ProseKnitic – of Words und Wolle

I would have also called it the darkest day, but you would think that I was repeating myself.

It was dark when I got up in the morning, overcast the entire day and dark early in the afternoon.

Actually, when I started looking it up I found claims that the 21st was the solstice or the 22nd. Or, more importantly that the 23rd was the longest night. It was at this point that I decided that no one was going to confuse me with facts and that I needed to knit something simple.

Like, let us say – a soft, squoosy, slouchy hat for one of the girls. Knit on size 9mm needles out of two strands of Shakespeare held together. It finished up in no time at all just leaving the Eldest with the task of procuring her own ribbon for the row of eyelet’s.

Dirigible - The Jane Victorian

warm ears for the Eldest

This is absolutely not my favorite time of year. I don’t like short days. Well, let me take that back – I don’t like it dark in the morning. I can live with it being dark in the evening but I need light in the morning.

Being on the cruise ship was fine. We had to do time zone adjustments as we traveled. Sensible people ran the ship which means that the clocks were pushed back at 2 am. Since I am not up that late it simply meant that it was increasingly unlikely that anyone was going to challenge me for the use of the treadmill at 0600 in the morning.

Flying back on the 16th of last month wasn’t even that bad since one always gets whacked out by traveling east. What I had forgotten was that I was also traveling north. Germany – from the perspective of someone who lives in Oslo (for example where they are down to just under six hours of daylight) is not all that far north. But coming from Panama – let me just tell you that the change in hours of daylight was significant. Going off daylight savings time didn’t help a bit. It was dark in the morning.

For the last month I have been fighting it – the creeping feeling that no one in their right mind has any business out and about when it is dark out there. No one who is up to any good. No one who is not crazy. It even leaves me feeling mildly sympathetic toward offspring who don’t want to be up before noon. Not completely, mind you. They have studies to complete, cleaning to do, dogs to walk. But a mild bit of sympathy might just stir as long as no one pushes it.

Did I mention that it is also dark in the evening?
15 Dec 2011 08:14 16:26 8h 11m 59s − 42s 12:20 17.4° 147.241

are the numbers provided by Time and Date.Com

Do you see that?!? Only eight hours and almost 12 minutes where there is daylight. That is, where it would be daylight if it wasn’t overcast with rain……

Madam Butterfly by Puccini

You know the story? 3 acts worth of

1) Naval Officer with the Consultant in Japan rents house and contracts with 15 year old Japanese girl for marriage. Later – he takes off since he always intended to and marry a proper American wife

2) she waits for him -

3) the coward that he is -he tries to sneak in the back door and pick up his son (hello? take home a mixed race child of your husbands? I don’t think so……). Distraught from being abandoned – she turns over the boy and kills herself.

Before we go any further, let me give you a little more background so you will understand my point of view. Your concurrence is not required of course; just that sometimes what seems completely stupid on the surface is….. even more so when you think about it. The Opera was written in 1904 by an Italian who, by any account has never been to the far east, made no study of the culture and demonstrates this clearly in his concept of characters and plot. He based it on stories by others (can you spell white European male?) and scholar’s aside – given the attitude toward mixed race anyone held by Europeans I have real doubts as to the veracity of that particular event, especially in the 1880s. (Shall we leave out his personal, repressible behavior in terms of having affairs and otherwise not being a pillar of society?)

This performance at the Volksopern, Vienna was staged with more than full cast and orchestra. Orchestra being defined in this case as a good band diluted by 36 excess strings, an excellent harpist and 4 bored men with bases. Pucinni likes strings. I don’t. Woodwind sections are good; this one was fine which was good since we had the pleasure of being on that side of the theater and spared the brass. However, with Puvcinni it probably didn’t make a difference. He is enamored of strings which means that I was surprised that the brass and percussion sections managed to stay awake for their five minutes of involvement peppered into 2 hours of music. Strings would not be so incredibly annoying if we hadn’t been in lodge seating and were treated to an unrestricted view of excessive body english to the point of flipping feet up and down on the part of one violinist.

I am a recovered flutist of the old school variety – the one that says body english is distracting and a waste of energy that should be better channeled into the music. Bobbing, swaying and writhing in ones chair are not a sign of emotional playing – they are a public exhibit of lack of taste.

Gee – no opinions or digressions here or anything! Back to the performance.

The Volksopern has a standard stage with good mechanics which the director used to advantage. The center stable section had a “Japanese” like building with side panels used to good effect. The outer ring rotated bringing in settings and props. The minimalist props and set pieces were fine.

The actors on the other hand – well just let me leave it with there were an awfully lot of people wandering here and there with no real purpose at the beginning as well as in numerous crowd scenes. It is not that they were needed for chorus work – they were just bodies. Inaccurately dressed bodies. If you are going to portray an era – please be consistent. Don’t mix 1860s with 1880s with 1910 in women’s clothing (all of the silhouettes were wrong and not a corset, bustle or pannier in the herd). Modern foot gear is not a good idea, especially combined with ties (not cravats). Just because you put a straw hat on a kid doesn’t mean that he/she is dressed appropriately for the time.

Shall we just ignore the modernization portion at the end? Crowds again, this time in modern dress – hanging out, staring. Mannequins would have been preferable and more lifelike. To finish it off Pucinni as narrator physically involved with his own opera? Stumbling around with a cane which I guess was supposed to hint at the wheelchair which was his main mode of mobility.

I actually don’t mind the Italian. I don’t know enough Italian to be irritated at the triteness of the lines and story. Put over-titles for subtitles (German) at the top of the theater arch and the little remaining mystery is gone. Stupid story, decent voices often drowned out by the orchestra. Sopranos cut clearly through everything – altos and baritones not so.

George’s take on it was simple – not a good performance. He found the lack of balance coupled with the staging = the worst of the many performances of this opera he has seen. Given that Madam Butterfly ranks right up there at #8 on the world-wide most performed operas, there are more than a few chances to hear it.

I was relieved to catch the S-bahn back to the hotel, have a decent nights sleep and fly comfortably home today.

According to the printed list I got from the machine in the lounge – I just went over the bar required for Frequent Traveler Status on Lufthansa for next year. It is pretty funny that I wound up getting more miles for the little spent on this found trip than I did for my last NY-Frankfurt run…..

26 Oct 2011 – Dual Use

The first few lectures today fit right in with a them in the current book I am reading in Audio (Uranium). The basic premise in the book is that there is more than one use for technology. If you are a cynic, you will say that all those who are promoting the non-war uses of the particular methodology are searching for justification or attempting to romanticise the technology. In Uranium, he makes the point of several scientists, journalists and industrialist who touted the peaceful divided and bounteous energy of uranium use while the majority of people were attempting to increase the destructive aspects.

The same can be said for the field of Synthetic Biology. If you can create a “virus” from components, you maybe able to develop a gene carrier for fixing inborn errors of metabolism. Or recreate an historical virus from scratch. Or create something nasty and deadly in your own laboratory.

Simply pointing out that scientist should be responsible is probably not enough. In most countries there is regulation, requirements and legal consequences should you screw up (get caught). One of the problems is that part of the regulation burden has been shifted onto the companies which supply reagents, chemicals and products to order. Since I have not read the regulations, I am not sure how significant a burden this is. But if your company supplies things – you can be responsible for only selling to approved customers. What is reasonable to question? How many genes or amino sequences need to be checked against databases. Which databases?

If this sounds a bit strange – think about the Silicone Valley model of science. Bright people set up labs in their garages and make things. You can buy an incredible variety of toys on eBay. This is free enterprise at its best and worst. SynBio has resulted in decreasing (deskilling) the skill level required to play with this equipment. Regulation flies i the face youthful enthusiasm and the free market economy of the US.

I think I mentioned that I was test knitting several patterns. The first, a cowl, was completed a couple of weeks ago. The second project is a bit more long term. It is a long and complicated shawl on which I managed another 25 rows on each half (knitting both at the same time so they match). Since this is a section that is heavy with beads it has been rather slow going. This used up the first skein on yarn. According to the designer, I am 19 rows past the ½ waypoint so I hopefully I will not run out of yarn.

