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.
In the minutes before I awoke this morning, I dreamed I had a terminal illness, with mere days, or perhaps hours, to live. At first I was out enjoying time with my family at a carnival, but as I started developing a ragged cough, I went back to a space that had been prepared for me–it wasn’t home, it wasn’t the home of any friend or family member, but it was a nice room, possibly an apartment or hotel, with a table for my laptop. I was alone, and I sat around thinking about what I wanted to do before I died.
I didn’t want to die, of course, but I was trying not to think about that. I pushed aside thoughts of family members who had succumbed to the illness before me (apparently it was a deadly virus) and thoughts of what might have been (“It’s a good thing I could never have children,” I told myself, as I wouldn’t be around to raise them). Instead I focused on setting my affairs in order.
One thought was to write a blog post entitled “I’m dying.” I went back and forth about whether or not to put a period at the end. I thought about what to say, and mostly I planned to write who got my possessions. I remember thinking that my stuff would automatically go to my parents if I didn’t specifically dole it out, which doesn’t make sense, but that’s dream logic.
I also pondered what to say about my digital footprint, my photos in particular. The free lifetime account SmugMug gave me after the fire would obviously expire when I did, so I wondered if I could–or should–ask that someone start to pay for it, to keep the chronicle of my life online. And of course there was also my blog, the hosting and such. I was uncomfortable with the idea of asking someone to pay to keep those things around, but I didn’t want them to just disappear, either.
Ultimately I woke up before I ever started writing the blog post I was planning, and I was quite relieved to realize that I wasn’t dying after all. I fell back asleep briefly, back into the feelings of missed opportunities and the desire to make some sort of tangible mark and the fervent wish that I could somehow escape my fate, and when I woke up again I got out of bed immediately.
For years I have struggled with regularly preparing meals at home. I tend to dislike following routines for any length of time, and I also tend to dislike having to come up with vast organizational schemes more frequently than perhaps monthly (or even bimonthly), so creating a weekly meal plan, shopping for it, and then cooking according to that plan every night has rarely occurred.
Thinking about it today, I started to wonder if I couldn’t space out the planning and work more. Buy in bulk, take the first few steps of a recipe, package up single or double servings, then freeze the servings to cook later. I do have times where I want to do a huge project; perhaps I could use those times to stock up on freezable meal beginnings. And then on regular nights all I’d really have to do to make dinner would be to pick a pre-prepared item and get the fresh ingredients I might need to compliment it. To save freezer space, I could even branch out into unfrozen vacuum-packed food, if it’s possible to do that safely. And of course there’s always canning.
It’s a thought. This may be a good way for me to go so I don’t feel as overwhelmed during the week.
What did the Japanese person say about British food? 馬そう。 –@tokyorich
Reading phonetically, うまそう or “uma sou“, it would seem like the Japanese person is simply saying that British food looks delicious. The joke is in the kanji.
そう/sou means “looks like”. うま/uma can mean delicious. But the kanji 馬 means horse.
You may have heard about horse meat found in beef products in Britain; here’s an article excerpt from CNN:
First UK tests reveal scope of horse meat contamination
Over the past week, unauthorized horse meat has been discovered in a variety of products labeled as beef that were sold in supermarkets in countries including Britain, France, Sweden, Switzerland, Germany and Ireland.
… The meat industry was first thrust into the spotlight last month when Irish investigators found horse and pig DNA in hamburger products.
So as you can see, the joke is hilarious.
A pun like this was actually used in Yakitate!! Japan, when Azuma and Kawachi meet the manager of Pantasia’s southern branch for the first time and he demands they bake bread a horse will like. When the horse is satisfied, it cries out 「うま！」, uma! However, instead of the proper kanji for delicious, 美味, 馬 is shown.
Last night I watched the 1958 Criterion Collection film The Ballad of Narayama on Hulu. This film deals with the possibly mythical tradition of ubasute, literally “discarding the elderly”. While Hulu’s plot summary made it seem as though the film is about a man struggling with having to leave his mother in the mountains to die, much of the story comes from his mother’s perspective. I would characterize this film more as the contrasting reactions of a very close mother and son to a tradition that forces them apart. (Criterion’s plot summary is much better.)
Where mother Orin is profoundly interested in tradition and saving face, son Tatsuhei is more strongly affected by the now, by the people and things he personally cares about. This contrast is plainly evident from the very beginning of the film; Orin is excited to have found a new wife for Tatsuhei, someone who can take care of her son once she’s gone to Mt. Narayama to die. Meanwhile, Tatsuhei is still mourning the loss of his first wife, and the thought of a new one simply causes him to worry about food supplies and remind him that he will lose his mother soon.
