The recent mega millions got me thinking about winning the lottery and what that would, or could, look like. What would I change? What would I do differently?
Several of my coworkers and my husband bought tickets (along with the majority of the nation it seems). My husband asked me for numbers and bought me 2 the week of the super mega lottery as well for the week prior. One of my colleagues jokingly texted “I won’t be in tomorrow because I’m winning the mega millions tonight!”. I started asking people “would you still work if you won?” My husband “No!”, a colleagues “Nope!”, another colleague “Yes, but not this job. Maybe volunteer or start a foundation.”
I would love to not take night call, but it comes with the job. I would hire a driver. I might move to a house with room for a full lap pool, but maybe not… I really like my house. I’d finally get a boat. I would donate money to planned parenthood, gun violence prevention and especially drowning prevention and swimming lessons. And then, I’d go to work.
If you love what you do, I guess it’s true you never work a day. I’ve been so lucky. Amazing kids, a supportive husband, 2 snuggly dogs and a job in which I find purpose (and a bird everyone loves to hate). Autonomy, mastery and purpose. Supposedly, the triad to find happiness and I’d say it’s true. Find purpose in your work. I know I’m fortunate, lucky & blessed.
I don’t need another ticket. In my mind, I already won and I hope you have too. ❤️
Relief, pride, inspiration. This week has been emotional for our country. Politics aside, the impact of seeing Lori Marie Key, a nurse in uniform, sing Amazing Grace at the national prayer service like the sun would set and moon would rise in celebration of her voice was just wow. I cried. 400000 lost and so many others so terribly affected.
“Twas grace that taught my heart to fear And grace my fears relieved”
Americans saw people who looked like them on the stage at the inauguration. Everyone, so it seemed, and the image of America as the world’s most amazing melting pot felt true again.
I heard the crunch of a broken glass ceiling resonate under the heels of our new Vice President and echoed by the footsteps of the former First Ladies (of course, I have my favorite), the chosen performers and the most mind blowing poet I think many of us have ever heard, with a performance of spoken word both beautiful and impactful to see and hear.
If you’re not inspired, if you don’t feel a unified breath of fresh air through your 3 layer cloth mask with N95 insert, then I can only wonder what would bring you to breathlessness (hopefully not covid).
For me, this week was like a dive in the ocean, the breath of a baby, a cup of fresh coffee and clean cotton sheets all rolled into one.
I was listening to NPR yesterday morning while driving to work and there was an interview of the very admired Dr Fauci. He was asked what he thought after meeting with our new President and discussing the plan going forward. After a pause he said “Halleluyah”
I’m in love with my dogs. Just all out love. They are a little bad, a lot good and sometimes pretty stinky, but I love them all the same. It got me thinking when I read about Champ and Major moving into the White House and I realized that maybe this was what was so off with our last president! He didn’t have a dog! I read that Kamala Harris loves dogs, but doesn’t have one of her own. I think it’s time… but I digress.
My family’s dog was named Rascal and my mom was so devastated when he died, she swore she would never have another, and she hasn’t. I, however, have never had a time in my adult life, with the exception of 2 weeks in November 2004, that I didn’t have a dog… a therapist, soul-mate, protector, friend, baby, running partner all rolled into one fluffy package of cuteness and love.
My first baby was Morgan- a smallish 95 pound Great Dane I got during the end of my senior year in college to be my early morning running companion. Mind you, I couldn’t afford a car and sustained myself on ramen noodles and plain spaghetti, but I wanted a companion and I went for it. I’m a morning person. Noone wanted to run with me. It turned out, neither did she. Morgan hated mornings. I literally would have to pick her up and carry her outside where she would stand defiantly, refusing to move. It took months of training and treats in my running short pockets to coerce her to join in my self prescribed torture. She had a cute thing she would do when I was gone too long during the day. She would take my National Geographic magazines (they were paper, it was 1992 and magazines were a “thing” then) and shred them neatly into 1” squares, strewn across the apartment and then pretend to be sleeping when I walked in. One eye open, she watched while I cleaned up. She wouldn’t move to greet me until it was cleaned up and then suddenly she would pop up, so happy to see me, wondering if we could go for a run now, since this time was better for her. I have more pictures of her than all my children put together.
