Work 'Picnic'

I had to work late last week, but I was getting hungry and cranky so Sweet Andrew packed us a dinner of leftovers and walked them to my office:) I was pretty excited and thankful, not to mention I was able to finish my work!!


Isn't he great?

Did I mention that when I flew home a few weeks ago to Florida we had a bit of a bus mishap and I had to drive to the airport at the last minute and park my car there? And that Andrew took the bus to the airport to meet me when I landed? Well, it's true. He took the last Sunday night bus, which leaves downtown at about 7:30 pm, to wait for me to get in on my 10:30 flight. Yep, he's great. It was a super fun surprise! :D

PS Tomorrow is the big day!! The big sunflower day:) We're hoping for good weather!!

Andrew, My Hero

So it's been pretty hectic the past few weeks. As you can imagine, adding "Plan your dream wedding" to an already full To Do list is quite a task. Between juggling work projects, saving a little leisure time, hanging out with friends, baking goodies for 4th of July parties, and squeezing in a wedding movie or two (Father of the Bride and Bride Wars), life has been a bit busier lately. So the icing on my little frazzled cake occurred yesterday.

I was walking to my car after work, ready to get home, relax, look at more reception locations, and indulge in Taco night! To expedite the process I thought I would pull out my keys and parking card, so that I would be fully prepared to exit the parking lot. I get to my car, throw everything on the passenger seat, and head toward the gate. Where is my parking card? I check the cup holder (the usual culprit), nope. I check the pocket in my purse that it lives in (the second culprit), nothing. So I reverse back from the gate to check under my seat--obviously it had fallen between the seat and the console. Not there folks. So now I'm completely confused, frustrated, and hopeless. [Super dramatic, I know]. I push the seat forward, I push it back. I check under the floor mats. I check under the passenger's seat. I retrace my steps. NOTHING. Finally, I do what any wise woman would do, I call my man for help.

"Hi Andrew," I explain in panic. "I just had my parking card in my hand, I got in my car, and now I can't find it anywhere! I don't know where it went!"

Hearing the irrational stress and unnecessary panic in my voice he says, "Okay, calm down, I'll come help you." My fiance sprints to the parking lot arriving winded, but ready to help. Together we continue the process of moving seats and mats and retracing steps and checking pockets...we do it all. Then, sweet little ole me checks the purse, again, this time lifting it to my lap and unveiling the itty, bitty parking card that was hidden under my giant carpet bag purse.

"Oops," I said in a cute little voice, as I batted my eyes with added exaggeration hoping he couldn't resist.

"Not a problem. The sprint was good for me," he assured me as we rode off into the sunset for taco night!

What a guy!

Lessons learned:

1. Stop and smell the roses a little more.
   
2. Take a few deep breaths more often.
   
3. Leave carpet bag purse at home for use as carry-on luggage only.
   
4. Thank Andrew for being so patient and gracious.
5. Walk the 1/2 mile to work. It's not going to kill you, who cares if you have to leave 10 minutes earlier, it might make you feel a little better in that snazzy wedding dress, and you might even catch a ray or two of sunshine!

Sorry About the Goo

Awkward moment of the day:

So I had just sat back down at my desk to continue to sift through Comprehensive Planning assessment tools and decided that my lips were in need of a little Vanilla-flavored pick-me-up.

Of course, I recently ran out of my usual chap stick and in a pro-sustainable effort committed to use all chap sticks I found around my apartment before purchasing a new one. Naturally, the next one I stumbled upon was not a stick option, but a dip-your-finger-in-the-goo lip balm. Not a problem. Well, not a big problem. I'm a bit of a germ-o-phob and it grosses me out sometimes if I haven't recently washed my hands or if I'm out in public. But well, I'll get over it. I'm sure I won't get the Swine or anything. Apparently that's not the only problem...

So not half a second after I dipped my right hand into the Petroleum oil goo I hear foot steps towards my door. I look over my shoulder and see my boss entering with a new intern. He wants to introduce me. Great. And it's not an intern who would shy back and wave, but a confident intern who walks over to me to shake my right hand with his firm grip. Great.

I panic and think, "What do I do?!" I can't quickly and awkwardly apply lip balm while they look at me, but I also can't let my first sentence to him be, "Sorry, I would shake your hand but I just put chapstick on" (that would take too much explaining). So I just smear the goo on my hand and give him my best shake, hoping our hands don't slip apart on account of the Tetradibutyl Pentaerithrityl Hydroxyhydrocinnamate (an actual ingredient in my lip balm. Remind me to get a less toxic and chemically invasive balm next time). Bless his grossed-out little heart.

