I’m in. The article, entitled The ‘Big Lie’ in putting off pregnancy, discusses how fertility decreases as we age:

Forty may be the new 30, but our ovaries have not gotten the same makeover. Even with all the advances in reproductive technology, our eggs have a finite shelf life and the odds of having a child over 40 years old are shockingly slim.

According to the Southern California Center for Reproductive Medicine, a woman in her 20s has a 20-25% chance of conceiving naturally per menstrual cycle. In her early 30s, the chance of pregnancy is 15% per cycle. After 35, the odds of pregnancy without medical intervention are at 10%. After 40, that number falls to 5%, and women over 45 have a 1% chance of conception.

[…]

A 2009 report on Assisted Reproductive Technologies, or ARTs, by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention found that the single most important factor affecting the chances of a successful pregnancy through ARTs is a woman’s age. Selvaratnam reports that at age 40, the chance is 18.7%; at 42, it’s 10%; at 44, it’s only 2.9%.

Sean and I have been married since January of 2003, and from then until September 2011, when I had weight loss surgery, we never used any form of birth control whatsoever. Obviously conceiving naturally was never going to happen.

I’m now 35 years old, the age at which the chances of conceiving naturally have dropped by 10 to 15% in a normal person, someone who hasn’t had their ovaries damaged by chemotherapy.

We always knew that given my situation, there was a chance I had no viable eggs left. There’s a test that gives you an idea of that situation. When I was taking hormone replacement therapy in 2005 and 2006, my doctor said the hormones were meant to essentially jump-start my ovaries, but my ovaries never started working properly on their own. Without hormone therapy or birth control, I only have a random period every several months to a year. This doesn’t bode well for my eggs.

I honestly don’t know what other options there are beyond hormone therapy. I’ve heard of people getting shots, and of course there’s IVF. What I do know is that hardcore fertility treatments are expensive. The first time I approached an actual fertility doctor, maybe 2008 or 2009, I was told to prepare at least $10,000. (At the time I didn’t have that, so the issue was back-burnered again.)

While we are in the best possible place right now, both health-wise and financially, the other factors are huge: my age and dwindling fertility (if there was ever even any left), the cost, and the potential danger to the child. At this point, we would be putting ourselves through years of distress and heartbreak, and realistically we would probably just be throwing money away.

And so last night I told Sean that I didn’t think it made sense to even try.

As he always does when I discuss my body or health with him, Sean said, “Okay,” agreeing to my decision. But I pressed him on it. I said that the decision whether or not to have children wasn’t just mine. I asked him how he felt about it, if he would be unhappy or disappointed.

He responded that he would love to see me able to have a baby like I’ve always wanted. Hearing that meant a lot to me. He’s watched me struggle with this for the length of our marriage. It makes me so happy (and a little sorry) to have him empathize.

He also said that he likes the idea of having and raising a child, and that we are in a good position to offer a child a stable life. But he also concurred that chances are low and there are a lot of risks to the child’s health.

“It’s not something I’m set on having,” he concluded. And then he said, “It’ll just be us.”

I almost started crying at that point. It wasn’t sorrow, though. There was an aspect of mourning to it, but the flood of emotion was also an acknowledgement of everything we’ve gone through, everything we’ve thought about, and the fact that now we don’t have to worry about it anymore.

It’s decided. There’s no “maybe,” there’s no “you never know.” We know now. We’re not having kids.

There’s something amazingly freeing in finally being sure.

Fun in Chattanooga

Last month, Sean had William and Adam over to the apartment for a weekend of gaming. I mentioned this on Facebook and joked that I was thinking about leaving town; Adam’s wife Tricia promptly invited me to go whitewater rafting with her and two of her friends on the Ocoee in Tennessee. How could I pass that up?

I decided to go to Chattanooga the day before and see some sights. Despite reading all about it and even subscribing to the Chattanooga tourism email newsletter, I’d never actually visited Chattanooga. Every time I drove through on my way to or from Kentucky I’d think “I really should stop here someday!” and I never would. Finally I had a plan! So on the morning of Saturday, August 10 I hit the road for Chattanooga, intending to see Ruby Falls, Rock City, and the Incline Railway.

Somehow, the drive seemed really long, and I got pretty tired. A stop at McDonald’s for unsweet tea and cookies perked me up.

When I got to Chattanooga I went straight to Ruby Falls. Sean went there last year as part of a team-building exercise, and ever since I’ve wanted to go. (He went to Nashville on that same trip, and took me there the day after Adam and Tricia’s wedding.)

Ruby Falls is a giant waterfall inside a mountain. Awesome, right? The attraction is very well organized. There are people outside throughout all the parking levels to guide you to a spot and answer your questions. It was easy (and free) to park, and then I took the nice pedestrian boardwalk walkway back up to the entrance.

