rachelpink rides the bus

Knitta Please

E. sent me a link to a Bryant Park Project story about extreme knitting.

Oh Yeah

Chuck made this for me. And now it's on my office door. And Chuck's back to blogging--so take a peek over at LIFSOS.   

I'm a Drawing

Lookie here! One of the talented girls in my office did this illustration of me (based on my Glamour pic). She made my shirt green! That's exciting. I think she should be doing freelance illustration work--don't you??

Ira Glass Can Have My Babies

OK, tacky headline, but Ira Glass melts me like a pat of butter on a hot ear of corn.

I just recently started listening to "This American Life." When the work day frustrates or confounds me, I find something just short of solace in the soothing cadence of the producers, the guests, and the music. I love how the stories unravel and spin out and leave me satisfied and smarter.

I grew up in the suburbs of Long Island--we watched Knight Rider and the A-Team, and we didn't tune in to NPR. We laughed at anything with a pledge drive, and in mom's car we listened to Howard Stern or WBLI. So yeah, I'm a little late to the Ira Glass party. But now I'm here, and I'm finding it hard to tear myself away.

Not every day is a "This American Life" day at the office. I can't concentrate if I have lots of calls to make or if it's the kind of day when there's advice to dispense and constant interruption. But some days, some sweet days, are just clerical enough to warrant a radio show.

And while my first impulse at home is to turn on the Law and Order repeats, this weekend I plugged in my headphones and listened to a recent episode, #324: My Brilliant Plan. The first bit, about an angry man pre-ordering his angry tombstone, was sad and funny. The second piece, a long piece, concerned a reporter and his foiled plan to save a few bucks on his housing in Baghdad with dire (and hilarious) consequences. But it was this final story that wrecked me:

Ron Mallett was ten years old when his father died unexpectedly of a heart attack. A year later, after picking up a comic book based on H.G. Wells' book The Time Machine, Ron concocted perhaps the world's most complicated plan to try to see his dad again. A half-century later, Dr. Ronald Mallett wrote a book about his plan, called Time Traveler.

23 minutes of magic. Magic and tragedy and wonder and the deepest kind of sadness. A few times I gasped.  And I cried. And I wanted to give Ron Mallet a hug and tell him that he did everything just right and that he needn't regret a single moment. The story ended and I felt something I hadn't felt in ages. Aspiration. If only I could have a thimble full of Ron Mallet's hoping. If only I could put together a story that gorgeous and moving and personal and relevant. Did I want to be an NPR commentator? Or become a time-travel-studying physicist? Not really. Well, maybe a little of the former. What I really wanted was to do something magical. To do something big. To stop futzing around in the shallow end.

Today's Library Haul

Fetching

Because I can't sit still, I knit.

I finished these mitt-like things tonight. They didn't take much time at all, and they're warm as heck. The pattern is v. smart; I especially like the making of the thumbs.

Now off to bed.

The Sweet Spot

Sundays at 9:50am. That's the pinnacle of my week. I walk into the Animal Shelter, hang up my coat,  and greet the pups and cats.

This week I was going to de-register and skip the shelter. After all, I missed three days of work (a new record I don't wish to repeat), and did little more than sleep, slurp soup, and watch Law and Order. But all the rest and soup got on my nerves. And it seemed like a bad idea to go back to work on Monday "cold turkey." Better to take a practice run at normality and help the kitties.

It did turn out to be a good idea. The work was fast and easy. The other volunteers were super nice and efficient. There weren't many kitties, and we were done with the majority of the work in an hour. As I finished cleaning out Squeaky's cage, a married couple came in. They were in their 60s, and their cat had died the week before, a cat they had owned for over a decade. There are some seriously cool cats in the shelter, but they only wanted a de-clawed cat.

The only de-clawed cat? Tiger. And it just so happened that Tiger had taken a big ol' nip at my hand that morning. A bloody nip that required a band-aid. Tiger makes up for his lack of claws with his mouth full of sharp teeth.

The husband got up on a step-stool and quietly approached the cat. While he played the part of the cat whisperer, a group of us from the shelter talked about how cool the cat was, and how he's probably just really spooked by the dogs and the cage. This I do believe to be true. But it's also true that Tiger has a mean bite, and the husband was worried.

I started coughing again and decided to leave. I hope that Tiger is spending the night in a warm house, and that he's giving his teeth a rest.

Can't Can't Sleep

See this still from The Blair Witch Project? That's what it feels like inside my head. Gross and scary and lit only by a flashlight.

It's 2am and I just can't sleep. I've tried for hours. It's not working. I went from no sinus trouble to major sinus trouble in one day. I feel nutsy and wide awake and exhausted. I went out to the couch, annoyed Chuck, and disrupted the cat. I dozed off for a few minutes and then, WHAM, kitty decides it's a fine time to play with her rattle mouse. My nose clears up, and then I cough. The cat sits on my feet, and I have to switch positions. I got up and found some old Nyquil tabs in my travel bag and I took them even though it's much too late for Nyquil. Simone and Lisa's doctors gave them cough medicine with codeine. Why do I always have doctors who are stingy with things like codeine?

Holy crapsicles, I really thought that I would be fading from the Nyquil by now and I'm not. Blogging can make me sleepy sometimes, but not tonight. No, I could go on, with my nose uncomfortably weird and my cough coughing, for hours and hours.  Why sleep when I can write about not sleeping?  Silly silly me.

Bronchitis

Yesterday I went to work, and it was a mistake. Halfway there I knew I should have stayed home. But it was too late, and I stayed until 4. I booked a doctor's appointment for this morning because I knew something wasn't right with my lungs.

The doctor diagnosed me with bronchitis--that's a lot better than TB or the plague, so I'm relieved.

Since I haven't had bronchitis since I was a wee one, I googled it up and found a list of symptoms:

Soreness and a feeling of constriction or burning in your chest
Sore throat
Chest congestion
Sinus fullness
Breathlessness
Wheezing
Slight fever and chills
Overall malaise

I've had all of these--and I'm glad to find out that it's only bronchitis and I'm not dying. For a few minutes after a coughing fit yesterday, I was certain I was having a heart attack. Nope. I'm alive! I'm alive! But I'm tired. I slept 6 hours today and I'm still feeling "overall malaise."

Doctor tells me this isn't contagious, and that's delightful. BUT, how did I get it? I just want to be well.

While watching the Biggest Loser last night (more on that later), a cereal commercial made me cry. It was all about eating cereal and being a stronger woman. I would like to be strong and not get sick so much. I guess I need to start eating more cereal? Honey Smacks should do the trick :)

A Finished Hat

My lungs hurt and I feel like I've been swimming all day. Looks like a trip to the doctor is in my future.

Since I wasn't feeling so hot, I sat on the couch and finished this completely kick-ass hat for a little Canadian baby. The pom-pom was my special touch. The pattern is called "Toasty Topper" and it's supposed to be a hat with an attached scarf, but it's a little short. Over time the wool with stretch and it will work as such. In the meantime, it's still going to be cute as hell.