From the Lemonade Stand: 3:00 am Multidisciplinary Word Problems

Posted on July 27, 2015 by anne

(Disclaimer: don’t read this if you have a touchy tummy…)

At three am, a ten-year-old boy awakens from sleep with a sense of deep unrest in his abdomen.  He staggers out of bed, racing for the bathroom, and makes it out into the hall.  The boy vomits from a height of 4’3” with an initial velocity of approximately one meter/second.

 

A)    How many rooms will the vomit splash into?

  1. Five.
  2. Five plus down three stairs.
  3. Five plus down three stairs, up two doors, and onto all the baseboard.

 

B)    Which word best describes the odor of said vomitus?

  1. Acrid.
  2. Nasty.
  3. This question is way too disgusting to even entertain.

 

C)    How long will the scent linger in the hallway, or at least in the mother’s sleep-deprived memory?

  1. Metaphorical eternity.
  2. Actual eternity.

 

D)    If eight hours elapse after the child eats it, how will the red pepper in the child’s vomitus look?

  1. Ooh!  Pretty red polka dots!
  2. The answer depends upon the etiologic agent since infection may alter digestion and gastric motility.
  3. For the love of all that is sacred, don’t make me think about the #$%^ red pepper again!

 

E)    Assuming the etiologic agent is norovirus (given the predominance of vomiting over diarrhea in the symptomatology and despite norovirus’ winter predilection), how long will the child be shedding the virus after resolution of symptoms?

  1. Gross.
  2. Several days.
  3. Why aren’t we all puking all the freakin’ time?

 

F)    Hypothetically speaking, of course, what is the chance that the child’s father will roust himself from bed to assist with the cleanup?

  1. 0%.
  2. 0% but he will claim ignorance of the comprehensive nature of the layer of vomit.
  3. 0% but he will claim ignorance of the comprehensive nature of the layer of vomit and he will think he contributed by fetching a towel after the child takes a cleansing shower.

 

G)    What is the chance that the (only slightly passive aggressive) mother will blog about the wee-hours activities of her household the following day?

  1. 100%.
  2. 100%.  Public shaming is such a great tactic for maintaining marital harmony.
  3. 100%.  Public shaming is such a great tactic for maintaining marital harmony but she would like to add that the father believed (at 3:00 am) that the child had made it to the toilet in time so she supposes that she’ll cut him a little slack.

 

H)    Will the significant cumulative hours of couples therapy that this mother has accrued allow her to state her needs clearly next time around?  (“ACK!  I’m up to my armpits in vomit!  Get out here and help me clean up!  PLEASE!”)

  1. Yes.
  2. Yes, duh.
  3. Yes, duh, make the check payable to me for $150.

 

I)    What is the probability that the mother will happily snuggle her child after he is tucked back into bed, knowing full well that she’s wading into a cesspool of viral particles?

  1. 100%.
  2. 110%.
  3. What a dumb question.

 

J) As the mother lies in bed trying to fall back to sleep (“Hmm.  How can I turn this into a useful life lesson about the perils of alcohol overindulgence?”), which song would  best lull her into tedious oblivion?

  1. “Let it Go.”
  2. “Shake it Off.”
  3. “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”

 

Musical Moment – see above

HI – so, if you enjoy reading my blog (except this one, because this one is, like, kinda gross) please consider signing up for it.  See that thing right under this post?  You enter your email and then you’ll get a confirmation note right away.  If you don’t see the confirmation email right away, look in your spam folder.  Click the link to confirm your subscription and I’ll love you forever.  And I need to love you forever after last night.  xoxo Anne.

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Fledging

Posted on July 21, 2015 by anne

Several days ago, Chester the 77.4 pound yellow labrador retriever leaped from the car and raced into the backyard.  Ten seconds later, he had located and cornered a fledgling robin in the soccer net.  The avian parents screeched and wheeled above, threatening to poke out Chester’s eyes with their pointy beaks.  He headed in, nose down, mouth open as I screamed “NO!!!!!!”, fighting against generations of careful bird-dog breeding.  I managed to grab his collar and drag him into the house.