Ruby Falls

The building was built at the turn of the 20th century with wood and stone from Lookout Mountain that was removed as the elevator shaft into the cave was created. It has a cool rustic lodge feel. There’s a line to get in and then they direct you to either buy your tickets if you don’t have them yet or wait in another line for a tour. Eventually you are shuttled down deep into the mountain by elevator.

the cave within Lookout Mountain

The caves are lit by energy efficient bulbs. There is an evening lantern tour available where they turn out the lights and all you have are small lanterns to see by.

As we assembled and got ready to head further into the cave, the tour guide asked everyone where they were from. There was a family from Chicago, a family from Atlanta, and others. When he got to me and I told him Atlanta, “You’re by yourself?” he asked.

Me: “Yup.”

Tour guide: “Sniffle, sniffle.”

Me: “I’m on an adventure!”

Tour guide: “Be careful! It’s dangerous out there, you know.”

Finally the sexist tour guide moved on down the line, which was a relief as I was starting to feel embarrassed by my perfectly legitimate life choices. But then, after more elevator groups had arrived and our group had filled out, he started yelling from the back of a huge line of people:

“Hey, where’s that lady who was by herself from Atlanta?”

I responded cheerfully, but inside I was nervous and a little angry. “What’s up?”

“There’s a man back here who’s by himself too. Want to get together?”

Seriously? “I’m married.”

“Oh, I thought I figured something out. Sorry, sir! She’s married!”

At this point I turned to the group from Chicago and remarked, “He just won’t get outta my business!”

On the way into the caves there was a little boy behind me. I’m going to guess he was between four and seven, but I’m not sure. He would not stop talking, much to the chagrin of his grandparents and the tour guide, but I loved it.

At one point when the ceiling was particularly low he yelled to me, “Duck, woman!” :D

He kept asking if there were diamonds or gold in the cave. He also reacted very loudly and excitedly to all the different rock formations with exclamations such as “Whoa, what’s that?” or “That’s crazy!”

He was a considerate kid, always letting his grandmother know about any dangers ahead. “It’s slippery ahead, Grandma!” After awhile I started interacting with him, asking him questions, pointing out rock formations, and trying to explain stalactites and stalagmites.

Among the fascinating formations in the cave are naturally-formed rocks that look like steak and potatoes. There’s a section in the ceiling that looks like bacon. There are beehives, a dragon’s foot, a turtle, a fish, and more. Some of the stone is smooth and shiny.

Steak and potatoes rock formation

Fish rock formation

Tobacco leaves rock formation

Dragon's foot rock formation

Finally we emerged into a large cavern filled with multicolored lights and music, at the end of which was the main attraction: the waterfall. Each tour group gets seven minutes to look and take pictures.

The experience was okay–the colors were neat–but I would have liked to have been in the chamber alone, in complete silence but for the cascading water. I wonder if such a thing is possible.

My flash photos seemed to be catching a lot of spray, so I took many photos without the flash. I thought about asking someone to take my picture in front of the falls, but before I could muster up the courage, it was time to head back out.

Ruby Falls

You head out the way you came in, so other than a few side tunnels, the view was the same. Eventually we were back at the elevators waiting to go up. The tour guide pointed out a different cave that’s used in the fall for a spooky Halloween tour ranked sixth in the nation by the Travel Channel. It’s also the emergency exit if the elevator ever breaks down.

After we emerged from the elevator, I tipped the tour guide (he was sexist, but he was good otherwise) and then headed up to the observation platform. The view was okay, but filled with power lines and industry, so not ideal. Then I went down into the gift shop and purchased the picture of myself that was taken in the cave. I also got a Ruby Falls magnet.

By this point I was starving, so I grabbed a turkey sandwich and a water from the refreshments counter before heading back to my car.

The lady at the counter inside had said to do Incline Railway next, but a guy in the parking lot advised me to do Rock City first. He sounded like he understood my timetable, so I took his advice and drove around Lookout Mountain until I finally found the place. (GPS was telling me to do some weird stuff; I finally just turned it off and followed the many signs.)

I didn’t have a good idea of what Rock City was before I arrived. I had seen billboards and looked briefly at the website, but my impression had been that it was a nature trail in the mountain that led to a cool lookout point. The second part is correct; there is an awesome view with a waterfall called Lover’s Leap, and that’s what you see in all the pictures. But the way to get there is not a nature trail. Rock City is actually an elaborate, meandering garden of stone and plant life. You walk down a paved stone trail through cliffs and rock formations and view carefully tended shrubs, flowers and trees. There’s music at the entrance to the garden. At first I was a little disappointed; it seemed cheesy. But once I got beyond the music and deeper into the gardens, I started to appreciate the effort that had gone into designing this beautiful area.

Rock City

The trails curve around, up, and down, so that you’re often doubling back but you’re higher or lower than you were before. There are stone bridges and an extraordinarily fun bouncy bridge.

Looking down from a trail

Rock City trails

There are also gnome statues in various playful poses throughout Rock City. At one point there’s an entire gorge filled with them.

Of course, the main attraction is Lover’s Leap, which is as beautiful and breathtaking as the pictures. You get good viewing angles of the outcropping from various points in the garden.

