Christie DiColla's Visit

Christie DiColla of the Zenma Equine Wellness Institute will be visiting Bellwether Farm from September 18 through September 24. Christie is an FEI Permitted Therapist and Balanced Body Movement Specialist. During her visit, she will be teaching a Level Three course (only available to those who've taken Levels 1 and 2), and an Owner's course.  She will also be doing bodywork and saddle fitting consultations.  Comment below if you'd like an appointment, or would like to take the Owner's course!  Links to the fliers follow.

Owner's Course September 19 and 20, all day.  Lunch and snacks will be provided. Bring your horse! $750 for both full days.  I have one more spot available in this course.

Bodywork Session September 18 and 24. Plan for about 2 hrs. $200. I still have a few spots available.

Saddle Fit Session September 18 and 24. Plan for about 2 hrs. $250. Find out more here about Christie's philosophy and method for saddle-fitting. She will work on any saddle, just be aware that if your saddle is in warranty, it may void the warranty with the company if you have an independent saddle fitter adjust your saddle.  I still have a few spots available.

Of course, there is a spreadsheet. LOL. Here is what I currently have; I'm sure there are changes!

Prix Caprilli Tests

Greetings Ogden Dressage Group!  Here are Mike's official tests for the Prix Caprilli at C&M Farm in September! 

Intro Level, Walk-Trot Test Maximum height: 18". Test may be called. There are three jumping efforts.  More information can be found on the PDF, which also contains the scoresheet with the pattern.

Training Level, Walk-Trot-Canter Test Maximum height: 24". Test may be called. There are five jumping efforts. More information can be found on the PDF, which also contains the scoresheet with the pattern.

First Level, Walk-Trot-Canter Test Maximum height: 24". Test may be called. There are seven jumping efforts. More information can be found on the PDF, which also contains the scoresheet with the pattern.

In Memoriam: Helene Detwiler

I remember a particular sunny day.  I have a picture of me on Gram's horse, Punda.  I was about seven.  We were in the big pasture next to the farmhouse.  The wind, maybe, or a dog, or a passing cloud, set Punda running.  And little, tiny Gram, running after, was shouting "Sit up straight! Pull on the reins!"  I did, and Punda stopped.  Gram ran up panting, out of breath.  Seven looked at 52, and said "Let's do it again!"  52 looked at 7, and said "Not for any money!"  My gram taught me to control a runaway horse.  She taught me how NOT to panic.

I remember a particular sunny day.  It was my chore to hang out laundry, and fold it and bring it in.  We worked side-by-side, in the beginning, and she showed me where to place the pins, and how to shake out the jeans with a SNAP! so they would fold flat with no wrinkles.  And we talked.  I still hang out my laundry, and every single time, I stand in the Sun and think of her.  She taught me how to take care of the little things---the everyday things that matter, when you craft a home for the family you love.

I remember a particular sunny day.  Two bushels of peaches arrived unexpectedly.  I looked at her, and she looked at me, and we both looked at the peaches.  Then we blanched them and peeled them and packed them away in the freezer.  It took several days, and we talked the whole time.  This summer, I packed 17 quarts of peaches in my cupboard. My Gram taught me what to do with unexpected, glorious abundance; how to save it up for when it's needed.  I have some abundance stored up to help me through now.

I remember a particular sunny day, one of many like it.  Last summer, I got to spend ten days with her.  We worked side-by-side in the garden, pruning and clipping and raking.  Stepping back, looking, thinking "Which way does it WANT to grow?"  Then pruning and clipping some more.  And talking.  She taught me to care for both plants and the shape of a garden.  To wait and see, and then fearlessly seek perfection.  This year, trees will come to my garden, because I finally see where they want to grow.

All of these sunny days---the lessons learned, the time shared in useful, busy work---these days braided our lives together.  I like to think of the light of those sunny days, and how light travels in space forever once it leaves Earth.  The light from those days is traveling still, traveling out through space, carrying a sort of record of our sunny days together.

It is a comfort to me that she spent so much time in the Sun; that nature keeps a record of her life; that I am a part of that record; and that all of her teaching and learning is traveling now, lighting up the spaces between the stars.

Just a Fluke?

I've been debating about weighing in on this Rush Limbaugh/Sandra Fluke thing, but now I just have to get my thoughts out there so I can stop fretting about them. This whole event is disturbing on so many levels. I have always been extremely sensitive to the fact that birth control pills are prescribed for lots of reasons that have nothing to do with birth control. When I was in college, I had many friends who were on them, not because they were having sex, but because they had uterine fibroids. Now that I have been diagnosed with endometriosis, I could take birth control pills to control the growth of the condition. But I've had a bad experience with them before, so I'm going to have a hysterectomy and ablation instead. But imagine if I was 20. Or wanted children. The calculus of these decisions is somewhat different then.

Which brings me to Sandra Fluke. She asked to testify to the GOP committee, and they would not allow it. So then she spoke to the Dem. committee. It took me one click on an Internet link to get to a transcript of her testimony. She spoke rationally and thoughtfully about her friend who was on the pill to control her uterine fibroids. When she could no longer afford it, she went off the pill, her fibroids have grown, and she is now a candidate for major surgery and is likely infertile.

So this is the person that Rush and any number of others have chosen to vilify. So fine, whatever, we all know he's a shock-jock who is just trying to get people riled up. It's his job. The thing that upsets me is that it's working. I have yet to find anyone in commentary who has bothered to click through and find out what she actually said. I suspect that if they did, they'd be on her side. Uterine fibroids and endometriosis are among the leading causes of infertility for women. So why would conservatives (who seem to feel a vested interest in the state of women's wombs), deny this medication to women with these conditions? It's illogical and inconsistent, and I don't understand it. (And of course, the reason a woman is on the pill should remain a confidential matter between her and her physician. Do they really want to open the Pandora's box of requiring that the owner of a company, or a pastor or a legislator needs to approve medical decisions? No, I thought not.)

The attitude of conservatives feels threatening and hostile to me. It informs my decision to have surgery rather than go on the pill for my own condition. If I can not be sure that that the drug option will be there for me tomorrow, I will not choose it. Many years ago, this fear also played into a decision to opt for a surgery that made me effectively infertile, because I was not certain that I would always have control over my own reproduction, especially here, in the most conservative state in the union. At the time, I thought I was probably being paranoid. As time goes by, and I watch what's happening on the right, which dominates what happens where I live, I become more and more certain that the only way that I can exercise my will and make my own decisions is to take drastic steps to be sure the decisions are irrevocable. I am not certain that I will be free tomorrow.