Rafa the world’s largest pomeranian looked on, disinterested.

Visual assessment suggested the fledgey was shaken but not stirred.  We had a little chat, s/he and I.  “Look,” I said.  “You can’t hang out here.  This is about the worst possible place to learn to fly.”  S/he concurred.  The robin parents squawked – GET AWAY FROM OUR PROGENY!

I scooped up the bird, evaluating relocation options.  The neighbors to the East have three dogs.  The neighbors to the West have two dogs.  Ace likes to weed whip, almost took out a baby bunny the other day.  Fledgey and I settled on the front garden between our house and the eastern folk.  Dense spirea and fern coverage.

I attempted to soothe the parents.  “Your baby’s fine, just look under the ferns outside the fence.”

On my way back inside, I noted that several of my smaller freckles appeared to be moving. MITES!  ACK!  I cranked on the hose and sprayed the – CHEEP!  (hop hop)  CHEEP! – oh you’ve got to be kidding.  Fledgey #2 dodged the water, trying to get away from the crazy lady and her firehose of death.

I shoved #2 through the fence to dwell in blissful harmony with #1.  More mites.  More spray.  Only then did I realize that the birds nest I had seen in the forsythia arbor might be an important player in the current scene.  I hauled out an 1850 firehouse windsor chair (extremely practical for birdwatching), got face-to-nest level, and found #3 and #4.  #3 perched on the edge of the nest, teetering.  I reached and she flew.  Sort of.  She flailed over to the fence whereupon I grabbed her and shoved her through the board gap to her siblings.

#4 sat placidly in the nest as his parents berated me for my interference.  “If I leave you here, you’ll jump out tomorrow and Chester will eat you.  So suck it up and get those wings ready.”  My pep talk fell on deaf acoustic organs.  #4 clamped his claws on the sticks of his nest and refused to leave.  I pulled and pried and eventually extracted.  He showed very little initiative, but did manage to totter off beneath the cover of ferns.

“I’m out,” I announced to the robin parents who, no doubt, went on to have simultaneous heart attacks and fall out of their tree that very night.  Even a long hot shower couldn’t rid me of the crawling sensation on my forearms.

On Sunday, The Big E left for several days in Wisconsin.  Just E.  All alone.  Without me and Ace.  Admittedly he’s staying with dear friends, one of whom is a physician.

Hello metaphor, my old friend.

Ace and I fretted when he slept till 10:30 the day of his departure.  “He looks more pale than usual.  Do you think he has a fever?  We can’t send him to Walkerland if he’s sick!”

The Big E assured us that he was fine and had every intention of leaving the nest that day.  He planned his travel wardrobe, packed his suitcase, and stepped into our friend’s car.  Ace and I squawked and fluttered.  “Your sunscreen is in with the toothpaste.  Is your seatbelt tight?  Don’t forget to wear your helmet if you go biking.”

He left.

We feed them.  We love them.  We teach them to tie shoes and multiply fractions and apply compassion.  Then they spread their wobbly wings and fly while we watch from the sky, screeching at the labrador retrievers.

Musical Moment

 

 

 

 

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A Love Letter to My Husband

Posted on July 13, 2015 by anne

Dear Ace:

The Franklin Bridge is under construction, traffic diverted away from the exact spot where you suggested that we “run the race of life together” lo these many years ago.  I’m tempted to zip in under the cover of Canadian soot and snag a piece of concrete as a memento.

We’ve been running together for over a decade now.  Each day brings micro moments of gratefulness.  “I’m so glad Ace isn’t a mean spirited turkey.”  And “Thank heavens I married a man who really knows how to shovel.”