Lucia- rescued from an abusive breeder. Sweet, shy and a strict mother to Drake.
I rescued 2 more Great Danes, Sebastian and Lucia, and under the agreement of their rescue (some mumbo jumbo about their incredible championship bloodlines), bred them once prior to spaying and neutering the bunch. 21 puppies- it was a hot puppy mess. Their huge heads and paws sending them off balance all over the place. I kept one, Drake, the cutest harlequin puppy you ever could see. He was humongous. He would hide and literally only his head would be covered. Championship bloodlines… he wasn’t quite right upstairs, but was the sweetest giant you could ever meet.
The Danes- Sebastian, Morgan, Lucia and Drake. Ear cropping is only in the rescues. My babies
After having my first child and witnessing the incredible protectiveness of Great Danes for their family members, I decided that after the passing of Sebastian, I would get a lab. Great Danes are incredibly gentle lap dogs, but I was afraid if my kids got into a fight with another kid that one of the Danes would settle it, perhaps in a non desirable way. Sebastian was truly a gift. I rescued him at 1 year of age. He weighed 145 and I weighed 120, and he had only been trained to jump and put his front paws on your shoulders when you raised your arms… which he interpreted loosely. He was so easy to train and eventually could run with me without a leash. Unbelievably protective and loving, he lived the longest. He was 15 years old when he died on the sadest halloween of my life. The poor tricker or treaters. I couldn’t stop sobbing and my son, then 3, would answer the door and with a cheerful face ask each group “Do you know what happened?” “My puppy Sebastian died and that’s why my mom is crying” and then his chubby, red headed face would contort and his bright blue eyes would explode. It was quite a Halloween spectacle. I’m gonna go with trick.
Sebastian
A friend of mine had lab puppies just after Sebastian’s death and I couldn’t take another day of Zack petting neighbor’s dogs, while telling them how much he missed his puppy, who was in heaven. No one could take it. Neighbors were crying and after a week, they began avoiding us. So we brought home a lab puppy. The health problems over her life have made me a mutt mom for life, but I would die happy if I could hold a lab puppy just a few more times. Cuteness, and intelligence in a bundle of joy. Seaweed, a chocolate lab with eyes the green of her name, legitimately could play soccer and celebrated her goals like Mia Hamm. She would dive into the pool and try to retrieve the kids when they were under water and she was my daughter Camille’s accomplice to escape her crib, finding them on more than one occasion in the kitchen sharing a box of Cheerios.
Seaweed with her accompliceInseparable
When Seaweed was 1, we adopted Power Ranger from Miami Dade animal services. Street smart and loving, this dog would stare into your soul and would never ever chase a ball and honestly looked offended at the notion. He loved a party and would escape the yard to join in neighbor’s barbecues. We always knew where to find him… find the party and he would be snuggled up with some random kids – one of our neighbors told us he walked in their house and stayed the day – only running out when he heard one of our cars approaching! This dog was tolerant- kids learned to walk holding his tail. They poked, prodded, pulled and he just loved and supported. Part chow his curly tail and regal eyes… I miss that guy.
Road trip with Power Ranger and SeaweedRescued in 2005 at age 2, died in 2018. Just a wonderful guy.
And that brings me to Cocoa and Kramer. My current pack. I was on call last night and ran out at 0400 to check on a postoperative baby. When I came home, Kramer was there at the door. His big head lovingly welcoming me home and gently pushing up against me with true affection. Cocoa is dominant. Always has been. Her name was Billy at the pound when she found Chloe, my daughter, and persisted until she had her attention clearly won. When we brought her home, she had kennel cough. She was around 9 months and so sick. We had to give her Nebulizer treatments and she would sit obediently with her mask on her face getting her treatments.. She is one fiesty girl. This girl sunbathes like a 1970’s supermodel.
