Am I really as neurotic as I feel?

A dose of reality

We hear about it, say "Wow, that's horrible," pause for a brief moment, and continue on.  "So what are your plans for the weekend?"

I think it's a defense mechanism.  Some sort of innate survival technique...not necessarily something our ancestors thousands of years ago needed, but something we've developed over the last couple hundred years as a way to make it through the day, and the night, and into the next day.  Because if we don't have that mechanism, if we don't deal with it the way we have been dealing with it, I have a hard time envisioning a humanity that could survive.  And if humanity did survive, what sort of humanity would it be?  I can't help but think it would be one I would not necessarily want to be a part of.

As I started my drive home from work this afternoon, I turned the radio to NPR, as I often do.  Yesterday I learned about a 6-week course for members of the military who want to become (almost) forensic anthropologists to identify causes of death and body parts of those killed overseas.  A while back I heard an interview with an author who said that depression is a natural state of mind, and prescribing so many anti-depressants is actually doing a disservice to everybody because so much good can come from depressed minds, not to mention the fact that you can't fully appreciate the good times without suffering through the bad times (this is hugely oversimplified, but the author has an excellent point).

Today it was about the earthquake in China.  Every time I've heard about the earthquake, or the cyclone in Myanmar/Burma, I start to wonder what it's like over there, seeing buildings destroyed, dead bodies, rubble, the helpless and hopeless faces of the survivors.  And then my mind stops itself.  The defense mechanism kicks in.  I think about what needs to be done at work, the dishes at home, or the laundry, or which weekend I actually have free this summer, or some other relatively inane issue.  My mind doesn't want to or simply can't deal with a disaster of such proportions.  It wasn't designed that way.  None of our minds were, I'm sure.

But not this time.  Not with the story.  Melissa Block, one of the hosts of All Things Considered, was reporting from China.  She was with a couple who survived the earthquake.  The couple was searching for their little boy, who turns two in a few weeks, and her parents.  They were walking through the street with them, trying to get back to their building, when they find what used to be an apartment building.  The rescue workers dig through the pile of rubble until someone spots a hand sticking out.  A right hand, with a ring on a finger.  A neighbor.  Not even a slight chance of survival for the neighbor, but she still has hope that her son would be found alive.  The workers try to get some rescue dogs to sniff, but there are no dogs to be found.  They dig some more.  Until finally.

A worker comes out of the rubble and says a child was found.  Around the age of 2.  In the arms of an older man.  His grandfather.  His grandmother close behind, her hand still clinging to the grandfather's shirt.  Their family was found.

The wails of the couple didn't just break my heart.  They got into that part of mind that thinks about such things.  The huge disasters.  The thousands and thousands and thousands dead.  They got in and they let it loose.  How do they go on?  There is nothing left.  Nothing.  I wrestled with myself, trying to comprehend their situation.  No family.  No home.  No belongings.  No job.  Nothing.  Over three of my hometowns, wiped out.  How?  What do you do?  My mind wants answers.  None of this "have faith" stuff.  Real answers.  Concrete answers.  I'm a left-brainer.  Things need to be logical.  They need to make sense.  I need rationality.  How do you make sense out of losing everything?  Tell me.  How?

I was (and still am) stuck in a vortex of thought, trying to figure things out.  It's pointless, wasted effort, I know, but their cries got in.  I'm not connecting a face with this.  I'm connecting a sound.  A sound of parents realizing the worst possible consequence of the earthquake was true.  It's not a haunting sound, something that is played over and over in your head, but it is one that stays with you, simply because of the emotional response it elicited.  The sympathetic response of feeling someone's grief on the other side of the world.

The husband managed to say something to his wife between their cries as she collapsed in his arms.  He said, "I can't lose you too. Don't leave."

Maybe that's how.

Posted by: greeneyes at 18:55 | link | comments (4)

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there, and to those who are missing your moms, I send you lots of e-hugs. 

Posted by: greeneyes at 14:20 | link | comments (2)

Well, that's that.  On to the next one!

Posted by: greeneyes at 19:15 | link | comments (2)

Sigh.

Posted by: greeneyes at 15:16 | link | comments (3)

Death by apple

It seems that in my almost 30 years (hush/gasp/cringe) on this Earth, I have yet to master the art of eating an apple.  Which is unfortunate, obviously, as well as a little sad.  I generally have an apple a day, and almost every time, I somehow manage to choke on the apple/juice combination.  Perhaps I'm so excited to be having my apple that I can't control myself and end up swallowing before everything is satisfactorily masticated.  Perhaps I have some sort of physical or genetic defect.  Perhaps I'm distracted by work, since I'm always working while enjoying my apple.  Or perhaps it's a fruit/vegetable conspiracy, because a carrot almost got me today.

Regardless of the cause, it's a problem, because almost every day, I choke on the darn delicious, crisp, juicy apple (usually of the Gala variety, sometimes Braeburn).  Just last week, I actually managed to choke on an actual piece of apple, as opposed to some of the juice like I usually do.  I was actually nervous for a moment...would somebody have to do the Heimlich?  Would this be the end of greeneyes?

No and no.  But I think I'm going to stick to eating my apples when there are other people around, on the off chance I'm not so lucky next time.  And in the meantime, everybody be aware of suspicious looking fruits and vegetables, just in case they're in on the conspiracy.

