A true test of character

So, last month after a delightful visit to my beloved Washington to see both family and friends, I was sitting somewhat morosely in the Spokane International Airport waiting for a flight that would return me to my humdrum world of school, school, school (which, despite reports to the contrary, I do actually enjoy.  It's just that playing at home is so much fun!  School is, well, much more ordinary than playing with friends and family while shamelessly avoiding homework.  But then, I digress.).

So, there I was, feeling a bit lonely, a bit glum, and well, having my own little pity party.  From my vantage point in the airport, I was sitting some 20 feet from the over-priced convenience store that sells everything from peach rings, huckleberry hot chocolate mix, 'I heart Spokane' keyrings, and $4 bottled water.  When people walked through, they were very predictable.  Most stopped to peruse a few magazines, activate the "push me" paws of the stuffed animals (which, coincidentally were mostly beavers and bears.  Why?), and look over the variety of nostalgic and humorous Washington magnets.

And there was this guy.

This is Roger (as I found out when I bought an orange juice just before my flight boarded).

Roger presumably spends all day earning a living keeping post at this cash register or perhaps doing some other routine airport duty in Spokane's little airport.  And yet, somehow, that smiley demeanor you see in the picture above (go ahead, look again), is totally and completely sincere.  Without fail, for every customer that strolled up to the counter, Roger jovially asked, "How ya doin' today?  Where ya headed?  Ooooh, [insert place here, be it Milwaukee, Albuquerque, Boston, or Boise], that's exciting!  Goin' home or leavin' home?" After a small chitchat, the conversation usually ended with, "Well, just keep livin' the dream, right?  Have a great trip!"

And it was all totally genuine.  For the hour that I sat there observing his interchanges, not one person refused conversation or ignored Roger.  He managed to engage everyone at his little counter.  Everyone from the too-cool jock, to the young businessman in the pinstripe suit, to the earthy hiker who looked like she just stepped out of an REI catalog, to the bossy busybody in the matching tracksuit.  No one was above Roger's smalltalk. (and while some of you are wondering if this is because people are humoring him because he has some sort of developmental delay and is part of a government-supported vocational job training program, I assure you, he possessed all of his mental faculties.  He was honestly just that pleasant.)

On a related note (I swear its related), a few weeks ago a classmate and I were engaged in a morbid game graduate students sometimes play: What stereotypical patient would you be if you had a traumatic brain injury?  (this is very similar to another game called:  If you had to have a stroke, which part of the brain would you choose?)

If you want to know what type of TBI patient you'd be, there is a simple formula.  All you do is take your worst quality and magnify it by a million.  My classmate (who, by the way, has spent her career working with TBI patients, so she's got this down to a science) declared she has no doubt she'd be the mean, nasty patient who'd yell a lot and torment her therapists.  I was surprised given her pleasant demeanor, hilarious sense of humor, and the fact that she's completely fun to be around.  She explained that usually these worst qualities are the ones that you are the best at suppressing, though they are your natural tendencies.  The problem with a brain injury, see, is that you no longer have the ability to inhibit these qualities from barging on out.

I considered where I would fall.  I didn't think I'd be mean.  It's not that I'm angelic or anything, but I just don't have a tendency (suppressed or otherwise) to be mean, nasty, or vindictive.  When asked which patient I'd be, I concluded I'd probably be the excessive worrier.  Constantly, and pathetically, worried about every confusing thing happening in my world.

Without batting an eye, my classmate said, "Oh!  You'd be a crier!"  I probably would be.  Which is ironic, given my decided distaste for crying in general (not others crying, my crying).

So, what does this have to do with Roger?  Given Roger's genuinity (yes, I made that a word) for kindness, social engagement, and jollyness (yes, I made that a word too) even when working at what might be considered a dull, boring, or menial job, I'd put money on the fact that he'd be a pretty dang pleasant TBI patient.

When it comes down to it, the way any of us respond to less-than-desireable tasks (be it a job, an obligation, or the fact that we're returning to Nebraska after a fantastic visit home) and/or who we'd be if we had a head injury very possibly provides enlightening (if not disturbing) glimpses into who we are at the core of our character.

