What I read: "Dreams from My Father" by Barack Obama

Our president-elect wrote "Dreams from My Father" back in 1995, shortly after he was elected the first black president of the Harvard Law Review. You can see why I thought this book would be relevant now. Not that everything (or even most of what) I read is relevant.

"Dreams from My Father" is an ambitious book, written by an ambitious young man. And it may have been a bit too ambitious for Obama so early in his career. As he says himself in the Preface to the 2004 edition:

I confess to wincing every so often at a poorly chosen word, a mangled sentence, an expression of emotion that seems indulgent or overly practiced. I have the urge to cut the book by fifty pages or so, possessed as I am with a keener appreciation for brevity.

That said, the book is filled with beautiful images of Obama's childhood in Hawaii and his visit to family in Kenya, as well as a youthful angst based on a search for identity.

Raised by a white mother and grandparents, young Barack never quite fit in. I'm sure we all experience something like that as children, but I can only imagine how hard it would be when you don't even resemble your own family.

Although the book is a bit self-indulgent (and really, what memoir isn't) it's an intimate look at a man with no idea he would one day become one of the most powerful people in the world.

While working in Chicago as a community organizer -- a phrase that was spit out like curse words during the recent campaign -- Obama tried to mentor a friend's teenage son.

I asked him if he was still thinking about the air force, and he shook his head; he'd stay in Chicago, he said, find a job and get his own place. I asked him what had changed his mind. He said that the air force would never let a black man fly a plane.

I looked at him crossly. "Who told you that mess?"

Kyle shrugged. "Don't need somebody to tell me that. Just is, that's all."

"Man, that's the wrong attitude. You can do whatever you want if you're willing to work for it."

Many passages moved me, because hindsight is 20/20, and one slight change in Obama's past would have lead him down a very different path. We've yet to see what kind of president he will be, but this book gives insight into the kind of man he is.

I was especially moved by the tribute to his mother (from the preface to the 2004 edition):

I think sometimes that had I known she would not survive her illness, I might have written a different book--less a meditation on the absent parent, more a celebration of the one who was the single constant in my life. In my daughters, I see her every day, her joy, her capacity for wonder. I won't try to describe how deeply I mourn her passing still. I know that she was the kindest, most generous spirit I have ever known, and that what is best in me I owe to her.

You have to respect a man who loves his momma.

I am loved

I never meant to upset anyone or make anyone feel sorry for me, but after my wonderful sister-in-law read this post from earlier in the month, she sent me a care package to let me know that three people in Michigan love me. I'm not ashamed to say the gesture and her accompanying note made me cry. In a good way, of course.

I'm also not ashamed to admit that I will probably eat every one of those sugar cookies all by myself. My sister-in-law's sugar cookies are that good. Too bad the significant other wasn't here when I opened the box.

I grew up without sisters, but my sister-in-law has been in the family for a while now, and I think I should start considering her an actual sister. Especially after this.

I think my mom must have rubbed off on my sister-in-law as much as she did the rest of us kids. And I like to my sister-in-law rubbed of on Mom a bit, too. I'm pretty sure Mom got a lot sassier after Melinda married my brother. And that was a good thing.

Just say no

I've always been one to exercise. That's not to say I'm in great shape. I work hard, but genetics and time are not on my side. Plus, (thanks again to genetics) I'm hypothyroid, so my metabolism also fights me every step of the way. Nevermind that I refuse to completely give up junk food. I tried it, but labeling certain foods "bad" just makes me crave them more. So I subscribe to the belief of everything in moderation (including moderation).

I the last year or so I have developed exercise-induced asthma. When I work out at a pretty intense level (and sometimes not so intense), I'll start coughing. I'm not a smoker and I never have been. I did work almost a year in an office where everyone except me smoked, so I blame that. The doctor prescribed albuterol, suggesting I take a puff shortly before working out. It helps, but not enough. I find that if I keep my heart rate below 140, I don't cough too much. But I don't feel like I'm getting enough of a workout unless my heart rate is above 150, close to 160.

She has now prescribed Singulair. From the prescription information:

This medicine is used for the prevention and long-term treatment of asthma. It is used to prevent asthma attacks caused by exercise.