The other project is a fingerless mitt knit in lace weight on size 2.0 needles. To say that it has been less than fun would be underestimating the pain. I finally got the pattern for the eight row cuff repeat in my head and managed 2/8 repeats without major error. Did I mention that there is patterning in every row, that the stitch count continually changes and that there are double yarn overs? I am just glad that I only need to knit one….

Once again, the year has rolled around and it is a German Holiday.

For me – the late 1980s seems like just yesterday, but for the youngest three in my family – well they have grown up with a single Germany, an absence of the USSR and completely different political influences in their lives.

I sit in my studio and think of traveling to the divided Germany on the duty train on our first tour with our young child and crossing the border at Check Point Charlie just to say that we had been to East Berlin. Not shopping for comforters, but instead buying children’s books; George and Shana warm while I froze in my mandatory uniform without name or insignia.

A later trip when Nina was not even a year old when it took almost 11 hours to make the four hour journey about 1/2 of which I was taking care of a retiree with chest pain who did not want to be dropped off in the East, even for medical care.

And now, I am the retiree.

The roadside is no longer littered with Ladas and Traubies broken down on their drive west exceeding both speed and distance from their design specifications. The autobahns are full of trucks from Poland, Hungary, Slovakia, and the Baltics.

The world is no safer. But I can buy yarn from Estonia.

The following post is included with permission from a friend of mine who is now in the UK. A PhD epidemiologist, she has a split US/UK citizenship courtesy of her parents:

I worked very near the World Trade Center, from April 2000 to the anniversary of Pearl Harbor in 2001.

On September 11, 2001, I was running late for work because I had gone to vote in the Mayoral primaries: the turnout was huge and long lines meant I was riding the subway later than usual. I was underground when the first plane hit. The subway stopped between stations and the announcement said there had been an explosion at Cortland St. I thought a water main must have burst. After a few minutes, really not long at all, they told us if we wanted Manhattan, we had to get out of the subway at 14th St. I realized I’d have to walk the rest of the way to work (the subway was being diverted to Brooklyn – this line never went to Brooklyn) . To get to work I would simply walk towards the Twin Towers.

Upon emerging from the subway I did what every NY’er does: I looked up to find the Empire State Building and the World Trade Center to get my sense of direction. I had just turned to walk south marvelling at the glistening beauty of the blue sky that morning and puzzling over the odd “cloud” surrounding one of the towers. At that moment, a new “cloud” emerged from the other tower: a vivid orange “cloud.” Clouds aren’t orange…what on earth was happening…..and what was that oddly shaped “shadow” in the first tower? It was the entry wound from the first plane….

I was suddenly aware of cars and taxis parked along the sides of the roads, everyone was standing and listening to car radios blaring the news. Emergency vehicles and the mayor in his motorcade swept past…

I got to work, asked my secretary for any news he had heard while turning on my computer anxious to get the latest information. A very short time later, someone ran past my office and said “its down, its down” “What is down?”, I asked. “The building, it has fallen down.” was the hurried reply.

We all congregated in a colleague’s office. I had always been envious of that office. It had a truly spectacular view of the World Trade Center and the Statue of Liberty. That was the last day I ever envied that view, I never looked out of that window again without a terrible sadness.

I saw people jumping and simply falling out of the building. The desperation, the hopelessness resulting from such a decision was ghastly. . simply beyond anything imaginable.

I saw the second building collapse: it hovered and then fell in on itself seemingly in slow motion. In televised repeats, it always seems faster than the way it happened as I watched it in real time…..

The man standing next to me in the crowded office after the tower hit the ground said “I felt our building shake when it collapsed.” I turned to him and said, “I’m shaking and I can’t differentiate between my own shaking and our building shaking.”

Shortly after that, we were all gathered together and told to try to get home. It was barely mid-day. I told my work-friends to come to my apartment if they couldn’t get out of Manhattan to their own homes. I gave them my phone numbers and my address (in case the telephone systems were still down) and told them to just come if they needed to do so.

I called my mother in England. Exactly 24 hours previously, she had flown out of JFK to return to England after going to the US Open (tennis) tournament with me. After dozens of attempts, I finally got through. She wasn’t at home, so I left a message. I was OK, I was going home. I didn’t know if she would be able to call me or if I would be able to call her because the phones weren’t working reliably. I told her not to worry, I was OK. I told her I loved her.

Just before I left my office, my phone rang, it was a dear friend, Nina, calling from the other side of the US “Dear God, Mary, please tell me you are on a business trip!” was the rush of words tumbling through my cell phone. I told her I was not on a trip, I was in NY, I was OK and heading home.

I walked home, approx 5 miles, in heels. Any buses that passed were being kept exclusively for the elderly, disabled and the refugees from the Twin Towers. The subway system had been closed down completely.

I walked with work colleagues who were going to try to get trains from Grand Central Station to CT and Westchester. There was an incredible silence that I didn’t think was possible to achieve in NYC…. No one talked, no one shouted, no one blew their horns. Everyone just moved in silence.

The silent crowds parted like waves whenever an ash-covered survivor passed. They always appeared alone, never in groups or pairs. We tried to reach out to help and could smell the shock emitting from the entire being of the ghostly presence. We would try to help but just left the silent person to make his/her way home to his/her family…We were there watching, reaching out when we were needed but respecting their space.

We walked past the old house in the East 20s off 3rd Avenue. It belongs to some dear friends of mine and dates to at least 1789, an original NY farmhouse. I asked my colleagues how this little white house could still be standing after more than 200 years following what we had just seen….

Before going up to my apartment on the 32nd floor, I stopped at the supermarket. What would happen if friends arrived at my door and I didn’t have enough food? The supermarket was packed and food was flying – or had already flown – off the shelves. The lines to pay wound through the store. There was more silence. The woman in front of me in the line looked at my shopping basket: a gallon of milk, huge chicken ready to roast and everything else I had gathered to provide nourishing sustenance. “You don’t have water,” she said to me kindly. “That’s OK, thanks, I can use tap water” and I explained I was shopping in case I had non-Manhattanites round needing shelter. “Get yourself some bottled water,” she encouraged, “you don’t know if something will happen to the water supply. I’ll watch your shopping and place in the line.” From that day to this, I have always kept some bottled water in my home.

I struggled home with my purchases, throwing the stuff into my fridge.

Then I dug out my nursing license and ran over to NY Hospital, 2 blocks away. Went to the main reception desk and said I was here in case they needed extra workers. The woman at the main reception desk was so grateful and didn’t have to ask me to see anyone else, she knew what they needed. She took my landline and cell numbers and said at the moment they were adequately staffed but it was likely that they would need me sometime in the middle of the night, they would call me.

I went home.

No stress-relieving glass of wine for me…what would happen if they called me and I had consumed a glass of wine? NO, I needed to keep my head together.

I turned on the news.

I looked out of my window and I could see the smoke heading my way. In a few minutes I had to shut my window because the smell made me feel physically ill. I realized this was what Germany smelled like during the war, it is like nothing else I have ever smelled nor ever want to ever again.

I sat in front of the tv with tears silently falling down my face.

Throughout the following hours, I kept checking my phones to make sure I had dial tones. Eventually I went to bed and somehow slept a little. In the morning I woke up not quite knowing where I was and then checked my phones for the millionth time to make sure I had dial tones. Why hadn’t my phone rung? Why didn’t the hospital call me in?

Then I realized…..the need for extra staffing did not exist…..

The next day, I started to get used to the circling Air Force jets. It became a security blanket that I could see from my apartment windows. Keeping us safe….. NY’ers gradually got used to their presence and we were united in our gratitude to see them there.

September 12, was strange, hollow and extremely sad. This wasn’t a nightmare we could wake up from, this was reality. I really don’t remember much from that day besides the cover of the NY Times waiting, as always, right outside my door and the non-stop news. As my office was in the area of NYC that had been sealed off (and remained so for the rest of the week), there was no work to go to. I walked over to NY Hospital to see if there really was no need for my nursing skills.