I am filled with fear for my sister, coming of age in this environment, when hatred and oppression of women is being so readily expressed and enacted into law in so many states across the country. I can not imagine how different her world is than mine was when I was her age. Many in the right make noise about Sharia law coming to the U.S. Take a look around at laws pertaining to women that are being passed in Georgia, Alabama, Utah, Arizona, and proposed in Federal Congress. Then take a deep think about the distance left to go before what we wear, read or do is as circumscribed as the medicines we are allowed to take.

Slow Cooker Porridge

This is a new favorite breakfast recipe, and it makes an enormous amount that can just be heated up in the microwave during the week. I usually add a poached egg on top, especially now, when we are getting between 8 and 11 eggs every day! If you are not up on your fiber, ease into this---just a word to the wise... This probably has a full day's ration in one serving. Can be halved if your slow cooker is smaller than mine.

Slow Cooker Porridge:
1 1/2 cups mixed whole grains (I commonly use 1/2 cup hard white wheat, 1/2 cup brown rice, 1/2 cup barley, but I've also used rye, wild rice, hard red wheat, whatever is in the cupboard)
1/2 cup dried fruit
1 t vanilla extract
1 t lemon juice
8 cups water

Put it all in the slow cooker, cook on high until the water starts to steam, then on low for 12 hours.

That's it! I find it plenty sweet just like that, but you could add maple syrup when serving. It's dynamite with a couple of poached eggs on top, and there's something about a big bowl of grains that makes my belly happy all the way through to lunch time.

Danni update...

It's been a while, so here's an update on the gorgeous girl!

She's running up to three years old now, and so her winter has been full of changes. She grew another inch (at least!), all in the legs, it looks like. She spent several weeks being higher behind than in front (oh no!) and then several weeks higher in front than behind (hooray!) and then too high in the back end again (oh no!)... But I'm quite certain that when she's doen growing, she'll be built uphill, like a proper dressage horse!

Along about the end of November, she started losing her baby teeth, and spent most of December and half of January on the near side of completely cranky, because the caps were tearing up her mouth a little as they worked loose. Yet another reason to give her most of the winter off!

About two weeks ago, she started sleeping through the night. Until then, she'd wake up at least once, maybe twice, and start banging at her stall: "I'm awake and I'm bored! Someone come entertain me!" only slightly maddening to the humans in the house, because horses are big and strong and stalls are big and echo-ey, and so it was all loud enough to hear in the house!

Of late, the weather has been quite bad---wet and rainy and muddy. For a bit, it was so muddy that we couldn't turn the horses out in their paddocks. So they had to go out in the arena (probably the best engineered piece of flattish ground on the planet!). Danni had all kinds of excuses to be bad, and she did not take them.

She's been much better about her feet in general, although she still prefers to have all four on the ground, rather than me holding one up... But she improves, and today, even though the grooming stall was muddy and slick with creeping damp, she eventually let me pick out her feet.

I've been doing a bit of ground work with her when I can, and she is gradually learning the three most fundamental lessons a horse can learn:

1) kicking and rearing are COMPLETELY unacceptable around people (young horses always think you are a horse, and that they can't really hurt you). Today, she actually kicked herself, by mistake, so I bet that has come to an end...

2) all those noises and gestures and nudges have information in them that leads to treats, pets, and praise, if she can figure out what they mean.

3) pressure means "move away", not toward. This is a surprisingly hard concept for them. If you rub on a horse, they will lean into you, because it feels good! But if you press on them, you mean for them to move away. It's counter-intuitive for them. But eventually, they figure out the difference between an "aid" and a rub.

Meanwhile, she grows more beautiful by the day, with her snip becoming more prominent, and her body and head becoming more like a grownup horse. In a couple more weeks, I'll put her back to work, and her grownup life will begin. By the end of March, I will have her in regular work under saddle, and we'll see if we can learn to dance together. Between the introduction to riding that she had in the fall, and the intermittent work we've been doing on the ground, the foundation is there, and I can't wait to see how she comes along in the spring!

The Smash and Grab Job

So, not such a good day. Yesterday began the recurrence of my recurrent health problems, which brought me home from work for a day and a half, mostly to curl up in a tiny ball on the bed and just TRY to breathe slowly. I had charted this out, and it should have started tomorrow. Well, never mind. Next week I get to see an another specialist, who actually specializes in this kind of pain, and we'll see what she can do.

BUT. In the meantime, I have turned 40. Which means I had a mammogram scheduled for today. I got to crawl out of bed, put actual clothes on (ow, because my abdomen is so swollen that even my undewear hurts it) and go across town to the radiology clinic, where they have a cheery, welcoming sign that reads:

Some people are like slinkies.
They are essentially useless,
But they still make you laugh
When you push them down the stairs.

So I check in, and get my piece of paper to fill out, and they send me to the changing rooms. I sit down to start filling out the paperwork, and I'm not even 1/3 of the way down the page, when the radiologist comes to get me. So I say, "but I'm not even done with my paperwork yet!". And she says "just get changed. You can fill that out afterwards."

So I pull the curtain over, and it doesn't close all the way, but the person is waiting, so I just turn my back, and get into ye olde hospital gown (which for the first time in my life is supposed to go with the ties in front. This may seem obvious in retrospect, but I've been well trained that the ties go in the back, where you can't reach them!)

And I grab up all my stuff, because the last time I was here, I had to take all my stuff. And she says, "No. Leave it. Just bring your purse.". I'm juggling my purse and my clipboard and my pen, and trying to drop my clothes back onto the bench. Finally, I get that accomplished (was I only imagining the foot tapping and the heavy sighs?), and go across the hall.

The radiologist takes my clipboard, glances over it, draws a line through everything I haven't filled out yet, and says "you don't need to do that part anyway". Then she asks if I've had all my mammograms there. To which I reply "this is my first one", which was on the part of the paper I DID fill out, so she should have known that.

I get straightened out on my incorrect dressing, the fact that I should not have been wearing deodorant today, and away we go to the machine.

After lots of pushing and shoving and having to stand very awkwardly with my head tilted back to one side, one hip dropped down to the left, and my toes pointed to one side, the plastic plate drops, and is surprisingly painful, cold and uncomfortable. "Don't breathe." she says. There are some clicks and whines, and the plastic plate slides up. There is silence for a long moment, while I try to figure out if I'm allowed to breathe or move, and then she says "ok. We have a problem." which nearly causes me heart failure. But apparently I just have very...dense...breasts. Sigh. So there is extra smashing and grabbing. Just for me.

