Ruff Responsibilities

I have a dog again. I guess I kind of always did but we haven’t lived together since he was about a half year old. He’s probably around 8 years old now.

My roommates (parents) went out of town this weekend. I moved back last weekend. They already needed a weekend away from me. And while they were gone, I was very aware that I had a dog again. 

These things take responsibility. They wake you up. They need to be fed. They need to be let out. They need to be walked. It’s a whole new routine that my life hasn’t had. 

My dog was uncomfortable about my parents being out of town.

So he didn’t sleep.

So I didn’t sleep.

Ozzie was cuter when he was my parent’s dog. Back when he was 0.5 years old. And I wasn’t responsible for his well being and doggie paranoia about my parents’ absence.

So I played mom. I took Ozzie on a walk. 

Is it really Oswald? 

I think he’s named after Ozzie Guillen. 

Or maybe Ozzie Osborn? After all, he was the prince of darkness last night.

Sometimes he’s just Oz.
Or “the Oz-man.” Which makes no sense really. If he was Oz-man he wouldn’t need a mom.

Shouldn’t “mothers” know their own dog’s names?

So I played mom. We walked. I thought I’d get more exercise out of it. Let’s be honest. Stopping at every tree is not exercise. Let alone curb, park bench, fire hydrant.

And while “playing” mama murph I did a very mama murph thing. I picked up that McDonalds bag that landed on someone’s parkway after a Friday night. 

So here I am walking in exercise gear, not getting exercise, carrying a McDonalds bag rattling with an empty apple pie box inside. 

And as much as I’m joking about this, it felt good to play “mom.” You know, cleaning up the world, fertilizing the grass, moving. 

After all, I have friends that call me Murph-dog. Or is it Murph-dawg? Which makes no sense really. Except in college-the morning after a “McDonalds” night when I felt gross, like I needed to get it out of me, and my best friend would say “uh oh. Murph needs to be walked.”

Who knows, right before the McDonalds runs back in the college days, I may have even fertilized the lawn. At a house party. Probably acting like I was 0.5 years old. And needing a mom.

…Or a dog-to keep me from staying out too late. To make me responsible. 

Decanting Communties

I didn’t know Plainfield Illinois had it in them. I didn’t know I had it in me. 

I haven’t seen my dear friend Maggie in awhile. We met in St. Louis Missouri. She moved to Oswego Illinois. We haven’t lived in the same community for the last 2 years but as a fellow dietitian we have an understanding.

She made some awesome food, I brought a bottle of cab and some music and we got to talking. 

We retreated to her basement bar to eat. It was colder down there and closer to the built in wine cellar. I popped Regina Spektor’s live album into her computer, she decanted my dry red, and we all took a breath. Including the wine. 

Now that I’m in the north, we can spend time catching up. The wine drinking went on as long as our catch up. And we certainly had a lot to catch up on. 2.5 bottles worth. Ouch.  

We chatted about a lot. About faith. And organized religion. And the comfort in a community with similar beliefs.

Beliefs in dietetics? Beliefs in Roman Catholicism? Beliefs in northern Illinois nature?

Then the wine caught up. And it was best I spend the night. 

2am guest bedroom. 6:15am wake up call. 7am Bikram yoga in Plainfield Illinois. 

After registering as a first time Bikram Yogi, I breathlessly cantered over to my rented white, towel mat in the hot studio.

I always imagined these studios to look like saunas inside. Flames around the studios’ perimeter. The devil ordering uniformed body holds. You know.

Kind of different than imagined. But maybe not by far.

The studio was carpeted. Lights were bright. The yoga instructor announced me as Bikram newbie.  

It was my solo journey into a community of similar belief. I like the yoga community but each studio has a particular vibe. That truly accepting yoga vibe or that “I can so hold warrior 2 better. Oh! I can’t believe you stumbled out of tree pose. I’m going to keep looking ahead at the mirror like I’m an accepting yogi but inside I’m celebrating this victory!” vibe.

The instructor shared a story of the studio’s creation.

She got a UTI during the first week it opened. (I’m certain worsened by dampness and dehydration).

She did not seek medical help. (standard yogi).

She did seek over the counter UTI medicine that turns your urine neon orange. (azo). 

We put faith into practices regardless of evidence but this incident led to the instructor’s proof in Bikram’s ability to detoxify the body. She stated that Bikram alleviates the kidneys-the decanting system of our blood-by purging toxins directly through our skin. And when neon orange azo bled through her pores onto her white towel yoga mat, it solidified her belief!

As if the Cabernet hadn’t dried me up enough-26 poses later I drenched my clothes with what was left. And I was waiting to see the red wine sediment "pore-d" out on that white towel mat.

Proof that I had survived. Or was reborn. Sober.

Not sure about where I stand. Any day.

Not sure how well my body was standing. Today.

Not sure my body's ability to hold tree pose. Today or tomorrow.

But sure that my body did trigger the feeling of thirst-a signal to rescue my kidneys. 

I climbed back into my Honda. Popped Regina Spektor into my car’s disk deck. She sang to my soul. She poured her heart out. And she told me: “I’ve got a perfect body, but sometimes I forget. I’ve got a perfect body, ‘cause my eyelashes catch my sweat. Yes they do. They do.”

A Little Regina Religion

End of an Exorcism Era

My last couple of days in St. Louis were some of the busiest. Emotionally. Physically. & Mentally. 

After going out of town the past 2 weekends, working 2 jobs full time, coordinating goodbyes & interviews I was attempting to pack. 

I didn’t start packing until Thursday night. What a nightmare. An emotionally charged one. But I’m putting a little more stock into faith these days with all my uncertainty.