The fires continued to burn and the wind continued to carry the smell my way.

In the middle of the night between September 12 and 13, there was a massive thunder and lightening storm. I’ll never know how long it had been going on before I woke up but one crack of thunder was right over my building. I woke up and didn’t move. I knew it was a thunderstorm, it was, wasn’t it?? I crept to my large wall of windows in my living room and perched myself on the window sill to make certain. Minutes passed and after several rolls of thunder and multiple bolts of lightening, I decided to go back to bed. The storm must have been going on for a while before I actually woke up because my sheets were drenched with perspiration.

The next week, my office reopened. Traveling to work every bus stop, subway stop, anywhere possible, were thousands of signs listing missing loved ones: “have you seen?”…. “last known to be working on x, y or z floor”….”please call.” All these young, vibrant, happy faces on xeroxed pages with loved ones on the other end of phone numbers longing for word to end the hell they were in. You had to stop, say a prayer and try to take in the enormity of the situation.

It was not uncommon to see well-dressed people simply walking down the street with tears quietly streaming down their faces. This was not weakness or anything other than a natural by-product of what had happened to us. To this day, I get annoyed when someone who wasn’t there tries to suggest that we were over-reacting or panicking.

My apartment building was diagonally across the road from Sotheby’s at (East) 72nd St and York Avenue. From the roof of my building I had once been able to see the Twin Towers. From my apartment windows I looked down to the Chrysler Building thirty blocks away. Across the road from my building was an express bus stop to the Financial Center. Needless to say, a lot of people in my building worked down there because it was such a great commute. Stunningly, not one person in the 38 floors of my apartment building died on September 11 but my zip code, 10021, suffered the greatest loss of life.

As I mentioned at the start of this, my job came to an end on the anniversary of Pearl Harbor. The economy was not good prior to September 11 but subsequently had only become worse. The pharmaceutical company who had been my client was cutting back on their advertising and marketing spend and my job was over. I had a new offer elsewhere but I had been ABD (all but dissertation) and close to completing my PhD at Columbia since 1995 but never got any further….work always got in the way. Friends would ask “when are you going to finish?” Until the morning of September 11, I always smiled and replied “Sometime before I die.” I realized it was time to finish it, I could no longer use that reply. In late November or early December, I called my mentor and asked if he would chair my committee, I was ready to finish. Throwing myself into my dissertation in January 2002 was an amazing experience. Researching and writing my dissertation was one of the most rewarding times I’ve ever had, I loved every minute of it – I know, reading this you must think I’m very odd. I defended my opus on April 29, 2003 and graduated the next month. Of course it was hard, don’t get me wrong. I had a committee of 5 amazingly brilliant professors and they pushed me every step of the way and I loved every minute. At the end of my defense they made me promise to get it published because they felt it had value for others. Maybe one day I’ll find the right publisher….

My first visit to the World Trade Center site was on my birthday in January 2002. My mother had come over for Christmas, as she always did, and she wanted to go. Although I had been back to work a few days after that frightful day and was there until my job ended, I had never gone over to “the pile” as the FDNY called it. But that day, my mother and I went together. As we got closer and closer, that silence descended …. I have been back a number of times. Now that I’m not living in NYC, I usually go if I’m back in the city. I always say a prayer and spend several quiet moments.

To this day, if I see a large plane flying lower than I think it should, hairs on the back of my neck go up and I find myself scanning the skies….

NYC has never been quite the same since. It was months and months and months before that NY “humm” came back, it might have been more than a year but I remember when it finally returned. There is a friendliness about NY’ers, a kindness towards strangers that was brought to life that day and has never really left. In the wake of the horrors, NY’ers always waved and smiled at passing firefighters and when they were not racing off to save others, we always thanked them.

I think that one day I shall go back to live there……NYC is my birthplace and is, and always will be, my home no matter where I am.

Mary
Mary Bussell, PhD
12 September 2011

It was mid afternoon and I was cranking through boring, endless spreadsheets when one of my office mates got a phone call from her husband that we should go immediately and turn on the TV.

Heading down the hall, we watched in disbelief at the clip running on CNN of a plan flying into its side. With the speed of modern communications, we watched our world, as well as the Twin Towers crumble. Watched in horror at the scenes from the Pentagon, knowing full well that people we personally knew had died.

The effects are still with us today. A mess in Afghanistan from which we still have not been able to extricate ourselves and the insanity of Iraq where we never should have gone but for the greed of a limited number of officials.

The guards and fences don’t keep others out, but they very effectively keep us in. Isolated and separated from the larger community of those around us, we understand them and deal with them less day by day.

In the US we had always felt so safe, smug, free from personal risk. Knowing that the risks facing those in the rest of the world has had an extremely negative daily effect to this day. We haven’t grown up, we have hidden in our rooms: starting wars is not an act of adulthood but that of bullies.

We have sacrificed personal freedoms, space and privacy for an illusion of safety only realising later the implications of moving toward the old communist standard with the ability to witch hunt and make people disappear without regards to their civil rights.

I am more of a cynic today than I was then. I don’t think that the average US citizen wants to bear their share of responsibility and cost. It is easier to act like kids on a playground trying to own the jungle gym than to cooperate and look at roles, responsibilities and resources. We, in the US, are a society that wants to blame others, have all of our products completely safe and not have any personal risk that we don’t choose.

May I recommend that you once more watch Exhibit 13, think about the bravery of all the response people who did their best to rescue as many as possible and the sacrifices of so many of the military since then.

The world has always been a scary place if you lived in Asia, South America, Africa and not safe or secure for yourself or your children. Think about how you can make the world a bit better a place for others as well as yourself. Do it in memory of those who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time and all the families/friends whose lives were permanently altered.

yesterday. It hadn’t ended by evening today either. I never did figure out how earthquakes were going to shake the four corners of the globe at the same time. Think about it – none of us are “Flat Earthers” and a sphere doesn’t have corners. Looking at your average map – none of the continents come close to having corners. Perhaps he is so old that he believes that the corners on the physical map are real?

If you remember 89 year old Harold Camping (and there is no reason why you should) from 1994 – he was predicted the end of the world before.

1994 was a year of changes – at least for those of us in the US military stationed in Germany. Significant turmoil ensued as the draw down of forces (the Cold War bonus) resulted in the closure of bases Bremerhaven, Nuernburg, Berlin, Frankfurt, Augsburg, Muenchen. I was the commander of clinics for Heidelberg Meddac. What this amounted to was increasing the number of clinics for which I was responsible from 4 to 10, and then decreasing by one as we closed out Karlsruhe. Just because I didn’t have enough else to do – there was Frankfurt Hospital (the old 97th General) to close.

The world didn’t end. In fact, I was so busy that I would not have noticed the world ending between work and the kids and DH and dog.

Now – there have been numerous rumors of world ending. What I know is that it didn’t end in 1994, it didn’t end on the 30th of April or 21th of May. Which leads me to believe that the Apocalypse won’t happen on the 21st of October either.

I am just trying to decide if it would be better to be on sea or land when his next prediction doesn’t come true.

or – the phenomena of the traveling and relocating scientist.

There was a time when all it took was a quick glance at someones name and it was enough to tell you all you might think you wanted to know about them. First names came from families and not from movie, films or the attempt of parent to be creative or unique (and contained few “y”s). Last names reflected family, occupation, local, regional, geographic or ethnic affiliation. Names, even in border areas could be clearly tied to country/ethnicity. Even in the US – one hears a last name and assumes an ancestral country of origin. Other than during/immediately post military conflicts, most Europeans married within their own country, social and religious class. There were exceptions, especially among the university student population and those proximity to military locations, but most ordinary people grew up, worked, married all within 75 km of their place of birth.

The end of the Cold War brought more than political change. A new wave of migration flowed from East to West for economic reasons. Regional ethnic conflicts further contributed refugees to the redistribution of population.