Lover's Leap

Past Lover’s Leap is another observation area called Eagle’s Nest, and a small wedding ceremony was taking place there. Everyone was dressed in white and black and at least one of the maids of honor was wearing elf ears, in honor of the fairytale theme of Rock City.

At this point I thought I was pretty much done, but the gardens continued. The trail curved back around through more formations and sights, including a slim passage called “Fat Man Squeeze” and a deer sanctuary. Eventually it came back out to an alternate view of Lover’s Leap with a better angle for photos of the waterfall.

Lover's Leap and waterfall

And there was more to see after that. Winding through the garden trails, eventually you get to a cave with a fairytale-looking entrance. The designers of Rock City were German and were very into folktales. They built this part of the garden to celebrate fairy stories of all kinds. At first you see gnomes and fairies in playful scenes here and there. Then you come to Mother Goose Village, where actual nursery rhymes and fairy tales are reenacted in dioramas. Everything is illuminated with black lights, making the colors on the models shine an unearthly neon.

Goldilocks

One little girl was so excited about each fairytale scene that she kept screaming at her family, “Come on! You have to see this!” It was so cute.

Eventually I emerged back into the sun, very close to the entrance of the park. On my way out, I stopped at the candy shop for some “Elfin fudge”. I knew I’d be out and about and the candy would probably melt, but I bought some anyway: a thick slice of peanut butter fudge, a ball of divinity, and four raspberry truffles. The fudge and the divinity actually held up rather well, but when I finally pulled the truffles out the next day, they had completely melted.

The guy at Ruby Falls had recommended I do the Incline Railway from the base of the mountain. He said this was better for people who were scared of heights, but it also sounded like it would mean saving the more exciting experience for last. So I drove down Lookout Mountain and back into Chattanooga to the lower station. For the first time, I had to pay for parking, but it was only $3, so I didn’t mind so much.

Incline Railway station

The little train station was cute. I checked in with the lady at the window, then walked around the track to the other side, where a photographer took my picture in front of a green screen. (I didn’t opt to buy the result.) Then I joined the line of people waiting for the next train. It didn’t take too long.

Though I was behind quite a few people in line, no one sat at the very end of the train where you could see down and out the best, so I sat there. I wondered if I should have sat at the back and watched the progression upward instead, but ultimately I really enjoyed seeing the train station and then the city slowly recede.

The ride was slow and not scary in the least. At times the train passed over a road or valley, but for the most part it ran right along the ground all the way up Lookout Mountain. I had a hard time capturing the height the train reached and the steepness of the track in photos. I get the impression it looked far more impressive in person than it ever will in a still.

heading up the mountain

further up the mountain

View of an Incline Railway train

The top station has a larger gift shop than the bottom station. It also has two levels of observation platforms from which you can view the city below. I went up and took some pictures, then wandered around for a bit wondering what to do. This was the last thing I’d planned, and it didn’t seem like a very impactful way to end the day.

I went outside and looked around. The top station is smack in the middle of a nice mountaintop neighborhood. What at first appeared to be a beautifully manicured park entrance was actually someone’s front yard. I noticed a sign pointing to “Battles for Chattanooga / Point Park”, so I headed that way. The walk was lovely; lots of nice houses and flowers and grass and trees. There was also a large open area next to the train station with lots of “No Trespassing” signs; whoever owns that land has a lovely view.

Eventually on the left I saw a Civil War museum. Advertisements boasted of a 3D Electronic Battle Map, which sounded really boring to me at the time. In retrospect, it probably would have been neat to see, but I guess I was in an Outside sort of mood. I passed the museum and headed to the end of the street, at which I found Point Park. The site of some hard-fought Civil War battles, the park has a walking trail alongside amazing Chattanooga overlooks. I paid the small entry fee, then wandered in and found plenty of places for photos.

Tennessee River as seen from Point Park

cannon and Tennessee River

As you round the curve to loop back to the entrance, another trail branches off to the Ochs Museum. I headed down to see what that was. It turned out to be another military fort building with an air conditioned room containing Civil War photographs from the area, as well as some memorabilia. The museum is named for the philanthropist who established Point Park. Beyond this room is a broad semicircular area overlooking Moccasin Bend in the Tennessee River.

Moccasin Bend

Point Park has some of the best views I saw in Chattanooga. I’m so glad I wandered down the street instead of just getting right back on the train.

For the return trip down the mountain, I got on first and went straight to the front. I wanted to see if the experience of going down would be more exciting, and if I could get a different sort of picture or video. Ultimately, though, the trip was so leisurely that I got my fill of photos fairly quickly and then took the opportunity to check Facebook.

Incline Railway train

At the bottom I took a quick spin through the gift shop, but nothing really caught my eye, so I headed out to the street to look for dinner.

There are a few restaurants in the area of the lower station. Right across the street is Mr. T’s Pizza and Ice Cream. I actually saw it on my drive in and thought it looked cool. However, I strolled around a few blocks to make sure there wasn’t something else I wanted. The seafood restaurant, 1885 Grill, was extremely busy, with a line out into the street. The burrito place looked a little too much like a bar. Other places were only open for lunch. Finally I decided Mr. T’s would be fine; there was no line, and freshly-made pizza sounded pretty good. I went in and ordered an 8″ Classic, which is your standard tomato sauce and cheese pizza with a bunch of meat. It was delicious. I also got a side salad.

