Bigger or Better: Life outside of Texas

 Despite our best efforts, and due to brain issues, we were unable to leave America [for vacation] this weekend. We were gut-wrenchingly disappointed, particularly because Mark had spent countless hours researching the best times to go for the Northern Lights, the greatest deals on the finest activities in Tromsø, a nd most likely a lot else that he hasn't told me about.  So yes, we had plans to go to Norway, to be within the Arctic Circle, to pet Reindeer and go dog-sledding and meet Sami people. We spent a lot of time preparing, getting the right shoes and layered clothing and long socks and warm water-resistant gloves, etc.

 I am amazed at my own idiocy. The issue, basically, is that if I eat excessive amounts of sugar, I get a migraine. There isn't a specific amount of sugar that is the trigger point, because it's also affected by my salt intake, and hydration level, and how much sleep I got, and if I've been eating enough fiber and protein and fat, and so many other things that it's just not worth it to me to come up with a formula of all the factors. It's easier for me to just get a feel for my current state of body, and make decisions from there.  But you see, even though I look like an adult on the outside, inside, I'm just a well-trained puppy doing battle with a sugar-crazed kid. Mark and I have a holy tradition of buying candies that go on sale after the holiday. Thus, we have various Reese's or M&Ms or Twix tucked around our apartment from the candy-centric holiday of Halloween. We rest in candy. I squirrel the sweets away to try to manage our lesser selves. But as

One of the surprising things about me is that, despite my sweet appearance and mostly-sweet demeanor, I tend to create a stir. It surprises me too, sometimes. I had my ACLS (Advanced Cardiac Life Support), recertification class this past week, my 5th or 6th time taking it, and this one was definitely the most exciting. It started with an argument, and ended with an emergency-exit door alarm.  Both were my fault. Right, so let's dig in. On paper, the class started at 8am. As my last post explains, they don't accept latecomers. And they really hold that line.  When one of the participants entered the classroom where we were sitting waiting to get started—because, really, we had not started; the instructor was still logging into the computer, and that part is not a step in the ACLS algorithms—and was told she had to leave, I was pretty peeved on her behalf. [Probably because of my experience being late a couple weeks earlier; also likely influenced by an experience my first semest

 Disclaimer: I can be selfish. What I experienced was an inconvenience. Real tragedies are elsewhere. This past week, I took a day "off" work to recertify in ACLS [the medical support of fatal cardiac rhythms], except it didn't go as planned. For some unknown reason, a power line fell across the dead-end road connecting our apartment parking garage to a major road, and chaos--but no fatalities--ensued. Technically, there is an alley, and then the dead-end road, connecting the one to the other, which is why when I pulled up to the intersection of the alley+dead-end, I didn't immediately see the large fire in the road, because it was hiding around the corner. I assumed the drivers of the two cars in front of me had zoned out at the stop sign, but fortunately, when I honked at them to get a move-on, someone rolled down their window and explained, "There's a downed power line with a car on fire. We called 911. Just waiting for the firetruck to come." Wanna k

 I think that most people, at one time or another, want to Save the World or some variation of that. Cure cancer. Solve homelessness. Fix economies. Etc. Noble goals. Well, here I am pondering if what I do is Saving the World. Sure, I work with an under-served [hyphenated so that it is not mistaken for un-deserved] population as a day-job, and volunteer teaching children on the weekend, but I don't see that as Nobel-Prize worthy. Because it's not. I do not make a big-enough impact to merit any notice from the world. You probably won't either. And that's okay. My impact, and your impact, is going to be on a personal level. But here's the best part: the personal level is the jackpot of the whole Save the World endeavor. If, while you are serving a fellow soul, you are thinking about the World instead of the person in front of you, you are missing a key tool in effecting change: the power of relationships. Of feeling a connection to the person in front of you. None of

 A couple weeks ago, my family had a mini reunion in Nashville. Which is the same city Mark and I got stuck in last December after the Southwest meltdown, which happened to coordinate with our grounded Allegiant flight. Well, for monetary reasons, we chose Allegiant again to get down to Nashville. And whaddaya know, our flight had problems again, before we even got out of DC. We sat at the departure gate as the listed boarding time came and went, hour by hour, with no information from Allegiant representatives by phone or by person. The evening became incredibly-early morning, and still no clue as to what was happening. Finally, somebody showed up, accompanied by security [I guess they thought we would riot??] to tell us that the airplane had a maintenance problem, that our flight would leave later that morning, and that we should come back to the airport in a few hours. [I'll add that she wasn't the most organized representative...people would ask a question, she would make an

