Entry #69

Entry #69

Monday, May 14

8:00 p.m. I took Izzie for a walk this morning along the waterway, just for a change of scenery. On the way, we happened upon an area with several fountains, some of which light up and “dance.” Izzie approached the ground-level fountains to get a quick drink, which were erupting and retreating at varying rates. Izzie kept sticking her nose in a fountain hole, only to have a spray of water shoot up and squirt her in the face. She was initially scared, then seemed to learn which hole wasn’t squirting. This would've made a great video. 

Noah was home sick from school today, and Izzie nurtured Noah by resting beside him. “Why is Izzie making weird chewing sounds?” asked Noah from across the hall. I figured that she was probably drinking water in her sleep like she sometimes does.

Later that afternoon, Noah hollered to me from across the hall, “Mom! I found out what it was!” Turns out Aidan had seen this odd chewing action going on, too, so he opened up her mouth to find a tiny gray Playmobil cat stuck behind her front teeth. 

Aidan couldn’t get it out, so Noah gave it a try and managed to extract the wee kitty from between Izzie’s teeth. Seems instead of getting her tongue, “the cat got her teeth.” This indeed proves that cat food is bad for dogs.

Friday, May 17

10:00 a.m. On Wednesday evening, just before dinner, Noah went for a quick longboard ride around the block and returned with a scraped up elbow. Scrapes and bruises are an everyday occurrence around here, so I wasn't all that fazed until Noah told me he’d wiped out and might’ve broken his arm. Since Noah could still bend his arm (and nothing was protruding from odd angles), we figured we'd just ice the area and get an X-ray the next morning when the offices reopened.


Izzie came to the rescue by licking the entirety of Noah’s scrapes, gently stepped over him, licked his face and chin, then lay next to him. Very Nana-like.

I’m in a haze from yesterday, not so much because it was stressful, but moreso because it was insanely boring. Waiting was the theme of the day: waiting for appointments, waiting in the waiting room, waiting to be seen, waiting for X-ray results...Noah and I are both wasted today with what I can only describe as a "waiting hangover." We literally waited for one person or another from 8 a.m. until 4:00 p.m.

I’ve been remiss in finding the kids a pediatrician, partly because we haven’t needed one, and partly because the kids already have appointments for their annual appointments this summer back in Berkeley. Besides, our next-door-neighbor is a pediatrician, as is a neighbor down the street, so we have two emergency back-ups.

In order to get an X-ray, Noah needed a pediatrician’s order. I found out about a pediatrician located just across the hall from an X-ray office, so we walked in first thing after dropping off Aidan, only we couldn’t be seen for another two hours. The receptionist looked at Noah, then looked at me as though I was in the wrong place. “He’s only 14,” I told her. She smiled and said, “Oh. I thought he was much older!” Despite the fact that Noah is within the normal age range to see a pediatrician, his 6'2" frame did look out of place among the infants and toddlers in the waiting room.


I filled out forms with a new gizmo called a Phreesia. It looks like a cross between an iPad and a Romper Room toy in bright orange plastic.

When it was finally our turn to be seen, we were placed in “The Sports Room.” Apparently each room in this doctor’s office has a theme. Photographs of kids playing tackle football, participating in triathlons, shooting rifles and dancing were clipped along a clothesline-style display.

We were sent, as I predicted, to the office across the hall for an X-ray. So we walked across the hall and waited. After the X-rays were taken, we returned to the pediatrican’s office and waited some more. “I don’t think it’s broken," said the doctor, "But it could be dislocated and it might need a splint. We’re making you an orthopedic appointment now.” We waited for awhile to find out about our next appointment, but since we didn’t hear anything, I thought we’d better just go. Had there been any decent magazines, I might be inclined to wait a little while longer...

Turns out our orthopedic appointment wasn’t until 1:10, so I was relieved we’d gone home. The orthopedist’s office was at least somewhat interesting, with sports paraphernalia from former clients. I got a kick out of a signed photo from a rodeo dude with the message, "Thanks for your help." I imagine that a guy who gets thrown off angry bulls for a living would need all the help he could get.

The doctor, who looked a bit like a middle-eastern George Clooney, only less charming, told us that Noah definitely bruised the bone, that “there was blood inside” (the most dramatic news du jour), but that all Noah could do was wear a sling and try to bend his arm every hour.

So, after going to three places over the course of seven hours and being charged who knows how much, Noah came out with a $5 sling and advice to stretch his arm.

12:00 noon: I met up with Sam this morning to to see his completed comic book. He presented me with my very own color copy, a thank you note, and a gift card for Godiva chocolate, too. All most unexpected surprises.

What I found most ironic—and also very sweet—was the acknowledgements page: “This comic would not have been capable without the help from Mrs. Gabriel who saw it through and helped tremendously by showing her perspectives...” In all honesty, I didn't really do much more than listen. Sharing my perspective on the concept of original sin (the main theme of this student's comic book) would not have been the best idea.