What triggered off this whole train of thought was the following list of last names associated with an EU funded multidisciplinary team on biodosemetric tools: Wojcik, Banjinski, Romm, Oestreicher, Thierems, Vral, Rothkamm, Ainsbury, Bendertitter, Fattibene, Jaworska, Lindholm, Whitehouse, Barquinero, Sommer, Woda, Scherthan, Vojnovic & Trompier. The countries represented are Sweden, Germany, Beligium, UK, France, Italy, Norway, Finland, Spain and Poland. No – there is not a one to one correspondence since the UK and Germany have more than one institution participating in the team and a couple of locations have more than one scientist participating.

Most of the research being presented relates to DARPA, NIH or Bundeswehr funding with a similar emphasis at the chromosomal, cell and molecular level. In many ways, this is a small and limited community many of whom have known each other for years. I have to admit, given a choice I would rather attend a meeting in Muenchen if I was from Dartmouth, Northwestern or University of Chicago than in DC and this location is certainly more affordable for all of the European based individuals.

It doesn’t mean – even with this free flow of scientists and ideas – that some of their concepts have legs. For example – there was the brilliant thought that glass could be used as a surrogate dosimeter for individuals. Glass – taken from mobil phones was tested. They didn’t look at glasses since those are always exposed to sunlight and as such would have a wide variation in changes already present. In either case there would be a slight problem – the item tested is destroyed in the process. Personally, in the case of a radiation accident or terrorist incident most people would be more willing to give up very expensive glasses than their mobile phones but not thrilled about either. I don’t see this as a viable method.

Leaving aside the discussion of testing finger nails (I don’t think this almost completely male panel has a clue about artificial nails and nail polish) and teeth (no need to pull with the latest and greatest) their other brilliant concept has to do using chips as surrogates. As in sim cards or the chips from various banking cards that reside in inner pockets. Hello? Multi-national and being a scientist obviously has nothing to do with common sense! Exactly who is going to be willing, in the face of a crisis to have their ATM, Debit or health access card destroyed…….

(oh, the beginning answer to the above is Sweden, Sweden, Germany, Germany, Belgium ….

In radiation health – bystander effects have a very specific meaning. It is a real pheonomena which, in some cases might even be positive.

*For the rest of us – bystander has always been thought to be psychological, imaginary or down right ugly with those who were not initially involved in an event becoming involved (and this also brings motivation into question). A negative “contamination” of people who might have been there – and thus believe they are involved. Usually this is detrimental to themselves, the actual event participants/event and the first responser who are trying to bring order out of chaos/bring the incident under control/clean up the mess/figure out what happened.

If I want to postulate – since the effect is real and chemically mediated at the cell, micro and organism level (ok, rainbow trout do have value other than food) perhaps by “bystander effect”is real in people, biologically mediated and has a positive survival effect – at least from a Darwinian perspective.

*(Please note – I have not gone out and done a literature search in the medical, psychological, sociological, anthropological or other discipline. If it is important – or I am completely off the wall – I am sure that one or more of the librarians reading this will not hesitate to set me straight; clarifying all the ways in which I am twisting reality to suit my current rant).

Back to the fish. Take a pool of water. Toss in some fish. Irradiate the fish. Take the fish out. Toss in the Bystander fish. The new fish will be affected by the radiation, even tho they weren’t in the pool at the time. Or – do it another way – take those fish – the original hapless zapped fish and toss them in with new fish in a nice clean pond. The bystanders in the new pond will also have enzyme changes matching the newly introduced fish. Can’t blame free radicals in the water. Radiation induces changes (i.e. energy transfer induces changes) which then can spread through a non-exposed population creating more change.

One of the things that happens is that a mechanism for increased accumulation of heavy metals in turned on in the fish. Rather than continuing work on increasing triggers, I think the scientists need to spend more time on figuring out how to turn some of these phenomena off.

After all, if bystander effect explains what happens to teenagers perhaps there could be a cure for the contagion that seems to flow from one to another without visible means giving them appalling tastes in music and sagging pants.

Back, decades ago in time when I was an undergrad, grad and then medical student – paper and pencil went with me everywhere. I finally learned that a pen was probably more reliable, but I took notes on just about everything. That was my way of processing information – to hear it, listen to it, and then write it down. It was how I incorporated new information. I didn’t often re-read the notes, except perhaps right before a major exam. It was the taking of the notes, placing the faculty member’s ideas, concepts and words into my own that provided me the learning.

Then came the era (which I missed, thank you very much) of schools having tape recorders and transcribers. Students could get the lessons, information by going to the library and not bothering with other students or an interactive learning environment. Even later came the time of Internet and being able to download just about anything onto your laptop. Why even bother to get out of bed? Certainly you have no chance of discussing the information or ever seeing the inside of a classroom except for examinations.

In the last few years, people have started to bring laptops to major meetings; typing away notes. At least those notes are more legible and it certainly is quieter than a portable typewriter would have been. There are still the issues of annoying key clicks and battery life. Now we are in the era of iPads and iPhones. Fingers busy on silent screens, the % of Mac users has increased. I used to see the occasional Macbook. In this group? More than 50%.

All this left aside the issue of slides. I figured out the camera trick a number of years ago. With smaller and lighter (and digital cameras) you can listen to the lecture and take pictures of the more important slides. Obviously (well not to some of the people around me) you need a camera that functions in low light so that you don’t require flash. Imagine how annoying it might be to present a lecture with the constant bright flashes here and there. Not pointed at you, the lecturer. No, just at your slides. You stand there and thing about all those participants who can now reproduce the information and present your lecture – sounding brilliant at home. (I am not even going to go down the copyright issues).

Here I am today sitting in an absolutely terrific lecture on “Sex, Drugs, and Tattoos.” I have my iPad and free WiFi. I have my knitting but that doesn’t help with this particular issue. No camera because I thought it might be too heavy.

Dumb.

-Holly
Hynes Convention Center, Boston, Mass.

It is an interesting movement – the Multigenerational Houses in Germany. Although we have been living in Heidelberg off and on since 1993, this past week was the first time that I learned anything about them. Getting an email from Helena, another member of the US military related Jewish community – she mentioned that the Heidelberg Haus might be the perfect place to hold a community Seder for those of us not inclined to go the orthodox route.

The principle is simple, and honestly obvious once one thinks about it. It is simply a type of house where unrelated people of all ages live and create a family. Own room with bath is the standard. The cooking facilities are in common as are recreational spaces. Many offer community services, such as kindergarten so that you can’t think this is a substitution for the old residential hotels or boarding houses and it really is not a group home. This is essentially a location where people create a family of choice, not limited by age, gender or physical abilities.  Many are Evangelisch sponsored, but not all.

The Haus in Heideleberg was established in 2007. I think Helena found it when she was looking for a child care/kindergarten location for one of her small children. This particular community is an incredibly interesting mix of ages, interests and country of origin back ground.

So there we are – setting up for a Seder of about 45 people of ages from crawling to walking to rolling to ambulating through the children with care, stiffness, and cane. Americans, ex-Russians, Germans, Israelis, Spaniards and probably a couple more countries of origin that I missed.

just before the Seder

The Seder itself reminding me in many ways of the one I attended in Budapest – 1998. Scattered tables (only way to fit enough people into the room) and someone sort of leading but a lot of chaos and multiple languages. So I should not have been surprised at a Russian Haggadah being translated in German with most of the songs done in Hebrew (have you ever heard some of them translated into local language? shudder). Lots of introductory remarks, most of the long passages skipped as well as spilling wine for the plagues (all those kids? a chance to drip juice/wine?).

There was more than enough to eat (as always – turkey, chicken, veggies, salads, fruits and more matzoh) and a lot of discussions.

taking time for conversation

The Piano became multi-use, serving for both buffet and concluding music.

and music at the end

Maus - the Jewel

Last night, after spending the afternoon alternating between emptying out boxes (eight of them) and doing laundry (five loads) I sat down at the computer to take a break. The DH was watching fussball (soccer for you US types). It is obvious that watching soccer is considered a man’s activity. The TV ads (batched into the breaks between periods) are completely different than what one normally sees.