As with all medications, there is a list of possible side effects, including unusual weakness (great for a workout), stomach pain or upset, dizziness, cough (wait, what? isn't that why I'm taking this?), headache, tiredness and stuffy nose. And I should CONTACT (MY) DOCTOR IMMEDIATELY (yep, it's actually in all caps) if (I) experience hallucinations, fever, persistant sore throat or earache or flu symptoms.

But wait there's more!

CONTACT YOUR DOCTOR IMMEDIATELY if you experience sever stomach pain, server thoughts or actions (!?!), muscle aches/cramps, irregular heartbeat, yellowing eyes/skin, numbness/tingling of the hands or feet, easy bruising or bleeding, swelling or seizures.

Obviously, my doctor must believe the benefits of this medication outweigh any possible side effects. I'm sure I'd be better off if I didn't read this stuff. I don't usually have severe reactions to drugs. Not unless I think I should, anyway.

Here's hoping the medicine helps with the exercise-induced asthma and doesn't make me see things that aren't there.

Happy Hippo Butts

They may be the one of the deadliest animals in Africa but hippos are damn cute -- especially the babies.
A newborn hippo swims next to her mother at the Berlin Zoo on Tuesday. The female calf, which has yet to be given a name, already weighs 18 kilograms (40 pounds) -- as opposed to her mother, who tips the scales at a formidable 2.5 tons.

The real reason I have short hair

From "The Zombie Survival Guide" by Max Brooks:

The simple fact is that ghouls attack by reaching out to grab their victims, pulling them in, then biting. Logic dictates that the less material a person offers up for grabs, the better his or her chances will be. Baggy clothing, complete with pockets, straps, or anything that might hang freely, will be a convenient handle for grasping zombie claws. Anyone who has worked in factories or with some kind of heavy machinery will tell you the importance of never letting anything hang loose. Tight clothing, obviously within comfort limits, will help to eliminate this danger. Hair can be a similar hazard. Many times, victims have been seized and even dragged by their hair to a gruesome end. Tying one's hair back before a conflict may work temporarily. However, a short haircut, one inch or short, is ideal for hand-to-hand combat.

True, I think my short 'do makes me look younger and suits my face better and it's easier to care for, and my hair is naturally curly/wavy and has a tendency toward frizz when it reaches a certain length, and I have an awesome hair stylist. None of those reasons are the real reason for my short hair. It's not about fashion, it's all about survival, people.

If you're a Max Brooks fan -- and who didn't love "World War Z" -- he's at it again. "Those who don't learn from zombie history are condemned to repeat it."

The more you know.

What I drove: 2009 Subaru Forester

Some things seem to just go with Colorado: ski slopes, crazy weather, aspens, fleece vests and Subarus.

I don't own a Subaru, but I know a lot of people out here who do. As far as vehicles go, they make sense --they're not huge, but they're plenty big for hauling all your gear. They're good looking, get decent gas mileage and they're all-wheel drive.

I recently drove the newly remodeled Forester. When I bought my car last year, the older Forester made the short list, but lost out due to the price point. The new Forester is bigger but sleeker with a more aerodynamic body. It's priced at $25,460, which isn't outrageous and it feels like a much more expensive vehicle.

From my test drive story (which publishes in The Gazette Dec. 19):

The Forester, like all Subarus, comes standard with all-wheel drive. That all-wheel-drive system has 30 years of Subaru experience behind it. The symmetrical all-wheel drive creates optimal balance for stability and sharp handling, with power flowing in a direct path from the engine to all four wheels, according to Subaru literature.

I spent a good portion of my test drive in the Forester seeking out any lingering snow and ice from a recent snowstorm, trying to test the car’s all-wheel-drive performance — this from a person who hates to drive in foul weather.

Unfortunately, the best I could do for adverse conditions was a gravel parking lot and some standing water. Still, the Forester gripped the gravel and didn’t spin its wheels or throw any gravel when I accelerated out of the parking lot, and there was no pulling when driving through puddles. On the dry roads, the Forester had a smooth comfortable ride, handling like a smaller vehicle, with minimal body roll, even on tight curves.

Here's Yoda!