If he felt one ounce of that slimy residue on his hand he's surely creeped out by me. Think about it. If I were him I'd run through the myriad of options in my head about the foreign substance some lady just wiped on me: snot, sweaty palm juice, grime from not washing her hands in two days, hair grease from twirling her dirty hair on her finger too much...the possibilities are really endless, but a clean hand with a smidgen of Vanilla Pucker Up Lip Balm is not on that list! Great, I've got to look this guy in the eye for the next few months and pretend that he doesn't think I have poor hygiene.

Friday Night Delight

Andrew and I helped a co-worker of mine move on Friday night. As we drove from her old house to the new one we turned down a street--Orchard Street--and saw police officers lining the end of the road. Confused and hesitant as to whether the road was open or closed for a crime scene investigation or something, I inched the Rodeo forward trying to decide if we could actually get through. The sea of officers parted and requested a signal as to which direction I was going to turn.

I was concentrating too much on not hitting anyone or getting caught without a front license plate that I failed to signal. The officers didn't seem to mind; they probably understood that I was quite discombobulated at the sight. On my left and right were protesters. On one side of the street there were dozens of protesters standing in front of a Jewish temple and on the other side was a group of protesters in front of a parking lot. I saw a sign that said, "Stop spreading hate in our state," but that was all that I saw. Upon turning the corner Andrew read me some of the shocking and hateful signs they were holding up.

Later in the evening my co-worker's husband explained that the protesters were from Topeka, Kansas and are actually pretty famous for their protests. Members of Westboro Baptist Church travel around the U.S. protesting against funerals, Jews, gays, military, and America in general. I had never heard of them before, but the little research I have done since Friday has revealed a heretical, hateful, and unbiblical church. Shocking is the best word to describe it. They traveled around Providence throughout the day Friday picketing the Jewish temple, the state house, Brown University, East Providence High School, and the Naval base in Newport. [If you click on the previous links you can see their horrific press releases for each protest.]

Rhode Island is a heavily unchurched area, so it's a shame that the only perception they get of Christians are radical cult members under the guise of Christianity.

Here is a clip of the group from 20/20 to give you a little idea of their theology, attitudes, and actions:

Making Maps

So I was working on a neighborhood map and trying to locate a Jewish Temple to make sure that our address locator was putting it in the right place. This is what I saw, a good indication that I was in the right area, how funny!:


View Larger Map

I heart PBS Documentaries

Yes, it's true. My movie choices definitely reflect that of a 50-year old. I love PBS documentaries and I'm not ashamed to admit it. What's helpful is that Andrew enjoys them too. In fact, he enjoys them way more than me. So before you judge me, know you're judging him too:D

I watched a documentary recently for work that was especially fascinating. It's called Unnatural Causes...is inequality making us sick? The series documents America's racial and socioeconomic inequities that affect peoples' health. The RI Dept of Health uses the documentary to educate residents, especially those in low income communities, about factors contributing to their health.

The premise: The western world continues to pour money into drugs, dietary supplements and new medical technologies, but what is really making us healthy or sick?

Unnatural Causes is a documentary attempting to get to the bottom of our health woes. "We're spending $2 trillion a year and rising on health care, more than twice per person than the average industrialized nation. Yet American life expectancy ranks 29th in the world, behind Costa Rica. Infant mortality? Cypress, Slovenia and Malta do better. One third of Americans are obese. Chronic illness now costs American businesses more than $1 trillion a year in lost productivity. It turns out there's much more to our health than bad habits, health care or unlucky genes. The social conditions in which we are born, live and work profoundly affect our well-being and longevity."

The following clip is the trailer which gives you a quick 5-minute summary into the series. It's amazing, albeit distressing, to see where America stands compared to other nations and to consciously evaluate why our health trends the way it does. This video is a good 4-1-1 on Public Health-the view that health is more than your stats at the doctors office; more than a common cold or treating disease. The movement of public health teaches that what you eat, where you live, what type of environment you're exposed to, the air you breathe, the amount of stress in your life, etc. shapes your health.


The videos are short, but I had trouble narrowing down to just a couple so I will give a brief explanation before each and maybe you can pick a few that sound interesting to you.

This clip hits at the core of inequity and social determinants of health. It's what I deal with often at work. We are plagued by problems begotten from previous national policies and programs that weren't healed by simply placing a band aid over them for decades.


I would call this one: The things you don't learn in history class. I have been amazed at how much I've learned about US history since graduating high school. I now see the "hole" in our history books--the sugar coating of our past. Either I was a really bad listener or our education system glazes over the skeletons in America's closet. I can honestly say that I never imagined seeing our president smoking a peace pipe, but I also would never have imagined seeing our role in stifling Native Americans' existence.


If it wasn't genetics, what was it? This clip documents the issue of low birth weight babies in America. This clip tells the story of a well-educated, African-American woman, who even with better economic status, still became a statistic.