Featured prominently are DIY building supplies, Media Markt (huge chain of electronic stores) and car supplies. The second round featured electronic games, a different hardware store and electronic shutter systems for the home. Other than that – can’t say that the games were all that thrilling.

Being the non-interested in TV sports person that I am – I put a bit of time into some knitting, computer and TV series watching (Bones Season 6).

This morning – I got back at the cleaning and organizing – and here you see progress!

a bit better organized - with closet access!

I also managed to log in, then drop off another 15-20 books to BookCrossing before adding them to the swap shelves at the PHV Library. (I have take to using more or less safe places to drop off books since I have seen all too many books otherwise land in the trash due to train/bus/airport security &/or cleaning people).

Knitting

And progress – Baby Pod #3 in booberry. My plan is to have this and a hat finished in the next couple of days provided my wrists hold up!

the blue pod started

and, my apologies to every one – the hats of which I was speaking are by Ann Norling – her pattern #10 which covers the range from 6 months – 2 years in the yarn specified which means you can expand the size range by changing the gauge and adjusting the stitch count as long as you stay with multiples of eight.

Fruit Hats

My good friend Brad, who I think I have known forever, or at least most of the time I have been stationed in Germany sent me the following – written in one of those interminable staff meetings that the Pentagon is famous for. With his permission.

With apologies to E. A. Poe, Esq. -  Brad Harper -

Once upon a staff call dreary
While I sat there, weak and weary
As were discussed things which had been discussed
A multitude of times before

As I sat there, nearly napping
Suddenly there came a clapping
Like the sound of waves a-lapping
‘pon some far and pleasant shore

‘Tis the ending of the meeting!
That for which I’d so yearned for!
But no, ’twas but the 3rd of 30 briefers
Sitting down, and nothing more

Like the Red Queen, ever sprinting
No matter how hard we onwards bore
At the end of all our labors
No more closer, than before

As a swimmer ever striving
T’wards some near enticing shore
The tide would ceaslessly pull backwards
No more closer than before

Will this torment be unending?
why is every brief a bore?
Is my sentence so unbending.
I am not allowed to snore?

When at last the meeting’s ended
Headlong rush I out the door
But even as I flee, a’gowning
There is a future dread that’s sure

For my glee so freshly minted
“tis but the fleeting joy D’Jour
In two weeks my fate decrees that
I’ll be back again, for more

(and please give Brad Harper credit and link back to here – if you quote, etc, his excellent take off on The Raven)

or perhaps managing change or at least coming to grips with expections that don’t relate to the current situation. That was what I was thinking early this evening.

In some ways, working and dealing with Afghanistan is not all that hard for me. I know it is different from the other locations to which I have been deployed. It is certainly not the Balkans, Kuwait, Korea, Iraq. The weather is different, the bases are different. It almost is an island or time onto itself with its own peculiarities rules and expectations. I don’t make the assumption that I understand the place or know the rules without asking. Yes, I can get surprised by something, but I don’t walk in the door thinking that I have it all under control.

Dealing with Germany, whether it be one of the bases or the country itself is a different matter for me. We have made our home in Germany off and on since 1981 and I get caught in that challenging word – “assume.”

I assume that I know how to get around or get home (this one has bitten me more than once since construction patterns have forced me to backtrack or go around a different direction). I know what services are where, and what time things are open.

Wrong. The world is not stagnent. Opening times are not the same as they were 30 years ago. The stores lining the main street through downtown Landstuhl no longer has a yarn store (it closed sometime around 1993-95) and many of the family owned stores have given way to chains and franchises.  The train station no longer has a lobby or ticket window meaning that you are going to have to operate an electronic ticket machine while freezing outside in the cold.

You can’t drive up to the front of the hospital complex from town. In fact, that gate has been closed by years but, again, there is construction with the appearance that eventually the wall which now has a set of gates that look like river locks just might open for the right kind of traveling vessel.

On the grounds – two of the old Ramstein Inn buildings have been converted to house those registered with the WTU and a new USO, open from 1130-2300 has opened between.

As I look around me most days and realize just how young the medics, docs and nurses are, it gives me a fright. Sometime when I was not looking, the world changed around me. Since looking out my eyes I really don’t think I am any older, something else must have changed. Not me.

But that really is the point, isn’t it?

Remember at Pesach when we end with “next year in Remember at Pesach when we end with “next year in Jerusalem?”

For me it is “next year” …… and then my thoughts start to spin. I will have a lot of changes in this coming year. Might even be looking forward rather than back. Example – my military career – starting in Jan 1978 when I was commissioned – will be coming to an end this spring. I actually will have control of my life and my work. (yes, I know that you civilians might find that funny. We active duty types don’t really grow up. It seems that we are always changing jobs and locations as a way of life. Rarely do we have complete control over where we are or what we are assigned to do. Doesn’t matter if you like the coworkers – they may be no happier to see you in return. Unlike with the reserves – for the active force you know that there will be 30-50% turnover every year. No, not matter what they say – the military does not function like a business. But I digress…)

For the first time since Jan 2008, I might even get to live in the same house as my husband. Kind of a daunting thought for me as I really have gotten to do things “my way” for quite a while. Of course, my way might just involve a whole lot of cleaning and sorting for months after I am home. Maus (or Ms Pink or Ms Copper) is the only one left in secondary school and she finishes this year.

Then there is the wonderful world of employment (or not).

Can you tell I am ready for a change?

This past year has been full of challenges mostly related to work and paperwork. I have made some wonderful friends, knit some, read a lot, finished a fair number of CME courses. Finally, I will finish the Dari before midnight (altho if I had been on the correct course it would have been done hours ago – nothing like trying to do level 2 before level 1….) All of this means that it should be “next year in Heidelberg!”

It happens gradually, so gradually as to be unnoticed. Becoming more comfortable with a job and living arrangements, you get into a routine. Meals, showers, laundry are all just punctuation points. Actually, it is not really a settled routine; it is a rut which absorbs most of your interest and attention.

As this happens, your horizons contract and you aren’t even aware. The world is the base, that 1.5 miles strip of Disney Drive long and about two blocks deep on either side. People, vehicles, noise and dust, I don’t even pay attention.

Obviously, distant events don’t cease nor does the daily flood of email bringing new challenges and the same subjects over and over diminish. It is just that you don’t really see what is happening around you.

This morning, for whatever reason while headed to work I stopped and looked up. Up at the mountains ringing the base with their sharp stony spears gleaming against the early morning light. I had forgotten there were mountains since they are obscured by dust most of the time.

At least that sounds like a good excuse. But really, I just haven’t been looking up and out to the world around me. My horizons had shrunk to my little corner of the base; my area of comfort.

It probably is not that different from most of us at home. We get so wrapped up in our daily lives that there might as well be nothing outside the daily corridor that contains our existence. Before you ask – I am not depressed and don’t believe it has anything to do at all with depression. Rather, routine is comfortable. But it also can be confining.

There must be roses somewhere……

My buddy Steve out in California responded the other day with a remark about a significant historical event being 47 years ago. I looked around the office. I was the only one even born that long ago, much less able to remember what was a defining event for my generation.

In my definition, a key historical event is one that has a major impact on current events – and one important enough to me that I will always remember where I was and what I was doing when I learned about it.

I will give you my list – followed by Steve’s List. What is on yours?

1. Nov 22, 1963, Kennedy’s Assassination. I was in Mr Kaufman’s civics class. He came into class in tears. There was an announcement over the Intercom. Most of us didn’t have a clue other than something dreadful had happened. We were dismissed early. Not an easy feat when you are discussing hundreds of students bused in to a consolidated Junior High.

2. The Challenger Disaster.  Jan 28, 1986. I was in the data center at WRAIR trying to put together the stats from an injury study I was running at Ft Campbell. The computer tech and I just looked at each other, stopped all work and hung next to the radio for hours.

