"Dorothy! I haven't seen you in so long--forty years!" Patient in the waiting room
This is why I love my town. :-)
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Word of wisdom of the day
You should always wash your coffeepot.
The reason for this, you ask? Very simple, actually. You don't want your coffee to boil, because then it'll get bitter.
And a washed pot never boils.
The reason for this, you ask? Very simple, actually. You don't want your coffee to boil, because then it'll get bitter.
And a washed pot never boils.
Speaking of, happy St. Valentine's Day
I was trying to figure out which St. Valentine the day was for, and Dr. Veith kindly posted about it.
I like his idea of making a fuss about marriage on this day, as well as martyrdom. I don't really like the little skull-and-ribbon motif he recommends, but I bet it'd be very popular. (Anybody shopped in a junior's section lately? Lots of those. Usually in pink and sparkles, too. But I think those skulls are related to pirates somehow, rather than martyrs...)
I also like his picture. It adds a certain...something.
Anyway. Blessed be the God of love, who triumphs over death. :-)
I like his idea of making a fuss about marriage on this day, as well as martyrdom. I don't really like the little skull-and-ribbon motif he recommends, but I bet it'd be very popular. (Anybody shopped in a junior's section lately? Lots of those. Usually in pink and sparkles, too. But I think those skulls are related to pirates somehow, rather than martyrs...)
I also like his picture. It adds a certain...something.
Anyway. Blessed be the God of love, who triumphs over death. :-)
Thwarting telemarkers
I love my office. We're so cheerfully, curmudgeon-ly, deeply non-modern.
I particularly savor my relationship with telemarketers. My response is nearly always, "We don't care; we are perfectly happy without whatever you're peddling; go away and leave us alone." (I'm much more tactful, of course.) They certainly don't get to talk to the good doctor. If they are very persistent, I let them mail us things, which we immediately throw away. "New and improved" does register occasionally--if there's reliable data behind the claim!
The phone company has been particularly annoying lately. I would tell them we didn't want their thingy because we were very happy with our account as it was, and they'd just call back another day. I finally called their help line and described the symptoms, which deeply weirded out that representative. He claimed they didn't do that, but there was a sneaky backdoor company that would call and sound like they were them, and next time that happened try and get the name. Well, they called back, and I got her first and last name, and she claimed she really was with the company itself; and she did sound above-board. I told her to take us OFF the list, and sure enough they haven't called back since; there the matter stands.
Today I got to tell a particular credit card company to go away. We did work with them a while ago--briefly. But they were expensive and a nuisance, so we quit. But they called back today. The lady told me all about their new whatsit "for our merchants only" and if we liked the FREE 30-day trial period, it would be only so much a month thereafter.
I said thank you, we didn't want to be one of their merchants and were extremely happy as we were.
She sounded taken aback. "But you are one of our merchants!"
I replied, "We used to be, but we cancelled our account some time ago."
"Oh."
We wished one another a happy Valentine's Day--I should have wished her a blessed Feast of Saint Valentine, but didn't think of it in time--and we parted.
:-D
I particularly savor my relationship with telemarketers. My response is nearly always, "We don't care; we are perfectly happy without whatever you're peddling; go away and leave us alone." (I'm much more tactful, of course.) They certainly don't get to talk to the good doctor. If they are very persistent, I let them mail us things, which we immediately throw away. "New and improved" does register occasionally--if there's reliable data behind the claim!
The phone company has been particularly annoying lately. I would tell them we didn't want their thingy because we were very happy with our account as it was, and they'd just call back another day. I finally called their help line and described the symptoms, which deeply weirded out that representative. He claimed they didn't do that, but there was a sneaky backdoor company that would call and sound like they were them, and next time that happened try and get the name. Well, they called back, and I got her first and last name, and she claimed she really was with the company itself; and she did sound above-board. I told her to take us OFF the list, and sure enough they haven't called back since; there the matter stands.
Today I got to tell a particular credit card company to go away. We did work with them a while ago--briefly. But they were expensive and a nuisance, so we quit. But they called back today. The lady told me all about their new whatsit "for our merchants only" and if we liked the FREE 30-day trial period, it would be only so much a month thereafter.
I said thank you, we didn't want to be one of their merchants and were extremely happy as we were.
She sounded taken aback. "But you are one of our merchants!"
I replied, "We used to be, but we cancelled our account some time ago."
"Oh."
We wished one another a happy Valentine's Day--I should have wished her a blessed Feast of Saint Valentine, but didn't think of it in time--and we parted.