Cocoa- she has no idea she’s not human
Chloe and I went to the pound looking for a puppy after we lost Power Ranger. I was just devastated and wanted the maximum time I could have with the next dog- so as young as possible. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to miami dade animal services, but it’s an amazingly beautiful building that houses around 900 animals in individual crates in large pods that are arranged like spokes on a massive wheel. It is unbearably depressing and if you have room in your home and your heart, consider going by there and giving one of these beautiful animals a forever home. We had spent over an hour and were on our last pod when we came across Kramer. He popped right up and began putting on a show. “Too old” I dismissed, but he didn’t stop. Play pose, cute circles.. this guy had all the moves and had Chloe hook, line and sinker. This guy… all banged up and still with surgical clips in his neck, ear and leg from some unknown trauma. They assured me he wasn’t a fighter- in fact he went out in playgroups regularly because he played well with others. He had been there over 3 months and was weak and atrophied from being kept in that small crate so long.
Breaking the rules
We brought him home. I don’t know who had him before or what happened, but this boy is pure love. He broke all the rules. No dogs on the furniture? We now have a pup protector because he likes to have a blanket when on the couch. Not kidding. Kramer sits near me when I do yoga. Completely attentive like he’s keeping guard and then running over at the end to join in for savasana.
Watching over yoga
Last night, I was doing an easy class after being sick the day prior. As I tipped into warrior 3, eyes closed, hands in prayer at my chest, I started to wobble and suddenly a fluffy warm body was under my chest, lifting me up… like he just knew that today I wasn’t up for much. Just like maybe he was always sitting there in case I wobble.
Namaste
So from now on… only presidents with dogs , and extra points for those with rescue dogs. Kamala Harris, it’s time. Chloe has a great eye for the perfect pup. Let us know if you need her help.
I decided to try misfits market, and when my wondrous, amazing box arrived yesterday, I unpacked 6 huge zucchini. My husband made a face and the face became worse when I exclaimed with glee “zucchini bread”!
My misfits market box contents!
I haven’t made zucchini bread in probably 20 years… definitely not since finding out I had celiac 10 years ago, so I got up early this morning to put in the oven before going for a socially distanced run with a friend!
Here is the “How To”:
2 cups finely shredded Zucchini
2 tsp lemon peel grated
2 tsp Apple cider vinegar
2 cups sugar
3 eggs
Mix these well
In a separate bowl combine
3 cups gluten free flour- I used 2 cups Bob’s mill gluten free flour and 1 cup almond flour
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp baking powder
2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp pumpkin pie spice
Add all at once to zucchini mix
Mix in 1 cup walnuts if desired and pour in to 9” loaf pans (2)
Bake at 350 for 55 mins
Yields 2 beautiful loafs
Back from my run and breakfast is served. Have a beautiful day ❤️
It’s 4 am. I can’t breath. Panic swirls through my chest. Nausea. I pop out of bed and am strangely fine. I lie down again and the waves of panic return. It reminds me of bodysurfing as a child. The crush of the water on my chest, the uncertainty about where to go, which way is up, the thoughts of death, horrid thoughts rush uninvited to my mind. Why can’t I breathe? Covid? I picture my motherless children. I’m losing my mind. There is nothing the hell wrong with me except in my head. I force myself to get up, shower, change. Maybe I’ll go for a run. I’m just unsettled.
You too? This is a lot. We are but mere humans and we hate to be faced with our vulnerabilities and that of our loved ones, coworkers (who are, of course, loved ones too..) and retirement portfolios (for real!).
So after my first ever panic attack, I realized a couple of things:
1- Panic attacks suck. Thus I vow to never have another.
2- The mind is powerful. Feed your mind positivity. Soothe it. Of course, you need to know facts, but once you have the information you need, shut down the negative influx of information. Find positivity, intentionally, throughout your day and bring it to others. They need it too. This is like an incoming hurricane, and we all have that down pat! Watch the weather once or twice a day, choose whether you need to evacuate and make sure you have your basic hurricane supplies. And then hunker down! (No hurricane parties please!!)
In this case, check your local news for new regulations and updates from your work and kid’s schools. (Toilet paper and bottled water are not required, contrary to seemingly popular belief). Then, make sure you have your basic health and wellness supplies: reduce stress, meditate, eat healthy foods, take your vitamins, exercise and don’t smoke or excessively drink. Stay home and wash your hands.