Mr. T's pizza

I thought about having some ice cream for dessert, but I was pretty full after all that pizza (I couldn’t finish it), so I decided it was time to find my bed for the night.

This trip was my first experience using AirBnB. I stayed in the second bedroom of a woman’s apartment. She never came home, so it was like having an apartment all to myself. The place was beautifully decorated and felt very welcoming. I watched a little cable TV, as I enjoy doing whenever I’m away from home, and then turned in for the night. I knew I had to leave the Chattanooga area by 10, so I set my alarm for the latest time I should get up, 9.

I had some trouble getting to sleep, perhaps due to being in a strange bed, perhaps due to excitement, but eventually I managed it. I awoke at 6 feeling pretty refreshed, so I went ahead and got up. Since I had a few hours, I decided to go explore downtown Chattanooga.

I’d found a restaurant on Yelp that sounded decent, so I put its name into Google Maps and headed in that direction. It was near the aquarium. At first I pulled into a paid parking lot, but then I noticed that street parking was free at the time, so I quickly moved the car.

Not feeling particularly hungry yet, I decided to walk around a bit and take pictures. On my way into town I’d driven over an awesome bridge with sidewalks called P.R. Olgiati Bridge, so I headed back that way and strolled across.

Summer by Daud Akhriev

pedestrian bridge

bridge

Delta Queen

I got lots of pictures of the river, the riverfront, and the John Ross pedestrian bridge across the way, which I decided to use to get back. I headed into the north end of town, turned right, and walked down Manufacturer’s Road, snapping pics of storefronts. I noticed a restaurant called Good Dog was open, and then I realized I was hungry, so I stopped in and had their sausage and gravy breakfast sandwich. It was delicious.

breakfast

A group of people in t-shirts were at a table across the room having beer cocktails. It was 8 o’clock in the morning.

Back out on the street, I considered walking down into Renaissance Park; I’d gotten some good overhead views of it from the bridge and it looked interesting. But I was eager to get to the pedestrian bridge, so I passed on the park and kept going.

The pedestrian bridge was everything I’d hoped it’d be, a long boardwalk with an intriguing overhead structure and great views of Chattanooga and the river. I smiled at everyone who was out biking, jogging, and walking dogs. There are so many cyclists in Chattanooga; it’s awesome.

pedestrian bridge

Delta Queen

art museum

Once across the river, I turned left toward the art museum, which sits atop a dramatic bluff along the river. The museum appeared to be closed that early on a Sunday, but I got some exterior shots. I also found a sign with a downtown map that led me further away from where I’d parked, to an overlook area with a sculpture garden. It was lovely.

sculpture

dewy buds

After that I meandered back into town. I walked past a children’s science center and the baseball stadium, then found my way back to my car just in time to set out for my next adventure…whitewater rafting on the Ocoee River.

I’d say my first visit to Chattanooga was a resounding success!

Check out all my pictures from this trip here.

Possibility dawns

As I edged back into consciousness in the lingering dark of early morning, a sound I don’t normally hear rang out from within the forest I knew lay beyond my blinded window. It was the call of an owl, trilling one-two, one-two, one-two, then subsiding. The pattern of soft, throaty cries repeated twice before finally fading away.

If I hadn’t awakened at just the right moment, I’d have missed it.

I went to the kitchen, where I discovered I was out of the Atkins chocolate shakes I usually have for breakfast. But my nonstick pan was right there in the sink from making home fries last night, so I washed it and set it on the stove. I’m out of Country Crock, too, but I’ve been wanting to shift to real butter. I halved the chunk of stick left in the fridge, then halved that and set one bit to melting in the microwave and the other to melting in the pan.

When the microwave half was melted I used a basting brush to coat two slices of wheat bread with it. While the buttered bread toasted, I fried two eggs over medium, one at a time, cracking them into the center of the pan and sprinkling them with pepper and salt.

Eggs over medium and buttered toast

I brought my morning meal to my desk and sat and ate as the dim light beyond my office window shifted from dark velvet to paint palette blue to breathlessly pale.

A glorious day in Midtown

Midtown skyscrapers

In my post about second homes, I mentioned that I hadn’t quite made that special connection with Atlanta yet. This past Tuesday, I realized that’s not exactly true. I do have strong feelings…for parts of Atlanta.

It only makes sense. Atlanta is huge. The sprawl just keeps going and going. Much of the city is strings and clusters of strip malls, businesses, and homes that are only accessible by car. Of course I wouldn’t find that homey, walkable, or natural.

But there are places where I can stroll around happily for hours and find plenty to do and see. As I rediscovered Tuesday, one of those places is Midtown.