After 3 hours of sleep, I got up Friday morning and clocked in for my last day at the Jesuit affiliated St. Alexius Hospital. A place known for its own nightmare. Remember that little movie called the Exorcist? Yea, that one. Well the real deal happened at St. Alexius Hospital.

Still hospital to 2 locked psych units, along with 2 medical floors and an ICU to cover, it was home to some of my busiest days. Emotionally. Physically. & Mentally.

After my last day, I went home for a skype interview, packed more stuff, & attended my going away party. And by Saturday evening my St. Louis/University life was confined to a 12’ yellow truck.

How odd. A perfect way to sum up my feelings of transient exhaustion.

Even odder was the pit-stop made half way home. I pulled my truck load of SLU in front of my past ISU coffeehouse hangout. What a mental conundrum.

And then, just like that, the yellow truck was on its way again. Back to its roots (even with that Indiana license plate..)

Now I am going through my entire life’s existence. Sifting through the clashing eras of stuff I’ve accumulated. Dating back to grade school. Growth moments a plenty. Brutal self reflection. I’m hoping I make it out of this torture soon. And hoping my stock in faith will pay off. Or I may have to return to St. Alexius Hospital…as a patient.

Pops

Going Away Party Locale.

Prof & Snail Lover.

Sisters.

Teacher. Student.

Sweet Kicks.

Pretty Colors & Unfamiliar Camera Man.

Students.

One Student. In particular.

Friend, Farmer & Helper of Move :)

Goodbye Gustine (Ave)

I moved back to a feeling of home and change yesterday. 

 I sure am going to miss this place. 

Nitrate Birds FeNCE Escape Results

I registered for FNCE today. The Food & Nutrition Convention Expo is the American Dietetic Association’s national annual meeting. The place where you network and pat each other on the back and say “well done! We are cool!”

I am going for two reasons:

1) It’s an excuse to go to San Diego, and

2) I got selected to speak at it.
Ok, 3 reasons...3) I am cool. 

Number 2 still terrifies me but it allows me to do number 1 which equals number 3?

Number 2 is about my thesis. I will get in front of people and talk about my double-blind, placebo controlled, cross over study involving treadmills, beetroot, and really good friends. And by “really good friends” I mean threatened participants.

These really good friends had to come to the lab fasted, eat 7oz of beetroot (or placebo) and run a 5k in the fastest time possible. Without music. Staring at a blank wall. Still hungry.

(If I haven’t thanked you enough, thank you again guys).

The proposed reason behind beetroot is nitrate consumption. More nitrate consumption, more vasodialation, more blood flow to working muscles, more oxygen for that lovely thing called the electron transport chain which makes more ATP which equates to more energy for running!

You: “Nitrates! But aren’t nitrates bad?! I swear NPR told me that they were carcinogenic! Like in deli meats and stuff?!”

But that is why academia created thesis projects. To research these predicaments. Because nitrates that are inoculated in deli meats are not the same as nitrates found in natural, whole beetroot…

I spent this past weekend on a not-jumping-through-the hoops-but-still-organic, “organic” farm. That description could easily be shortened to “I spent this past weekend in heaven.”

I woke up in a tent and actually heard a rooster roost. It was like too storybook that it was actually ridiculous. When I climbed out of the tent I saw non-rooster birds wandering. I, myself, being a chick, wandered up to the house and asked the fellow sitting on the porch swing (remember: storybook) “how free range are these said birds? Because I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to be this free range.” 

I was right. The birds needed catching-Both the chick, women types and the birds who jumped-through-Hooch’s-chicken-hoops on Farmer Hooch’s “organic” farm when the storm put a hole in the FeNCE. 

Farmer Hooch doesn’t feed his birds nitrates. And I could tell. The chicken was tender & delicious.

And the other meat was so tender & delicious as well. Although, there may have been some nitrate, meat tenderizer on that smoked brisket…

The whole discussion of meats and nitrates led into a little joke about free-range, organic hot-dogs. A serious predicament…also known as farm humor people. The only thing free-range about hot-dogs that weekend was the 5 wiener dogs that were free-ranging around Hooch’s farm. There were enough of them to do a proper wiener dog race.
If only I had a treadmill….and nitrate meat tenderizer- it's possible that they could smoke the chicken.

I’ll save that one for my next FNCE trip. It would certainly be a trip.
Or maybe a face-plant.

Klinging to Collision

I have amazing people in my life. They deem me worthy enough to bring to fabulous places. One such place being Klinger Lake Michigan. So last weekend, I clung on.

It’s one of those places where you sit on a pier, look out, and actually hear your internal monologue plea for you to remember it. Bottle it up and put it in your pocket. Take it with you. All of it.

The sound of waves. The spot where the water meets land. Where land meets sky.

Where you can forget that you need to figure things out to be living. And be fine.

And actually be better than fine because you’re living to live instead of figuring things out.

It seems so contradictory. Living dichotomous lives. I’m living them now. Wishing I could squish my worlds and desires altogether and take all the good and leave the not so good to wash up on the shore.

This area of Michigan is home to Amish communities.  They are supreme cheese makers. They are also sustainable people. That’s why I was extremely amused to find a horse and buggy outside of monopoly USA.

Not the local meat shop. Not the produce market. Not the mom and pop pizzeria. But Walmart.

I love this. Not because it initially amused me so much but because it shows me that the Amish need toilet paper too. And sometimes they need to collide worlds to get it.

So as worlds collide. And thoughts collide. And present and future collide. And water, land & sky collide, I drank Bells Beer, ate quarter gallon Huntington’s waffle cone servings, and spent time with people who deemed me worthy enough to share their haven away from collision.

 ...and sometimes taking the not so good with the good reminds me of what is so good. And although collisions are turbulent, momentarily, looking out from that pier, seeing all natures' collisions come together, they can be so awakening & beautiful.