3. The Fall of the Berlin Wall - 9 Nov 1989. I was stationed with the 10th MEDLAB in Landstuhl, living in Kaiserslautern. The news had been full of the coming changes, the streets filled with people. Not having a TV, it was radio coverage for me. My memories are more intense of Thanksgiving weekend, spent in Berlin with friends after making the trip on the duty train. Sitting on the balcony of their apartment over looking the wall. Seeing people streaming through, climbing over the wall and smashing at it with hammers. Ms Soprano was not even a year old, but started walking that weekend as well, taking her first steps in the city which had been divided for decades.

4. The Iraq invasion of Kuwait - 2 August 1990. I was sitting in the operations center at Enkenbach – the regional Politzei HQ monitoring the med support for Operation Lindwurm.   We watched it on TV, listening to the live German coverage. I was on orders for 10th Mountain Division and wondering what was going to happen next to my new unit of assignment.

5. The terrorist attack on the Twin Towers, Pentagon and United Airlines Flight 93, 11 Sept 2001.  Working at ERMC HQ – my office mate Paula received a call from her husband.  After that, we watched the TV stunned for the rest of the afternoon. At home, I was glued to the TV for the rest of the day and most of those following.

That is my list – those outside events which will always stay with me.

This is Steve’s list – written on 22 Nov

When I opened up my calendar this morning and saw November 22nd, I immediately flashed back to my Public Speaking class in the eighth grade forty-seven years ago.  Dr. Moore, our principal, came over the PA system to announce that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas.  I remember the classroom, two of my friends who sat near me, Miss Moran, our teacher, like it was yesterday.

I  remember the events but not the dates of the Challenger disaster and the destruction of the Berlin
Wall. November 22nd and September 11th stand out.
There are four more historic events I recall, as well, three of them related to my birthplace:
the day we got the first Salk vaccines in school (first grade) in Pittsburgh;
the day the very long United Steelworkers’ strike ended (5th grade);
the day the Pirates won the seventh game of the 1960 World Series over the Yankees (sixth grade); and the day of Alan Sheppard’s Mercury rocket ride into space (7th grade).

What key world events and dates influenced you, changed your life?
(and if you are blogger – go for it – we are right before the US Thanksgiving Holiday. Reflection goes well with Thanks.)

Sometimes I just know what I want to write, and other days the confluence of inbound email and other people’s thoughts and comments drives the train. In this case I don’t mean going Postal nor do I mean the kind of games that children play.

Rather, triggered by numerous requests for my mailing address (no, I need nothing with calories) and some interesting thoughts provided by Carmen:

 ”the Post Office cut back its hours… I know – The Post Office is having budget problems.  But doing more with less is how businesses increase productivity. Doing less with less is how they fail.  So, what are we going to do when the PO fails?”

I started thinking of the role the Post Office plays in our lives.

A Postal Service is a unifying communications network used by ordinary people. Yes, postal services support government and businesses, but it is the average citizen who benefits or suffers the most depending on the availability of services. The written word is how we communicated for thousands of years before the electronic age. Those written words, in the form of papers and letters sent by individuals form a rich tapestry of history against which we can measure expansion, progress and the changes of society.

 Letters have been sent by ship, hand, donkey, mule train and the pony express. With the development of Franking, regulation, oversight and governmental responsibility for the system came into play. Probably because the government itself did not want to pay for the privilege of using the system for free (francus=free).

 I think that one of the current US postal problems stems from people trying to run it as a business. It can’t compete with UPS, DHL or FedEx. End result is that they are no longer handling the easy stuff on which they made money and now have only the difficult and high cost stuff on which they lose. It is a government decision – do we need postal?

 I keep thinking of David Brin’s “the Postman” (the book – skip the movie) or the social changes that came with the Pony express.  There is a need for written words to be moved and packages sent. Although the US is largely urban, there are vast tracks where the commercial, profit making entities do not provide service. Keeping the service to those areas of the country is important. It is part of what holds us together as a country and marks us as a modern nation, rather than back jungle of Africa.

 Prior to the electronic age, letters and cards from home were all that linked service members to their families when off to war for months and years. Mail call, getting a letter from home, was a major event. The military puts major effort into the postal system in order to keep the mail flowing in both directions. Just like in the civilian sector, the packages are increasing and the letters decreasing.

 But letters are precious. They represent time and effort far past that of an email or phone call. They are enduring, not requiring electricity to be enjoyed and savored. Those letters can be passed down to children, grandchildren, family members. They may be the only thing that remains from a service member lost in the war.

Packages are important, probably more for the sender than the receiver. But letters, now those have become special.

 -Holly
(who is musing about things and NOT asking for letters).

and we are perhaps further away from a solution than we were 9 years ago.

Terrorism in the world has not been reduced. Innocent people and moderates have had their lives over turned for being in the wrong place, having the wrong religion, having the courage to express their feelings.

The US has seen a massive extension of “Big Brother” and inroads on personal freedoms that all previous generations have held sacrosanct with hardly a mummer of public objection. Fear mongering was an essential element of government policy for years.

It got us into Iraq and cost thousands of lives. It has us mired in Afghanistan, made worse by the military policies of the past year.

I wish I had more hope of a positive outcome, but when I look at all the US idiots who confuse a community center several blocks from Gound Zero with what will be on the Memorial grounds, I don’t hold out much in the way of expectations.

This next six months, I will do my best to keep the US military and civilians deployed in my area safe and healthy. It is the best that I can offer.

Tikkun Olam.

We have all studied literature in school. Defined by me as that portion of writing in prose in which a point/commentary is delivered through the expression of the story.

Fiction on the other hand, is all about the story.

The difference is the writer’s intent. Not what professors of language, literature or social analysis decide later, but what the author intended in the first place.

For example, it is fairly clear that Jonathan Swift and Mark Twain were using the medium of storytelling to provide commentary on their societies. Both have even commented so in non-fiction essays.

Similarly, in genre fiction there is little question in most people’s minds that mystery stories are all about solving the puzzle and romance is about relationships.

That leaves Science Fiction – which is about some kind of future – based on technology rather than magic. The wisdom about 30-40 years ago was that authors wrote their vision of the future. Meaning that science was going to lead to outbound travel while really not fixing much of anything with the people involved. Postulations of doom and gloom abounded.

What was also noticeable were the characters – present day attitudes superimposed on future science. Makes as much sense as an enlighted man of the 13th century expressing 21st century US views about the roles of men and women in society.

And then along comes Ursula Le Guin with The Left Hand of Darkness portraying a society different in concept from the known and accepted in her time. If you need a summary, perhaps you want to detour to Wikipedia or an excellent discussion of gender roles in science fiction and society by Rebecca Rass.

I originally read Left Hand of Darkness in 1969 when it was first published and was stunned by the book, the thought and the society portrayed. It is not an action adventure which was what I had quietly assumed was most science fiction (see Andre Norton, Robert Heinlein, James Blish……..) but a thoughtful portrayal of what was certainly alien to someone fighting basic gender discrimination in school.

Since this is the first one on my Classics of SciFi List, I am still decided how to approach the commentary. Assume that you will hear once to several times about each book since I am as interested in how they strike me now as when I first read them.

Perhaps that is my definition of classic – a book that keeps appearing fresh with each re-reading.

.

One of the defining addictions of the 20/30s generations of women seems to be a love affair with shoes. Designer shoes, killer shoes, spike heels, open toes, expensive shoes. It has become a cliché in Chick Lit, on TV and in advertising.

Anxious, bored, upset? Get a new pair of shoes.

Other than yarn, books and CDs -the shoe shopping gene seems to have missed me completely. In fact, I don’t even own more than one pair of pumps. Black they are, and suitable to be worn with dress uniform. Not to mention that most of the time I wear my only pair of dressy flats for dress-up occasions.

This morning I counted. Yes, I have more pairs of military footgear (aka boots) than I do items for dressier occasions. What I have is comfortable shoes to wear when not at work. i have a decent pair of running shoes and several pairs of LLBean shoes that pull-on.

same shoe, just different colors....

Exciting? Not really, but my feet never hurt, I can walk for hours and run if I need to.