Today, I’m experiencing Mega Gratitude EX.  It’s “88 degrees, feels like 99”, according to the computer, with humidity at 69%.  Thank you, Dear Husband, for ignoring me when I scoffed at your suggestion that we install air conditioning.  Thank you for insisting that we explore cooling options when we incidentally ripped almost every wall of the house open.  Thank you for reminding me that people who grow up in brick houses really don’t get a vote.

We just took a family walk: you, me, The Big E, Chester the yellow lab, and Rafa the world’s largest pomeranian.  Walk might not be the right word.  We meandered about the neighborhood, shuffling from tree shade to building shadow.  Halfway through, Rafa declined to perambulate.  I scooped him up like a furry little baby as we dragged ourselves up a huge hill, felt like I was holding a hot water bottle wrapped in a fur coat.

Finally we returned to our home.  It’s 72 degrees and, like magic, like hundreds-of-dollars-a-month-petroleum-guzzling magic, it will remain 72 degrees.  I’m almost cold now after shedding my clothes.  Please allow me to kiss your feet, including every single one of your perfect, photogenic, icy toes.  And do let’s figure out a suitable carbon offset.

In sickness, health, joy, sorrow, good times, bad times, and air conditioning,

Anne

Musical Moment

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Yes Means Yes – and No Still Means No!

Posted on July 6, 2015 by anne

“Sex at the U gets a new set of rules.”  This is the tantalizing front-page headline that greeted readers of the Star Tribune on July fifth.  To add to the sensationalism, the Strib plastered the opening paragraphs next to a sample consent contract from the Affirmative Consent Project suggesting that prospective partners photograph themselves holding their signed sex contract.

I read the U’s proposed policy and frankly the rules seem not to be new rules, but rather old rules explicitly stated.  Colleges and universities across the country are finally addressing discussing campus sexual assault.  In a recent study described in the Journal of Adolescent Health, researchers found that 26% of surveyed women had experienced “incapacitated rape” (involving alcohol or drugs) by the end of their first year of college.  22% had experienced “forcible rape” by the end of their first year.

Yikes.

Detractors of the “yes means yes” movement worry about the rights of the accused, thinking they will be assumed guilty until proven innocent.  They complain that a stolen kiss could be grounds for expulsion.  Seriously?  Can we not for one minute worry about these statistics from a “nationally representative survey of adults” helpfully provided by our government?  Any potentially helpful conversation about the topic of campus sexual assault is better than the feigned-ignorance-is-bliss approach.

In the Star Trib article, Joelle Stangler, the U’s student body president, notes the current and historical “lack of due process” for victims of sexual assault.  University of Minnesota students appear to be on board with the new proposal.  And why wouldn’t they be?  Let me paraphrase the “rules”: Make sure that your potential partner actually wants to have sex.  With you.  Don’t assume that a “yes” obtained last week equates to a “yes” right now.  Don’t be a jerk.  Drunk means “no.”  Stoned means “no.”  Passed out means “no.”  This is not rocket science.

To the detractors, I say relax already.  Conversation is good and a vitally necessary step-in-the-right-direction.  The likelihood that hordes of young (primarily) men are going to be hauled off to prison indefinitely for crimes they did not commit is slimmer than the Donald Trump necktie line recently axed by Macy’s.

If you believe that attempted humor has no place in discussions of sexual assault – and I respect that opinion – please stop reading.

I will now offer some suggestions, helpful tips for improving the protection and safety of all parties interested in sexual activity.

1) Set up a Sex Tent in the middle of campus where interested parties may rendezvous and apply for a Sex Permit.  In Minnesota, the Sex Tent should be made of brick, whereas in more temperates states, straw or sticks may suffice.

2) Require viewing of Amy Schumer’s “Football Town Nights” masterpiece.

3) Initial screening prior to receipt of a Sex Permit includes: blood alcohol level, urine toxicology, STI screening, MMPI, and a background check.

4) Permitting rules shall apply to all members of campus including faculty, staff, and administration.