:-D
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Quote of the day
"I was telling Dr. M-- about Don. He was complaining the other day about spending $1700 on a dentist, and then on Saturday he died. He could have saved the money. Well, he didn't know he was going to break his hip." --A patient
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Consider the turnip
I've never enjoyed turnips so much.
So I looked it up on Wikipedia. You will be glad to note, "Turnips are sown from the beginning to the end of June, but the second and third weeks of the month are, by judicious farmers, accounted the most proper time."
We should certainly follow the advice of the judicious farmers instead of those harum-scarum weekenders. Take note, O ye who mean to sow turnips.
Furthermore, "Pliny the Elder writes that he considered the turnip one of the most important vegetables of his day, rating it 'directly after cereals or at all events after the bean, since its utility surpasses that of any other plant.' Pliny praises it as a source of fodder for farm animals, and this vegetable is not particular about the type of soil it grows in and because it can be left in the ground until the next harvest, it 'prevents the effects of famine' for humans."
Query: does it prevent famine itself, or only the effects of famine? If the latter, is it not rather immoral to grow turnips at all and divorce the thing from its effect?
I also learn that turnips were the original jack-o'-lanterns; there's a historical marker dedicated to them "on Main Road in Westport, Massachusetts"; and that "The turnip is an old vegetable charge in heraldry. It was used by Leonhard von Keutschach, prince-archbishop of Salzburg. The turnip is still the heart shield in the arms of Keutschach am See."
I can imagine it now: "Once more unto the brink, dear friends, once more, and close up the wall with our Salzbergian dead! For prince-archbishop von Keutschach AND THE TURNIP!!"
And, with that, I leave you with this recipe for pirate stew, featuring, of course, turnips. I haven't tried it; if anyone does, do let me know how it turns out. :-)
INGREDIENTS
1 pound beef stew meat, cut into 1-inch pieces
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
salt and ground black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 small sweet potato, chopped
4 small potatoes, chopped
1 celery rib, chopped
1 turnip, chopped
2 parsnips, chopped
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon butter
1 small onion, chopped
3/4 cup pineapple juice
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon crushed garlic
1 cube beef bouillon
3 tablespoons rum
DIRECTIONS
Combine the beef, flour, salt, and pepper in a resealable plastic bag; shake to evenly coat the beef.
Heat the olive oil in a skillet over medium heat. Brown the beef in the olive oil. Transfer the meat into the bottom of a slow cooker and return the skillet to the heat. Add the sweet potato, potato, celery, turnip, and parsnip. Pour the vinegar into the hot skillet to deglaze the pan, scraping loose the particles from the bottom with a spatula; empty into the slow cooker. Return the skillet to the heat and melt the butter. Cook and stir the onion in the melted butter until softened; scrape into the slow cooker.
Combine the pineapple juice, Worcestershire sauce, brown sugar, garlic, beef bullion, and rum in a small saucepan; cook until the bouillon cube dissolves. Pour into the slow cooker.
Turn the slow cooker on to High; cook for 1 hour. Switch heat to Low and cook an additional 6 hours.
So I looked it up on Wikipedia. You will be glad to note, "Turnips are sown from the beginning to the end of June, but the second and third weeks of the month are, by judicious farmers, accounted the most proper time."
We should certainly follow the advice of the judicious farmers instead of those harum-scarum weekenders. Take note, O ye who mean to sow turnips.
Furthermore, "Pliny the Elder writes that he considered the turnip one of the most important vegetables of his day, rating it 'directly after cereals or at all events after the bean, since its utility surpasses that of any other plant.' Pliny praises it as a source of fodder for farm animals, and this vegetable is not particular about the type of soil it grows in and because it can be left in the ground until the next harvest, it 'prevents the effects of famine' for humans."
Query: does it prevent famine itself, or only the effects of famine? If the latter, is it not rather immoral to grow turnips at all and divorce the thing from its effect?
I also learn that turnips were the original jack-o'-lanterns; there's a historical marker dedicated to them "on Main Road in Westport, Massachusetts"; and that "The turnip is an old vegetable charge in heraldry. It was used by Leonhard von Keutschach, prince-archbishop of Salzburg. The turnip is still the heart shield in the arms of Keutschach am See."
I can imagine it now: "Once more unto the brink, dear friends, once more, and close up the wall with our Salzbergian dead! For prince-archbishop von Keutschach AND THE TURNIP!!"