Years ago, I worked on an I.T. Help Desk. While the job was mostly hell, I had a good friend who made the days bearable. One of the things she did to help me keep from screaming and pulling my hair out was to hide a Happy Meal Yoda figurine around the office. Some days, I'd get off a particularly frustrating phone call -- "if you reset my password, you'll know what it is" -- I'd look up to find Yoda peering at me from the leaves of a plant or peeking out of a coffee mug at me. It was as if he were saying, "Take deep breaths, you will. Suppress your dark urges, you must."

I wonder if the people who design Christmas tree ornaments know Yoda's effect on me or if they're just trying to make a buck. I suspect the latter.

Either way, I'm thankful for my latest ornament find. And I'm thankful to Maureen for helping me get through those Help Desk years.

Merry Christmas to me

The local Western Warehouse* is closing. Bad for them, good for me. The boots were 30 percent off. I've been really happy with my old pair of Ariat Fatbaby boots so I went to find a new pair. The pickins are getting pretty slim, but I found a pair. They're not black. But they are pretty ... and comfy ... and on sale.


*Clicking the Western Warehouse link shows the company is evidently becoming Boot Barn.

I'm getting too old for this

Last night, some of my former coworkers and I got together for a Christmas party. We had great food and delicious Margaritas. I felt relaxed and a little tipsy, but certainly not drunk. The significant other played designated driver, so I didn't have to worry about how much I drank, anyway.

Unfortunately, either because I really am getting too old to party or because I don't party enough and my body doesn't know what to do with high-fat snacks and tequila, I woke in the middle of the night feeling like crap. My stomach hurt and I had trouble sleeping. I didn't wake up with a hangover and I feel mostly fine (other than tired from a busy day and lack of sleep). So, I'm going to say that it's not my age but rather my normally clean living that made me feel so lousy after a few Margaritas -- and celebratory shots -- and Mexican food.

It was all worth it and I'm thankful I went, because the party was great, as was hanging out with some of my best friends -- and definitely the coolest people I've ever worked with. I even got a present that made me laugh out loud. Nice stitching, Kate.

WARNING: Naughty word in the image below!

What I drove: 2009 Nissan Rogue

It was probably the shortest test drive I've ever taken -- including ones when actually shopping for a new car -- but I actually like the Nissan Rogue. Despite it's blatant product placement on "Heroes" and the fact that all Nissan vehicles are barely on my car radar, I think the Rogue is a pretty nice little crossover.

I was given the test drive assignment Monday with a deadline of Wednesday. Two days is a really short turnaround, especially for someone who has been used to having a couple of weeks to call the dealership, set up the appointment, spend a few hours driving the vehicle, then take a week or so to pull my notes and specifications together and write the story. It's not one of my better stories. It's mostly information about the car's power and amenities, with less about the actual drive. But it gets the job done. And on such short notice (throw in a snowstorm to make driving treacherous) I think I did ok.

From my story:

The Rogue offers a refined ride and practical amenities, but it has a little bit of a wild side under the hood. The 2.5-liter, four-cylinder engine is paired with a continuously variable transmission. While a conventional automatic transmission typically has four or five fixed gear ratios, a CVT has an infinite number of ratios, according to Nissan literature. Put the Rogue in drive and go. You never feel the vehicle shift gears.

A CVT also optimizes your gas mileage, Robinson says. The front-wheel-drive Rogue gets 22 miles per gallon city and 27 mpg highway. The all-wheel-drive version does nearly as well with 21 mpg city/26 mpg highway. But it’s not just about saving gas. With 170 horsepower and 175 foot-pounds of torque, the Rogue really zips.

On the road, the Rogue glides along like a fish in water. It handles nicely on all road conditions from packed snow to dry pavement to bumps and dips. The front-wheel-drive version I drove laughed at the snowy, slushy roads, so I imagine the all-wheel-drive version could take on some of the roughest conditions Colorado could throw at it.

The ride is smooth and quiet. But you can add all the noise you want with the optional Bose audio system with AM/FM/in-dash six-disc CD changer, eight speakers and XM Satellite Radio, with a free three-month subscription.

Christmas workshop

Thank you Martha Stewart for making me feel inadequate, once again. Granted, it is my own fault for signing up to receive e-mail updates about her Christmas Workshop. I don't know why I thought I'd get cute and simple ideas for Christmas decorations and treats. We all know Martha doesn't do simple.