I never understood the complexity and irony of health problems in America until I took public health courses in grad school and worked at a non-profit. I never noticed that the majority of fast food restaurants are located in low income areas. I also wouldn't have known that some wealthy suburbs have city ordinances banning drive-thrus, which ultimately prevents fast food chains from coming into the neighborhoods. In planning this is often referred to as NIMBY--"Not in My Backyard". We want power plants, sewage treatment facilities, prisons, homeless shelters, Wal-Mart, restaurants, etc. but we want it to be somewhere else, not near us...not in our backyard. As has been the case, the wealthy can fight back, while the poor can't fight for themselves. The mayor has political clout to keep something from being developed on open land in his suburb, but the low-income communities don't have any resources to prevent the demolition of houses and buildings in their neighborhoods for these same purposes.

Before working with marginalized communities, I never would have known that most low income neighborhoods only have convenience stores or corner stores, but no grocery stores. The families have access to liquor, candy bars, potato chips, and cigarettes, but no fresh produce. What is even more sad is hearing residents explain that they can go to a fast food place and get a whole meal (a burger and fries) from the dollar menu for $2.16 per person, but they can't get a meal out of what that would buy them in produce.

This video is very skeptical of the pharmaceutical industry, but it has some validity to be considered in terms of national agendas and policies neglecting preventative care.


I watched the full episode of this clip with a low income community at a meeting hosted by two students from the local alternative high school. I was so encouraged by how inspired the residents became about gaining knowledge and understanding, learning that their story wasn't unique and they weren't alone, seeing hope for their community, and watching solutions in action in other communities (Place Matters).


"The good news is that if bad health comes from policy decisions that we as a society have made, then we can make other decisions. Some countries already have, and they are living longer, fuller lives as a result."

All in a week's work

I have had a lot of fun this week designing flyers, creating a newsletter, and making a poster for the health groups I work with:D Here's what I did this week! Busy week!

"Focus group" flyers.
A focus group is a meeting with a group of people, often residents of a specific area, so they can get information from people in addition to the quantitative data from the U.S. Census, Dept of Health, City, etc. This group is interested in understanding teenage pregnancy, delayed prenatal care, food insecurity and nutrition in their rural community. I got to make flyers that will appeal to different cohorts: adolescents, parents, etc.
























































I also created a poster for disseminating the results of a teen medical home study. The big white space is where the handouts (see below) will be mounted. I feel so techy when I get to make stuff like this:D

Ice Skating Rink

Is that an ice skating rink in your back yard? Oh no, I'm sorry that's just my driveway trying to kill me.



So yesterday I walked to work in a heavy snow shower and walked home in pouring rain. What is this, Seattle?

Well, the newly fallen snow was washed away by the rain and unfortunately the temperature dropped below freezing last night so all the little droplets of H2O turned into ice. So like a scene out of a movie, I walk outside this morning to clear the ice and snow off my car to find the entire parking lot covered in a thick coat of ice. About an inch in most places! Not fun and not safe.

So I slip-slided to my car thankful that the only accumulation of snow and ice was on my windshield. As I scrapped my windshield my neighbor came down, we joked about not hitting the wall as you fishtail around the corner, made a little small talk, he put his windshield wipers down, and then hopped into his BMW and drove off. [If you aren't aware, wise people leave their wipers up when it snows so that they don't get frozen to the windshield or caked on with ice. I am not wise.] Well, as soon as he leaves I break my windshield wiper off. I don't know if it's broken, I don't know if it's fixable, I don't know how to put it back on, and I can't figure anything out with all the ice accumulation on it. (As a little background story: Andrew and I bought new wipers sometime before we drove the car out East. We purchased them at an Autozone or something and headed out to the car to replace them in the store's parking lot. They came with instructions and seemed simple enough to fix. Well, apparently it was so obvious that we were clueless and incompetent that the man who sold us the blades came out to help us. No big deal, they do that all the time at those places, right? Well, I should mention that he only had one hand. He had one hand and a hook on the other hand, but so easily did what Andrew and I's four hands couldn't do. Pathetic.)

So I took my gloves off so I could try to fix the windshield wiper. I dropped them and they slide across the ice rink. I then hobble over to them hoping not to pull a hamstring and angrily throw them into my purse. Needless to say, I chucked the wiper blade onto the passengers seat and hopped in the car. I was already late enough for work.


I then proceeded to back out of my parking spot...easier said than done. I got out into the middle of the lot and couldn't move. My wheels had no traction and wouldn't spin. My engine just revved. I was worried that I would wake my neighbors and then be embarrassed about being stuck in the middle of the parking lot so I avoided giving the car too much gas. I straightened the wheel and was able to inch forward. I started to turn to make the corner to exit the lot and fish tailed towards the building. I wasn't going anywhere. Not by automobile at least. I couldn't leave the car in the middle of the lot for the day so I managed to back it into the spot (as displayed in the photo above) and walked bitterly to work, frustrated and defeated. Not a happy morning:(

Kimcare

A high point of my week, occurred this afternoon. It was like a scene out of The Truman Show. I'm guessing you've seen the movie, but if not it's basically about a 24-hour show that follows a man's life. Since it never goes to commercial, advertisements or product placement occurs throughout the movie.

