Book Review, and a little American Pride

Just finished Sky Walking: An Astronaut's Memoir, by Tom Jones.  If you've ever wondered what an average workday on the space shuttle was like (if, indeed, there were any "average" days on the shuttle), then you should read this book.  It's been sitting on my bookshelf for a couple of years, but the recent arrival of Space Shuttle Discovery in our area prompted me to read it. 

Jones flew on 4 space shuttle missions from the mid-90's to early 2001 as a science specialist, flying twice on Endeavour and once each on Columbia and Atlantis.  He describes the astronaut selection process and the long training processes he went through prior to each shuttle mission.  I knew that the training programs were intensive, but I have a new appreciation for the shuttle launches I saw on television, knowing now how extensively the crew and their support staff had trained to get them to that point.

He also goes into detail about what happened in the hours, minutes, and seconds leading to a space shuttle launch, and the thrill of "slipping the surly bonds of earth."  I never really understood the controlled violence and chaos and raw power of a shuttle launch; Jones describes it vividly, and you almost feel as if you're sitting on Endeavour's flight deck with him as the crew rides on top of 7 million pounds of thrust on their way to low earth orbit (When B and I took the tour of the Kennedy Space Center a few years ago, they told us that if you were standing within 400 feet of the pad when the shuttle launched, the soundwave from the engines would kill you.)  By the time the shuttle breaks Earth's gravitational pull, it is traveling at Mach 25--25 times faster than the speed of sound.  

In addition to describing the mission of each shuttle flight he was on--which in themselves are fascinating--he also describes the trial of atmospheric re-entry and landing the shuttle.  There are alot of things that have to happen the right way, in the right sequence, to bring the space shuttle from traveling at 5 miles per second, 250 miles above the surface of the earth, to "wheels stop" on the runway in Florida (or Edwards Air Force Base in California, if the weather was bad at KSC).  The description of re-entry, and the stresses put both on the vehicle and her crew, are somewhat harrowing.

This book made me feel proud to be an American, plain and simple.  America is not a perfect country, nor will she ever be.  But I feel that the space shuttle program was a grand example of American ingenuity and courage.

According to Wikipedia, there were 135 shuttle flights between 1980 and 2011.  In that time, the 5 orbiters racked up a total of 1,330 days in space.  Of those 135 flights, two were unsuccessful, resulting in the destruction of two orbiters and the deaths of 14 astronauts.  While their loss is tragic, in both cases NASA took a cold, hard, dispassionate look at what happened, determined the problem, and ensured it did not happen again.

It is my opinion (and I will admit that I am somewhat biased) that no other country on earth could achieve what America achieved through the shuttle program.  We made spaceflight so routine that the general public--myself included--regarded each successive shuttle launch with barely passing interest.  The orbiter, and it's attendant hardware, is one of the most--if not the most--complex pieces of machinery every built, designed to withstand the nearly incomprehensible physical forces of breaking and re-entering Earth's atmosphere, and to perform a huge variety of scientific missions while in orbit--all while keeping 7 men and women safe and comfortable in the inhospitable vacuum of space.  And we did it over a hundred times.  No other country has even come close.

I'll get off my red-white-and-blue soapbox now.  I do highly recommend the book, if you have any interest at all in the shuttle program.  It is a fast and enjoyable read.

Cake!

We don't have many traditions in dawrighthouse, but every year when spring rolls around, I make a scrumdidliumscious strawberry cake.  As the days get longer and the weather gets warmer, I become happier and happier that the winter is behind us.  Meanwhile, G grumbles about mowing the grass and then self-soothes:  "You know, it's about time to make that strawberry cake!  Right??"

This is what, apparently in the south, they call a Poke Cake (although I was born and raised there and don't recall ever making or eating one).  As in, you make a cake, then poke a bunch of holes in it, and fill them with gooey goodness.

Directions:

1.  Bake a strawberry cake.
2.  Take 2 pkgs (10-oz each) of frozen strawberries and puree them with a bit of sugar and water.
3.  Let the cake cool, then poke holes in it about one inch apart.  Spread the frozen strawberry mixture on the cake.  Cover and refrigerate overnight (or for about 4-5 hours).
4.  Prepare the topping:  Whisk a pkg of vanilla instant pudding and one cup milk for about 2 minutes.  Fold in one pkg of cool whip.  Top the cake with whatever ingredients you prefer, but I have to say that strawberries and blueberries are the best!
5.  Cover the cake and let it set (refrigerated) for at least 4 hours.
6.  Enjoy!

I've told you guys that I don't cook very much.  Seriously.  I got this recipe off the back of a cake mix box years ago.  The directions said to take the straight handle of a wooden spoon and to poke holes one inch apart, and for the first 3-4 times I made the cake, that's exactly what I did.  I swear it took me longer to poke those dang holes than to follow any other part of the recipe.