And, with that, I leave you with this recipe for pirate stew, featuring, of course, turnips. I haven't tried it; if anyone does, do let me know how it turns out. :-)
INGREDIENTS
1 pound beef stew meat, cut into 1-inch pieces
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
salt and ground black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 small sweet potato, chopped
4 small potatoes, chopped
1 celery rib, chopped
1 turnip, chopped
2 parsnips, chopped
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon butter
1 small onion, chopped
3/4 cup pineapple juice
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon crushed garlic
1 cube beef bouillon
3 tablespoons rum
DIRECTIONS
Combine the beef, flour, salt, and pepper in a resealable plastic bag; shake to evenly coat the beef.
Heat the olive oil in a skillet over medium heat. Brown the beef in the olive oil. Transfer the meat into the bottom of a slow cooker and return the skillet to the heat. Add the sweet potato, potato, celery, turnip, and parsnip. Pour the vinegar into the hot skillet to deglaze the pan, scraping loose the particles from the bottom with a spatula; empty into the slow cooker. Return the skillet to the heat and melt the butter. Cook and stir the onion in the melted butter until softened; scrape into the slow cooker.
Combine the pineapple juice, Worcestershire sauce, brown sugar, garlic, beef bullion, and rum in a small saucepan; cook until the bouillon cube dissolves. Pour into the slow cooker.
Turn the slow cooker on to High; cook for 1 hour. Switch heat to Low and cook an additional 6 hours.
The hunting of the dress: an epic in five fits
Fit the First: Before
A wedding is a beautiful thing
And after finding the eponymous ring
One further task may bring duress:
The hunting of a wedding dress.
My own small town is rather short
On gowns of that particular sort,
So Mom and I called up a store
In Albuquerque's wider shores.
But illness struck, and cancelled flat
Our appointed slot, and that was that.
Fit the Second: Friday
A week went by. Our health restored,
We ventured out to hunt once more.
One Jessica was sweet, but tired,
And draggled was her stock entire.
The dresses there--and elsewhere too--
Came comparatively huge!
I don't consider myself too small,
But they just didn't fit at all.
We partly paused the dresses' slips
By tying up the back with clips,
But plastic clips, and metal clamps,
Make airy spirits rather damp.
We fortified ourselves with lunch
And tried again with Andie's bunch.
Andie too was sweet, but there
The dresses' price was near despair.
My preferred "crustacean" glam
Cost upward of three thousand clams,
While the simple veil in favor
Was hundreds more than I could savor.
The Dress itself did not live there
So we sought some other lair.
We next met Liz, who had a ball
Finding me two dresses small.
But both had iffy workmanship
And a dressing room too small for the slip!
As we neared our house that Friday night
My Olwen started rattling--light
At first, but thicker later, until
Our concern could not stay still.
"Dad," I cried, "Please fix my car!
I'm afraid to take her very far!"
Probably it was just cosmetic,
But it sounded less than copacetic.
Fit the Third: Saturday Morning
Daddy tightened some loose screw
And cured the rattle. We tried anew
To hunt The Dress-the elusive Dress--
And got our coats, when Dad expressed
The need to fill my tires with air.
He went, and we stayed in, and there
Mom computed while I played
With my mousies. Though afraid
I caught my Bing, and then transferred
Attention to Marry, who scurried
From my hand, up on her cage,
And off the back! It seemed an age
As I waited for the whoosh-
The squeak--the smoosh--
Of the mouse who rashly leaped
Down four shelves. But Marry creeped
Into hiding as I emptied
The wrought-iron shelf to locate simply
Dust bunnies and no mouse. The next
Events combine and meld, the vexed
Shutting, pouncing, luring, shining,
Coaxing, missing, and designing,
As still my frantic Maraschino
Eluded like some desperado.
But Dad came back, and caught her under
The shelf that had begun that blunder.
We breathed again, and I and Mom
Left, and salvaged some aplomb.
Fit the Fourth: Saturday afternoon
Darlene's was fine, but didn't have
The Dress I wanted, yes, must have!
And Darlene lectured me on why
I shouldn't want my size to try.
We then dropped by a little shop
Of Celtic things--so I bought
A how-to book on drawing knots
And promptly started sketching lots.
Fit the Fifth: Saturday Late Afternoon
At last we made it to the place
Where our first appointment space
We'd given up. There Madelyn
Gave me a catalog, to begin,
And figured out what styles I like.
We went back to a room to try
Her best suggestions: a dressing room,
Expansive enough I could assume
Those floofy dresses; mirror, chair,
And racks, and table, all were there.
She even had two little samples
For brides like me who aren't so ample.
And best of all, we soon assessed
She had my Dress--the elusive Dress,
With ample floof and details exotic,
Clear proof my hunt was not quixotic!
Its pictured model was pretty scary
But in it I look like a fairy,
So with tears and song we bought the gown
And wrote this poem for its renown.