At one point the wife, holds up a package and says, "Why don't I make you some of this new 'Mococoa' drink? All natural. Cocoa beans from the upper slopes of Mount Nicaragua. No artificial sweeteners..."

Well, I had my own little moment this afternoon. Our admin/secretary emailed all the ladies at the office and said, "Does anyone have any nail polish remover at the office? I'm trying to get a marker stain off of Pat's desk." I'm not sure when or how I learned this, but I looked at my desk, my hand sanitizer looked back at me (I think it winked), and with that, I jumped up and headed for the reception area. I didn't have nail polish remover, but I thought I could help!

"Did you find any nail polish remover yet?" I asked.

"No," she said, "but I'm a little worried it may ruin his desk anyway."

"Well, maybe we should try this:" I said as I walked up Vanna White style displaying my Kimcare hand sanitizer. Yea, that's right. I received it as a gag gift one year and never knew what to do with it. Well, I keep it on my work desk now. Somewhere along the road of life I learned that alcohol takes marker or paint off certain surfaces.

"Well, you're coming with me as my backup, in case this ruins his desk," she informs me.

"Heck no! I changed my mind, let's not try it," I pleaded. Pat is no ordinary man, this isn't a co-worker or my supervisor, no-no, this is the guy, numero uno, the executive director, head honcho, you get it...the top. But it was too late.

I hesitantly walked into his office. He asked what it was and I explained that hand sanitizer is comprised of 62% alcohol and alcohol is a major component of many cleaners. He seemed confused, but went along with it.

I entered that office as a scared young lady, but I left there a woman. Yep, that's right. Kimcare took that stain off like it was it's job. I left with the confidence to take on any stain fighting challenge. KABOOM and Oxiclean have competition, well, at least until the first insurmountable stain that Kimcare can't handle. In the mean time if you need me, I'll be traipsing around my office, with my bottle of Kimcare and pretending to be Vanna White. Let's hope the big guy was as impressed.

1st Casualty of the Season...

It's true. I had my first casualty this winter season. My flight arrived late last night, I split a cab with a random stranger*, and promptly crashed into bed in preparation for my first day back at work.

[*Note: It sounds a little crazier than it actually is. I shared a cab with another young professional woman, headed the same direction as me. Students generally flock to other students at the airport to reduce cab fares by getting groups together to split cabs. So while students make taxi plans you just wait for an invite or strike up a conversation with the nearest, non-sketchy looking person you can find.]

My office relocated while I was gone so it was my first day at the new place. I set out on a new route for work. Literally, less than 20 steps into this new unknown territory--a.k.a. the sidewalk on the other side of my street--I fall. Fortunately, I didn't fall on my work laptop, I didn't drop the phone, and I didn't even fall on my backside. No. I am proud to tell you that I busted, in style. Well, as stylish as you can in work clothes, with a briefcase, on the phone, in front of dozens of commuters stuck in traffic along the road. In fact, my fall was almost even graceful. It took on a bit of a slide element, like dancers or ice skaters or Tom Cruise in Risky Business. One leg remained planted, while the other slowly glided forward until meeting its demise. If only all falls happened this gently and painlessly.

It looked...
Almost graceful

Almost without fear

Almost, intentional.











PS I realize I owe you a detailed and entertaining summary from my Christmas vacation. It is coming, soon, I hope. Between the unpacking at home, unpacking at work, grocery shopping and trying to catch up on sleep, I'm an overwhelmed woman!

Not a good morning

So I woke up early this morning to do the dishes, clean my apartment up, and start the packing process. I was so impressed with myself for not hitting snooze 5 times and only watching a little of the Today Show. I checked-in online, checked my email, and then jumped out of bed.

Well, just as I started to put the shampoo in my hair I hear the fire alarm go off. It's never gone off before so I wasn't sure how to take it, but I didn't want to blow it off. I jumped out, wrapping a towel around my shampoo-filled hair, and ran out the door in my pink robe and slippers. Well, mind you, it's 12 degrees outside and covered with snow. It turns out there are only 2 out of the 6 tenants in town right now and we had no idea what set it off. My neighbor downstairs, the only other one home (also in a robe), called the property manager and even though I warned him he still proceeded to lift the "LIFT" tab on the fire alarm thinking that it would somehow turn it off. Oh no, he's now triggered a second alarm! Ruthless. Well, naturally, he had to be at work by 8 so he left. Now it's just me freezing and waiting for the property manager. I was so irritated at this point that I just went back inside, despite the alarms' warning, put on all black, threw my shampoo-filled hair in a ponytail with a polka dotted wrap, grabbed two packets of oatmeal and stormed outside to wait for the property manager in a quieter environment that won't cause my ears to bleed. He arrived, on the phone with the fire-alarm company and unable to talk to me, so just left and started my ice-skating journey to work.