Midtown skyscrapers

My friend and former coworker Stephanie just moved back to the Atlanta area–we met in Augusta, but she grew up here. We’ve been trying to get together and do something for awhile, and finally this week things came together. She and her baby Landon, who is just about to start walking but for this day spent most of the time in his stroller, met up with me at the High Museum of Art.

High Museum of Art with signage for Frida and Diego exhibit

Stephanie hadn’t been there since she was in school; as for me, the last time I’d visited was for the Picasso to Warhol exhibit a year ago. I acquired a photography permit (something I don’t recall them doing last year) and signed a statement agreeing not to post my photos online (alas), then we got to exploring.

We started in the Stent Family Wing, heading up the ramp to see European Art from the 14th to 19th centuries and American Art from the 18th to mid-19th centuries. We took a short break so Stephanie could feed Landon; I was impressed with how organized and thoughtful a mom she is. After a quick diaper change, we were able to take in the first part of the visiting Frida & Diego exhibit before Landon became too fussy to continue. All the while, Stephanie and I chatted about the art, and travel, and cutie Landon, and it was a lot of fun!

I wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, so after walking Stephanie and Landon down to the lobby, I headed back up to finish out Frida & Diego. I hadn’t heard of Frida Kahlo or Diego Rivera before this exhibit came to town, so it was an eye-opening experience. They both had such fascinating lives, their relationship with each other a pivotal point. One of Frida’s paintings in particular, “The Broken Column,” so strongly resonated that I had to fight burning tears. Frida suffered crushing injuries in an accident when she was 18. Her spine was broken in multiple places and her uterus was impaled. These injuries left her in a lifetime of pain and unable to carry a pregnancy to term. She died young, at 47. “The Broken Column” is a self-portrait. Frida gazes at the viewer, standing tall despite the exposed, fractured column that represents her spine, her body riddled with nails, her face streaked with tears.

All of the Frida & Diego exhibit is amazing and informative; I highly recommend checking it out before it leaves Atlanta in May.

After Frida & Diego I went up to the Skyway Level to see Gogo: Nature Transformed, a temporary exhibit of jewelry based on designs found in nature. Much of it was cast from molds of animal bones, and I didn’t really care for it. After that I wandered through the Modern Art exhibits, which were far more to my liking. I especially enjoyed the furniture designs; the High has pieces from Frank Lloyd Wright (instantly recognizable) and pieces that were sold by Herman Miller in the mid to late 20th century. One thing I also appreciated about the Modern Art exhibits, and the others that incorporate furniture or sculpture, is the way the museum has arranged all the pieces. Designing an exhibit is an art unto itself.

After Modern Art I skipped Folk Art and went straight to Contemporary Art. I remembered many of the pieces–Anish Kapoor’s untitled reflective dish, for one–but new items had appeared as well, and other exhibits and pieces that were on display last year are now gone. Then I went down to the Third Level and looked at American furniture, paintings, and sculpture from the 19th and 20th centuries. Items I found especially fascinating were an ornate cabinet, an intricate piano built for its looks rather than its sound, a group of face jugs from Edgefield, South Carolina, and two separate still life paintings featuring dead fish.

Finally I went down to the Lower Level, where I strolled through the Works on Paper exhibit and the African Collection. I found myself drawn to three paintings by Will Henry Stevens in Works on Paper and a display case filled with intricately detailed metal curios in the African Collection. And with that, my wonderful five and a half hours at the High were concluded.

High Museum of Art

At that point I was pretty hungry, so I decided to try and find food. I’d had a protein bar at around noon, but it was now 4:30. At first I thought I’d just go to the restaurant next to the High, but nothing on their menu sounded appealing, so I got on Yelp! to see what was available in the area. Unfortunately, the Midtown branch of South City Kitchen wasn’t open yet. I tried to go to a place called Article 14, but I couldn’t find it. (I ended up passing it later in the evening on a completely different street from where I’d been looking, but in my defense, the streets are both called Peachtree.) Eventually I decided to just keep walking around and eat whenever I found a restaurant that looked good. It took about 45 minutes, but I finally came across a pizza place called Vespucci’s, so I stopped there and had a delicious pepperoni calzone.

Pepperoni calzone from Vespucci's

Thus recharged, I decided there was still enough daylight to warrant going to Piedmont Park, so I headed off down the other Peachtree Street and then up 14th Street, all the while taking photos of beautiful Midtown. I got to the park at around 6:30 and spent about 45 minutes strolling through it, circling the pond and snapping photos of flowering trees and shimmering water. It was pretty out, though it was starting to get cold; I kept my hands in my pockets as much as possible.

Flowering tree at Piedmont Park

Midtown skyline as seen from across the pond at Piedmont Park

Detail of a flower on a tree at Piedmont Park

Pavilion on the pond at Piedmont Park

Visitors Center at Piedmont Park

I took more Midtown shots on my way back to the car. The setting sun made for some nice light.

Reflected skyscraper bathed in a wedge of sunset light

Sunset light washing over 14th Street

I was headed off for home before darkness had a chance to settle in, thanks to Daylight Saving Time. (I may be the only person who likes DST.) As I found my way back to I-75, the dwindling sunset painted Midtown pink.