5) Sexpliccants (sexual applicants) found to have aberrant test results will be further screened with cognitive competency evaulation.

6) If both (or all) parties qualify for and are still interested in anything remotely sexual after the aforementioned, they will be issued a Sex Permit (following fingerprinting and retinal scan) and an Official Sexerone (Sexual Chaperone).

7) According to my husband’s seventh grade gym teacher, the Sex Permit should remain in effect for “two to twenty minutes.”

8) The Official Sexerone will check in periodically with both/all sexual parties throughout sexual activity to assess whether “yes” has morphed into something else entirely, such as “No,” “What the #$%^& was I thinking?”, or “Get this thing off me!”  Additionally, the Sexerone will video and audiotape all proceedings.

9) Involved parties will hand over their Sex Permit at the end of activities and go their separate ways.

10) The Official Sexerone will deposit all materials (including but not limited to the Sex Permit, screening results, and used condoms) into a locked vault where they will remain into perpetuity unless required by campus sexual assault investigators or law enforcement.

11) Students, faculty, staff, and administration are encouraged to factor the additional time required to obtain a Sex Permit into their academic/work schedules.  Consider a lighter courseload or part-time employment.

12) For Sex Tent employment opportunities, please see the University’s job listings.

13) Anticipate a tuition increase.

Musical Moment

 

 

 

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Fun With Fluorescein

Posted on June 30, 2015 by anne

Well, there’s good news and bad.  The good news is despite an unfortunate meeting of Ace’s billcap and my eyeball, I do not have a corneal abrasion.IMG_8909

IMG_8910

See how there aren’t any fluorescing dots or lines on the iris (the colored part of the eye)? Hooray!

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bad news is that the aim of the two residing human males leaves a bit to be desired.

IMG_8907

IMG_8906

Fluorescent dots ALL OVER THE TOILET!

 

 

 

 

 

 

The other good news is black lights are super fun for the whole family!

Musical Moment

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No Words, Only Tears

Posted on June 22, 2015 by anne

You know that feeling behind your eyes, the tightness, the stretching.  A heaviness sitting between your ribs, preventing you from really getting a good breath.  That’s what Wednesday did to me.  Another domestic terrorist let loose his hatred and murdered according to his own twisted racist agenda.

I haven’t even been blogging for two years and yet this isn’t my first post about brutal carnage.

How can I find the middle ground between self-protective ignorance and the psychic disintegration of information overwhelm?

Within twenty-four hours of the shootings, relatives of the dead offered forgiveness to the killer.  Unbelievable.  I would not possess that level of grace.  When I test the waters of empathy, trying to understand what the families might be experiencing, all I feel is fear and hatred, hatred of a man who would choose to annihilate.

The relatives asked the terrorist to repent.

Strip aside all religion for a moment and imagine mass cultural repentance.  Our culture shaped  this man whose name I want to forget.  But he made the choice to kill.  Let’s dump our freedom of speech, right to carry arms, freedom of the press, and stand your ground rhetoric into the vat of chaos that is the United States and admit that WE NEED HELP.

Repent.

Let me strive to be patient.  Let my default be compassion.  Help me listen to those whose voices have been silenced.

A former patient’s son was brutally murdered many years ago.  The man who killed him went to prison, maybe for life.  The dead man’s mother, my patient, wrote letters to the prisoner every week.  She talked about the weather, about putting in her garden, about her grandson.  At first I thought she was trying to torment the killer, keeping his crime right there in his face.  She wasn’t.  She offered forgiveness.  She offered him his humanity.

For years she wrote to him, never hearing a response.  The seasons changed.  They lost a huge tree out in the back yard.  She had her knee replaced.  The grandson grew to be a man.  She kept sending her letters out into the void, to the man who killed her son.

And finally one day, he wrote back.

—————

Embrace your humanity.  Accept forgiveness.  Teach love.  Be better.

Repent.