So basically I got to work an hour early, cold, hungry, and frustrated. My boss, who was out sick yesterday but is feeling much better, said in a chipper voice, "What's the plan?" I think he meant for me to go home for Christmas, but I just blurted out: "The plan is for me to leave early today." I recounted my morning. Told him how I hadn't had breakfast and didn't have time to pack a lunch and still had stuff to do around the apartment and was feeling quite ornery. He concurred and said, "Well, do what you've gotta do." That was awful nice of him.

So this was the gist of my morning. Nothing too traumatic or life-threatening, but enough of an inconvenience to cause me to start my day in a foul mood. It's one thing for the fire alarm to go off in sunny, warm Florida, at Rollins College, when an annoying freshman sets it off and you can just go to Dave's and laugh about the unexpected FroYo break or excuse to see Mae and get a smoothie, but it's another when the temperature is just rising above single digits and you're soaking in a wet robe about to embark on a 7 hour day.

貧窮, φτώχεια, povertà, pobreza, yoksulluk, pauvreté

Poverty.

It doesn't matter how you say it or how you spell it, it affects us all, worldwide.

Poverty is such a heartbreaking issue and something I work with daily. It's a tragedy sweeping the globe and a pandemic that I have grown to feel tremendous compassion for.

I saw a link to this poem-like statement on a friend's blog, I found it to be very touching, enlightening, and revealing: Being Poor

I also received a pdf from a doctor I work with of a document just published on health issues from a public health perspective--viewing health not only as being sick or having a disease, but relating social, environmental, occupational, etc. factors into overall well-being. There are some really interesting and encouraging case studies all over the U.S. of helping those in need in our neighboring communities: Social Determinants of Health.

The Day I Almost Lost My Job

I shall preface this story by telling you that my boss is a big classic Volvos guy. He has, I believe, 6 old Volvos that he maintains, polishes, and cherishes. He loves them. He and his Volvos were even featured in a newspaper article in the Providence Journal a few months ago.

Unlike the above picture there was nothing fun about my afternoon in the 1967 Volvo Amazon Kombi. My boss and I were on our way to Woonsocket for a meeting. I had been feeling sick all afternoon--kind of feverish and weak--so naturally I had difficulty opening the heavy car door (they made them out of real metal back then, none of that plastic crap we get today). I could barely get it unstuck to open it and, to my regret, struggled to shut it.

My boss and I start driving down the street and I get this feeling that my door isn't shut all the way. I look in the mirror and see that the door looks shut, but I'm pretty certain that it's not. Well we hit a bump and the door becomes ajar! I can see in the side mirror that the door was no longer flush with the side of the car.

"What do I do?! Stay calm. Play it cool," I tell myself. I have already learned the hard way that it's illegal to open a door in motion. [I was pouring an old coffee out of a friends car in high school, trying to help her clean up the car, and gather the mound of trash. Even though the car was rolling to a stop at a light, Mr. Officer didn't care]. So I realize that I can't open the door and re-shut it and we're about to merge onto the highway!! I decide that I have to tell my boss. I'm not sure how we're going to fix it, but the last thing I want to do is to cause his door to get ripped off on the highway.

He just laughs.

I try to tell him that I'm serious and this could be a grave matter, but he doesn't seem phased. The combination of more bumps and 70 mph has caused the door to be visibly opening!! He suggests opening the door and shutting, but that will be certain death for the door. I decide that the best option is to tighten my seat belt and hold the door handle. If worse comes to worse, I'm letting go. I'm not getting sucked out of the car! It looks flush once again so I decide to lock it and hope for the best. We hit a bump and it again is creeping open. The lock is obviously useless. The door is obviously not shut. Well the increasing speed forces me to switch my tactic from my right hand to the all out, across the body, left hand, using my body weight, grab.

He's still laughing at this point, mind you. I am not.

There is nothing funny about ripping the door off your boss' pride and joy. There is nothing funny about getting catapulted out of the car. As I'm holding this door for dear life I look at the door handle and realize they didn't make handles in the 60s like they do today. No, No, No. The car was made better, but the door handles were not. This thing is probably screwed on to the vinyl door liner and that's about it. It's probably been replaced 10 times by now. It's probably no stronger than Velcro. Great. Not only am I going to get his door ripped off on Route 146 and run over by a semi, but I'll have to turn to him afterwards and hand him his door handle as a consolation gift and tell him that I at least managed to salvage something. How's that for staff morale?