Under the heading "Easy Holiday Crafts," we're taught how to make such things as evergreen bobeches (I had to look that word up.).

Maybe those aren't really difficult to make, but the process involves gathering fresh evergreen leaves and wiring them together. I've tried wiring fresh flowers before, and it's not something that's in my skill set. I guess I'm more the paper-chain kind of gal.

My favorite line: "Your best damask tablecloth is now safe." My who-mask what now? I am so visiting the wrong Web site there.

The Christmas kitty, however, is perfectly content with my less-than-perfect holiday decor.

Home again

Thank you lucky stars, karma, St. Anthony (patron saint of lost items) or whatever cosmic power returns green iPod Shuffles to their rightful owners. I thought for sure mine was gone forever.

You see, last week, while at my Literacy gig, I dropped my iPod at the school. Of course, I didn't miss it until the next morning when I was getting ready for the gym. By then, snow covered the ground and was still coming down. I called the school, but no luck.

I normally call the after-school program before I head over, to make sure the kids to be tutored are in attendance. Yesterday when I called, I asked if they had found my iPod. They had found an MP3 player, but it wasn't green and it wasn't an iPod. When I got to the school, one of the teachers called me over to her desk and handed me my iPod! A little girl had found it outside. I think she contemplated keeping it for herself, but either her conscience got the better of her or she listened to the music I had loaded and found it lacking -- there's absolutely no Hannah Montana or Jonas Brothers on my playlist.

Whatever the cause, my iPod is home again, and I promise to keep a closer eye on it now.

Deadlines

Happily, I am going to have some freelance writing assignments coming my way. Unfortunately, the first one is due in two days. The extremely short turn-around time is due to a transitional period at my old place of employment. I'm taking the assignment because the pay is better than before and I'm not ready to burn any bridges.

So, the plan is to drive a car tomorrow morning and have the story written by Wednesday morning. I'm not worried about getting the story written once I've driven the car -- I usually write test drives in about a day -- I'm worried about the dealership getting back to us and having a car for me to drive.

Some things, I guess, are out of my hands. I'm just thankful to have a writing gig lined up.

Trimming the tree

It's hard to think about Christmas without my mom. Even though I haven't been home for the holidays in several years, Mom was still a part of my Christmas. She sent care packages with her homemade peanut brittle, cookies and gifts -- usually at least one of which was handmade. Mom's peanut brittle was legendary. Even people who claimed not to like peanut brittle were won over by her recipe -- handed down to her from my paternal grandmother (the secret is the cooling and pulling process).

This year, there will be no care package. As I hang the ornaments and put out the decorations, there are plenty of things to remind me of Mom: Santas and ornaments she made and ornaments and decorations from when I was a kid.

While it makes me sad to not have her around any more, the decorations also make me nostalgic. And I'm thankful to have the things she made, items she created with care and love, items that can't be bought or duplicated.

And maybe someday, I'll figure out how to make peanut brittle the way she did.

O Christmas Tree

Thank you pine tree for allowing us to cut you down to decorate our home.

Last year, we trekked out to the Merry Christmas Tree Farm to find our Christmas tree. We have decided to make cutting a fresh tree one of our holiday traditions. So, today, we began our quest for the (not so) perfect tree.

One of the things we love about cutting a tree from this farm -- besides the fact it is small and local and has alpacas -- is that the trees aren't perfect. If we wanted a perfect tree, we'd buy an artificial one.

Although we set off in a different direction from last year, we ended up in about the same area. And the tree is pretty similar to our 2007 tree. It's tall and slender, fresh and fragrant.

And with a price of $30, pretty affordable. Tomorrow we'll trim the tree and deck the halls and get the Christmas season rolling.

Christmas alpacas

Follow me

Based on all the comments on yesterday's post, I'm not the only person worried about the upcoming Zombie Apocalypse. And, more importantly, it looks like I am going to have to lead this sorry group of survivors, seeing as I had the highest score.