3- Humans are amazing. Love is real. While I know everyone wants to up and “evacuate”, I see thousands of health care workers planting their feet to the ground, donning their precious protective gear and getting to work. Are they scared? Hell yes! But they are amazing, dedicated humans. Here’s to our administrators, nurses, techs, greeters, cafeteria workers, physical plant teams and docs who are there for us. Help us out guys, stay home! We are risking our lives and our family members lives to take care of you and your families. Be courteous and do your part. Many people will need help, before, after and during. Be mindful of what others may be going through.
The things that matter
4- Don’t check your bank account. Just don’t. Lives matter. Love matters. If your retirement fell 10%, be grateful you had money in there to fall at all. Health is wealth. Let’s get America wealthy again. (Stay home!) Help people who need help… so many will during this time.
5- Check on your parents. Parents are like small temperamental children who have cars and bank accounts. You put them in time out and they get angry, leave the house, go to the gym and get lunch with their friends. Lock them in. Take their car keys, baker act them. Cancel their elective surgeries, dentist appointments and hair salon appointments.
6- Keep your body strong. Shout out to all the online apps that allow us to exercise at home. I have been using Pelotón (the app, not the bike or tread). Is 13$ a month and I have yoga, running, strength, boot camp, stretching etc to choose from. There are a bunch of apps out there to use that give you a sense of community, a great workout and keep you safe at home (stay home!)
I got home from the hospital today and I saw my 3 beautiful healthy children playing together outside. My son is home from college. My girls are growing into smart, capable, independent young women. My 2 dogs are running ceaselessly in the yard… so happy to have kids home to play with. My husband is healthy and has been so helpful with the “house arrest”. Covid 19 will undoubtedly change our world, our country and our lives, but it can’t take what we have accomplished thus far. I have lived a happy life. I am surrounded by coworkers who care and a loving family. Let’s appreciate all we are at this moment. Dig deep. Put away the panic and let’s get America healthy. Stay home, stay well, and stay positive.
Namaste. May the light in me honor the light in you. ❤️
Today at work we had an amazing speaker come and present at grand rounds. Her name is Dr Kerri Palamara and she hails from MGH where she directs the Center for Physician Well Being. During the lecture, we begin an exercise of turning to the surgeon next to us and listening to something great that happened to them last week and then we share. When the other speaks, you listen and vice versa. Listening. It’s so difficult. I’m an interrupter, a talker. But today, I concentrate and follow instructions. I’ve been practicing. With age there are a few things I’ve gotten better at, namely patience and making an effort to listen- stage 1, baby steps. Rome wasn’t built in one day, after all. So for these 2 minutes, I listen to a stranger, another human, another surgeon, a fellow, just finishing training and preparing to enter into life. He spins a beautiful story of hope and optimism and success and immigration and love and family and a first home and I feel the anticipation, warmth and joy in his story. It is truly palpable.
Suddenly, it is my turn. But I don’t want to share. I filter through the “good stories” from the past week, but they are disjointed and complicated and messy. I can’t figure out how to tell these in 2 minutes and I’m not sure they are good. I settle on my most recent race I ran/swam and despite cancellation midway through, the racers celebrated together and it was a beautiful experience. Yahdeeyahdeeyah. Yep. Lame.
And then our lecture resumed and I sat in the auditorium with a large group of surgeons from all specialties in all stages of training and I realized how many of them were strangers, and even the ones I know, I wondered about the stories they shared and even more so, about the stories they didn’t. Someone sitting right next to me, so full of joy, anticipation and I would have never known. And what of the others? Full of joy? Or sorrow? Or struggle? Or fear? We spend so much time together, and yet we rarely connect. We share the same profession and perhaps hopes and dreams and fears and nightmares and yet we know nothing of one another. This is the second time I’ve done this exercise, the first ending in the woman I was listening to crying tears of joy as she celebrated helping her adult daughter shop for a suit for her first job. In just 2 minutes, or as we say in Miami, dos minutos!, you can have such an intimate conversation and learn so much about someone from what they choose to share, or choose not to share.
Lecture continues and after a few minutes, the stranger nudges my arm and passes me his phone with the picture of his daughter. She’s beautiful, He’s proud, happy and beaming. I feel a sense of privilege to share his joy. This listening stuff may just be a skill worth practicing more.
Today, I think I’ll talk to a stranger, and I’m going to do my best to listen.