At this point I don't know what's going to fall off first, my arm or the door handle, so I change my strategy. I'm going to roll the window down and hold the door in by force. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Luckily it was an unusually warm day for fall. Desperate strategy works. Not only do I prevent pulling the handle off, but I manage to pull the door shut and hear a click. I again, locked the door, which worked so uselessly before, but was worth a second try. I sweated and hoped that it remained shut for the duration of the ride. Fortunately, it did. I didn't intend to be an awkward passenger, but let's just say my boss was not getting a shot at eye contact from me for the rest of the ride; I had a mission and it required complete focus on that side mirror.

Fall Festivities

Fall has arrived! It's generally my favorite season of the year, but this year it has failed to capture my heart and steal my affection. My guess is that previously I was a student so I didn't mind it getting dark outside at 4:30 pm because I had been romping around outside all day between classes, but now that I'm working it means that the day is over by the time I get out of work! Boo:( [Ha. Nice pun, in light of the Halloween/Fall season] . Speaking of light, I should just get a summer home in Alaska, then it will be light out all day. I've always wanted to see the Northern lights. But wait, I guess to see the Northern lights it has to be dark out, so summer is probably not gonna work. Oh well. Plus to have a summer home that means you don't work, and let's be honest, urban planning is not exactly a field that's going to send me into early retirement.

Well, I love the changing of seasons so I won't let it get me down. I will continue to lounge on my couch  inhaling the sweet aroma of my Pumpkin Spice Yankee candle and bundle up like a blizzard just arrived. Also, I must apologize to my faithful readers for being MIA the past weeks, I was on an excursion of monumental proportions, but didn't forget about you. Where exactly have I been and what exactly have I been doing you wonder? Oh wait no longer!

I went to a wedding in Rockford, Illinois last weekend.

We watched the baseball playoffs. Bad news: Cubs lost. Good news: the Rays are holding strong and playing better than anyone could have imagined they ever would! I enjoyed a week of evenings filled with cable TV and nightly baseball games! But let's be honest, I couldn't stay awake to watch the ending to any of them. And to be more honest, I couldn't even keep myself awake for the debate, which started at 8pm in the central time zone! I make Mr. Bean in Rat Race look less narcoleptic I'm so pathetic.

I went to my first (and possibly last) corn maze!! For those of you who aren't familiar with this crazy autumn activity let me explain. Some entrepreneurial farmer out there decides to make a little dough by creating a maze out of their cornfield. Well, in this case it was a 10 acre corn field with a maze cut through it. The path is about 3 feet wide, the corn is about 8 feet tall and your goal is ...well there are many goals 1) Have fun roaming around in a maze of corn 2) Find the 8 checkpoints in the corn maze 3) Make it out of the corn maze alive and with all limbs. Option 3 was definitely my goal.

So Andrew and I had never been to a corn maze before, so we had this picture in our minds. We thought there would be kids, parents, strollers, clowns, balloons, baseball lights like in the Field of Dreams. Basically, we thought we were going to the county fair. Well to our surprise we pull up at 7 pm and no one is there. "Maybe it's closed. They said they were opened til 8 tonight, maybe they changed their mind," we discussed. Lo and behold, a guy walks out of his house towards his shop and flips on all the lights while we sit in the car wondering what we're thinking. Here's your visual: A house in the middle of the country, surrounded by cornfields, with a barn for his animals (reindeer of course), a Christmas tree farm, a banquet hall that is nothing short of Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede, and pitch blackness. Oh, and two people: me and Andrew.
"You open?" we asked.
"Oh yea, I've got a group of 45 coming out in about 20 minutes," he replies.
As we are paying he says, "Oh good, you brought your own flashlight" as he points to a lone flashlight on the counter.
"No we didn't, but can we borrow this?" Andrew asks, with the determination to accept nothing short of 'yes' from the man.
"Alright, here's an index card, there are 8 checkpoints hidden out there with different hole punches for each one so I'll know if you cheat. Good luck."
And that was it.
Andrew and I wandered out into the pitch blackness armed with a flashlight, map, and two index cards! Definitely not the kind of people that would survive Man vs. Wild. I'm not sure if you can imagine what it feels like to wander out into cornfields in pitch blackness on a windy night, but I'll sum it up with four words: Children of the Corn. There was no way we were making it out of there alive. Every wind that blew and crack of a cornstalk freaked us out. There are probably foxes or coyotes or wild raging deer! Are there snakes in cornfields? Probably. Who knows. All I knew was that I wasn't making it out alive.