I'm looking at you, Asparagus.

Posted by: greeneyes at 17:57 | link | comments (3)

Yummy deliciousness in non-cake form

Non-cake because the traditional American cheesecake is actually a custard. 

My mom's cheesecake

Posted by: greeneyes at 13:07 | link | comments (2)
food

My dearest DJ Groovy Slug,

Once, long ago, you raved about the Cheesecake Factory.  I made a comment, something to the effect of how my mom's cheesecake is better than Cheesecake Factory's.  However, I couldn't confirm that since I'd never dined at CF.

Well, I can now confidently say that my mom's cheesecake is far superior to CF's original cheesecake.  Without a doubt.

Yours,
Greeneyes

Posted by: greeneyes at 18:36 | link | comments (3)

Why do peanut butter (and jelly, if you're so inclined) sandwiches taste better when they're cut in half, preferably on the diagonal?  Is this the sandwich version of the Tootsie Pop riddle?

Posted by: greeneyes at 13:33 | link | comments (7)

RAGBRAI

The Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa started in 1973.  Two writers for the Des Moines Register, to make a brief story even more brief, decided to invite the public and ride their bikes across Iowa, west to east, in the last week of August (!!), and write about their experiences along the way.  About 300 people showed up.

Their columns were such a hit with Register readers, and the riders had such a good time, that they did it again the next year, this time in the first week of August.  Now, RAGBRAI is held during the last full week of July.  It is the largest, longest, and oldest touring bike ride in the world.  Thousands of people (10,000 registered riders, countless non-registered riders) from every state and dozens of countries descend upon Iowa every July to dip their back tires in the Missouri River, sweat, drink, eat, and party their way to the east, and dip their front tires in the Mississippi River.

Thousands of Iowa families open their homes and welcome strangers to sleep in their beds, on their couches, in their yards, use their bathrooms, and eat their food.  There are beer slides, bikers who stop at nearly ever bar along the way, wet t-shirt contests, and various other shenanigans that is not appropriate for public knowledge, but it's rarely if ever in-your-face and despite the stories you will hear, the event is very family friendly.

There's the pancake guy, the pork chop guy, the guy who has a blender on the back of his bike (so he can make margaritas).  Homemade pies, bars, BBQ, and mountains of other goodies.  There's the roller blader, the unicyclist, and the guy who doesn't use a seat (and therefore stands while riding the entire way).  A lot of riders are in teams, and many of those teams have been around for years and years, so you see some of the same faces every year.  Lance Armstrong has ridden for a couple of years (and I got to see him from about 20 feet away two summers ago!).

I've been on both sides of the RAGBRAI experience, and it's safe to say that there's nothing quite like RAGBRAI.  You get to ride with dozens or hundreds of other bikers around you (depending on where you are and what time it is).  The scenery is beautiful, as Iowa is multiple beautiful shades of green in July.  The corn is tall.  The temperature and humidity is usually high.  But there's always a kid (sometimes a grown up kid) standing at the edge of the yard with a hose in their hands, spraying the bikers as they ride by.  It's all of the good things in Iowa, wrapped up in bicycle pumps, helmets, and Gatorade.

Posted by: greeneyes at 13:28 | link | comments (1)
iowa

A brief intro to Iowa

Roma and Norman want to know about Iowa, so I'm going to post a series of blogs about the lovely hidden gem of a state.

We'll start with geography for tonight.

Yes, Iowa is flat...in places.  Most of the northwest and north central parts are very flat.  You can see for over 10 miles on a clear day up there...the water tower in the next town over looks pretty small, but you can see it.  The more northeast you get, the hillier it is.

Northeast is a bit hillier.  The very northeast corner, up by Decorah and Dubuque, has very steep roads...steep enough that there are the steep incline signs along the road in some spots.  I think there are some 6% grades.  I haven't spent a lot of time up there, but the area is beautiful.  Bald eagles soar and cliffs look over the Mighty Mississippi.  This area was untouched by the glacier during the last ice age; hence the steep roads.

Southeastern and southwestern have more rolling hills.  Some steep ones, but most of the hills are more like gentle roller coasters.  I love driving along a highway or country road (not interstate) and watch the hills roll by, filled with barns, crops, cattle.  It seems simple, although the farmers definitely do not have simple jobs.

South central is generally flatter than the rest of the southern half of the state, but not as flat as the northern parts.

The Loess (pronounded luss) Hills follow along the western edge of Iowa.  They are beautiful, and western Iowa and China are home to the largest collections of loess soil in the world (Argentina and Hungary also have large loess deposits).  Here is a link that explains the Loess Hills much better than I could.

There are caves on the east side.  Many of them are by Maquoketa, on the east side (sort of in the nose part of the gnome that is the Mississippi River). 

The countryside is beautiful.  We don't have ocean waves pounding the beach.  We don't have fine sandy beaches.  But the rolling hills are a lush green in the summer...several shades of green, actually.  The leaves in the fall rival New England's, particularly along the "east coast" on the Mississippi.  I love, love, love visiting other places and seeing new terrains, buildings, countrysides, everything.  But driving through Iowa's countryside always feels right to me (although ask me again next winter when we get a foot of snow ).  I could move to the opposite side of the world, but Iowa will always be home.

Posted by: greeneyes at 21:53 | link | comments (2)

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