Finally, after several more episodes of holding my breath, flinching, and trying to figure out who engineered this particularly stupid invention, which does not allow for the fact that you will actually have a person, with a HEAD and FEET attached to the tissues in question, she leaves me standing there for a very long interval before she says, "good. Ok. You are done. You can go now."

So I pull my hospital gown back together, and ask, "so my doctor should have the results when?" and she tells me to call my doctor in a couple of days, but they'll send me a letter in the mail in a few weeks anyway. So off I go, back to collect my clothes, definitely feeling like the victim of a smash and grab job. And more than usually ticked off to be a woman in society today. Because for certain, if it was a testicu-ography, there would be no uncomfortable smashing. And someone would have taken into account that other parts of the body also stick off the front, and good engineering would make a place for those. Oh, and you betcha, the little plastic plates would be all toasty warm too.

Sunny Sunday

It's been raining here, onto frozen ground, which means mud, mud, mud. Then last night, we got about 4 inches of snow on top of all that slick mud.

The paddocks are unusable, and yesterday, the horses each got only about half an hour of turnout in the arena. They are used to being out roughly sunrise to sunset. All are holding themselves in, but they struggle with the self-control required.

So I started turning horses out in the arena at a bit before nine this morning, while I cleaned their stalls. It occurred to me to absolutely as inefficient as possible, so they could each have more time. Trinket and Music Man went out together, and I managed to drag out cleaning their stalls, doing water buckets, etc. for forty minutes. Then Danni went out, and I did her stall, fed chickens, raked up the hay barn, did a few other little things. But that only took twenty minutes! So I went inside, and got Dressage Today and brought it out to sit in a chair in the sunshine in my Carrharts to read about Piaffe and getting the most out of a clinic. Time to change them around again---Danni in, Harley out. I mucked that last stall, and went back to my chair. John brought me a beer, and we sat watching the light on the snow on the mountains, watching Harley kick up his heels, listening to the others moving around in their stalls, laughing hysterically about how glad I was this morning to hear Russell crow. (Russell Crowe! Hahahahahha! I guess you had to be there...)

This afternoon, it thawed enough to use the new pump to get some of the water out of the paddocks---John is a hero, going to get that pump last week! So we all stood around leaning on the shovel, or with hands in pockets, to watch the minor miracle of modern technology. Danni was back out in the arena again, completely unfazed by gas-powered pumps and 150-foot hoses. And I felt so satisfied, to have thought so far ahead as to put in a GOOD arena, so that even when the weather is soup, ponies can get out. And SUCH wonderful ponies as we have here! And to be able to buy what's needful, when we need it (like dirty water pumps and hoses from the House of Hose). And to have bright sunshine and the luxury to take some time to be out in it with people I love. And to have warm clothes. And hot water for a shower at the end of the day.

Grading

Today I gave AND graded two exams. All my University friends will be gaping in awe. But I found new motivators. As part of my Happiness Project, I'm trying to improve my work life. One part of that is "biscuits"---small rewards that help me keep moving on the things that are monotonous. It used to be that one big biscuit at the end of the day---like getting to leave early to go ride my horse---was good enough. But it's been years now since I have been able to work that out to coordinate with heavy monotony days, like exams and accounting.

So today, I decided to try a new strategy.

I allways grade exams by question. All of question one, then all of question two, and so on. There are lots of good efficiency and fairness reasons to do it this way, but it also breaks the grading into manageable chunks. So I put my headphones on, hit shuffle on my "favorites" playlist, and got started. I decided that when my very favorite song-of-the-moment ("Just Breathe" by Pearl Jam) came on, I would immediately stop, close the door and stare out the window for a few minutes until it was done. So that was a way to build in a break for stretching and breathing.

And then I decided that every time I finished grading a problem, I would take a few minutes to do something that someone ELSE would like. So after problem one, I wrote a note to a colleague who I recently found out has breast cancer, to tell her how much I have always admired her. After problem two, I sent a note to let a staff member know I was thinking of her, as she is bereaved as of yesterday. After the third problem, I really got going, and sent a nominal gift certificate with a funny note to someone who is struggling with her workload, just to let her know it won't always be this way---someday, the project will be done, and there will be time for reading and toys again. I, personally, sometimes struggle to find this person likeable, so i was so pleased to be able to think of something to do to acknowledge her burdens. After the fourth problem, I got to send some wonderful television (Lark Rise to Candleford) to someone who will love it. After the fifth problem, I wrote a card (I clearly had better buy more cards to keep around, if this is going to go on!) to hide for someone who will love discovering it. And when I was done, I went to lunch with a friend who really needed to unload about some of the stresses he's under. I wasn't looking forward to it, exactly, but knew he really needed to talk, and then we ran into some others, and just had a lot of fun instead. Which was even better.

So I finished grading the first exam, and felt just AWESOME! It was so fun to have little five minute breaks every 40 minutes or so, in which I completely changed where I was living in my head. And I felt I was doing something really important and valuable for my community---reaching out to the people I love, honor and value, and those who are struggling. For a moment, I felt guilty about that---isn't it just selfish to do things that you think will make other people happy, if it makes you happy too? And then I decided THAT was sick and wrong, and who put THAT idea in my head?! (Wow! Happiness is so...complicated!)

Which circles back around to Pearl Jam:

"I'm a lucky man, to count on both hands,
The ones I love.
Some folks, they've got none.
Others, they've got one."

There's something about telling other people how wonderful they are that reminds you how very lucky you are to have them in your life.

True Confessions...

While on book tour to Austin, TX to the AAS meeting (completely fun, and a huge boost to my morale!), I picked up a book in the airport called 'The Happiness Project'. It was on the NYT bestseller list for 44 weeks, and I can see why. It's not preachy. It's not annoying. It's not about finding your spiritual blah-de-blah-blah. It's chock-full of interesting observations about what makes people happy, what makes people unhappy, and what it's like to spend a year dedicated to trying to do more of the former and less of the latter. (And also why it's completely NOT selfish to do that! Hooray!)

This comes at a particularly good moment for me, because as you know, I am trying to figure out how to whittle down my work responsibilities. It's helpful to have some signposts to direct me about which things are urgent, which are important, which make me happier and which detract from my happiness.

At any rate. One of the resolutions the author makes is to 'Tackle a Nagging Task'. This afternoon, it occurred to me that I have a nagging task that has been hanging around for THIRTEEN, yes THIRTEEN, years. It took me half an hour to do. And now it's done!