Well about an hour into our carefully calculated excursion (as planners we used the map like a treasure map to ensure that we covered every square foot to get all 8 hidden posts) we heard voices. "Oh good, there are more people out here than just us now, this will feel safer" we thought...wrong! Imagine what it would be like to be in this already frightening situation with 45 college students now in the corn, probably intoxicated, and traveling in packs like sorority girls on their way to the bathroom. Well if the children of the corn weren't going to get us, a heart attack was. Around every corner was a college student, who in the pitch darkness didn't know that we weren't with their group. So, we now had to actually watch our backs and respond to cracking of corn because there were in fact real people hiding in the corn like a haunted house to grab us or frighten us. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs "We don't know you so don't mess with us--we're that pair of two random people in blue jump suuuuits!!!!" (Yea, that's right, we thought it was going to lack fun and we needed to help out a little bit by wearing all dark clothing and acting Mission Impossible in the maze). Wrong. In the words of my favorite Verizon commercial: We got hosed! Well, as you can predict, since I'm writing this post, we made it out alive. But not after the nice farmer family gave us a tour of the entire operation including the banquet hall and bringing out one of the reindeer to pet. In case you didn't know, there is apparently an actual species called Alaskan reindeer. They are very feisty and their antlers are so sharp they make the running of the bulls look like a safe operation. I was pretty sure little Elizabeth was going to gourd me. Luckily, she was on a leash. Well we left the ranch, went out for some ice cream and called it a night. We try to collect the mini baseball helmets (We've got 4. One from Yankee Stadium (fancy!) and the other 3 from ice cream dates).

Then I worked the rest of the week. Working "remotely" is not remotely fun. Your heart says your on vacation but your brain says you have to work and there is constant inner warfare until you cash in your vacation time.

Lots of baseball, lots of eating, lots of sleeping, lots of shopping. I had the most incredible beef tenderloin fondue and got a killer ski hat with tails!

I went to my first apple orchard and picked apples. I saw my first pumpkin patch and bought an overpriced pumpkin from the vine. We went on a Lake Geneva boat tour and saw the fall colors surrounding beautiful, historic homes. Kids in the tropic of Florida really miss out on this Fall business, this season of harvest, if you will. We do, however, not miss out on the art of pumpkin carving. We bought a pumpkin carving kit and made some pretty awesome pumpkins. Mine is the pirate ship on the far left, Andrew's the window (typical architect) on the far right, and Team Grandma with his sisters made the rockin' bat.

I concluded my trip with a stay at the Grand Emy Hotel in the heart of the University of Chicago campus. We enjoyed a dazzling double date with our men at the Med, a brief stroll through a park only blocks from Obama's house, and a night of random stories and laughs (to come in subsequent blogs). Well, this has turned into a really long blog...that's why I shouldn't allow too much time to pass between postings!

Split Second Decision

So I realize I'm a proponent of doing something fun and crazy daily or weekly, but what I did was just plain crazy. Not recommended.

Where do I begin... So I had a flight today at 4:20 in the evening to fly home for the weekend. I was on a roll at work and struggled to tear myself away. I had just made a break through on aggregating and analyzing my U.S. Census disability data and didn't want to quit (exhilarating, huh? Sadly, it actually is to me sometimes). Well I manage to pull myself away at 2:15. Walk home in the torrential downpour and scarf down a lunch. Well unfortunately I didn't "scarf" that fast, next thing I knew it was going on 3pm. I live 20 minutes from the airport, so I quickly finish packing my bag and dart out the door. I weave through traffic and rain and manage to make it there in a timely manner.

As I approach the airport I make a last minute decision to fork up a little extra cash and park in the long-term parking garage, instead of the long-term lot. Without much deliberation I make a quick left and pull into the garage, finding a spot right near the exit. Perfect. I jump out and start swiftly walking toward the terminal, passing people on my way. Luckily the security line was only a few snaking curves. I made it through security, found my gate number and got to Gate 15 just in time..."What time is it?" I thought to myself. I dug in my pursue to look at my phone...my phone was not there! Panic set in. I looked at the man standing next to me at the gate and asked the time. Thankfully he was precise, "3:36" he responded. Where is my phone?! In the bathroom? At security? In my car? I had a split second to decide if I search for it and risk missing my flight or just hope it's in my car waiting for me when I get home Sunday. I stopped, I thought, I ran. Can't live without my phone. How would my dad know to pick me up? How would I call Andrew? Ok, really, I didn't need the phone, but I know that if I didn't go back and at least check I would worry all weekend and wonder if it was there.

So I took off towards the exit, not sure if I could get back through security once they had already marked my ticket, but I didn't care. I felt a little awkward running past people exiting. I must have looked really eager to wait for my bag or really excited to see someone about to pick me up...unfortunately it was neither. I ran out the door back towards the garage. Now, I'm not the most in-shape person I know, but especially not when I'm running in jeans and Crocs, through the rain trying not to slip (Crocs=no traction), with a small tapestry suitcase tastefully decorated with a beach scene (the kind old people can't pass without complimenting), and a pursue over my shoulder that is more like a carpet bag (you know, the kind Mary Poppins had. The type that women pull things like full size umbrellas, coat racks, and furniture out of). So I ran/walked to my car.