 We live in a world full of opportunities.  By which I mean there are many things wrong, and so the options before you of what to fix are plenteous. Think of all the good we can do, fixing all the bad that there is! What luck! As such, I am delighted to present to you my complaints with my healthcare insurance company UnitedHealthcare. For context, I suffer from migraines. My first migraine happened in the middle of the night when I was still in elementary school. ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. As far as I can recall, I did not have major stressors as a primary school student. And that was before puberty hormones complicated things, you know, so the odds of my migraines spontaneously disappearing--outside of divine miracles--are pretty slim. I have had MRIs, massages, physical therapy, acupuncture, and chiropractic adjustments. I avoid caffeine, have cut down sugar consumption, and increased salt and water intake. Under the guidance of a neurologist, I have tried butterbur and magnesium supplement

 As we near the end of the school year [not that I'm in school, or have kids in school, but I am aware that such things happen], I'm reminded of my elementary school days in Texas. Unique moments: We said the Texas Pledge of Allegiance every morning after saying the National Pledge of Allegiance. We had open-floor-concept classrooms--different rooms were separated just by bookshelves, pillars, or maybe just by space. And we took an annual competency assessment that went by various acronyms as time went by: TAKS, TAAS, STAAR, also [before my time] TABS, TEAMS ( learn all about it in this little booklet! ).  I don't remember much of what was on those exams, except for one--a story about a violinist. As I understood it at the time, the short snippet focused on a particular female violinist, who apparently was very good and was 1st Chair Violin in her orchestra, but during one performance, her violin broke. And then she broke a lot of the other violinists' violins as she co

 Logistically, it should have taken 30 minutes, tops. Drive there, pick-up dinner, pick-up cookies, drive back. Low-stress, high-reward [which really is part of the draw with enjoying restaurant food--no need to stress, because you're not cooking]. That's not what happened. The plan for the evening had started with me noticing a Texas-themed restaurant on Too Good To Go  [rescue food in your area from  participating restaurants and pay a third the price!]. Then, while looking up how to get there on Google Maps, I saw that a cookie shop was just around the corner  from our destination. Dinner, dessert--it's a date! What I hadn't considered is the nightlife of Adams Morgan [an area, not the person] on a Friday night. Or, more specifically, the nightlife's impact on parking.  Mark drove down streets, up streets, through intersections, and down alleys while we searched for some place to put the car. Nothing. The streets [which is where all the parking is, because in des

 My first semester of college, in addition to the [stupid] decision to take an 8am calculus course, I also enrolled in American Heritage. It was one of those General requirements, which resulted in a large class where nobody knew anybody, but it also had occasional "labs" [or whatever they called it], which were much smaller (<12 students) groups lead by one of many TAs. I don't remember the professor's name, but I remember the TA I had: Jason Alexander Smith. Yes, almost 2 decades later and I still know his name. I did not like him, and so would silently mutter "Jason Alexander Smith," full name, as if he were in trouble with his mother. There were several reasons why I detested his presence [enough that, if I saw him on campus--even from the corner of my eye, without full conscious recognition--I would instantly feel bad vibes; I don't know if those vibes were coming from him or me ], but one of them was that he argued that no one, even Jesus, did a

 I once had a calling [this is a technical term for "a volun-told position in a church congregation] when I was in college to attend the religious activities at a local jail. From what I recall, that calling existed to help with church attendance there--which frankly seems a little odd. Maybe there were other reasons that I wasn't privy to, but regardless, every so often, I went to jail. I don't remember many details about the place, but looking back, I can tell you it had more going for it aesthetically than the Behavioral Health Unit where I work now. Allow me to paint a picture of what the BH unit is like: Other than some coloring pages taped to the walls, there is no artwork or wall decor. The walls and doors are painted a yellow-ish beige, but I don't mean yellow-like-the-sun, but rather yellow-like-the-discoloration-with-age. There is no access to the outside. And I don't mean that the doors off the unit are locked [which they are, BTW, in addition to being h