Musical Moment

 

 

 

 

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The Thin Line

Posted on June 16, 2015 by anne

Between compos mentis and dementia, between memory and life, between the past and the present,

Falls the shadow.

A Neverland of possibility.

Nothing to undo.  Nothing to be done.

In this shadow space lurks awareness, knowledge of history, hope for the future.

Let that bridge remain, steady and true, linking what was to what will be.

But if age clouds memory, if the Beloved become strangers, let the bridge fail first,

That I may not know that I don’t know.

 

Musical Moment

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Can I Get a Do-Over?

Posted on June 8, 2015 by anne

I drove down to Mayo in the dead of winter for my medical school interview.  The winter wind is extra special in southern Minnesota.  Anything lighter than my 2500 pound 1986 Volvo would’ve blown right off the road into the ditch.

I wore a “suit”, some off-white situation with black checks.  I think I even put on nylons, probably the last time I wore them.

While I had studied for the MCAT, the medical college admissions test (at that time administered on paper!), I believed that a person really can’t study for an interview.  I was wrong.

The first interviewer isn’t warm.  Maybe he smiles once, an inauthentic grimace.  “What do you read besides medical journals?” he asks.

(Seriously?  Medical journals?)  I stammer something.  Hm, fiction, yeah, I can’t quite remember the author (Barbara Kingsolver), or the title (something with pigs?), or the plot (uh, a coyote in the Southwest, some trouble, and maybe love) of the last book I read.

The second interviewer isn’t warm.  Maybe she smiles once, an inauthentic grimace.  “What are you most proud of?” she asks.  Or more likely “Of what are you most proud?”  This is Mayo after all.  No dangling prepositions allowed.

Aha!  A perfect opportunity to talk about the disordered eating research I worked on in college.  As I talk, I watch for any sign of connection, even a spark of interest.  Nope.  Nothing.

I wasn’t surprised to get the thin rejection letter in the mail shortly thereafter.

These two questions stick with me.  The real answers, the real me, are obvious and were obvious at the time, though I was afraid to speak them.

“What do you read besides medical journals?” he asks.

“Actually, I don’t read medical journals.  You’ve been living in the land of medicine for years and you know the language.  For me to read a medical journal would be an exercise in futility.  I don’t speak the language.  Yet.  And frankly I got so burned out on academic reading in college that I forgot how to read for pleasure.  I’ll remember in about 2005, after the birth of my son, as I read to him while we rock.  Goodnight Moon, The Rattletrap Car, and Corre, Perro, Corre!”

“I don’t read the news either,” I say, smiling like a person who doesn’t read the news.  Bear in mind, these were the days before, before the internet made self-protection virtually impossible.  “My ignorance of current events would likely astonish you.  I try to be kind to people and do good on a basic level in my everyday interactions.  This relative ignorance keeps me optimistic enough to get up in the morning and try to make micro differences, changes on a molecular level if you will.”  I send him a brief conspiratorial nod.

“I do read music.  I’ve been fluent in music since I was a baby, as we all are.  I’m ever grateful to my parents for supporting my musical education.  My main instruments are piano, percussion, and voice, though I’ve dabbled in tenor saxophone and violin.  Currently, I’m reading a lot of Debussy and Rachmaninoff.  Rachmaninoff’s second piano concerto is an incredible piece.  I love the range and depth of emotion that he expresses.  I can vividly imagine the storyline behind the phrases, the passion and heartache, the introspection and risk.  I take Rachmaninoff’s notes and interpret them through his experience and my own so what comes out is an old story read in a new way.”

“Of what are you most proud?” she asks.

“Pride is a tricky word for me.  Pride feels vain, arrogant.  It’s easiest for me to be proud of other people.  In 2003, I’ll be proud to twine my life with an incredible man.  I won’t expound upon his virtues because he’d be embarrassed; Pride is not in his emotional lexicon.  In 2006, I’ll beam with pride when my baby stares at the banks of fluorescent lights on the ceiling of Target and exclaims ‘Gite!  Gite!’ as he signs the word for light.

