BABY!

TODAY’S CELEBRATION

With much happiness we welcome Nathan Clark into our family. Mom and Dad are really tired from a long labor but they are doing well. John and I have seen, held and rocked our new grandson. He is awesome. I’ll write some more tomorrow since it is late.

BLUG BLOG

TODAY’S WORRY

Today I had to go over to Kaiser Permanente early to have some blood drawn. Nothing dire, just some routine cholesterol checking thing. So I thought I’d comment on the whole being stuck with a needle. First of all, phlebotomists? When I was looking for a job and I’d see “help wanted – phlebotomists,” I always wondered what a phlebotomist did. It sounds sort of metaphysical or perhaps the job name for someone who takes out part of your brain. Anyway, I sit down and roll up my sleeve and the nice young woman asks me, “I’m a student, is it okay if I take your blood?” Hmmm, snap decision. Do I want someone to practice sticking needles in me? Honestly, the last time I had this done and the earnest young person asked, I said no, I’d like the experienced phlebotomist. But I like living on the edge so this time I said, sure, if you’re a very good student. I figured a little lightheartedness would be good. But this was serious business and no smiles were cracked. I grabbed a hold of the squeezy thing and sqoze it with all my might. She tied the rubber band thingy on my arm. She prodded my vein. I looked away. She undid the rubber band thingy. I looked back. No needle yet. Another go at cutting off my circulation. She mentions that I might feel a little pinch. I look away. Some more prodding of my inner elbow. And then, voila, she sticks the needle in and it’s over. Not even a little pinch. No big bruise. No gushing blood. Usually it hurts. I think I’ll ask for a student next time.

And speaking of blood, Jonathan called it blug when he was little. He’d run up to me after falling down yelling, “Mommy, mommy, blug!!” I wonder what cute things Nathan will say. He was due 10 days ago. Doesn’t he know that Nanie likes people to be on time?

UNDER THE WEATHER

TODAY’S WORRY

I just sat down at the computer to spread my germs all over the keyboard and make some sort of entry. I was thinking I’d just write a short post since I am feeling pretty crummy with a bad cold. But then I typed the title, “Under the Weather,” and it made me wonder why being sick is called “under the weather.” Well, of course, I had to look it up. (Isn’t the internet wonderful!) It seems that “Under the weather” is a nautical term that was originated in the British navy. When a sailor was ill, he was kept below decks, and thus, under the weather. I’m no sailor and I’m not a very good sickie either. I have got to get better soon because Little Bruno aka Nathan is already a week late and sure to make an appearance soon. I don’t want to traumatize him by wearing a mask and protective gloves the first time we meet.

A FABLE: THE COUPLE AND THE UNFORTUNATE CHOICE

A MODERN FABLE

This fable is inspired by Sarah’s choice for dinner at Left Bank last week.

THE COUPLE AND THE UNFORTUNATE CHOICE

Once upon a time, long, long ago (actually 1971), in a country far, far away (actually Canada) two people named Mary and John took a trip to Montreal.

“I will wine and dine you and we shall have a fine time,” said John gallantly. “I shall practice speaking French and you will be greatly impressed.”

“I will be greatly impressed with you regardless of your French speaking,” admitted Mary, because she was mightily smitten.

So off they went to a superior restaurant to eat French food and gaze into each other’s eyes.

“Let us try this dish,” John suggested. “From my vast knowledge of French I know that ris de veau means some sort of veal.”

“Ooh, I love veal and I love it when you speak French,” Mary exclaimed with great admiration.

When the dinner arrived, the veal was covered in white sauce. They each tasted a morsel.

“What type of veal do you think this is?” asked Mary. She was sure John would know due to his vast knowledge of French. “It doesn’t quite have the texture of meat.”

“Uh oh,” thought John. “Could it be something other than veal meat? I shall use my great memory to try to remember what ris means.”

So he thought and thought and thought some more while they nibbled at the dinner. Finally he dredged an old word out of his memory.

“Alas,” he ventured, “I think that perhaps ris means brains.”

Whereupon, using his vast knowledge of French, John asked for l’addition (the bill) and they left.

The moral of this story is 1) don’t trust your high school French, 2) things sound better in French than they taste, 3) love may be blind but its other senses are working.

Note: As it turns out the veal was sweetbreads and not brains.

For more modern fables click on the Modern Fables in the sidebar.