Pink-hued Midtown skyscrapers

I’d had an awesome day, but somehow I didn’t want to go home yet. I called Sean to see if he wanted to go out to dinner, but he didn’t, so instead of going to the apartment, I drove to our local movie theater to see if they had anything interesting. At the time, my mood was swinging toward either Emperor or A Good Day To Die Hard, but neither was playing at that location. Oz the Great and Powerful was available, but I’d read a review that had somewhat soured me on seeing it…so I went back to my car and pulled up Yelp! again, deciding to just go ahead and have dinner. A search for nearby restaurants revealed a Thai/Malaysian place in an adjacent shopping center. Given my love affair with Penang, that sounded like a plan to me, so I hopped out onto Cobb Parkway and then right off again, heading straight back to Top Spice.

The ambiance wasn’t quite as cozy as Penang’s, at least not in the entryway. I felt rather like I was on stage, as all the tables were raised above the level of the front door and there was no half wall or anything to provide a feeling of privacy. Once I was snug in my booth, though, I was quite comfortable.

Interior of Top Spice

Rather than an entree, I decided to have two appetizers. This was mainly because they had roti canai and I love roti canai, and I knew if I got roti canai and an entree, I wouldn’t be able to finish. The second appetizer I chose was called martabak. It’s made with the same Malaysian “pancake” as roti canai, but it’s a beef and onion curry wrap. Somehow the flavor wasn’t what I was expecting, and I’m not sure I liked it. The roti canai was good, but Penang’s is better.

Then I gave in to temptation and tried their sticky rice mango, and it was amazing. The plate featured three separate items: a sticky rice patty with sesame seeds, a neat pile of mango slices, and a small bowl of coconut syrup. At first I tried alternately dipping the rice, then the mango into the syrup, but I soon found that assembling bites of all three at once created the ultimate flavor. Sticky rice mango is one of the most delicious desserts I’ve ever tasted. I devoured it all.

Sticky rice mango at Top Spice

With that satisfying conclusion to my meal, I was finally ready for my day of adventures to end. I headed home in sublime contentment, my belly full of yummy food, my camera full of photos, and my brain full of happy memories.

View more Midtown photos | View more March 2013 photos

Genealogy

I’ve added a Genealogy Resources list to my links. I’ve always been interested in family histories; my grandfather put together a 72-page book charting our family from Wales across Virginia and Kentucky when I was a kid, and some years ago I was contacted by a distant relative in Texas who sent me a huge printout of his own Aubrey family tree research going back even further. (Unfortunately, I lost all that stuff in the fire.) I’ve used Ancestry.com off and on for a few years, messing with a couple trees here and there, but that was about the extent of my forays into genealogy until today.

Yesterday on Twitter, my friend Chris linked to a site I hadn’t heard of before: Find a Grave. It’s an amazing resource, containing listings for 95 million grave sites. I spent some time there today, putting in entries for my grandparents and great-grandparents and a great-uncle and creating “virtual cemeteries” (groups of family members) for Dad’s family, Mom’s family, and Sean’s family. I barely scratched the surface of what’s available, but I’ll need to do more in-depth research to continue.

In the course of searching for information to put in the listings, I discovered this detailed description of Grandpa’s book, which filled in some gaps in my memory. I had been pretty sure my immigrant ancestor’s name was John, but that was all I could remember.

Henry Awbrey (d.1694) immigrated from Wales to Rappahannock County, Virginia about 1663. John Awbrey (ca.1623-1692), brother of Henry, immigrated from Wales to Westmoreland County, Virginia. Descendants of the brothers (chiefly spelling the surname Aubrey) lived in Virginia, Kentucky, Georgia, Alabama, Texas and elsewhere. Includes family history and genealogical data about ancestors in Wales, England and elsewhere to about 1066 A.D.

I’m really happy to have this information. Hopefully someday I can find an actual copy of Grandpa’s book, too. When I do, I’d love to put it online, but I’m not sure how copyright works for something like this. Grandpa didn’t make his book for profit. He and Grandma have passed away, so I’m not sure who the rights would fall to. I do recall Grandma telling me that someone from Grandpa’s family had asked for all his research; perhaps that person was given the publication rights as well? I’d love for Grandpa’s book to have a broader audience than just the few who managed to snag copies of his hand-typed, photocopied, center-stapled self-publication.

I’ve been thinking recently that I’d like to design a robust genealogy web application. There are many features I’d like to incorporate, like family home information (pictures, locations, the dates family members lived there); the ability to create/generate matrilineal trees; information and timelines on events that involved multiple family members, with general summaries for everyone and the capability to add notes specific to each person; and whatever else I can think of, with all data cross-referenced and available in an API. Of course, something like this may already exist; I’ve barely dipped my toe into genealogy. I’m just fascinated by the idea of archiving lives in creative, robust ways.