I confronted this task at least three times each day, and sometimes four or five. Every day when I woke up. Every day when I went to sleep. Every day when I made the bed or every time I took the sheets off to wash them, or put them on again. Every time I pulled the covers tight, or smoothed them down.

In order to understand this, you must understand that I have a weird relationship to money. Really, really weird---a little bit crazy, actually. And I often behave completely irrationally about it (this, by the way, is the source of much of my difficulties with accounting---if money is involved, it's super-easy to make me cry. And our accounting staff make even non-crazy people cry...imagine what they can do to me!) Purchasing even small things is a huge deal for me. Shopping for...anything...for myself is accompanied by lengthy internal monologues from "The Troll" in my head about what I "deserve", have "earned", can be trusted to "take proper care of", what I am "worthy of", whether or not I really "need it". It will sometimes take me multiple trips to the Department store to finally buy a six-pack of socks for $6.99. Sigh.

Thirteen years ago, for Christmas, we got a gift certificate to Eddie Bauer that enabled us to purchase a down comforter (not the nicest, fluffiest one, because of The Troll), and a duvet cover. They didn't have the cover in the size that fit the comforter, but only in the next larger size. I bought the duvet cover anyway, because I knew that if I didn't buy it right then, when my courage was up, I would never, ever get it, and then I would be stuck with this raw, white down comforter, which is even more impractical than a duvet cover that doesn't really fit. Besides, I rationalized, I can always just sew a seam down the long side, and then it will fit. Right? Right. And also, a duvet cover in the wrong size kind of fit in with what The Troll was telling me about luxurious down comforters. Serves me right.

There I was. Year after year, waking up every morning, fidgeting with the down comforter so that it lay in the middle of the duvet cover. Going to bed each night, tugging on the duvet cover so that it was centered over the comforter. Making the bed, washing the sheets, taking the cover off and putting it on, and each and every time thinking, "I need to fix this." That's approximately 13*365*3=14,000 times I had that thought. 14,000 times I felt a little bad that I hadn't gotten to it yet. 14,000 times I mentally shied away from thinking about it, and moved on to something else. It's ridiculous.

I was thinking today about the Happiness Project, and I suddenly wondered why I had never fixed that stupid thing. And I realized (hold on, because this is really disturbing) that I had never fixed it because I was afraid that if I tried to fix it, I would mess it up worse than it was. And that was REALLY bad, because a) I didn't really deserve it in the first place and b) clearly I couldn't be trusted to take good care of my things. Double-sigh. So then I thought f*!@K that. I'm going to try to fix it. And if I mess it up, I hereby give myself permission to buy a new one. So there. And I put all my courage together, and I annoyed John by starting a project when he just wanted to relax on the sofa, and I annoyed the dogs by putting this lovely comforter on the floor and not letting them lay on it. But I got started. And then I kept going.

Half an hour later, a nagging task that had been bothering me for more than 1/4 of my life was completed. And it's marvelous. It fits perfectly. It looks great. It's fixed. A big sticking out of my tongue to The Troll, and a new mental image I'm working on about defeating The Troll.

This feels great! What else can I do? I'm sure I have more nagging tasks around here somewhere!


(P.S. This gives me a good direction for my own Happiness Project. Clearly I need to do something about The Troll and that creepy, disturbing money relationship. "Money---it's a good servant, but a bad master." More about that in a future post, but not so far in the future that it becomes a nagging task!)

Solace

John let me sleep in this morning, getting up at 5:30 to feed the horses (usually my chore), and leaving me in bed under a pile of blankets and dogs cuddled close to me. It was nearly 8 by the time I rousted myself out, and wandered into the kitchen.

After breakfast (baked bacon with eggs from our hens and home made wheat toast; homemade ketchup and jam; black tea), I wandered out to the barn, and took my time cleaning stalls, prepping pony dinners, adding new bedding, as the drizzle came down, and the gusty wind brought willow leaves sleeting to the ground in bunches. Leaning on my pitchfork in the doorway, I watched the clouds slide around the mountain tops and away to the East through the canyon. The horses moved quietly about, picking through the fallen leaves for a tasty snack. Russell the rooster expressed his opinion of the cold and the wet. A red-tailed hawk perched in the Lombardy poplar at the far end of the property, shoulders hunched and head pulled down between them---like a city dweller in a trenchcoat, hat pulled down, hands in pockets, hurrying along the sidewalk, hunched against the wind, trying to keep his ears warm.

Back in the house, I wiped down the wet dogs, laughing at their laughing faces, and wriggling bodies, wrapped in towels. John had started a project, breaking into the pumpkins, to make them into purée for the freezer, and spicy pumpkin seeds for snacks. (T-day is coming!) I decided to make a pumpkin-corn chowder for lunch, and we spent a quiet couple of hours dancing in the kitchen---moving this way and that, circling the center island, sliding each other out of the way to get into a drawer, offering and receiving a taste on a spoon, passing in and out of the pantry, query and response about where to find the cumin seed or the dried peppers. The simple pleasure of a well-stocked home, filled with whatever you need, to make whatever you want, if you can find it. And someone to share it with.

Before the soup was done, the rain had turned to snow, and John decided to make cornbread to go with the chowder. As he stood in the door of the pantry, a number 10 can of cornmeal in his hands, I smiled, thinking 'three years ago, we would have had to go to the store before we could have made cornbread on a snowy Saturday. We're kind of nutty.'

This afternoon is for reading books and knitting and drinking chamomile tea by the quart as the snow comes down, and the wind blows. After chores, Saturday is candle-light game and pizza night, (the dough is rising, and I'm thinking about toppings for my side of the pizza...).

Our growing competence at all the things that are truly essential to living, our supply of food that means we will not starve, no matter what the weather does, our responsibilities to the crowd of beings that rely on us, our amusements and entertainments, and the quiet partnership of moving in the same space to separate ends; all these things act in my mind and my body so that I find myself comforted, so full of peace and security that sadness becomes a kind of sweetness. And the outrageous joys, that in their own way are so draining and fraught with the fear of a fall, become mellowed, warmer, not so glittery-hard. It's a hard year, this year, with highs that are so high and lows that are so low. Days like this one remind me that the buffeting waves are only temporary and there's ground down there somewhere just waiting for me to plant my feet on it.

Practical Things

We went to see Temple Grandin last week.