Right now though, I’m proud that I’ve never been drunk or high, that I made it through adolescence and college without making irreversible self-destructive mistakes.  And I’m proud that I get along with my parents and plan to do so into perpetuity.”

Mayo was not a good fit for me.  I’m delighted the interviewers figured that out.

What would you like to do over?

Musical Moment

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Here’s What I Do Part II – Updated Nontoxic Products List

Posted on June 2, 2015 by anne

I first posted this in January of 2014.  Thought it was worth updating.

A couple years ago I went a little berserk, dragged all our health and beauty products out of every crevice of the house, and ran them through the Environmental Working Group’s Cosmetics Database.  The EWG analyzed the ingredients of over 74,000 beauty products, from mouthwash to hair relaxers to spider vein treatments.  They developed a simple rating scale:

0-2: low hazard

3-6: moderate hazard

7-10: high hazard

The EWG explains how they collect data, weigh various factors, and develop hazard scores in excruciating detail here.

Why should we care about this?  Because the US government doesn’t regulate the safety of beauty products.  Grab any smelly lotion off the shelf at Target and look at the ingredient list.  I guarantee you will find “fragrance”.  What the heck does that mean?  Did the manufacturer crush up lemons or did they use paint stripper for their signature scent?  No one monitors the ingredients for safety.

After I trashed our deodorant, toothpaste, feminine hygiene products, makeup ($ouch$), shampoo, lip balm, etc etc etc, I spent days combing through the EWG’s product lists looking for SAFE and AFFORDABLE options.

Yes, I’m a family doctor.  But I’m not YOUR family doctor.  So I can’t tell you what to do.  If you are having a medical issue, talk to your health care provider.  Please.  If you are currently experiencing a medical emergency, stop reading and call 911.  Now.  Stop reading.  (That’s the only time I’ll give you medical advice.)

I can’t tell you what to do.  However, I can tell you what I do.  I’m an excellent guinea pig with super sensitive skin.  Most makeup gives me a vicious combination of rash, zits, and allergic conjunctivitis.  Here’s the list of relatively nontoxic and inexpensive products that we use in our household.  The list takes a top-down approach, generally going from the head down to the feet.

——————————

Shampoo: Burt’s Bees Grapefruit and Sugar Beet; Everyday Shea Vanilla Mint Moisturizing Shampoo; Everyday Shea UNSCENTED shampoo; Trader Joe’s Tea Tree Tingle

Kids’ Shampoo and Conditioner: Nature’s Baby Organics Vanilla Tangerine; Everyday Shea unscented

Doggie Shampoo and Conditioner: My new favorite – Everyday Shea unscented shampoo & conditioner

Conditioner: Beauty Without Cruelty Rosemary Mint Conditioner; Nature’s Gate Jojoba or Chamomile Conditioner; Trader Joe’s Tea Tree Tingle; Everyday Shea unscented

Deep Conditioner: Burt’s Bees Hair Repair Shea and Grapefruit

Dandruff Shampoo: Neutragena T-gel (NOT Target generic – the ingredients are NOT identical)

Mousse Substitute: Alaffia Beautiful Curls Shea Butter Curl Activating Cream (it’s okay); Shea Moisture Coconut & Hibiscus Curl Enhancing Smoothie (leaves things a bit sticky); Andalou Naturals BB Styling Cream Argan & Sweet Orange (love this); Alaffia Beautiful Curls Shea Butter Curl Reviving Tonic (works to an extent)

tried and didn’t like: Shea Moisture Three Butters Styling Pomade (I guess I should’ve know by the way it’s called “pomade” that I’d wind up looking like Prince in the late ’80s); Eco Freako Cherry Almond Texturizer (oh so sticky)

Hairspray: Beauty Without Cruelty Hairspray

Body Oil: Alba Kukui Nut Organic Body Oil

Toothpaste: regular Colgate; Tom’s of Maine Spearmint (for my husband, this actually irritates my skin); Tom’s of Maine kids’ Silly Strawberry & Outrageous Orange Mango