Second homes

There are certain places that I start to feel connected to and even possessive of as I learn about them, visit them, or live in or near them. From my childhood, there’s Chicago; I only visited a couple times with family, but for some reason I developed a sense of belonging that has never faded. I recognize Chicago buildings and I can still remember visiting museums and driving along the waterfront. When I hear news about Chicago I feel almost as if I’m hearing news about a place where I’ve lived. And I’ve always thought Superman’s Metropolis should be Chicago, as Gotham City should be New York. It just seems to have the right tone.

From my first foray into adulthood, there’s Huntsville, Alabama, the city in which I first lived away from home. In Huntsville I gained new freedoms I’d never had living with my parents; I rode my bicycle all over and caught rides with friends to places in town. To this day I feel possessive of Sparkman Drive and the Eggbeater Jesus. I’ve been lucky enough to visit Huntsville in recent years, once in 2009 and twice last year, and the lovely changes to downtown and the cool new restaurants and shopping centers make me swell with pride, even though I had nothing to do with any of it.

Then there’s Austin, which I visited once briefly in 2000…somehow that city got under my skin and never left. Walking around downtown with Sean (who I was simply dating at the time), Ben, and some friends we’d met online, I felt “cool”. And that fast food sushi place blew my mind; Japanese food wasn’t ubiquitous back then. I remember being told that Austin was “the Silicon Hills,” that there was a tech explosion on the horizon, and I loved the lushness of Austin compared to the dry, flat areas of Texas we’d had to drive through to get there. These days an old friend of mine lives in Austin, as well as family; I also follow people on Twitter who live in Austin, and I pay attention to the Austin web scene.

Next is Augusta; as I lived there for eight years, its “second home” status is more than legitimate. Even though we moved away nearly two years ago, I still feel more connected to Augusta than I do to Atlanta, or even to our little corner of it. I had many friends there, and working in news gave me plenty of local insight and the opportunity to attend lots of local events. I love Augusta. Its weather is great, downtown is charming, outdoor activities abound, there’s plenty to do within a day’s drive (including going to the ocean or mountains), and the tech scene is vibrant. Since I’ve left it seems like Augusta is really ramping up; it makes me want to move back.

York, England is another city that made me feel oddly like I belonged. There was just something about it. The city is beautiful and walkable and features the gorgeous York Minster as well as an amazing tea shop. Brooke and I were only there for a day, but I could have easily spent a week; I wouldn’t say no to living there if given the opportunity.

Then there’s Birmingham, Alabama. For awhile there Sean was traveling for work a lot, and many of his trips were to Birmingham. As it’s just a couple miles west of Atlanta, I was able to tag along twice. I fell in love with the beauty of the city, its dedication to history, the many cultural activities that are easily accessible and free, the variety of restaurants, the city’s gardens and natural beauty. Visiting Vulcan was loads of fun despite the rainy weather, and I was excited to find Electra and the Temple of Sibyl on my jaunts through town. Sloss Furnace is gorgeous; I could see myself exploring those overgrown industrial ruins over and over again. And I love the Japanese section of the sprawling Birmingham Botanical Gardens. A friend of mine and his family just moved to Birmingham, and I must admit to being a little jealous.

Poughkeepsie and Beacon in New York state also felt like home. Unique, beautiful, and comfortable.

There are some cities I’ve been to that haven’t had this effect on me. Though I’ve visited Savannah many times, I don’t feel that connection. I like it there, but there’s no sense of mutual belonging. The same goes for San Francisco; during my trip at the end of 2011 it seemed like a lovely place, but I’m not sure I would live there.

If there’s a trend to all the cities that feel like home, it would seem to include cool downtowns, lovely architecture, natural beauty, and walkability. Those last two items were large factors in choosing our current apartment in Marietta; I’m also pleased to note that Marietta has a cute downtown, though parking can be something of a hassle. The Atlanta area is huge, and it’s taking me awhile to develop that sense of comfort that comes from knowing what I’m doing in a city. But with everything Atlanta has to offer, I think I should eventually be able to call it another of my second homes.

Harry Potter musings

I’m rereading the Harry Potter books–I just finished Prisoner of Azkaban last night. This is the first time I’ve read all the books straight through, from 1 to 7. I’m really enjoying noticing all the details that continue from book to book, and the foreshadowing I never saw before.

I also recently started playing Pottermore, an online Harry Potter game that allows you to unlock new information about the wizarding world. There are also achievements and Houses and points and whatnot, but I don’t really care about those, especially since I was sorted into Slytherin.

As I’ve discussed my dismay over my sorting with friends, it’s grown abundantly clear that I am the only one who finds this bothersome. I’m hoping as I reread the books that I will come to a new understanding of Slytherin, at least enough so that I can understand why Pottermore would sort people into it rather than leaving it as the antagonist group it was in the books.