“I think this is it” I comment to my son as we turn right down a street. The looming gate with restricted access surprises me, but a walk-through to the side seems to welcome us in. Lullwater Park, or Preserve, as I guess it is now known seems the same, only slightly different. The road is smoothly paved, was it gravel before? The gate is formidable and freshly painted.. I don’t remember a gate, and there are deer everywhere- that is clearly different! Have Georgians stopped hunting? I’m guessing not, but imagine the name preserve means they are safe here… and everywhere we turn we see more of them! As we descend further down the hill, I’m flooded, almost overcome, by a rush of memories. 26 years. Has it been so long? I look to my side to see my son towering above me chatting away about the fantasy of living in the President’s house as security detail. Cool shaded air, the sounds of the nearby campus and city begin to fade away as we melt into another world. This I remember. How many runs here? Walks? Walks with my new Great Dane puppy Morgan that I got as a senior to keep me company on my pre-dawn runs, but who didn’t like to get up pre-dawn! I taught her to swim here in Candler lake. God, to this day I cry when I think about that dog. I miss her still.
Deer Everywhere in Lullwater Preserve
Me and Morgan 2001 – I graduated from Emory 1992
The campus is a hot mess. There is construction everywhere, but the basics remain the same. Even in the chaos of construction, it is still a pretty campus. I still found the quad, my freshman dorm and my home away from home – the pool. I was never super fast. Just persistent, and loved every minute of being on that team and the improvements I saw in myself and my teammates physically and mentally. The coach has changed, as has the now famed, nationally successful, program, but many of the pictures on the walls remain the same and I see the names and faces of my teammates lining the entrance.
I struggle to find the off campus areas to take my son for lunch and dinner- this is new territory. I start to wonder if I ate in college. I remember being horrifically thin and on a ridiculously lean budget. I never ate off campus. Ramen noodles, carnation instant breakfast, Mac and cheese and microwaved potatoes and the occasional amazing carrot cake care package are all I remember- plus the free crackers and jelly from the cafeteria (which were no longer free my second semester- likely due to my massive consumption of these upon running out of money halfway through my first semester) and grits. Emory is no doubt where I got my love of grits… cheap (even at Emory), filling and could be mixed with cheese or butter, or cheese and butter. Grits were a mainstay of my diet in college.
Wow. 26 years. And now here I am giving my kid a tour of the campus. While I hope he will have food, he will have to learn all those things we go to college to learn.. and obviously only a small part of that is truly academics! How to budget money, drink responsibly, live with a room mate, be a team member, budget your time, study, network, fall in love, deal with a breakup, say no to drugs and or other negativity that tries to lure you off your path, and how to find you, your best you, your intended you, your useful you.
Am I really so old?
Now, of course, I visit with a totally different perspective. One of gratitude, curiosity, and interest as I watch my child try to navigate the next stage of his life.
So yes. I guess I am that old and happy to have made it this far!
Enough. It isn’t the right word. Too much. Past due. Fed up. Disgusted. Dismayed. Heartbroken.
This will be short. Not a long dissertation about what I feel and why. Just what I see and what I BELIEVE we can accomplish.
I see humanity in the eyes of all parents around me- the ones who voted for Trump or for Clinton, the rich and the poor, those with 20 guns and those with none. I am absolutely positive that we can come together with no politics, with no BS and get this done. I believe we can protect our kids and if you want a gun, you can have one – whether I like it or not. But maybe it won’t be exactly the one you want….
It is unacceptable to consider teachers having to learn how to use a gun and carry in the classroom.
It is unthinkable to imagine armed guards at the front of American school in America.
It is absurd that my children are forced to get below their desks for drills or “neighborhood shooter” episodes (we live in Miami) on a regular basis.
It is disgusting that when my children should be learning about Biology and art and language they are learning how to access and use a “Stop the Bleed” kit.
It is disgraceful and makes me sick to hear the companies and con artists that have profited and are profiting from “school safety consultation”, “stop the bleed”, “sell guns to arm teachers” and “active shooter training”. This is BS and we all know it.