Tatsuhei’s son Kesakichi, a worthless layabout who has gotten his girlfriend pregnant, is often a catalyst for dissent in the family. He objects to getting a “new mother”, wanting to maximize available supplies for his girlfriend. He incites the local children to sing songs about demons with 33 teeth, which shames Orin, who at 69 still has 28 teeth. She is so unhappy that people and gods might think she is prideful or that she won’t accept her death at 70 with grace that she smashes her mouth into a cooking pot to break and knock out her own teeth. Tatsuhei is horrified; sobbing, he insists that Orin eat the special treat of white rice she has made for the festival, frustrated at the idea that she might no longer be able to enjoy food.
As Orin continues to put her affairs in order, Kesakichi continues to be obnoxious, bringing his girlfriend to live with the family and giving her most of the food, asking Orin when she’ll be going to Narayama. His girlfriend becomes bold too, joining in on these torments, but Orin accepts it all calmly, repeating that she’ll be going to Narayama at the New Year, the year she turns 70. Tatsuhei can say nothing to dissuade her and hides his face under a towel to cry.
Orin and Tatsuhei’s new wife Tama bond immediately, and their relationship is one of the best parts of the movie. Tama loves Orin as a mother and mourns almost as openly as Tatsuhei at the thought of her impending sacrifice. Unlike Tatsuhei, however, aside from one comment at their first meeting, Tama says nothing to Orin about her choice. She makes no attempts, subtle or otherwise, to change Orin’s mind. Perhaps she respects Orin’s independence over her own selfish desires. Or perhaps she recognizes the futility of fighting tradition and simply doesn’t want to make the event even harder on the family.
Neighbor Mata is already 70 and has resisted going to Narayama. He is starved at home and comes to Orin for food. Mata serves as an example of the cost of fighting tradition. In the end he is bound, dragged into the mountains, and flung off a cliff by his son.
And in the end, Orin’s wish to follow tradition is honored by her son, who carries her into the mountains on his back. Following established ritual, they are not allowed to speak once they enter the Narayama area, and so Tatsuhei stumbles unwillingly, silently through forest and rock and then piles and piles of skeletons as crows look on.
The sets in the film are fascinating; obviously the backgrounds are paintings, and transitions are done by cutting the lights and moving large props to reveal new scenes such that it feels like watching a play. But the sets are sprawling and elaborate, larger than any theater could contain. The camera pans along them, following actors as they move down paths and into detailed structures. The Narayama skeleton set is eerie; I honestly didn’t expect it, and I stared speechless at the clusters of bones surrounding Orin and Tatsuhei.
The final scene, showing a train pulling out of a station called Obasute, looked too real by comparison to all the other sets; it was jarring. I’m not sure what the point of that scene was, other than perhaps to make the point of the movie obvious. In my opinion it already was, so the scene is unnecessary.
I’m unclear on whether or not ubasute ever actually occurred. From the movie, I can understand why it might have–food supplies being low could inspire communities to dispose of their least productive members. Indeed, the film includes a different example of such a thing happening; an entire family is killed after it’s discovered they have been stealing. In this sense, I find the contrast between Orin and Kesakichi fascinating; of the two of them, Orin is far more useful to the family. (Orin knows how to catch trout, and shares her secret only with Tama; she admonishes the other woman not to tell anyone, perhaps highlighting the need for someone in this community to be of use. If only Tama knows the secret, her value goes up.)
What value does Kesakichi bring? He adds a mouth, eventually two mouths, to feed and doesn’t do his share of the work. If there was a “just” system for rooting out those who didn’t contribute, Kesakichi would be the first one kicked to the curb. But of course, getting rid of the young isn’t the tradition.
And despite the way he treats her, Orin loves Kesakichi and takes care of him and his girlfriend just as well as she takes care of the rest of the family. She is willing to sacrifice herself for the sake of tradition, but I wonder how she’d feel about others? After all, while she chides Mata for not going to Narayama, she still feeds him. Somehow, I can’t see her doing to Kesakichi what Kesakichi did to her.
Then again, even if she did, Kesakichi wouldn’t care. He’s not interested in tradition or saving face; he’s just interested in himself.