As I approached, fear set it, what if it wasn't there? What if I miss my flight? What if this was all in vain? I nervously approach the passenger's door and open it. Nothing. No phone in the console. "Ok, try the driver's side," I tell myself, "a different perspective may clear this up." Negative. I frantically start padding under the seat. Nothing. I make one last attempt and jump in the car and peer between the driver's seat and the console....like the golden ticket in a Wonka Bar, it glistens at me. I grabbed that phone, threw it in my carpet bag of a purse, zipped that sucker in a side pocket, and tore down the parking garage back to catch a flight to Florida. I ran so fast. Well let's be realistic, there was no miraculous boost of energy or oxygen. I ran. Walked. Ran. Walked. And got back to security just in time to see a line at least twice as long as the previous one I stood in. Guess I knew the answer to the "Please, don't let there be any line" prayer.

Now the fear has really set in. I am sweating bullets--this is unique coming from the girl who wasn't sure her sweat glands still worked or her pores still open. Oh, apparently they are and I didn't even need to go to a gym to figure that out. I'm hot, panting, sweating, nervous, stressed, and freaking out. I feel bad for the people all standing around me, what an awkward person to be in line with. Am I nervous about missing a flight? Nervous about flying? Just plain sketchy?

Ah yes, the random TSA agent is walking through the line, from the front to the back, not saying anything just making eye contact with people to signal his willingness to help. Good. He gets to me, I said to him, "I've already been through security and had to exit to run to my car," (still panting, I probably didn't have to tell him I'd been running, he knew). "Oh, well did you get a 'front of the line pass' on your way out?" he asked. Seriously? Would I be asking you for help if I had a pass to skip to the front of the line?! "No? Well you're just going to have to wait in this line then. Next time get a pass." 'Cause that was the first thing on my mind before my panicked run! Thanks.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. "I'm not gonna make it. I'm not gonna quit sweating. If I do make it, I'm gonna smell so bad no one is going to want to sit next to me," all happy thoughts running through my head, of course. I finally get to the front, as if my already marked ticket isn't sketchy enough I panic and drop my drivers license. Then when they ask if I have liquids, I balk. "No" I lie thinking I'll save time. I did. Luckily I make it to the next stage with no qualms. I get to the security line and toss my stuff into the bins. "Come on gramps" (my thought bubble). The old guy in front of me is a tad bit slow. I've already done this, I'm ready to go, I probably had my shoes and coat off before I even got to the ticket checkpoint, I do it. I am that pushy lady who is running late and asks to cut. He says, "sure," I say "great, my flight leaves at 4:20" (it's 4:00 by this point), he responds, "oh I leave at 4:15". Great, I can't cut a guy who has five minutes less than me before flight time. I patiently wait. He tries to small talk about how we spend so much time packing and making it neat only to tear stuff out when we go through security. Interestingly, the guy at the metal detector says, "Hey, weren't you just here?"
"Yes," I tell him, "I had to run back to my car."
"Didn't you have your hair down before?" he asks.
"Yes, that was before I went for a little jog to my car," I respond.
(Note: This man sees hundreds, maybe even thousands of people a day, and he not only recognizes me, but notices that my hair is different! Wow, hopefully he's scrutinizing our luggage that closely).

We make it through, and the old guy in front of me has the nerve to turn to me and say, "We've even got time left to grab a coffee!" I grab my stuff and again, take off running, still awkwardly and ineptly all the way back to Gate 15, just in time to see the previous flight deplane and my boarding begin.

What a stressful hour at the airport! Had I waited any longer to leave my apartment I wouldn't have had that extra time. Had I parked in the cheap-o economy lot I wouldn't have had time to wait for the shuttle to pick me up and drop me off. Had I just had the phone in my pursue in the first place I wouldn't have given myself an ulcer! So, I did make my flight, I do have my phone, and I can feel my legs tightening up from the unexpected work out.

Curious What I do All Day?

Probably not, but I'll give you the info just in case you are!:) 40% of my time is spent working on projects for and with neighborhood residents on a grant from the American Academy of Pediatrics. If you select the state of Rhode Island on the drop down list on the following website it will give you some links to read the brief project descriptions. The projects are pretty fun and very interesting.

1. http://www.aap.org/commpeds/grantsdatabase/grantsdb.cfm
2. Under "States, Territories, and Countries" select Rhode Island
3. Click, "Basic Submit"

Just a little snapshot about what I learned yesterday at work:

Hello World!

So it's official! Brooklyn Worm Girl has inspired me to start a blog! I'll give you a little accurate, but unfortunate background on the formation of this blog.

I recently received a plethora of new furniture from a co-worker and moved into a new apartment. Well somewhere in the mix of all this, I discovered that one of the two blessings came with some friends. Maggots. Only 7 to date, but still enough to cause me extreme discomfort. So I spent a little time researching the best ways to get rid of the little baby flies and in the process discovered her blog. To say the least, it is witty and inspiring. I don't expect the same level of entertainment, but will aim high nevertheless.

So here's to regular updates for my family and friends who can't experience the thrills in my everyday life!