I don't know, I've just been thinking about this for the past few days.  For all that I want to be (kind, genuine, happy, at peace), my character still needs a lot of work.  Perhaps one day I'll get to a point where I can with confidence say, "I'd be the happy, but bumbling, and not at all mean or sobbing TBI patient!"

Aren't you delighted this blog provides a window into my weirdo thoughts?

What kind of TBI patient do you think you'd be?  Kinda scary to think about, huh.

Three things that happened...

...in the last month:

1.  I finished teaching a bonafide college class for a whole semester for the first time ever. LOVED it.  After uprooting myself 1500 miles for something I had a hunch I might enjoy, and waiting two-and-a-half years to get the chance to give it the proverbial old college try (um, literally), it was a bit of a relief to discover all those hunches were correct.  I loved it all - persistent questions, regaling the class with crazy clinical stories (the kid who blew spit right into my face while huffing and puffing as the Big Bad Wolf?  It's a good one.), watching students finally get it, and even ridiculous emails from perfectionist students pleading for one more point.  Is it cheesy to say I just might have been born to do this?  Throwing caution to the wind, I will say it anyway.  College teaching gets me pretty dang excited.

2.  I jogged 3 miles in 38:56 minutes. For those of you with svelte and athletically-inclined physiques, this may not seem like that big of a deal.  Speaking as one who is decidedly rotund and does not enjoy public displays of pseudo-athleticism, I am freaking Flo Jo.  You wait, one day I will break 38 minutes. 

3.  I hobnobbed with really smart people (think Engineers, Speech Scientists, people who routinely wear pocket protectors, etc.) at the Acoustical Society Meeting in Seattle...and managed to somehow hold my own (albeit barely). 

 

During said hobnobbing, I informally diagnosed more than one bigwig in my field as being somewhere on the autistic spectrum.  Given my ability to, in some estimation, keep up with them, should I be worried that I  fall somewhere on the spectrum?

...in the last week:

1.  I spent the long Memorial Day weekend in my parents' adorably cute new-to-them old house playing with my brother's boys and my sister.

  Mom, Dad, sister, and four little nephews - seriously, who could ask for anything more?  My favorite part of my parents' house?

They have an actual, factual clawfoot bathtub in their one-bathroom house.  My least favorite part of my parents' house?  There is only one bathroom in their one-bathroom house.  Even so, the weekend was all that I dreamed of, and more.

2.  My plane from Denver to Omaha was unexpectedly and inexplicably delayed for four hours.  As a result, Frontier Airlines (God bless 'em) made their in-flight TV service complimentary for all passengers (they also gave us all $50 vouchers, truly....God bless 'em).  But, back to the TV.  I have never had access to said service during flights and have always kind of *ahem* poo poo'd the notion that TV would be that great in-flight.  I'm here to declare publicly and unashamedly that I was wrong.  Granted, the flight between Denver and Omaha is all of just over an hour - but this week it was the fastest just over an hour I've had in a long time toggling between Mythbusters, The Office, The Simpsons, and HouseHunters.  While it was great, the question remains as to whether or not I think this greatly enjoyable luxury is worth the $6 credit-card swipe that they usually require.  The jury is still out.  But, for this trip?  Great!

3.  The CSA farm that provides me a sack of vegetables on a weekly basis over the summer provided asparagus in this week's bag.  Delicious, delicious asparagus...which my roommate and I promptly grilled on my grill....on my balcony...despite the newly posted warnings all over our apartment building that grills are banned on the balconies.  Grilled asparagus is worth the risk.

...in the last day:

1.  I went for my first swim of the season.  When I go to the pool, I go to swim.  No sissy-la-la dabbling in the water with delicate splish splashing about for me.  My swimming activity of choice is throwing in as many diving toys as possible in the deep end and then diving down to retrieve them over...and over....and over.  Seriously, it never gets old.  Feel free to mock me, I will continue to do it forever and for always.

2.  We celebrated my roommate's birthday, a few weeks late (she was in Hawaii for her birthday so don't feel too bad, y'all).  As part of said celebration, after an absence of a year, we had the triumphant return of the Oreo Truffle.  

We used peanut butter Doublestuff Oreos and mint Doublestuff Oreos.  Heaven in a truffle.  D'lish.