I’m sure this contrast between Orin and Kesakichi was intentional, meant to underline the importance of valuing our elders instead of tossing them aside. And I have to say it was effective, because I love Orin and I hate Kesakichi.
I found myself relating to and sympathizing with Orin. Her need to be accepted, to fit the mold others had created for her, was tragic, and cost her her life while she was still perfectly healthy. But she took it all with a smile, with no complaints. This made the message of the film far stronger than had she rebelled against her fate. We saw the lengths she was willing to go to stay in people’s favor; we understood the sheer ridiculousness of it; yet we knew she really had no choice, and that made her devotion to her reputation come off as brave rather than pathetic.
Orin waits in the snow to die. The Ballad of Narayama, 1958
Sean and I love Person of Interest, a show whose heroes are like a combination of Batman and James Bond. Former CIA operative John Reese has the spy skills and general badassery; partner Howard Finch brings the technological expertise. Unfortunately the show isn’t available to watch online, so we don’t see it as it airs; instead, we wait for the season to end and buy the Blu-Rays. Season one is available here.
Aside from its excellent score, written by Ramin Djawadi of Game of Thrones fame, the show is augmented by some iconic tracks, listed on the Person of Interest Wiki. Here’s a guide to buying the tracks from season one on Amazon MP3, mostly for my reference but also for yours if you’re interested. The songs are sorted by artist.
Massive Attack: Angel and Live With Me are available separately or as part of the Collected album (which also includes Teardrop, made famous by House).
I have always loved the arts of home design: architecture, landscaping, interior structures, and interior design. When I was a kid, my mom subscribed to home decorating and remodeling magazines; I’d pore over them eagerly, dreaming of the spaces I’d one day create.
Even though I’ve never owned any property, and thus haven’t had the opportunity to really make a design mark anywhere I’ve lived, my enthusiasm for design hasn’t waned. These days I watch home buying shows and home makeover shows whenever I’m staying somewhere with cable (this kind of programming is oddly limited on Netflix and Hulu). I also greatly enjoy going on tours of homes, be they national landmarks or simply local houses with plenty of history and character. Ultimately, that’s what I’m interested in: how long the home has been around, who has lived there, what architectural and design features it started with and what got added along the way.
My personal design philosophy is that the history, the things that make a home unique, should be preserved when a home is renovated. I prefer remodels that maintain structures and features from the home’s original look, or from somewhere along the timeline of the home’s life. With new builds, there’s no need to try to interject fake vintage style; you can go ahead and use modern building and design techniques such as open floorplans, clean lines, and light colors. But if you’ve got an older home, why strip away everything it’s been for the years and years it’s existed to try to fit into a cookie cutter modern mold?
One example keeps coming back to me over the years. It was a bathroom remodel on some TV show I watched with my mom. The focal point of the room was a huge blue bathtub, completely walled off by a blocky structure covered in meticulously-applied blue tile. The owners admitted to a love/hate relationship with the bathtub; they loved the character, but felt the dark blue color and blocky style overwhelmed the room. The rest of the room was tiled as well, adding to the busy feel.
Ultimately the designer ripped that tub out and replaced it with a modern beige one, luxurious of course, with a clean, updated look. It was the most disappointing remodel I’d ever seen. The room went from fascinating to just like every other modern bathroom.
I agree that the room felt small due to all the dark blue, but surely that issue could have been mitigated in some way other than destroying the main reason the room was interesting. Lighten the walls. Increase the size of or add windows. Something. I could even see removing the old tub and replacing it with a nice garden Jacuzzi, so long as the blue tile structure remained.
I think the homeowners were pleased at first, but I bet nowadays the utter blandness of that bathroom gets to them, at least a little.
One thing I’m not sure designers think about when they do “modern remodels” is the fact that all they’re really doing is giving the home a later date than its original design. In a decade, or perhaps even less, the things that seemed so cutting-edge and fresh will look like throwbacks. Just enough out of style that the home starts to feel dated.
And then another renovation starts to seem necessary. Perhaps designers are aware of what they’re doing.
Someday, I would love to own property with character. I’d strive to keep the home’s character in its design. I’d make it usable and livable for modern needs and desires, but not at the cost of what made the home attractive in the first place. And I’d look into the history of the place and maintain records for it. It would be my way of preserving a little corner of history.
This is the introduction to what may become a longer story.
He was dragging himself through the window, sodden foot sliding as it sought purchase on the sill, when that old familiar tingle registered at the back of his mind. In an instant he dropped into a somersault that brought him the rest of the way into the room, just as a creak on the stair reinforced his immediate dilemma.