There’s a page in the final draft that reads, “We refer to ourselves as the ‘Unblessed.’” “Why?” “Let’s just say, back in the day, God didn’t really like a certain group of people...So when Jesus died on the cross to teach those few people he was almighty, he did not forgive their sins...We are their descendants.” After my initial shock about the "Unblessed," I decided it was best to simply sit back, inhale deeply, and let Sam tell his story.


Still, it's a far cry from the comic books of my youth...

Entry #66

Entry #66

Tuesday, May 8

1:00 p.m. I recently read an article in the New York Times about a Golden Retriever who has been integral in helping a woman suffering from war-related PTSD. She tried all kinds of medications and other therapies, but nothing worked nearly as well as affection from her therapy dog. As someone whose family member was diagnosed with PTSD for very different reasons, I can well understand the emotional benefits of a perennially friendly pooch.

While walking Izzie this morning, I met two friendly pups and was reminded of dogs' natural ability to brighten one’s day. They approach people without prejudice and offer their unconditional affection. What’s more, they help people connect because dogs are usually inclined to greet one another, forcing their humans to do the same.

4:00 p.m. It dawned on me today that I've now lived in Texas long enough to feel perfectly cool in 86 degree weather. I looked at the temperature on the van, thinking that perhaps the sun had just headed up the thermometer, but nope, it’s 86 degrees outside with a little breeze. Perhaps that makes all the difference, or maybe my blood's now as thin as the seniors citizens in Florida who wear cardigans to the beach when it's sunny and 72.

Wednesday, May 9

12:30 p.m. Aidan came home from school yesterday complaining that he felt nauseated, then proceeded to crash on the couch for the remainder of the day and through the night. He's probably lucky he missed dinner, as it turned out.

As part of our "breakfast-for-dinner," I thought I’d try to make “Feather-Light” biscuits from the cooking class last week, only I was missing most of the ingredients. Still, I figured I'd give it a go. I substituted ricotta cheese and nonfat milk for the buttermilk and cream, coconut oil for the shortening, and all-purpose flour for the recommended self-rising White Lily varietal. (I compensated by adding a ½ tsp of baking powder, not that it did much good.) I did have butter for brushing along the top, so I figured at least they'd taste okay. 

The biscuits were edible, but a far cry from “feather light.” Noah said, “They were tasty, Mom, but were kind of like Haggard’s rock cakes.” I think I'll have to try again, this time using the recommended ingredients (unless some mortal enemies are within striking zone, or we find ourselves in need of a quick batch o' mortar).

Thursday, May 10

9:30 a.m. This morning I went to school early thinking that I’d be working with Sam, the boy who’s been writing a comic book about the "unblessed" super hero, but I forgot that he was on a camping trip. As I was leaving class, I ran into a girl who spends the school year here and then returns to Germany for the summer, her home country. “Whenever I come back here from Germany, I realize I forgot how to speak English. Then when I go back to Germany from here, I forget how to speak German.” Judging by how well she speaks English, I’m sure this isn’t true, but it shows that being immersed in a language certainly helps you speak it fluently—and think in that language, too. 

There was a small book fair going on in the main lobby, and the preschool kids were huddled around the paperback area. When I walked up, they were eager to show me their favorites. The big winner seemed to be Dolphin Tale, based on the movie about a dolphin that gets a prosthetic tail. “I got to swim with the dolphins in Hawaii once,” said one little girl, “but I don’t remember it.” “I’m going to go to Hawaii and swim with the dolphins sometime,” added another, smiling at her friend, “We’re going to go together.” A little boy chimed in, “We saw the movie when we were in Hawaii and it was raining and we were in our hotel. We thought the movie was free, but then they charged us 30 dollars!” “Well, I hope you really liked that movie,” I said.

4:30 p.m. The first thing Noah said as he got into the car after school was “I made a tree today that ended up looking like a large brown penis.” This, of course, sent Aidan into a fit of giggles. “What do you mean, 'A large brown penis'?” I asked. “Well, I stepped back after making the base and the trunk and that’s what it looked like," said Noah. "Tal [Noah’s friend] took a look at it, too, and saw the same thing.” 

“Did you put any branches or leaves on it yet?” I asked. “Not yet,” said Noah. Well, that would explain why the tree is still in its phallic stage. It’s ironic that the two other props Noah and his teenage friends were assigned to work on have been large, bulbous rocks—hopefully not to be placed on either side of the tree.

6:00 p.m. For the first time since arriving here, I saw a deer run out in front of my car. I saw it well ahead of time so I could slow down, but the woman in front of me apparently didn’t, and the poor critter banged into the car (causing part of the bumper to shatter), rolled over the top, and continued running to the other side of the street, where it had to cross two more busy lanes. I couldn’t look, but since I didn’t hear anything, I’m just hoping it got across safely and that it survived. I could see the woman in front of me rubbing her forehead from stress, but she just kept on driving.

8:30 p.m. After dinner, we were all hanging out in Noah’s room talking about whether or not Rosetta Stone, an online language program, has been effective in lieu of a live teacher. Like a formulaic sitcom, the phone rang precisely at that moment, and a woman named Hilda began rattling off something in Spanish. “Wrong numero,” said Noah, and hung up. Guess we can all use some Spanish lessons.