Now, that might sound like we've gone off the rez---we drove an hour, each way, to see a woman speak about how she designs slaughterhouses. But I'll point out that two friends went with us, AND the auditorium was packed with hundreds and hundreds of people, AND several other friends made time to catch her earlier talk. So if it is off the rez, there're a lot of others out there with us!

Temple gave a great talk, mostly about animal handling, and how the goal should always be to keep them calm, not to find ways to calm them down again after they've been upset. It was a great talk all together, and left me with several ideas that I don't want to forget. So you get to read them here...

The first was about how McDonalds (since Fast Food Nation, Omnivore's Dilemma and a host of other scathing books reminiscent of Sinclair's The Jungle came out...can it be ten years ago already?!) has stepped in to demand improvements in the handling of animals at the slaughterhouses it buys from. That alone is staggering. McDonalds is important in the food industry in the same way the Mormon Church is important in Utah. If they throw their weight around, everyone else gets sucked along in the draft, whether they wanted to go that way or not.

Temple helped McDonalds design their criteria. And in her autistic way, she focused in on the real, actual problem. Rather than specify what slaughterhouses should DO (put in x number of lights, lay y type of non-skid flooring, install z type of cattle chute), she specified very specific, easily measured, animal by animal checklists that indicate wellbeing. Did the cow moo? Did the cow fall? Did the cow run at any time?

And these criteria have dramatically improved the handling of these animals. By focusing on outcomes, and making them very, very specific, Temple allowed the people 'on the ground' to solve problems, innovate, find a system that worked for them. Of course, this was frustratingly abused at times. And of course, once they installed remote monitoring via videocamera, they found that many people only met the standard while they were being watched. Still, things have been improving by measurable leaps and bounds.

Which leads me to the next nifty thing. Someone asked how she gets management on board, because management has to buy in to the program, otherwise it will never be followed. And she said, "We fire them." If management can't produce the measurable outcomes, and won't buy in, McDonalds swoops in and insists that someone else be put in charge. Who knew? Management can be fired!

Another kid stood up and asked about the moral dilemma of using animals for our own purposes, blah-blah-blah. You've heard it before. And Temple had such a good answer. It came in several parts, but two things particularly caught my attention. The first was that she explained that she's about practical solutions to actual problems (not, as Taylor Mali says "what I would wish for in an ideal world") She asked the kid if he'd ever done anything practical. And he must have blinked at her, because she followed up immediately with "what's your major?" Religious studies. So then she really scolded him for not ever having done anything practical. And I think her point was that when you build a fence, fix a car, cook a meal, put up food for winter, plant a tree, hang a gate, build a shed...move in the world, you begin to realize that it's not made up in your head. That there are real things outside of you that have real limitations, and you can't just make things up and then nail them together and expect them to last the winter, unless you take the actual real world into account. And that resonated for me. Because these days, I'm all about practical. Which is funny. For an astrophysicist.

The second thing was about the horses. We used to slaughter horses in the U.S.---for dog food, among other things. And then a law was enacted that made it so we don't do that anymore. Victory, right? All the pretty horses, not getting killed anymore, right? Sadly, no. Now they just get shipped to Mexico to be slaughtered. And as you can imagine, Mexican slaughterhouses are nothing like ours. It's a tragedy and a MESS. And the horses suffer so much more now. It's an unintended consequence of saying, "I won't be a part of it." But the activists never wondered what would happen to the surplus animals. It's a literal fact of nature that there will always be surplus animals. If you aren't willing to adopt a PMU mare and put her on your front lawn, what do you propose to do with her she comes off the line? You have to look at the WHOLE problem. Not just the piece that makes you upset.

And so Temple's point was this---people eat meat. We are not likely to become a nation of vegetarians anytime soon (there was a funny aside here about how scallops would be a much better thing to grow in a vat than beef) And meat has some advantages. If you eat meat, you can grow food in places that won't sustain grain. Rangeland can not be farmed, in the traditional crop-farming sense. It's just too poor, too dry, too hot. But you can still grow ruminants on it---cows, goats, sheep. And when it's done right, these herds actually improve the rangeland. So she looks at the system, and asks, "how can I make this the best system for the animals that it can possibly be?" And then she works on that. She's practical. And keeps her eyes wide open to see the whole problem.

So. Why am I thinking about all this and not wanting to forget?

On Saturday, I was at an outreach event for high schoolers. More than one of them could not subtract 9 from 17. More than one of them asked for a calculator to divide by ten. On Monday, in class, I discovered that at least one of my physics students is a "magical thinker", and believes there is no objective reality. I kicked my butt last year to run programs that drew 45,000 people, but when I wandered around some of these programs, watching the kids, I realized that the vast majority weren't getting ANYTHING out of it. They wandered into a Science Olympiad event with a pouty face and a sour attitude, and wandered out again, even more sour, because they didn't know anything about the event, and did poorly, despite having almost a whole year to prepare. The winners went off to Nationals, and came in dead last...again. Science Fair posters are perennially terrible, with the omnipresent volcano, and the teeth soaked in soda. For twenty years, I've been doing outreach of various kinds, and suddenly find myself wondering why. So, in MY autistic way, I went looking for data. Actual cold hard data on the effect of these outreach programs on kids. As far as I could determine, the last study on Science Fair was in the 50's. And it found that it worked kind of well for the kids who WERE INTO SCIENCE ANYWAY. I could find no assessment data about Science Olympiad. And drop-in programs and field trips and so on have only the crudest possible data about efficacy.

But that totally makes sense. Because even I, who could be considered an expert in actually doing this stuff, have not sat down and made a list of desired measurable outcomes. "A positive experience" with science is not a measurable outcome. "Did the child have a smile on his/her face" IS a measurable outcome. But even better are outcomes that emphasize what we want students to do. "Did the 11th grader successfully subtract 9 from 17" may seem like a low bar. But it appears to be where we are.

Frighteningly, I begin to worry that I'm actually part of the problem---that all these programs are actually sending the kids to Mexican slaughterhouses. By emphasizing positive experiences that might be fun, but are shallow, unfulfilling, impractical, and above all, FAKE, I'm helping these kids to grow up believing that science might be fun, but is shallow, unfulfilling, impractical, and above all, FAKE. That it has no place in the actual world. That it's fluff. That they can't use it, like a screwdriver or a hammer, to solve actual real-world problems around them every day. I had already made this jump in my classes, with courses like Physics@Home, Environmental Physics, and even my introductory survey course being chock-full of everyday examples about water levels, microwaves, cell phones, etc. But now it's beginning to be apparent to me that I also need to re-think the whole outreach thing. It's a practical problem. With a practical solution. Maybe. But I won't know if I don't get out from under all these things that I suspect aren't doing any good, so I can step back and actually see what the point is.