He tore at the mask, wrestled his arms and chest free of soggy blue and red, and cast about for something to hide his legs.
The comforter from his bed would have to do. Thwip!
No sooner had he embedded himself in folds of fabric than the door squeaked open and in came Aunt May with an armload of laundry.
“Peter!” she gasped upon seeing him. “When did you get home? I thought you were out studying.”
He shivered involuntarily, and her eyes went to the drops of water clinging to the tips of his hair. “What on earth?” she said. “Why are you all wet?”
“Um…shower?” said Peter Parker, adjusting the blanket on his shoulders and glancing quickly down to make sure his feet weren’t visible.
“If you’ve just taken a shower, Peter, you didn’t do a very good job.” Aunt May’s nose screwed up as she set the neatly folded laundry on Peter’s desk chair. “What is that awful smell?”
He could hardly tell her the truth, so he shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, Aunt May. I’ll try again.”
“You do that, Peter.” Aunt May turned to leave, giving him one last sidelong glance. “And this time, try using a towel.”
I often feel that there are so many things we could be doing. So many things we are capable of. So many things we just aren’t achieving that we should be readily able to.
Sometimes I discover that we are at least partially doing those things, but we’re not doing them in a way that people know about or can find or share easily.
This morning I heard a tornado siren. It’s only the second time I’ve heard it since I’ve lived here. The first time, nothing happened, so this time, I didn’t think much of it. An hour or so later I saw a tweet remarking on Atlanta’s “tornado-y” weather, so I thought I’d see what the deal was.
I went to my go-to weather site, The Weather Channel’s weather.com, and clicked on my local forecast, which is saved in a tile at the top of the page. Then I clicked on the Alerts, and in the drop-down I saw Tornado Watch until 4pm. That was all I needed to know, so I left the page.
If you follow that image link, you get…a cell phone picture of a TV screen.
A cell phone picture. Of a TV screen.
I understand wanting to share important information quickly. Actually, I think the ability to do that is rather important. But it astonished me that the most efficient way to rapidly share vital information online was apparently to post a picture of it.
We have the data. We have the technology. We can do better.
I went poking around weather.com to find the source of that image–better yet, something that would stay up-to-date no matter when someone got the link. First I went to the Atlanta forecast page. I clicked on things, but never saw a map like the TV picture. I did find a list of affected counties, which is useful, especially for people who can’t see pictures. But I wanted to duplicate the experience a viewer of the picture would have–duplicate and enhance it.
Finally I clicked on the Map link in the sidebar, and that took me to the interactive Weather Map. This was the same thing I’d seen on the forecast page and ignored because it didn’t have the tornado warning areas highlighted. But I gave it a chance; I clicked on Map Options. Scrolling all the way to the very bottom, I finally found the Weather Alert Overlays, and I clicked the radio button next to Severe Alerts.
And there, at last, it was.
I quickly sent a link and instructions in response to the tweet. Then it occurred to me to check the link on my phone. I opened Tweetbot and tapped the link and sure enough…the interactive map doesn’t work in iOS, because it uses Flash.
Sigh.
Here’s what I want. I want a map that works regardless of the device I’m using. I want the ability to share a direct link to the view I am using–in this case, Severe Alerts–not just a generic link to the default map (which is what you currently get from those sidebar social media buttons). I want a forecast page that calls up versions of the map that are relevant to any weather alerts currently in effect.
As I said, we are capable of so many things. So many useful things. So many things that would be a genuine help to society.
The thing is, if we try to do those things, we can’t just throw something together and say we’re done. We have to make it easy.
Otherwise, people will skip right past it and keep taking pictures of their TVs.
It occurred to me that it would be cool for a Japanese restaurant to have a small regular menu and then switch out other menu items, perhaps every quarter, to feature different items from different regions. It would be a little difficult logistically, as they’d have to source the ingredients and train the chefs and whatnot, but it would make for a fascinating dining experience. They could even change their decor to match the city or prefecture whose food they were featuring at any given time. A map and photos at the entryway could show guests what the current region is and what kinds of specialty items to expect.
The restaurant could also try weeklong events, such as an udon event or a ramen event, and go crazy with different selections. Maybe they could bring in guest chefs, specialists, to take some of the pressure off the main staff.