New Year's resolutions for all of us:
1. Stock up on canned beans and Twinkies (they say those sweet golden cakes last forever)
2. Learn to fire a rifle/pistol/automatic weapon
3. Take up jogging/running
4. Buy a baseball bat or other blunt object and practice using it

I also think we should make it a habit to cover ourselves in Pam Cooking Spray, Vaseline or olive oil so the zombies will have a harder time getting a good grip on us. Hmmm... maybe not the olive oil -- that might make us all the more tasty.

Another day of thanks

I woke today to an outside temperature of one degree Fahrenheit and a sore throat. So, today, I'm especially thankful for hot showers, silk/wool-blend socks and space heaters.

Ripley is especially thankful for sunbeams and down comforters.

When I first moved in with my significant other, we didn't let the pets on the furniture. I had Ripley and the Fat Cat, and the S.O. had a Doberman. If we had let any of the critters on the bed, we wouldn't have had anywhere to sleep. That, and Jenny, the Dobie, had some issues with incontinence, so, yeah.

After a valiant struggle with Wobbler Disease, Jenny died, and we were left with the Rat Terrier and the Fat Cat. I think those two have benefited from our sorrow (and probably a little guilt) of losing Jenny. While neither one gets to sleep in the bed with us at night, they are very seldom chased off the bed during the day.

Because I chose to adopt two shedding machines and, even though I don't like to admit it, have allergic reactions to all that hair, I'm thankful the comforter has a removable cover that can easily be thrown into the washing machine and dryer.

When it comes

Today, I am thankful to have friends who are preparing for the Zombie Apocalypse. Because when the Zombie Apocalypse inevitably comes, the human race has a better chance of surviving if more of us are truly prepared.

Apparently, I need to step it up a few notches.

62%
I answered the questions honestly. I think I need to run more, stock up on canned goods and learn to handle a fire arm.

And if you think the Zombie Apocalypse isn't possible, you need to check out this:
5 Scientific Reasons a Zombie Apocalypse Could Actually Happen

Bird by bird

Today, I want to say thanks to Lisa. She's been a great friend and editor for several years. While she probably won't be my editor after this Friday, I'm confident that the friendship will continue. Lisa took me under her wing at the newspaper and taught me, among many other things, AP style and how to find my voice.

When I first started writing for her, I still had a host of other duties I had to perform for another boss. During some of those early days, I wasn't sure how I would get everything done on time. Because Lisa and I are friends, I was able to go to her and tell her my concerns. She sent me the following passage from Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird":

"Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said "Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird."

I printed it out and tacked it to my cubicle wall. I looked to it often when something felt overly daunting. Even now --with a work schedule that isn't so crazy --when life seems to put a huge obstacle in my path, I look to this passage, and it helps me through. And it reminds me that I have a friend I can turn to, whether I'm looking for advice on the correct usage of effect or affect or I just need a word of encouragement.

Coffee talk

I am thankful for good coffee. However, I'm not sure if I should be grateful to my significant other for getting me hooked on it. Until the past year or so, I spent my time perfectly happy being a tea drinker. I tried coffee in the past, but it always tasted bitter to me.

When I visited New Orleans years ago, I really wanted to drink a cafe au lait at Cafe Du Monde -- just to say I had. Little did I know folks in New Orleans add chicory to their coffee to make it really strong tasting. I couldn't finish the coffee and had to have hot cocoa with my beignets. It wasn't quite the experience I was going for.

I tried flavors and cappuccinos and finally gave up, deciding I just don't like coffee. No big loss. Except that coffee drinkers seem to enjoy it so much, there must be something to it.

One day, while sipping my chai with the S.O. at Starbucks, he suggested trying an Americano. I did, with a little milk and sugar. And I liked it. Next time, I ordered a latte and -- you guessed it -- I liked it. Now I find that I actually like the bolder coffees better than the mild ones. I don't even need as much milk and sugar in my coffee as I did when I first started drinking coffee. Does this mean my palate is becoming more sophisticated with age or just that I'm killing off my taste buds and can only taste strong, bold flavors? (I've also developed a taste for red wine, dark beer and black olives.)

The good news is coffee can be a significant source of antioxidants:

In fact, it is the top dietary source of antioxidants in many populations, including in the United States. Moreover, roasted coffee residues retain their antioxidant ability; it isn't lost in processing.

The downside is now we have to buy a bigger coffee pot.