Mouthwash: Tom’s of Maine Natural Baking Soda Mouthwash

Makeup: Honeybee Gardens eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick; Organic Wear Physician’s Formula pressed powder; Cover Girl concealer; bareMinerals blush

Face Astringent: Andalou Naturals Aloe + Willow Bark Pore Minimizer (still love this)

“Anti-Aging” Face Products: I experimented with Andalou Naturals.  Deep Wrinkle Dermal Filler: spend your money on something worthwhile, like chocolate.   Night Repair Cream: it’s fine and it doesn’t make me break out in hives.  Not sure if it’s worth the money, or if I should just stick to my generic Aveeno lotion that I buy at Target (see below) – yes, I use hand lotion on my face.  Lemon Sugar Facial Scrub: refreshing.  I like it.  Luminous Eye Serum: if “luminous” means puffy and itchy, then by all means this product made me “luminous.”  My new go-to eyelid/undereye raccoon situation fix is generic 1% hydrocortisone ointment at bedtime.

Please recall that the Fountain of Youth is filled with sunscreen…  An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of Botox.

Lip Balm: Badger organic lip balm; Essence of Lanesboro chapsticks

Body and Face Lotion: Target’s Daily Moisturizing Lotion (generic Aveeno)

Intensive Hand/Skin Moisturizer: Badger Healing Balm; Essence of Lanesboro unscented products

Deodorant/Antiperspirant: Sure unscented

Nail Polish: Acquarella (not cheap); am planning to experiment with Zoya; the Honeybee Gardens nail polish chips off IMMEDIATELY

Nail Polish Remover: Honeybee Gardens

Tampons/Pads/Pantyliners: Natracare (made from organic cotton)

Lubricant: KY Ultragel (old name KY Sensual Silk); If I were in the market for condoms I’d buy NON-LUBRICATED condoms and then use the KY Ultragel as needed.

Shaving Cream: Dr. Bronner’s Magic Shaving Gel

Soap: unscented White Dove

Sunscreen: Vanicream spf 35; Oh boy – Target has had supply issues with Vanicream sunscreen and we’re just hanging on over here.  I tried some other stuff.  California Baby mineral products are SUPER WHITE OPAQUE but eventually they sink in.  Hello expensive.  I tried Honest Sunscreen (cheap, found a two-pack at Costco) – NOT GOOD.  It slides on like an oilslick ’cause it’s made from oil of coconut, sunflower seed, hydrogenated veggies, olive, apricot, and jojoba seed.  And guess what?  All that oil stains clothing and acne-ifies faces!

Face Sunscreen: Andalou Naturals Oil Control Beauty Balm Un-Tinted SPF 30 – love this, but I need to re-apply frequently.

Perfume: Aura Cacia Organics essential oils; Aura Cacia Aromatherapy Mist; Essence of Lanesboro cologne sprays

——————————–

Bottom-Line Pearls:

1) I buy the above products at Target, my local co-op, and www.luckyvitamin.com.

2) “Natural” can still be toxic.  Crude oil is natural.

3) A generic product might contain different ingredients from the brand name.

4) Don’t assume that a particular company makes all nontoxic products.  Two different hair conditioners from the same brand might have different EWG hazard scores.

5) Co-ops carry a wide variety of toxic and nontoxic products.

6) The US government doesn’t regulate the safety of beauty products.

7) “Hypoallergenic” products are not necessarily nontoxic.  (Sorry about that double negative.)

8) If I could only make ONE CHANGE, I would spend the money on organic cotton feminine hygiene products, particularly if I had daughters.  Here’s a suitably scary summary article.  ***  I feel even more strongly about this one now.  The end of this story has yet to be written.

9) The Environmental Working Group’s Cosmetics Database and mobile app.