Friends tell me not to look at it in black and white, that of course the books are prejudiced against Slytherin because they’re written from Harry’s perspective. I can understand this argument, but I’m not sure the text backs it up. Ideally, if Slytherin had good people in it, we would see them. All the Slytherins I can recall seeing in the books turned out to be jerks, if not entirely evil. While you can argue that we simply didn’t see the good Slytherins, I would counter that this omission is a flaw. If there are good Slytherins, we should see them. At least a few examples. Something to demonstrate that the world isn’t black and white. But all I remember from my first and second readings of the later books is that all the Slytherins turned out to have Death Eater parents. Everyone who was remotely antagonistic in the books–even the executioner from the Department of Magical Creatures, who really should have been anonymous and unbiased–seemed to be a Death Eater. So sure, you can argue that being a Slytherin doesn’t automatically make you a Death Eater, but it dramatically increases the chances. And meanwhile we never see, that I recall, a Death Eater who is from a house other than Slytherin.

I am paying close attention to the Houses this time around, hoping to find some evidence to counter my prevailing impression. For example, I never saw any mention of which House Peter Pettigrew belonged to. It seems logical for him to have been in Gryffindor (thus making “all evil comes from Slytherin” false and also making “all Gryffindors are brave” false [Edit: I’ve just started Goblet of Fire, and you could argue that briefly standing up to Voldemort on Harry’s behalf is brave…maybe]), but as far as I’ve seen, there is no evidence of which House he was in. Pottermore may have this information; this essay seems to indicate so. It also states that Quirrell was a Ravenclaw, which I don’t remember from the book, but that’s also counter evidence if true.

But if all the information that would redeem Slytherin comes from sources other than the actual books, I will be disappointed. I would hope, that as the years pass and Harry grows up, he would start to recognize gray areas. Surely our hero isn’t so myopic that he would never see a good Slytherin or a bad member of another House, if those allegiances actually exist.

So yes, I’m keeping my eyes open as I reread. If I come across any good information from the original source material–the books themselves–I’ll update this post.

In the meantime, I’ve pretty much decided not to play Pottermore anymore.

Edit 03/03: I am now into Order of the Phoenix. This book, along with Dumbledore’s speech at the end of Goblet of Fire, contains the first broad-spectrum view of the wizarding world, exhortations for the four Houses to unite. Harry is of course still anti-Slytherin and can’t imagine working with them. In Half-Blood Prince will come the examples of “good” Slytherins Snape and Slughorn (or at least, Slytherins with whom people from other Houses can work). I’ve already mentioned my problems with Snape and Slughorn; I’ll keep my eyes open for other Slytherin examples. It would be nice if my memory is wrong or incomplete and there is more to this than simply “work with whoever you can get, even the lesser of two evils, even if you have to spend copious amounts of time keeping them on track.”

Area 34-year-old whines about being sorted into Slytherin

I’ve been slowly working my way through Pottermore, the Harry Potter companion site that features previously-unreleased thoughts and information from JK Rowling and allows members to proceed through the books performing various tasks. In the first book you get your wand and are sorted into a House.

Today I got my wand–PEAR WITH UNICORN CORE, TEN AND THREE QUARTER INCHES, SURPRISINGLY SWISHY–by taking what seemed to be a very short personality test. The length, being more on the shorter side, implies a less boisterous personality. A unicorn hair core is the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts and produces the most consistent magic. Wands made of pear wood work best for “the warm-hearted, the generous and the wise” and are very resilient. Their possessors are usually well respected. So all of that seems fine to me (and yes, I realize that none of this is actually real).

A little later I took a somewhat longer personality test. I thought very carefully about my answers, not in terms of what House I wanted (because I wasn’t really sure), but because I wanted it to be “accurate” (whatever that means). And lo and behold, I was Sorted into Slytherin.

I immediately took to Twitter to ponder how and why this might have happened, and then to wonder why I was upset about it. It’s actually bothering me a lot more than I would have expected.

In the books, I can’t remember hearing of a Slytherin character I liked. The ones who did work for Good were usually blackmailed into it–c.f. Snape and Slughorn. (I liked Snape until I discovered he was only good out of guilt–or perhaps selfish, obsessive sadness–over Lily’s death. And even then he still had to be constantly guilt-tripped by Dumbledore. Slughorn, meanwhile, is nothing but a self-serving parasite.) As the books proceeded and the greater wizarding world came into focus, it would have been nice to see more subtlety among the Houses–witches and wizards from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff who went Dark or from Slytherin who kept to the Light. Of the latter, I can think only of Draco Malfoy’s redemption, but he was always a nasty character and his “redemption” came because he was terrified of the position Voldemort put him in. You could definitely argue that he was a victim of circumstance, beginning with his upbringing. But even so, he’s a singular example. In general, Slytherin might as well equal Death Eater.

The Slytherin welcome page tried to console me by letting me know that Merlin was a Slytherin, that Slytherins are loyal to one another (which may well be true, as I can’t think of an instance of a Slytherin betraying another Slytherin off the top of my head), that there are Muggle-born Slytherins (really?). But I am not finding any of that particularly comforting.

Perhaps someday if there was a series of books written from the perspective of a Slytherin character, I might change my mind, but for now just I feel like the Sorting Hat (which, again, I realize is not real) thinks I’m self-serving.