So that's a thing I'm working on. And I have to keep it in the front of my mind, because it would be so easy to just keep doing what I already do, and eventually start defending it as sacred, because I have a queasy feeling it's not all it's cracked up to be, but I can't actually admit that, because I've been doing it so long. It would be so much easier to just go along with the things that are already being done. And it's only now that I begin to understand that this is what "No" is all about for me---building some space around myself so I have room to figure out what we should be trying to accomplish, and then figure out how to measure it, and then figure out how to get it done. I can't do that if I'm constantly distracted by chasing after event coordinators, fixing student time sheets and being yelled at by accounting. Just, you know, as examples...

Oof.

My dear, sweet grandfather went into hospice care on Sunday. He can't swallow, and he can't talk, and all anyone can say is that hopefully, it won't be long. My grandfather fought in the war. No, the big war. He was part of that whole 'defeating Hitler thing' that has meant so much to the world ever since. And his son fought in Vietnam. And died, possibly because of it.

Everyone says Everett is one of the nicest people they know. What I know is that he nursed my grandmother, who had a stroke when I could not have been more than nine, until she died, when I was in college. In all that time, I never heard her speak more than a phrase or two---all the words she had left. He nursed her until the day she died. And, to my knowledge, never complained, not once.

I once watched him play a game of pool with a young man. He worked at teaching the young man how to play, patiently watching as he made mediocre shots. Then the young man lied about a shot. And Grandpa gave hima a chance to come clean. But he didn't. And in two more shots, Grandpa cleaned the table. A lesson there. As long as you are honestly trying, I'll teach you. But as soon as you give less than your best, I will slap you down.

Then set up the triangle to try again.

In his kitchen, Grandpa had a plaque, that said something in fake Latin---I remember one phrase: 'Nobili, demis trux. Si what's inem? Cowsen dux.'. And when I was taking Latin in high school, I liked to study it, and try to figure out how it was like Latin, and how it wasn't. There was also a picture of Pope John Paul on the refrigerator, which was a novelty, and I never asked what it meant to him.

He made the best spaghetti.

He always had bowls of Hershey kisses all over the house for us grandkids.

Auntie Anne lived with them in the spare room on the first floor. She smoked. A LOT. I was a little afraid of her. And then she died.

The upstairs of his house had two rooms, separated by a landing. On the left was the girls' room---my mom and my aunt grew up in that room. On the right was my uncle Jimmy's room. The girls' room had a number of dolls that had lost their hair. My uncle Jimmy's room had a lot of guns. And him. He worked the night shift...er...or something. But he was always sleeping during the day, and when I was sent to bed before everyone else (because I was just a kid), I would listen to him getting up and moving around. And I would be frightened, because I rarely ever saw him. And he always looked a little wild. Like Mr. Edwards, from Little House, but with more guns.

Grandpa would take us kids to the store on the corner, and we would get baseball cards (that was my brother) and bubble gum (me) and then we'd head back, and I'd hang over his shoulder and 'help' him do the crossword puzzle. It must have annoyed him no end that I was chewing my gum in his ear, but he never said a word. He was like that.

At the end of the street was a nasty old pond, that used to be nice, apparently, because everyone had stories about ice skating on it in a long ago Bobbsey-twins time.

Everyone on the street looked after Grandpa, and vice-versa, especially Smitty, next door, who just thought Grandpa was the cat's meow.

He had the best attic over his garage. It seemed like he had saved just everything from when his children were kids. And there were so many toys, and books, and more books and some Breyer horses that I took home with me. They helped pay for my senior year in college. I still had some of the books. I could pull them off the shelf and show you where my mom wrote her name, and under it, I wrote mine.

I never saw him be mean to anyone. I never saw him lose patience with my grandmother. I never saw him lose his temper. He must have had one. And sometimes he must have raged, like when he finally retired from years and years at Monsanto (there was a gold clock!), but his wife was to sick to go anywhere. And that went on for years. There must have been frustrated dreams. And there must have been existential angst about how there was always someone else to care for---sister, wife, son. Still, he got up in the morning, and did his pushups and his situs and rode his exercise bike. And then he did his crossword puzzle. And sometimes, I'd see him put his hand on my grandmother's head, and tell her to "shush. It's all right. Take your time."

When my grandmother died, there was such a wake. So many fantastic stories, and I remember sitting with the great-aunts in a kitchen somewhere, thinking "someone needs to get a tape recorder in here! These stories are amazing!" but no one ever did, and those stories are lost now. Like so many others. And my Grandpa, in his grief, had his favorite picture of her made into a life size oil painting. I was so honored to be the one who got to go with him to the artist. Grandpa was easy-going, in general, but he had his heart set on this, and until he moved in with my aunt, it hung in his living room where he could see it all the time in his waking hours. Bravo, Grandpa, bravo.

He was one of the bravest people I've ever met. From where I sit, he lived his whole life in the service of others. And he didn't whine about it. He just said, "someone needs to take care of this." And then he did it. Soon, he will be gone. And I'm sorry for myself.

No.

Science Olympiad came back and tried to roost above my door, like a raven.

And I realized the problem with a 'Just say "no"' campaign. Nobody wants to take "No" for an answer. And so they keep coming back with 'But what about...' and 'What if we...' and 'Why can't you...'

D. C. School District might run it. If I can give them all my contacts, and all our homemade software to make it easier, and all our checklists, so they know how to do it...

And Mr. X from Math wants to do it, if I can supply him with funding, oh, and staff support...

And then I put Mr. X and D. C. S.D. together. And they will do it, if I can pay for them to rent the University facilities. Oh, and provide help with staff. And all my contacts. And all my homegrown software, and all our checklists. And organize the people.

So...

That would be a big fat 'What part of 'No' don't you understand?'

No.

If any of you people want to just take it on and run with it, I will give you every piece of paper I have. But I have no funding. And I have no staff. And I am not available to help with this.

No.

Yes.

Now, available on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Understanding-Our-Universe-Stacy-Palen/dp/0393912108/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1320019549&sr=8-1

I will hold copies in my hand tomorrow (depending, of course, on the vagaries of our budget-challenged University mail, in which "FedEx" means "some time, when we get around to it...").

Still, yes, yes, yes. I am so proud of what we've made in this book. It's completely different from anything else out there, and I had so much fun thinking of new ways to engage students in the subject.

