Giving It a Tri

My bucket list came out to play today. Even though school starts in three days, the little energizer bunny in me itched to check something off. So I opened the old computer file. Safari. Rock climbing. Undergrad. Quilting. Simultaneously ironing a quilt block and my leg…. (I should’ve gone upstairs to the ironing board, but the carpet seemed more convenient and I sat down and set the thing aside so I wouldn’t burn myself while opening my legs to better lay the fabric on the floor without remembering that I’d set the iron…)

Ouch. It’s painful realizing that my dreams float in this holding pattern of too-late-not-yet’s. I’ve outgrown sleep-overs at the manatee exhibit. I’m wondering if pet-unicorns ever existed. I’m not old enough to drive route 66 in a baby blue convertible. I can’t fly my hypothetical kids to the Philippines. I won’t, in good conscience, produce hypothetical kids right now. What could satisfy my need for speed, wheels, and water? On a grad student’s budget?
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MD vs. PA: Part II

I don’t pretend to be someone that only dreamt of white coat days in an MD haze. For myself and many others, the question between MD vs. PA school manifests itself. But to what extent and when is anyone’s guess. The last summer after year one and calls to 4 PA friends doesn’t seem ideal, but neither is regret over staying simply because you are capable/smart/expected to etc.

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A Hear-ty Welcome Back

That’s hear as in your ear kind of hear.

And if you’re reading out loud, which I quite enjoy doing, despite dirty glances and an occasional chiding “keep it to yourself” spat my way, you would especially enjoy taking these out for a spin: otoscope, eustachian tube, transilluminate.

Upon returning from spring break, us first year medical students just wrapped up the head and neck portion of the physical exam. In my starchy white coat, I attempted to decipher words fuzzily familiar to those from anatomy class. My eyes on the patient, my chin nodding in agreement, my brain all aflurry–how is it that I can’t recall what I literally learned a month ago!? An hour of that and I walked out of the examination room hearing a distinct and distant invitation to [word]press on.
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TG Sans Turkey

Is that even possible? is the question I posed on the eve of a day slotted for merriment and gluttony. The morning of, 0715 brought me to wake then open my shutters like a good French girl. Traces of the words “H.TG.” were forbidden from my mouth lest all the associated memories spill over and wash what little sanity I had. Under the rare and sunny sky, this day would be and had to be fantastic, an answer to mine and mom’s and everyone else’s prayers for joy that overflowith like gravy over turkey. Continue reading

La Clusaz

Whatever you’ve heard about lighter European meals is not true in the Alps. At all. Le pire is that the pounds sneak up like the Freshman, or rather in the gastronomical capital of the world, the French fifteen… ok, I’m fibbing. But really, the only way they maintain their paint-tight-skinny-jeans-sveltness is by skipping their breakfast and walking everywhere. One can tralala to the patisserie, bounce over to the fromagerie, then finish up at the boulangerie (not to be confused with the boucherie where the only pain you’ll find is stomaching the sight of freshly hung/dead rabbit and the like.)  After an eternity of hunting and gathering, the national sport, they walk a few blocks home sans breaking a sweat.

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Maison + Malade =

Homesick. OK. I give up trying to pretend like I can learn in 3 months what a French woman knows after 20 years. The idea struck me on the heels of an incapaciting stomach bug, exasperated by my endless to-do list. I had taken on so much that by the end of October, the time of our trip to Normandy, my body decided to shut down. I don’t blame it. If anyone, I point my finger at my parents and anyone else who encouraged my insanity to forsake family, familiarity, and the following:

1) Mon Kitchenaid me manque. Continue reading