3.  I started listening to Tina Fey's new book Bossypants on my bike ride this morning.  I laughed out loud more than once, which got a little awkward when I nearly swallowed one of the many bugs flying about in the hot Nebraska humidity (which was present even at 10 o'clock in the morning).  While I am only an hour and a half into it (I have no idea how that translates into chapters in the book), I highly recommend it.  Please let me know if you read it so we can discuss it!

...in the last hour:

1.  I ate far too many of the previously-mentioned Oreo Truffles.  I can confidently witness they are in fact d'lish.

2.  My roommate and I started Season One of the Gilmore Girls from the beginning.  Again.  I am unwilling to disclose how many times she and I, since living together, have worked our way through the entire season.  If I told you, I'd probably have to kill you so, um, don't ask.

3.  I wrote this blog post.  I have missed blogging, honestly.  It is a soul-satisfying outlet in my world that is busy with academic writing, academic reading, and academic doing.  Think I'll do it again soon, very soon.

Keep on Rollin'...

I reached a milestone today.  Or, my car reached a milestone today.

I bought her when she had 57,000 miles.  When I'd had her for 5 days, driven her seven times, and she had 57,223 miles on her, a kid ran a red light and smashed into her.  And me.  I mean, I was driving her at the time (it's not like she was out on the town on her own or anything).  

I don't have pictures of that dark time in her existence.  But suffice it to say that the whole front end of the driver's side was smooshed, crunched, kaput.   Six weeks later and a $9000 payout from the other guy's insurance, she was good as new.

And the good times sure did roll.  I tried to see if I could account for those 43,000 miles I've put on her since I've had her.   Some biggies stand out.

Washington state to Chicago and back with my sister via Mt. Rushmore, larger-than-life sculptures of prairie dogs, buffalo, and roosters, hours upon hours of crazy 20 questions, torrential rainstorms, and miles upon miles upon miles of cornfields.

Scores of weekend trips to explore exciting places like...the wilds of Western Nebraska and...

  

....Kansas City for Babycakes (the heavenliest cupcakes you ever did eat).

She traversed countless times across the Pacific Northwest visiting family, friends, the ocean, etc.  Long story short, this car and I have been through some good, good times.

Anyhow, as I was thinking about all that has transpired in my fabulous little car, I had the following thought:

What would I have said if someone had told me that naive day in June of 2006 when I handed over the moolah, that 5 years later I would be living in the middle of Nebraska slogging my way through a PhD program.

At the time, I was speech therapizing it up in the wilderness of Washington State having a darn good time doing my own little thing.  I knew Nebraska existed, was "somewhere in the middle", but had no inkling that I had then or ever would have any kind of personal connection to it.  Let alone have lived there for three years by the time I'd owned my car for 5 years.

I do believe I might have reacted something like this.

Or thought something like this.

Who'da thunk it.  Surely, not I.

But, glad to have my little car with me all along the way.  Who knows where we'll be 5 years from now.

*note:  Although I tried in vain to drum up a name for my beloved little car for the first little while after I purchased her, it turns out I don't think she has one.  I do know, however, she is female, responds well to encouraging pats on her dashboard and purrs like a kitten when called, "Sweetie". 

*another note:  As you can see, per the odometer, it was 93 degrees...in Nebraska....on April 8th.  Sheesh.

And on a lighter note...

While I was home for the holidays, I scanned a pile of family pictures from when I was growing up.  It was a fun trip down memory lane.  With a few exceptions, I was familiar with most of the pictures and it was fun to remember/laugh/sigh about those many moments that made up my childhood.  That's all well and good.

However.

This time around, I also paid much more attention to what was happening in the background of these pictures.  Have you ever focused on what's going on behind the kid blowing out the birthday candles?

 (My fifth birthday and my AWEsome heart-shaped cake)

This is actually how I think of my oldest sister from the time I was but a wee babe until I was....12 or 13.  There was a lot of teasing/bossing/bugging/tormenting that happened during that time.  Glad to say we are excellent friends now, despite that history.  But honestly, I can say I'm thrilled to have pictoral evidence of this Sarah.(Also, check out my mom's hair!  So black...)