So yes.

And "yes", too to the fourth edition of 21st Century Astronomy. Because I have so much to learn about working with this group of people on this massive project. And I kind of did it backwards, by being a first author first. So now I am learning to follow, and let someone else lead. It feels like when we took salsa lessons, and I had...to...let...John...lead...arg. It's so hard for me. And such an important lesson!

Yes, to writing books. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

No.

We have a golden eagle. A dead one. (It's stuffed, and in our Museum, just so you know...)

In this country, in order to have an eagle, even a dead one, or a part of one (what?!), you need to file paperwork every year that tells where you got it, and how you used it, and how many people saw it or otherwise benefited from your possession of a National Treasure. It's not a huge deal. It takes maybe a couple of hours a year. But you have to remember to do it. And then you have to actually...well...do it.

Unless you are me. And then you think, 'This sounds like a job for... The Zoology Department!' who are already dealing with the Department of Fish and Wildlife anyway. And they love dead, stuffed things. And you call them up, and say, 'Hey, do yous guys want to be responsible for this big, dead eagle?'. And they say, 'Heck yes we do!'

And then you have an empty space in your head, where keeping track of the eagle used to be.

No.

No.

An outreach person from Hill Air Force Base called me today. She wants to work with me as the go-between on some things related to Science Fair, instead of working with the person actually in charge. HAFB has scholarships for kids. They want to set up a recruitment table. Fran wants me to work with them to make opportunities for young people who are interested in science. She insists that i'm so easy to work with. I gave her the phone number of the person in charge, and said "No.". A complete sentence.

I'm sure the kiddies will get their scholarships without my direct input.

So that's Science Fair: off my list.

No.

Yes.

Sometimes, if you are lucky, someone is watching you carefully. They see what you need before you do, and deliver a dream you didn't even know you had.

John has been after me for months to keep my birthday weekend free. Our University has "Fall Break"---a random Friday that almost always falls in the week of my birthday. Purely selfishly, I cancelled my Thursday class, and took off when classes were over on Wednesday. That afternoon, we went to Golden Spike for a ride in the sunshine, we had a lovely dinner, and I received fun and thoughtful presents from John and Jo, including games to play the rest of the weekend.

So Thursday was a quiet day. We did lots of little projects (I finally finished the solar hot water heater for the wash stall, for example...), played games, and generally puttered around.

Friday morning at 11:30, Jo had a lesson. John was all fired up about cleaning out the garage, and left to take the recycling to the transfer station around 10:00 or so. At eleven-ish, he sent me a text to let me know he was stopping at Home Depot. At that point, I was pondering doing some work on my closet shelves over the weekend, so I asked him to get me some paint. I wandered out to the barn for Jo's lesson, and we got started in the arena.

About halfway through, I saw John come through the barn with a dark-haired woman. I thought, 'That looks like Colleen. Sigh. I miss Colleen.' but mostly, I was still working on explaining something to Jo. But then John and the dark-haired woman were at the gate at the end of the arena. I shaded my eyes and stared. "who is that?" I asked. "I've come for my lesson." she said, and it was Colleen!

I took off running for the gate, tears already in my eyes, covering 30 yards in a single breath, and threw my arms around her over the gate! Then I hugged John, and then Colleen again. Then I looked back at Jo, who waved me out the gate, and I was just beside myself. I couldn't really process the fact that Colleen was here! On my farm! And I had so much to show her and so much to talk about, and she was actually here! I couldn't stop staring at this fantastic person who means so much to me that I can't even really articulate it. I grabbed her hand and dragged her all around the farm, like I was a little kid---showing her everything as fast as I could, and just giving her spontaneous hugs, because I was just so happy to see her.

She stayed for 48 hours, and we got to ride together again, which we haven't done in years, and that meant I got to give her a little gift back. My lovely, beautiful, safe mare, in our flawless arena, with that spectacular view... Giving her back a little of what she's had to set aside in recent times. David (her three year old son) came with her, and we played with him, and talked and talked and talked. About our jobs, and friends and futures and David and Danni and John and Toby and dogs and goats and just everything under the sun. A little about old times in Seattle, when we went eventing together every summer, sharing a tent, getting up at dawn to walk the cross-country course together in the knee-high grass, drinking beers with th guys after cross country, when the adrenaline high had wound down to reasonable levels, sharing barn chores and dissecting our runs in the truck on the way home. Best times...

I feel like I've been wrapped in swaddling clothes. Like I'm tucked in under the covers with a fire going and a storm outside. Like hot chocolate and warm mittens and a blanket around my shoulders at the Christmas parade. Cherished and comforted and wrapped in love and warmth and the glow of candles and being read my favorite story. And so grateful to John and Colleen, for the best birthday present ever.

Wednesdays are hard...

Today was another ordinary day at work.

I got in just after 7:30. Which meant that I left the house a bit past seven. Which meant that I woke at 6, fed the horses and the dogs, opened the coop for the day. Then I made oatmeal, fed the dogs, ate my oatmeal, and realized I was running late. A quick brush of teeth and hair and I was our the door.

Leaving so much behind. Undone.

On the way to work, I found myself crying to these lyrics from Train:

'did you sail across the Sun?
Did you make it to the Milky Way
To find the lights all faded
And that Heaven is over-rated?'

And so I had to pull over for a minute until I could take a deep breath.

And then I went on.

I got to work, and got ready for class, planning out which problems I would do, that fit the humorous 'super-hero' theme I'm working on. In the past couple of days, we've been Superman, Spiderman, Bruce Willis in Armageddon, and the X-men. Also search-and-rescue. I checked email, and started to answer one.

Off to class, and for 50 minutes, answered, hinted and directed, with all the intensity that only I am capable of. They laughed, they cried, they made jokes and solved problems.

After class, I was swamped with students, one after the other asking the same three questions, demonstrating that they didn't pay ANY attention to last week's problems worked in class. For an hour and ten minutes, I asked the same questions over and over: 'have written down your variables? Where is your free-body-diagram? What is this letter on your paper? Where is the rest of your work?' and it's hard to remember that they were only 5 out of 86.

Then finding that I had no time to go over my notes, I headed off to class with the speaker for the afternoon seminar. I've known him since I was a post-doc, and he's new faculty at another University. He's come to see me teach, and get some pointers. So I start my lecture, and get to the second page. Where I realize pages are missing. Because I used them in another course last year, and never put them back. And didn't have time to check before class. So now I have to 'wing it', on the explanation of core-collapse supernovae, with photo disintegration, charge destruction and neutron degenerate matter. I'm thrilled when the class side-tracks me on magnetic fields of neutron stars, and this disguises the fact that I was completely unprepared.