If I see another “abortion stops a beating heart” bumper stick on a car driven by a parent with their kids not in car seats or seatbelts with a “support the 2nd Amendment” sticker, I’m going to lose my mind. For the love of God, explain this to me! If you care so deeply about the unborn, what about the born?
Solutions?
No one except law enforcement can have assault rifles, bumper stocks, reloadable magazines and/or whatever guns are designed to kill on mass quantity instead of just one Bambi at a time. I don’t know anything about guns. I don’t want to.
3 month minimum waiting period to get a gun.
Mandatory background check and mental health testing for gun owners and annual recertification.
Mandatory class and education on storage and use.
Don’t tell me this is too difficult or too expensive.
Gun Violence archive.org reports year to date there have been 31 mass shootings, 373 teens killed or injured by gun violence, 70 children killed or injured by gun violence, 1893 deaths by gun violence and 3279 injuries in the United States. The land of the free.
That is a high price to pay. It is vile. It is too much. This is NOT Normal and it’s not ok.
Join momsdemandaction.org
Call your representative.
If you live in Florida, call immediately as they are trying to push through SB 1236 to arm schools.
It can’t be us against them. It doesn’t make sense. It has to be all of us for the basics rights and safety of Americans.
I’ve arrived in Chicago, a city I consider, whether right or wrong, to be a pretty representative view of America. An economy supported by immigrants, wealthy business men, diverse, white, black, solid, beautiful, grimey, rich, poor, violent, peaceful. Chicago has all the good and bad of America rolled into one very cool package.
I get on the metro to leave the airport and head to my fancy schmanzy conference hotel. It’s 6 days after Irma. I’m tired. Packed and dressed in the dark. I hope I packed matching shoes and I’m wondering if I have mascara on both eyes. Important stuff.. you know.
The metro churns roughly down the tracks. Real rough. Some linebacker size guy catches me as I lurch back. At the next stop, on walks a guy who loudly belts out ” good morning ” and “god bless you all”. I know the type. I ride the metro in Miami and most everywhere I go.. I know it’s a pitch. No one looks up. A car full of people glassily staring at their phones. Headphones in. Tuned out. Turned off. The guy is smooth. He locks eyes with me like he knows I’ll hear him out. Why not. Everyone has something to say. He speaks with the voice of a preacher. Silky. Educated. He knows it. He tells of his 7th grade education. His momma telling him to “fake it til he makes it”. He speaks of the horrid condition of the shelters. Of bed bugs. Of suicide. Of having few choices but to beg on the train or to sell drugs. He knows what the tax payer pays for him to stay in jail. He speaks of attempts to right his life and failures. He is engaging. He has human eyes. Despite the ratcheting of the train down the tracks, despite the flashing strobe light effect of the sun peeking through the buildings and windows of the train, he continues.. collecting food, money, even pants.
From the corner a young guy watches him collect handfuls of money. He seems agitated and then he speaks. He quizzes the man of the details he has given us. The names of the shelters, the dates he was there. He accuses him of a perfect script. He tells of a different story of clean , yet in many ways still horrible, shelters. In fact he slept in one last night. He is not smooth. He is rough. His retort is punctuated by swear words and hand gestures. Despite his somewhat disheveled appearance he is wearing immaculately spotless Lebron 14 grey and white shoes. He is outraged by this mans decision to “ask another man for a dollar”. He asks him how he lost his morality. He is heading to the nearest mosque. He wants another chance to get a job. He wants to do right. He says he just wants to be close to God.
Listen. This discussion got heated. Neither man wants to be on the street. Both men have kids. Both are in and out of court and jail as they try to get by. Neither man can get an ID or social security card because they don’t have an address to mail it to. Who knew? Likely not many of us privileged enough to be reading or writing this. They talk of street violence. The young man’s brother just killed someone and is in jail. He shouts that he doesn’t want his life to ever come to that. Options to sell drugs. Lack of options. They yell out their similarities, their differences. The young man knows that the older man has many fewer options for shelters. It turns out young adults get more help.. have more choices. Wow. Who knew?
All the while the train is tearing, almost violently down the track, whizzing through neighborhoods rich and poor. Dirty streets with barred windows. Beautiful neatly organized blocks with perfectly blue above-ground pools surrounded by neatly arranged bushes of flowers and freshly painted fences.