A wedding is a beautiful thing
And after finding the eponymous ring
One further task may bring duress:
The hunting of a wedding dress.
My own small town is rather short
On gowns of that particular sort,
So Mom and I called up a store
In Albuquerque's wider shores.
But illness struck, and cancelled flat
Our appointed slot, and that was that.
Fit the Second: Friday
A week went by. Our health restored,
We ventured out to hunt once more.
One Jessica was sweet, but tired,
And draggled was her stock entire.
The dresses there--and elsewhere too--
Came comparatively huge!
I don't consider myself too small,
But they just didn't fit at all.
We partly paused the dresses' slips
By tying up the back with clips,
But plastic clips, and metal clamps,
Make airy spirits rather damp.
We fortified ourselves with lunch
And tried again with Andie's bunch.
Andie too was sweet, but there
The dresses' price was near despair.
My preferred "crustacean" glam
Cost upward of three thousand clams,
While the simple veil in favor
Was hundreds more than I could savor.
The Dress itself did not live there
So we sought some other lair.
We next met Liz, who had a ball
Finding me two dresses small.
But both had iffy workmanship
And a dressing room too small for the slip!
As we neared our house that Friday night
My Olwen started rattling--light
At first, but thicker later, until
Our concern could not stay still.
"Dad," I cried, "Please fix my car!
I'm afraid to take her very far!"
Probably it was just cosmetic,
But it sounded less than copacetic.
Fit the Third: Saturday Morning
Daddy tightened some loose screw
And cured the rattle. We tried anew
To hunt The Dress-the elusive Dress--
And got our coats, when Dad expressed
The need to fill my tires with air.
He went, and we stayed in, and there
Mom computed while I played
With my mousies. Though afraid
I caught my Bing, and then transferred
Attention to Marry, who scurried
From my hand, up on her cage,
And off the back! It seemed an age
As I waited for the whoosh-
The squeak--the smoosh--
Of the mouse who rashly leaped
Down four shelves. But Marry creeped
Into hiding as I emptied
The wrought-iron shelf to locate simply
Dust bunnies and no mouse. The next
Events combine and meld, the vexed
Shutting, pouncing, luring, shining,
Coaxing, missing, and designing,
As still my frantic Maraschino
Eluded like some desperado.
But Dad came back, and caught her under
The shelf that had begun that blunder.
We breathed again, and I and Mom
Left, and salvaged some aplomb.
Fit the Fourth: Saturday afternoon
Darlene's was fine, but didn't have
The Dress I wanted, yes, must have!
And Darlene lectured me on why
I shouldn't want my size to try.
We then dropped by a little shop
Of Celtic things--so I bought
A how-to book on drawing knots
And promptly started sketching lots.
Fit the Fifth: Saturday Late Afternoon
At last we made it to the place
Where our first appointment space
We'd given up. There Madelyn
Gave me a catalog, to begin,
And figured out what styles I like.
We went back to a room to try
Her best suggestions: a dressing room,
Expansive enough I could assume
Those floofy dresses; mirror, chair,
And racks, and table, all were there.
She even had two little samples
For brides like me who aren't so ample.
And best of all, we soon assessed
She had my Dress--the elusive Dress,
With ample floof and details exotic,
Clear proof my hunt was not quixotic!
Its pictured model was pretty scary
But in it I look like a fairy,
So with tears and song we bought the gown
And wrote this poem for its renown.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Teaching history, continued
A blogger inquires why pollsters don't know history. When you read a few more details, some of the "mythical" people were at least based loosely on historical persons. :-) I want to see the original study now.
But people should still know Winston Churchill was real.
But people should still know Winston Churchill was real.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Quote of the day
Nice patient: "Are you fluent in Persian?"
Me: "Oh, no!"
Nice patient: "You can just get by in it?"
Me: "I don't know if I can even get by. I don't have anyone to talk to in it, you see."
Nice patient: "You should get on Skype. I am sure lots of men would like to talk to a medical girl, and then you would get lots of practice. When I'm on my account, people are calling me all the time."
The nice patient leaves. I boggle.
I'm not sure I want to talk to random Iranian men on Skype...
Me: "Oh, no!"
Nice patient: "You can just get by in it?"
Me: "I don't know if I can even get by. I don't have anyone to talk to in it, you see."
Nice patient: "You should get on Skype. I am sure lots of men would like to talk to a medical girl, and then you would get lots of practice. When I'm on my account, people are calling me all the time."
The nice patient leaves. I boggle.
I'm not sure I want to talk to random Iranian men on Skype...
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