No matter how big a restaurant’s menu is–the menu at our current go-to Japanese restaurant is pretty huge–there’s always going to be something missing. And if Kitchen Nightmares has taught me anything, it’s that a smaller menu improves food quality all around. These lessons are actionable: shift to a smaller menu that changes regularly. This move would bring refreshing variety and the opportunity to try new things while allowing the chefs increased focus on each dish.
I’m doing an experiment today: I’m going to open up the first spam or selling type of email I receive from the top of my email inbox.
The task? Go five lines down and seven words in, then write 250 words based on the word I find, and complete the rough text in under half an hour.
I thought I’d try it myself. Thanks to Gmail’s spam filter and some judicious unsubscribing on my part, I don’t receive much spam these days, but this morning a message from an advocacy group slipped past and I got my word: white. Here’s what I wrote in about 20 minutes. (I did minimal tweaking because I had hit precisely 250 words.)
It’s all stained, all of it. Nothing is pure. Nothing pristine. Even the palest shade betrays some hue, some blue or red or brown that saps away the essence of a thing. Of a creature. Of a person, if you can even call it that.
There’s no soul there. Or if there is, it’s corrupted.
Every day I fight back. I know I am losing the battle. But what I do has purpose. It creates something from nothing. It brings that purity back, if only for a little while. It shows the world what’s possible.
The main thing is to remove the colors. And there are so many colors.
I take my time. I make small steps. I choose one thing. One small mark at a time upon a world drenched in putrid dye.
Last week it was a chair. It took a certain combination of chemicals, meticulously determined over many trials, to purge the darkness. You cannot create purity with paint or lacquer. The subject must be fundamentally altered. The rot must be forcibly removed, leaving only the splendor of the original soul.
It cannot be rushed.
This week I have a far more difficult subject. There are so many colors, so many materials. I will carefully test new methods on each one until I find the perfect treatment.
When I am finished, her blood, her organs, her hair, her nails, her skin, her eyes, her all will be free of corruption. She will shine the most brilliant white.
I am so inspired by Nial Giacomelli’s The Diabetic Journal. This is a personal project, an application to help manage all the overwhelming variables in a diabetic’s life, that has grown beyond personal use and into something that Mr. Giacomelli wants to distribute absolutely free as a smartphone app. He’s made no profit on it and will make none. He’s looking to Kickstarter simply to allow him to focus on the app, to get it out the door with more features and a more streamlined UI.
I have no horse in this race; I’m not diabetic. But I’ve been through a lot of health-related crap. I can only imagine what it must be like for diabetics to have to manage their illness every single day for the rest of their lives.
This app would help them. And it would be free.
But things are looking bad. The word’s not getting out, or people don’t understand, or some other problem is keeping the project far from its goal.
I’m a backer and I want The Diabetic Journal to get my money.
If you’ve got anything you can send, anything at all, please. For once, here’s a Kickstarter that isn’t about personal profit or entertainment or special perks. It’s about helping people.
Isn’t that something that’s really worth Kickstarting?
2012 ended with the death of our family dog, Sam, at the age of 3.
When Mom and Dad picked him from a litter of border collie mixes, he was tiny. He grew up fast, lean with beautiful markings, soft brown eyes and plenty of energy. He loved to fetch balls and frisbees, though he never quite got the hang of catching them in midair, and he never wanted to give them up once he had them. He’d try to keep them all, piling balls and frisbees in his mouth and carrying them to his favorite perch on a log near the picnic table in my parents’ backyard.
Then he got sick.
It seemed to be an allergy. Rashes broke out all over his body. He went on medicine, prednisone, and that made him hungry. He went from being a picky eater to wolfing down anything he was given and begging for more. But the skin problems didn’t go away. Mom tried everything: special baths, changing his diet, tearing out her carpet…nothing worked. The prednisone was all that kept the rashes in check, and then only barely.
Sam lost a lot of his energy and started spending more time lying around, less excited about going outside. When I saw him at Christmas, he was constantly leaking fluid from his eyes and had a smell. He didn’t move like a puppy; he moved like an old dog. He’d been that way long enough that I didn’t realize how strange it was until Dad mentioned his age to me.
After I went home, Mom called to tell me Sam had been diagnosed with diabetes. It was pretty bad. They started him on insulin immediately, but it don’t seem to be doing anything. Even if it had, Sam would still have his skin rashes, compounded by the fact that he could never again have prednisone, as it was the likely cause of the diabetes and would exacerbate the disease.
Five days passed. There was no change. He couldn’t get up. He was pooping himself and throwing up whatever he tried to eat.