10) Musical Moment

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Blessed Be the Tie That Binds

Posted on May 25, 2015 by anne

My maternal grandmother died in a car accident, when her brakes went out on a winding mountain road in California.  Margarette Fairbank Dyson Milanese was a tiny woman, barely five feet tall, with a wavy pin-curl bob and starched white nurses cap.  She married late and birthed later, first a daughter, then a son.

She left behind her husband, two children, and a song.  A lullaby.

Mama’s girl is a good little girl.

Her husband, Martin, worked nights in a warehouse.  He tried to hold things together, his two children hospitalized with severe injuries.  His son suffered frontal lobe trauma, with an open head injury.  His daughter’s spinal cord was damaged, inflamed and angry in the time before steroids.

Mama’s precious Ruth-girl.

Martin called on the extended family.  Can anyone help?  Margarette’s sister, Dorothy, had married a boorish man, a loud presence in a Puritanical family.  But Uncle Wally was the one who massaged the circulation back into Ruth’s injured feet and legs with his calloused, working hands.

Close your eyes and go to sleep.

Meda and Mildred had children of their own, much older than Ruth and her brother.  Margarette had been the baby of the family.  Another sister, also a Ruth (Ruth Kathuleen Dyson Jordan), lived in Minnesota with her husband, Dick.  Dick worked in the men’s accessories department of Dayton’s for decades after returning from the battlefields of World War I.  Dick delayed his retirement when he and Ruth volunteered to take Martin and Margarette’s children.

Mama’s precious girl.

The daughter lived at home with her aunt and uncle while carpooling to Macalester College.  In her junior year, one of Ruth’s professors introduced her to a goofy gent from Eau Claire.  (“Ken, she walks funny, but she’s good people.”)

Mama’s girl is a good little girl.

Ruth and Ken courted.  One fine day, Ken asked Ruth to grab something out of the glovebox of his red ’64 Ford mustang convertible.  Out popped a ring box with a round diamond set in white gold.  She said yes.

Mama’s precious Anne.

The two married at Hennepin Avenue United Methodist Church fifty years ago.  The reception was held in the Art Room with cake and radioactive green punch.

Close your eyes and go to sleep.

The newlyweds settled into an apartment on Dunlap, three blocks from their current abode.  Ruth taught French at Summit School.  Ken commuted to 3M.  The doctors didn’t know what would happen if Ruth got pregnant, given her history of spinal cord injury.  She got pregnant anyhow.

Mama’s precious girl.

The girl babysat a lot.  Like a ton.

Anne’s boy is a good little boy.

Her favorite kids lived next door.  Emily and Michael.  Anne remembers the day each of them came home.  She was nine at the time of Emily’s adoption, a teenager when Michael arrived.

Anne’s precious Michael.

At bedtime: “Do you want me to sing to you?”  “Yeah.”  “What do you want me to sing?”  “‘Anne’s Precious.'”

Close your eyes and go to sleep.

Anne was there after Emily (age two) ate nine bananas.  She was there when Michael (seven months) peed in his own eye.

Anne’s precious boy.

Eventually, everybody grew up.  Anne went off to college and accidentally wound up in medical school.

Mama’s boy is a good little boy.

Anne’s grandma, technically her great aunt Ruth, advised her to “date a lot of men so you know what you want.”  She took her advice.

Mama’s precious Ezra.

Somewhere in the middle of residency, Anne showed a set of broken dining room chairs she had inherited to her friend, Margret.  Margret tilted her head to one side, thinking.  “I know someone who could repair those chairs,” she said.

Close your eyes and go to sleep.

Margret took about six months to fork over Stuart’s phone number, afraid Anne might prove to be too much for him to manage.  Stuart and Anne met, dated (he considered her his “practice girlfriend”), and after many many years, Stuart figured he’d had enough practice and they married.  The Big E was born a year-and-a-half later.

Mama’s precious boy.

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Musical Moment – call me and I’ll sing it.

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