I have all these opening lines for essays, discussions, commentaries – whatever you want to call them. They pop into my mind as the start of a conversation at the oddest moments. Usually wehn I am behind the wheel of the car or otherwise engaged so that I have limited acess to recording media. It might be my subconscious working or the confluence of random bits of information that coalesce into a coherent whole.

Today the idea formed as I drove through the front gate on the mile drive to my front door on the way home. When something occurs to me, it is wise to get it down as soon as possible. I have learned through bitter experience that if I don’t stop and capture those thoughts/ideas/sentences they will flee – forever gone and irreplaceable.

There are two possible places to stop on my drive to the house. The first is by a small bridge on the left, a tiny gravel pullover that is normally occupied by fishermen’s cars. The second is on the right as you turn at Queen Victoria and the Cricket Field House.

Choosing the second, I had paper, pen, and an empty mind.

Unlike many other women, I do not have an issue with everyone knowing my age. I just had not planned on announcing my birthday prior to today (Thank you ….Cat..).

Long ago when the world was young, I wasn’t in it. Fast forward a few million or billion years, give or take. Go with a bit less than 57xx if you firmly believe in the non-evolutionary calendar and can just not be dissuaded.  Even a bit more than that and I had been born, survived to adulthood, got through school, married, the Army, children, and living overseas. For after all is said and done, all of us perceive the world from our own unique point of view of which we stand at the center. To pretend otherwise for me would not be particularly honest; my filters of what is important has grown and changed as I have aged.

I am delighted to have made this age. For a long time, several years in fact, I did not think it was going to happen. The only positive that I was willing to tell myself was – gee, if you die young then at least you will not develop Alzheimer’s, be a burden to your kids, or land in a nursing home.

Background is below. Meanwhile, I am keeping my grey hair, wrinkles, and sags as a testament to survival. I hit the gym at 0700 this morning, managed to get something done at work, and will be going to dinner with another US ex-pat and Mr Mole.

I have a wonderful family, good friends, an employer that sends me to interesting places (well, what did you expect me to say about the Army?), and non-work related activities that are satisfying. Life is good.

Back about 14 1/2 years

In 1995, I went in for what was to be routine surgery. Came out minus my thyroid, found it was not routine and had the added discomfort of getting through the next few weeks with few people being able to make eye contact with me. Seems like medical professionals especially do not wish to be smacked in the face with reminders of their own mortality (especially when it is their boss). One, our hospital’s pathologist, was able to see me as a person and Brad and I have remained good friends to this day.

Looking back, I can recognize that I was not completely sane for a while. (Who me? What self respecting doc does not want to see her own path slides and CT scans? We will not discuss getting faint and realizing that detachment wasn’t working.) Adding to it was the joys of dealing with the US system (we need to evac you to Ft Sam for radiation, chem and a bone marrow transplant) vs the German system (well, this particular version of Non-Hodgkin’s is really low grade. 50% survive 5 years. Odds are 1/3, 1/3 1/3. It might go away on its own, it might slowly progress (what it had been doing) or it can morph into something really ugly which is not likely to respond to treatment. Low grade means horrible side effects as there is not much difference between tumor and normal tissue: as many die as a result of the chemo as from the disease. You can always change your mind later if you don’t want treatment now.)

Unlike the other 98% of patients, I elected to wait and see. I had three young children (Ms Maus [you might remember her birth announcement if you were on the Kaffee Klatsch in 1993 or otherwise connected by email back then] was only 6 months old when we moved to Germany for what turned out for the family to be the last time and was now just a bit past 2) and a teenager. I wanted time with them, not to head off to the US (bone marrow mortality=10%) with the potential for future or never to return. It took about 2 years for the peripheral lymphoma cells to clear from my blood: to learn that my parathyroid had been wiped by the same disease process and was never coming back. I made a lot of people unhappy during that time.

It was extremely hard on George, and our eldest who was old enough to understand the issues. It was months before I wasn’t thinking about it every hour, years before I went days without being worried about it coming back. My attitude and coping were made worse by those well intended medical professionals later who questioned the diagnosis since I was alive and apparently disease free (Hello? What part of “confirmed by University of Heidelberg Hem/Onc Center and AFIP do you not understand?).

I am now at the point where even taking my replacement meds for my parathyroid and thyroid are just routine and the reason for doing so has not particular importance. I plan on being around for years to drive the rest of my family crazy. Plus, there is all that fabric yet to sew, yarn to knit and fiber to spin….

I am stealing a wonderful knitting abbreviation from Ruth, the Scrabblequeen. She doesn’t claim coining of the term, but I am more than willing to let her hold part of the blame.

OTN – standing for “on the needles”

It is a neutral term, not positive like WIP (work in progress) or pejorative as is UFO – (Unfinished Object).  Rather, it provides a simple statement that this project has been started and is not yet completed.

I found the abbreviation in one of the on-line compendiums, but not in the rest. That one uses a definition that is the same as WIP (current project) which I don’t find correct.

I think there just might be a small sense of commitment. After all, you cared enough to start, to see what it might become; to handle the yarn, try out the stitches and color/s, to decide if you want to invest the time and energy. Sometimes it takes a while to make that determination. But you are allowed to change your mind, let it marinate for months or years until exactly the right time. It doesn’t matter which choice you make, just that you make one. At least at the point of which you really need those needles for another project.

Pyramide

And so, I went back to a project that had been waiting for me to progress on this sleeve,

first sleeve - 10 am

for the Faery Ring KAL project

first sleeve complete

and ready to bind in.

sleeve ready

The cuff for the second has been started. I can’t get any further till I free up the needle tips currently providing the magic loop for the first sleeve.  I might just knit the hood next.

Another couple of ridges on Pagode. The downside of this section is that each row is five stitches longer than the previous, each ridge 10 stitches longer.

knitting the back onto the front

The good thing is that once I get through the next 8-9 ridges all the stitches will be picked up and I can dump the whole thing in my lap rather than having to leave it lying flat on the floor.

Tomorrow – I am going to start the bottom ribbing on Brage. Once I am past the ribbing I am going to have to actually do a bit of planning to have the sides come out the same size since the 34 stitch cable is on one side only. And then there is the small issue of steeks vs one piece back and forth knitting.

Audio

Also completed – Mike Resnick’s Starship: Pirate which has both humor and good technical handling. The reader is excellent which really adds to the story
Black Hills by Nora Roberts. Hate to say that the story did not suffer terribly from me skipping about six hours out of the second half of the book. I got bored with all the subplots which just seemed to repeat and slow everything down.

It has been eight years since that horrible day in 2001 when two planes went into the Twin Towers in NY, a third into the Pentagon, and the fourth was taken down in Pennsylvania by the passengers at the expense of their lives before it could reach its destination.

That single time affected just about everyone born at the time. Not just those of the United States, but all those other countries from South Africa to Australia to Russia that had citizens working in the Towers and the rest of the world which watched the painful video replay over and over on the news for days and weeks after.

It shifted the face of the wars we had been fighting from those of government against government for political and economic reasons to non-government, asymmetrical battles for concepts that most of us will never comprehend. From the Geneva Convention Laws of War to completely uncontrolled conflict with one side being proud to murder civilians while giving up their own lives in the process.

A good friend’s brother was on the 96th floor of one building that day, in town for a single day meeting. An investor from Australia was able to call his family to say good-bye before the building in which he was standing collapsed. The majority of fireman from one of the close station houses died while rescuing as many as possible. Policemen, childcare workers, visitors – none of them mattered to the bombers.

In the immediate aftermath as well as the months and years of the following clean up operations, the outpouring of support for family and friends of those involved has been tremendous. Yet, it can not undo the damage that was done, the wars that were started, the civil rights that have been abridged in the name of making the US citizenry safe.

No matter where in the world you are as you read this go watch Exhibit 13 by Blue Man Group and spend a moment of Silence for those that were killed and the innocence that we, the whole world, lost that day. Not since Hiroshima and Nagasaki has such violence been perpetrated on an unsuspecting civilian population.  Obviously, the human race has evolved in the last half century and not for the better.

