Monday, September 17, 2007
Living with Keith is not making me smarter
It would seem that Keith is the smart one and I am the approachable one. Since this post I have recieved two emails from friends asking me what Twitter is. Yesterday my dad emailed me to ask how to get his gigantic video clip down to a size that could be posted on YouTube. Three years ago people never would have dreamt of asking me these questions. Simply living with brainiac man does not make me a brainiac. I'm better with pondering the meaning of life or living room color schemes. Please direct questions accordingly!
Friday, September 14, 2007
Anthropologizing
No, that's not a term for expressing remorse for something relating to ancient cultures. It's what's I'm doing to our house because of my addiction to/affliction with shopping at Anthropologie. I have a love hate relationship with this store. I love everything in it and I hate how overinflated the prices are. But I'm one up on them, because I have almost never payed full price for one of their items, so I am only paying slightly more than what each item is worth. Ha!
You may have already seen this on Keith's blog, but here's our latest addtion.
Then there's these.
(The last ones are gifts from a fellow Anthro addict.)
If I don't get to working soon, our house will so be chalked full of sunbursts, lava swirls and other colorful, contemporary mish-mashes, it'll make your head spin.
You may have already seen this on Keith's blog, but here's our latest addtion.
Then there's these.
(The last ones are gifts from a fellow Anthro addict.)
If I don't get to working soon, our house will so be chalked full of sunbursts, lava swirls and other colorful, contemporary mish-mashes, it'll make your head spin.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
The Good Life
Keith and I continue to settle into our new home here in Nebraska. As we have not started working yet, our lives are pleasantly simple if a bit isolated. These past few weeks I have filled my time with internet shopping, puppy walking, and town meandering. Happening upon a set of recycling bins at the Jack and Jill grocery mart is by far the most noteable event in my life as of late. Here's Keith packing cardboard boxes from internet retailers around the country into the tiny cubby. Just stuff, stuff and bye bye consumer guilt!
Also, the weather's nice here, so we had a little barbeque.
A very little barbeque. Keith is shaping up to be a fine grill master. Maybe next year we'll promote him to a more appropriately sized grill.
T minus 8 days until mountain biking vacation part deux. Colorado here I come... back.
Also, the weather's nice here, so we had a little barbeque.
A very little barbeque. Keith is shaping up to be a fine grill master. Maybe next year we'll promote him to a more appropriately sized grill.
T minus 8 days until mountain biking vacation part deux. Colorado here I come... back.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Whakapapa
I dedicate this philosophical post to M.Standridge, in commemoration of and grievance for the end of his great blog.
The other day I was listening to Terry Gross interview Sekou Sundiata (he died recently, so the interview was re-aired). Sekou Sundiata does spoken word poetry, and he has this rich, deep voice to complement his great poetry. While I really enjoyed his readings, what piqued my interest was part of the interview where he told Terry about coming home for a family reunion. During the reunion a story about his great grandfather emerged. His relatives described his defiant great grandfather who had escaped cruel slave owners only to be turned in later by his fearful family. It was a story Sekou had never heard. He found it terribly interesting in its own right , but it also held special interest to him because it was about one of his ancestors. He wondered how his relatives could have kept such a great story from him, and what other treasures they may hold in their memories.
When Keith and I were in New Zealand we heard the native Maori speak about their Whakapapa (Fa’-Ka-Pa-Pa). It is the word they use to describe their tradition of passing on oral heritage. Even in a modern age of television and internet, the oral tradition was still alive and well and talked about with regularity. A ski area we went to even bore the name Whakapapa.
I’ve thought about this some with regards to my family. I think it’s relatively rare that we get much oral tradition around my house. I think part of it is cultural, but part of it no doubt is because a lot of the memories are so painful. Nevertheless, when I do hear my parents recount the story of how they sold all of their material possessions for silver coins and bought a burro to ride to California, or about how they lived on cantaloupes from their garden and home brewed root beer for almost an entire year, I get that same sense of interest and joy that I think Sekou Sundiata was describing. I wonder what other stories my parents have that they haven't thought to share. Even if some of it is as horrible as a southern lynching, along with the stories come threads of bravery, humor and everything else, and it’s all worth passing along.
The other day I was listening to Terry Gross interview Sekou Sundiata (he died recently, so the interview was re-aired). Sekou Sundiata does spoken word poetry, and he has this rich, deep voice to complement his great poetry. While I really enjoyed his readings, what piqued my interest was part of the interview where he told Terry about coming home for a family reunion. During the reunion a story about his great grandfather emerged. His relatives described his defiant great grandfather who had escaped cruel slave owners only to be turned in later by his fearful family. It was a story Sekou had never heard. He found it terribly interesting in its own right , but it also held special interest to him because it was about one of his ancestors. He wondered how his relatives could have kept such a great story from him, and what other treasures they may hold in their memories. When Keith and I were in New Zealand we heard the native Maori speak about their Whakapapa (Fa’-Ka-Pa-Pa). It is the word they use to describe their tradition of passing on oral heritage. Even in a modern age of television and internet, the oral tradition was still alive and well and talked about with regularity. A ski area we went to even bore the name Whakapapa.
I’ve thought about this some with regards to my family. I think it’s relatively rare that we get much oral tradition around my house. I think part of it is cultural, but part of it no doubt is because a lot of the memories are so painful. Nevertheless, when I do hear my parents recount the story of how they sold all of their material possessions for silver coins and bought a burro to ride to California, or about how they lived on cantaloupes from their garden and home brewed root beer for almost an entire year, I get that same sense of interest and joy that I think Sekou Sundiata was describing. I wonder what other stories my parents have that they haven't thought to share. Even if some of it is as horrible as a southern lynching, along with the stories come threads of bravery, humor and everything else, and it’s all worth passing along.
Coming Soon to a Clinic Near You…
I guess Keith and I are famous. And all it took was 8 years of college, three years of residency and a move to the middle of Nebraska to finally get the attention we deserve. We just arrived in our new home town today, and while I was out running errands people kept beaming at me and saying “Oh, you’re the new doctor!”. I think this gigantic ad they’ve been running for the past three weeks may have something to do with it.
Does this mean I have to stop wearing baseball caps, flip-flops and yesterday’s jean shorts to run errands? I certainly hope not. I also hope people don’t wonder why I’m married to a guy that looks about 19.
Does this mean I have to stop wearing baseball caps, flip-flops and yesterday’s jean shorts to run errands? I certainly hope not. I also hope people don’t wonder why I’m married to a guy that looks about 19.
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