Back to my office after class, a line of students waiting to hear me ask them 'Where's your free-body-diagram?'... But it's not office hours, so they just have to wait for me to be done with the visitor. He asks me about teaching for an hour or so, and I give him all my astro 101 materials, so he'll have some kind of help in his new job, and agree to mentor him when he needs it. Then it's time to take the guest to lunch. A student stops me in the hall, just to ask me a 'quick question', that turns into three. Which are all basically about the definition of the words in the problems.

So off we go to the Union Building, where the food ranges in quality from bleh to inedible. But it's what we've got.

Back again after an awkward hour of conversation between this newly minted faculty member and one of our professors (who should be emeritus by now) about the 'lost generation' of scientists, who obediently filled the pipeline, only to find that no one is retiring, and there are no jobs. Some things are bad, and others are worse. The average time a PhD astrophysicist spends in post-docs is now 8 years. EIGHT. On average. So some spend much, much longer than that.

Back to the building, explaining again that LAST year was the last ditch year for Science Olympiad. That it didn't matter anymore if it was good or if we wanted it, but that it couldn't be done. And yes, it was me that made that decision (and, goddamnit, if everyone cared that much about it, where in the hell were all of you when I was lying on the bathroom floor because I couldn't stand up because the stress had shut down my entire digestive system?!). Or maybe i've just been having this discussion so many times that every conversation about Science Olympiad feels like it goes like that...

Off to a poorly attended seminar. An embarrassment, when bringing people in from other places. Especially friends.

And the person who is supposed to shepherd the speaker for the rest of the afternoon is off to lab. So I take him up to show him the planetarium, completely forgetting my regularly scheduled meeting with my staff. And he's duly impressed that our 'little' planetarium has sold shows in 26 states, 17 countries, and they've been translated into 8 languages...

So away he goes, and I check in with my staff, and keep them going on their projects. The Physics Open House is Friday, and there are lots of preparations in train for that. Back to my office to send electronic copies of physics at home experiments, that need to go to the copy center, hopefully to come back before the Open House. It should have happened first thing this morning. And maybe they won't get done in time. But there was nothing I could do about it.

I check the rest of my emails, and my phone messages, which include a long list of people getting in touch with me about the parts of my job that I'm terrible at---accounting, paperwork, interim reports. And co-authors demanding instant responses. And who even knows why OSP left me two messages on my phone and an email asking for a meeting ASAP. I don't know what they want, but it probably means I'm in trouble. Again.

And I look at the clock and it's after 4:30. I've been here for nine solid hours, and the To-Do list just got longer and longer. That just seemed counter-productive. So I left.

And on the way home, I thought about what our visitor had to say about all the things I'm doing (teaching multiple classes, writing books, running an internationally recognized planetarium, running a Museum and multiple outreach programs reaching tens of thousands of people a year, and so on and so on...) and I thought about winding up in the emergency room last year. And i thought about having to pull off to the side of the road this morning. And I thought 'Ok. So it's a problem. Every problem has a solution somewhere.' And I made a plan. I'll make a list of what I do, over the next two weeks. And then I'll study it. And then I'll figure out how to cut it in half.

Because it turns out that I'm really good at saying 'No' to me, and to John, and to my family and friends, and the people and creatures who matter to me. But I'm terrible at saying it to people who have nothing to offer me but money. So that has to change. And it has to start with me.

Modern medicine 2, or I'm just angry in all directions...

So here's a case where I think modern medicine could do better:

I've spent much of the last 18 months learning, in a sense, what death is about. From number 16 to our chickens to the 'perfect' hog, I've been figuring out, in my methodical and metaphorical way, what I think about death, what I believe about it, and what it's like to feel life literally slip through your hands.

And I'm with Temple Grandin: "Nature is cruel, but we don't have to be!" In the HBO movie, she (well, Claire Daines as Temple) repeatedly asks "where did they go?". A question with no answer, that gets to the point that first the animals are alive, and then they are not, and the difference is obvious and vivid. You can not mistake it when it happens. And it comes to all of us, whether we want to believe it or not.

So, I have now participated directly in the deaths of more than a dozen animals, from dogs to horses to cows and chickens. I once tried to kill an injured mouse by drowning it. That felt like it took forever, and I vowed I'd never do it again. A few weeks ago, my dogs had caught one, but didn't know how to do more than hurt it. So I took it's head off with a shovel. It suffered for maybe 15 minutes. Because I cared. And I didn't want it to suffer. But the decision had already been made that today was the day it would die.

So. What is this all about, and how does it relate to modern medicine, and what, exactly, am I angry about? Last week, my dad died. On Thursday, he was taken off of lie support. He had extensive brain damage, had been sick a really long time, and had so many things wrong with him that he was never going to be well again. Life support stopped on Thursday. Not until Friday did they start the morphine. Not until Friday night did his suffering finally end. The people who were there say his suffering was terrible. For more than 24 hours, he suffered. Even though the decision was made. Even though this was his day to die. Even though we would all rather go quickly, with dignity. I have treated my dogs better than this. I have treated mice better than this. This would have been allowed to go on for days, or even weeks, or even years.

How is this merciful? How is this compassionate? How is this right?

Suppose this had been a cow. Any number of animal welfare agencies (not to mention the sheriff and the H.P. up the street) would have been pounding at the door. A man was just cited in my town because he shot and dressed a cow in his driveway. (I'm not saying that's appropriate, exactly, I'm just making the point that at least that was quick, and humane!)

Suppose my dad had been a criminal on death row. He would have been put to death in a process that might be excruciatingly painful (as far as I know, no one knows for certain), but would last no more than a few minutes.

Can someone please explain to me why ordinary people are left to suffer agonizing pain for hours, days or weeks, but the worst of the worst are treated with dignity? Can someone explain why, once the decision is made, we can't help people out the door with the same compassion we show our dogs? Are we really that filled with hatred for ourselves that we would rather let billions suffer than be grownups and make the hard choices for those who can't help themselves? Do we really believe there would be a rash of people killing their friends and relations and next-of-kin, just because we can? Really? I mean, really, really? Wow. That's disgusting. I don't even know what to think.

Sooner or later, we all go through the door. Really. I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. And all I can say is that when it comes my time, and someone else has to choose for me (are you listening, J?), I want to be treated like my dog. Not like my dad.