A moment of Silence for all the civilians and services members who have lost their lives, been killed or wounded since that day in service of their country or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I don’t see an end anytime soon to conflict, war, or the willingness of many to die as they attempt to impose their will on others. Our children are inheriting a vastly different world than the one into which I was born.  May they be better stewards than their parents generation and the next generation even more responsible.

- Holly

And the work of the righteousness shall be peace, and the effect of righteousness, quietness and confidence forever. Nation shall not life up sword against nation; neither shall they learn war any more.

from the Prayer Book for Jewish Personnel in the Armed Forces of the United States – 1984 JWB.

As you probably guessed, I have been in a bit of a funk. I have been listening to audio books, accomplishing some knitting and spinning, and grinding through things at work.

Not a bit of thrill in the whole mess.

Ms Soprano is home and I am delighting in spending time with just her. We are hanging out (probably spending too much time on computers), going to the gym regularly and actually eating planned meals.

Half written blog posts have been stacking up. Weeks worth of photos needing to be downloaded, resized and otherwise integrated into what I am doing.

So, some spinning…..

two bobbins

while listening to audio books from iTunes (they had a good deal on some SciFi series).

Being at a meeting in Budapest leaves me a bit detached from thinking about Memorial Day. I looked back over what I have written before. Scary that both so much and so little has changed in the last five years….

31 May 2004, Monday – Memorial and Memories. Camp Doha, Kuwait

It is Memorial Day.

A time to reflect on those who have given their lives in defense of their country. A time, around the world, when military members should visit the graves of those buried in foreign soil. A time for us to remember; not to forget the cost of conflicts, battles, and wars.

In May of 2003, there were 27 different incidents resulting in one or more soldiers losing their lives in Iraq. This was just the month after the “War” was ended. In May of 2004, there were 43 such incidents, ranging from IEDs to bullets, that killed soldiers/sailors/airmen or marines.

We have seen men and women from all walks of life, religion, ethnic backgrounds, and rank die in this operation. No one wants to die, that is a given. But we have an incredible number of brave, uniformed personnel who believe in our country.

In past conflicts, we didn’t have the communications; we didn’t see the daily carnage. By broadcasting it, I think we have trivialized the sacrifice service members make, and make bleaker the future faced by their families.

I think it was clear, in the 1700s, the reason for our war; it was fought on our land, for independence. In 1812, WWI, WWII, Korea, we as a people, felt the reasons were valid, we did not start the conflicts, so accepted the responsibility and the war.

It became harder in Viet Nam to stay focused, to know what we were doing, and what was right. We had over 55,000 die in that conflict, all years, and countries combined. We have added since then: to the deaths, to those left behind.

None of this is to say that there should not be honor given to those who did what they were asked, and more.

Rather, our leadership needs to be worthy of the sacrifice our men and women are making for our country. And to make sure that it is in the name of freedom. That there are no other options, and that the civilian leadership puts the cost in lives clearly in their minds.

We honor the dead of this war, and the previous wars.

We should do them honor. The purpose of war is peace, that we may not battle in the future – that the swords may become plowshares.

circa 2003

Emptying out my suitcase this morning, I found my uniform and beret. No t-shirts, thought I had them on a shelf here in Germany. Not true as it turns out; they all migrated to the UK over the last year. Except for one old and tattered hiding behind all my SciFi Convention t-shirts.

Now for boots. I own three pairs of desert type boots, all getting kind of old and worn down. Two pairs date from my time (2003-2004) in the desert and I do have some attachment to them. The third pair are Norwegian Army boots that I was given in 1998. More than 10 years ago, I only started wearing them in the last couple of years. Dating of course from the US Army changing to the ACU (Army Combat Uniform), transitioning to desert boots from the black combat boot.

It hasn’t been bad, polishing boots was never my thing. There are draw backs; the desert boots were designed for the desert. Seems obvious, right|? Now think about Germany and the UK. It can rain. A lot. Suede does not do well with water. If you spray you boots to seal them, they don’t let your feet breathe in hot environs. Not well insulated, your feet can get quite cold in the winter even ignoring the issues with snow. I do have options. I could spend the money on new boots.

Did I mention that the Army and Air Force don’ t have the same boots? That means a run through the clothing sales store while I am back here in Germany. Lots of money that I would rather spend on, oh lets say …..yarn, audio books, downloads from iTunes, books.

But they do look a bit worn, sad, ready to be retired.

There was no plan. Not even an inkling of one. As much as everyone gave lip-service to the concept, no one in West Germany ever imagined a reunified country.

But the wall did come down, and West Germany had to cope.

My second daughter learned to walk over Thanksgiving Weekend 1990 while we were visiting friends in Berlin. Standing on the balcony overlooking one of the gates, we watched people coming through, climbing over and otherwise making an epic crossing to the west. First opportunity for most since the 1950s to cross without risk of guns, dogs, or criminal proceedings. Oranges were everywhere.

West Berlin was packed, travel that several weeks before had taken just minutes now took hours as buses were packed full.  Not on that visit, but later in the year, Cherie and I made a trip to one section of the wall, bringing home baskets of pieces. I have yet a few.

So little remains today, in most areas it is hard to distinguish where the Wall stood.  My pictures of Berlin are all hard copy stored in a box, the cupboard located in our Heidelberg home.

Remaining today are museums, and the monuments.  I can offer you the Luftbrücken-Denkmal as part of thinking about today, Reunification Day. After WWII, from 1948 to 1949,Tempelhof was used for the “Berlin Airlift” to supply Berlin during the Soviet blockade. The Airlift Monument at Platz der Luftbrücke on the one end (Coordinates: 52°29’2″N 13°23’14″E

Tempelhof Luftbrückendenmal

and the other end at Rhein-Main Airbase

Rhein-Main Airlift Memorial

in Frankfurt here (50.03786200, 8.59548200).

Knitting

Supposedly, I am finishing up things. That might explain why I took that ball of Noro Silk Garden, cast 75 stitches onto a size 5.00 mm needles and proceeded to knit garter stitch. I had looked at one of the Noro Patterns, but it called for a lot more stitches at the same gauge. Heads might be big at times in my family, but as a routine they don’t measure large.

Start of Garter Stitch Hat

Ms Copper’s Bag

In case you were wondering about the background in the last pix -

Bag Materials.

Ms Copper decided that she would like a new shoulder bag features her latest monster.

The Monster Sketch

Since I had come come a bit early, there was time to run over to The Thread Emporium for both Purple Monster Fabric and a button for the closure.

Listening

The Silk Code - Paul Levinson, downloaded from Podiobooks.  He also has some well thought out and interesting commentaries on how communications tech is changing us all.

Yes, I know that the calendar reads August. There may be summer weather and sunshine elsewhere. But here in Camberley it is cool (16C), raining and school is back in session.

It is that last fact most of all that makes it fall for me. School starting has always signaled the end of vacation, the end of time off, the end of summer.

Gazing out my window, the first tinges of red are visible on one tree while another shows glints of orange and gold. Green grass still predominates with the ever present dandelions getting in yet another crop of yellow heads to insure their survival.

The first day of school for the youngest two teens, sending them off by train early this morning gave me that final click. The old year is ending, the new is beginning. Never mind that it is a month till Rosh Hashannah, my internal calender has declared this fall.

Books

My reading binge continues. Probably the best explanation for why I am not providing you with nice pictures of knitting, progress on sweater, vests, and shawls.

I am rotating between novels, genre quick reads and professional “stuff.” Since I have finished the nine books I picked up at the library last week (exactly what do you think started me off anyway?)

The final book on the pile was Heart-Shaped Box by Joe Hill. Suggested by a reading group, I was rather disappointed. I don’t mind anyone using connections to get their manuscripts read. But this trend of off-spring riding on parents’ coat tails with less than great writing…… It is a quick read, horror if anything genre. Plot moves along properly, secondary characters are pretty flat and some fact checking would have been nice.