Mom and AJ took Sam to the vet.The doctor mercifully came out to the van so Sam wouldn’t have to go inside. In a few moments Sam went to sleep for the last time.
That was December 31, the day before yesterday. Somehow it all feels unreal to me. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it. I didn’t even see Sam’s sickness get bad. The last time I saw him, I thought he was okay, maybe a little uncomfortable, but not that bad. It seems so strange to me that in just a few days he would take such a turn.
I last saw him on Tuesday, December 25. He was unable to get up by the weekend. And he was put down on Monday, December 31.
And he wasn’t an old dog. He was basically still a puppy. I was so used to old dogs that his old dog behavior must not have registered. But he wasn’t old. And he never got the chance to be old.
Like AJ told me, he had a lot of things wrong with him, and we didn’t catch them all in time.
I don’t know if we even could have. Mom says the vet thinks Sam might have had “bad genes”, especially given the fact that our other dogs lived to ripe old ages.
If that’s the case, if it was all just luck of the draw, then what a terrible hand to be played. Our sweet Sammy deserved more of a life than that.
But he did live a life full of love, surrounded by people who loved him, getting spoiled, eating snow, playing with frisbees, enjoying big hugs and pets, shaking hands, barking on command, curling up on the pet bed in the family room, playing with squeaky toys, running down the stairs to see AJ or go outside, sidling up to Dad’s couch, snuggling up under Mom’s desk, chasing the cat, standing right in everyone’s way, begging for scraps, bolting across the yard after cats or visiting grandchildren.
I loved to wrap my arms around that big boy and give him enormous hugs, and stroke the hair on his head and scratch him behind the ears, and hold his face and kiss him on his doggy cheeks. I loved how excited he always was to see me and how he followed me around the house. I loved that he was a sweet, good boy who loved me and my parents. I loved how much joy he brought to my parents’ life.
He’s gone and there’s a hole. There’s just a hole.
I’ve had on-and-off knee pain throughout my adult life. Historically it has only been one knee at a time, and it usually passes in a few days. During these times, moving and especially bending the knee is painful. I have difficulty getting into and out of a seated position or going up and down stairs.
Last night both of my knees started hurting while I was curled up on the couch watching TV. My legs also hurt at the place where the femur attaches to the pelvis. Getting up from the couch I found myself stiff and wracked with pain. I took some Tylenol and went to bed–painfully, pulling my legs up onto the mattress with my hands.
I slept for only a few hours before awakening with even worse pain. I tried to lie perfectly still and go back to sleep because I did not want to have to get up, which would require me to move my knees. Ultimately, though, I was in too much pain to sleep, so finally I forced myself out of bed by maneuvering my straight legs over the side and propping myself up into a standing position. Limping to the bathroom, I bent at the waist to search beneath the sink for unused medicine, and thankfully I came across a pain pill from when I had my weight loss surgery. I took one, then sat on the loveseat with my legs propped up and surfed on my phone until the pain subsided enough for me to go back to sleep.
When I woke up a scant few more hours later, the pain was back again, so I called my doctor’s office and made an appointment. My doctor, Dr. M, wasn’t supposed to be in today, but apparently they called him and he came in especially for me, which was really nice of him. We talked about the pain symptoms, then he had me lie back while he moved my legs around to see what hurt and what didn’t. The hip pain, he said, is probably bursitis; he doesn’t think it’s related to the knees, which makes sense because I’ve never had the two symptoms simultaneously that I can remember.
However, if the pain in my knees is rheumatoid arthritis, it may be related to the hip pain after all. At this point we don’t know what’s causing the knee pain. From the exam we know that it is the tendons on the top of the knee that are the problem; twisting my legs doesn’t hurt while bending them straight up and down is incredibly painful. And we know that Grandma had arthritis. So Dr. M drew some blood to check for general inflammation and for arthritis in particular. He also gave me a prescription for more pain medicine, for which I’ve been extremely thankful today. While the hip pain is relatively dull and seems to be fading away, the knee pain just won’t quit. Moving around seems to help, but without the pain medicine, moving around hurts a lot.
Here’s hoping the bloodwork reveals something that can help me long-term. And short-term, here’s hoping the pain takes a hike soon.
, written by Ramin Djawadi of Game of Thrones fame, the show is augmented by some iconic tracks, listed on the 
and 
are available separately or as part of the 
album (which also includes 
, made famous by House).
and Sinnerman (album only) are available on 
.
and When Things Explode (album only) are both available on 
. I believe 
.