 This was one of our piano recitals.  While I would love to say some things about my sister's AWEsome outfit (why yes, that is a ruffle...), a perusal of the background shuts me right up. 

I look like an overgrowned tomboy (bruised shins and all) stuffed into a ridiculously frilly frock.  With frilly socks.  For those of you who wonder about my aversion to poofy dresses and gettin' all gussied up...I'm fairly convinced this is where that aversion stems from.  Clearly, I didn't love it when I was nine...not much has changed on that front...

Wow.  There is so much to say about this picture:

Yes.  I'm sitting on a "potty chair".

Yes.  We had a potty chair.

No.  I have no idea where the piano bench is.  We had a piano bench.  My parents still have a piano bench.  Where the heck was the piano bench in this picture?

Is that a sack of garbage on the floor? Old clothes?

I'm wearing a pair of awesome jammer shorts I sewed.

And holy cow, I have a ridiculous amount of hair. 

And I'm sitting on a potty chair.  Moving on.

What a nice picture of my dad with a fishing pole circa 1987...

...and my lovely face.  Thanks be to whoever snapped this picture at this moment.  I find it priceless.

I love old pictures.

Otherwise, how would I possibly have remembered cheering my brother on in a blow-the-boat race at a Scout meeting...next to my best friend Emily...with my My Child Doll nestled in the crook of my arm.

I wouldn't have.  Because I didn't, until I saw this little gem and then it all came back to me.  The feel of that pink sweatshirt (I loved that sweatshirt), the fuzzy face of my doll, the smudged lipstick Emily and I had painted on our dolls' faces for blush.

I'm glad for pictures with backgrounds in them.  They say so much of the life at the time.  I have renewed my effort to make sure I don't cover the background in pictures I take these days.  Who knows what gems I'll find 20 or 30 years from now that I overlook now.  Have you checked the backgrounds in your old pictures lately?

What I Need

Just a little less crazy in my world, please.  Five months of nuttiness is wearing me out.

How about no crazy.  That's really what I'd like.

Rainbows. Ice cream cones. Lazy days.

Okay?  Alright then.

Confession

(An open letter to right a wrong made some 24 years ago)

To Emily's Mom:

I'm sorry I lied to you when you offered me some peas out of your garden that summer day, circa 1986.  Contrary to what was stated at the time, it is not a fact that I am allergic to peas that are still in the pod but can "eat the frozen kind".

In actuality, your peas in their pods frightened me and I was just too scared to try them.  While I was convinced my bold-faced lie was stealthy and went unnoticed by you at the time, age and experience have convinced me otherwise.  And, rather than let you go on thinking I was nothing but a lying, conniving, six-year-old who was too proud to eat your delicious home-grown garden-fresh peas, I am coming clean now.

I am sorry I was too chicken to try your peas.  Moreover, I am sorry I faked such a ridiculous allergy.  Kudos to you for keeping the straight face. 

With regret,

Katy

On finishing another semester

I just finished another Fall Semester.  I have not stopped and counted the number of quarters/semesters I have attended college.  This is something like the ending of my 26th semester (I'm actually not joking about that.).

This has been a really weird semester, for so many reasons.

-I'm no longer taking classes full-time, but am still a full-time student.

-I passed my comprehensive exams, but have not moved onto a set dissertation yet.

-I have shifted my area of focus and am much more involved with a new advisor, which has required getting-to-know a style of mentoring that is in near-complete opposition to the advisor I have been working with the past two years.

-The research project I'd planned to run, analyze, and finish by now got waylaid for two months and is still in full swing.

-I feel very behind.

-And a friend and classmate completely unexpectedly passed away, which was awful and gutwrenching.  Ugh. 

I am relieved the semester is over.  I do not believe, in fact, that I've ever been more relieved to be done with a semester.

But, ironically, never have I ever felt so completely anti-climactic at the end of a semester. In the past, a semester marked an ending, the promise of a new start with new classes, new projects.  All of the aforementioned tasks just continue on.  Nothing has ended and nothing will start anew as a result of this new semester.  It's just life ticking ever onward.

For now, I relish in the two weeks I get to spend at home away from the end of the semester, away from the start of the semester, just....away.

My plan is to recharge, reorient, and refocus.  That's a lot of re-ing.  Wish me luck.