Well, screw that.  These days I take a butter knife and all but stab the poor thing to death.  It's just quicker that way and I'm gonna cover it with the topping anyways.  My experience the other night brought back some strange memories, though:  when we lived in Hawaii, we would drive past huge pineapple fields.  Every few weeks, they would plow the fields with these big tractor-like machines, churning up the dirt.  Huge flocks of birds would follow the machines around, darting into their wake to pluck up the bugs from the churned ground.  Well, the other night as I was shredding this poor cake, G was (quite literally) breathing down my neck.  He would dart around my side and grab the cake crumbs as they flew up from my knife.  That's how much he loves this stuff.

If you know G, then you know he's not exactly a foodie.  However, he takes this recipe seriously.  He likes to let it sit in the fridge for a couple of days until it oozes the strawberry goodness.  Tonight I was reading and he was relishing in his piece.  I looked up to watch him chew, eyes closed, and then sigh, "This cake is d@mn tasty."  And then, "You gotta let it sit for a while, you know?  It's better with time."

I said, "Like a cheese?  Or a fine wine?"

He thought about it for a moment, reaching for just the right analogy, and said, "No, no.  More like a good chili."

I'll take that compliment.

Monsters and the abyss

"Whoever fights monsters

should see to it that in the process

he does not become a monster.

And when you look long into an abyss

the abyss also looks into you."

(Nietzsche)

(--taken from 'Reading Lolita in Tehran' by Azar Nafisi)

TGIF, people!

Next up - dreadlocks!

I kid.  Just wanted to get your attention.

The tattoo is doing quite well, I have to say.  We're still in partial long-sleeve shirt season here, so it is easy to forget about.  Also, I've stopped worrying about it rubbing off in the shower.  Ha!  I've gotten brave enough to stop avoiding it with the loofa.  It's a weird mental shift - it's like I'm subconsciously waiting for it to dim over time, or to slowly fade away.  But every day it's just as bright and colorful as the day before!

I hold it up to people and call it "giving them the bird."  Ahhhhh, so much fun.

Do I want to get more?  The short answer is no.  This is just the right design, in the right place, with the right significance and at the right time in my life.  However, I still think about tattoos a lot.  Considering that it took me over 10 years to get this one, let's just see where I am in another decade.

Thursdays are wonderful.  Tomorrow is Friday and then the glorious weekend.  Plus, Vampire Diaries comes on tonight!  And then there are only two episodes left this season.  It's gonna be a long, slow and painful summer of waiting.  But Mad Men will keep me company.

When A-peep came to stay with me last weekend, she arrived on Friday night.  I was zonked out in front of the tv with an episode of VD playing in the background.  After we caught up, she glanced at the TV and goes, "Oh yeah.  This must be that show."  I was all, THAT show???  It's only the best smutty show in the world!

Happy Thursday, peeps.  It's all downhill from here.

Firmly rooted

We only have three real plants in the house.  I love the greenery, and I love the "life" that plants and animals bring, so I try to surround myself with them, but G gets all surly and swears up and down they attract bugs (the plants, he says - not the animals!).  I have yet to see one of these bugs, but about once a week, G makes a dramatic swiping motion with his arm and glares into the air, his eyes darting to and fro.  Then he looks at me pointedly, like "Did you see that enormous bug?"  No, I didn't because it's not there.

Other than these three live plants, all the other plants in the house are gloriously fake and I dust them regularly.  I'm not too proud to admit it, people. 

Every morning before work I spend about an hour zoning out at the dining room table, and this ivy plant is part of my view, along with one of the few windows in our house that ever gets direct sunlight. 

The growth of the plant ebbs and flows.  I've had it for probably five years and about once a year, huge portions of it turn brown and I whack them off, then the whole plant comes to life again.  I think G pees in it when I'm not home, but this little guy just won't die.  Recently, it has become "rooted" to the wall, and has slowly but surely started to creep up the side of the window, as you can see.

I noticed it happen, but left it alone.  After a few days of tentative creeping, it started to gain traction, growing bigger, greener leaves.  I went over to try to remove it from the wall gently, but it is stuck.  And for some reason, I just don't want to rip it off.  There's something about reading through the Psalms, and thinking about God, and watching that ivy climb the wall.  I'm not ready to end its ascent just yet.

There's still the person who hates me.  I see this person every day and I can say honestly that their hatred actually fuels them.  There was a season of my life when this bothered me, got under my skin, caused me to pray, to dig deep, to explore things.  And now I can say, confidently, truly, that I am healed.  God has allowed me to go through some...trials...and I am now able to stand up under a lot of strongly-felt (although deeply misguided and almost wholy misdirected) hatred. 

Someone very important to me has prayed over me several times that I would be firmly rooted and established in God's love.  That's what this little ivy brings to mind daily, and it's one of the main reasons I let it attach itself to my pretty kitchen wall.  I've watched it take root and it reminds me that this is the very process going on in my heart.  My enemy?  My enemy has bitterness winding and wrapping its way around everything in their life.  The bitterness has choked out the goodness and the...potential...that used to be there.  It has actually choked out some life.  I have watched it completely destroy their power. 

Hatred is a compelling motivator, but the bitterness is caustic and I see this person's countenance actually rusting.  I think through all the trouble that this person has caused me, all the petulence I have put up with, all the false and mean, vindictive accusations I have stood up against - I think I can say that I have never hated this person.  And I think the only reason I can say that is because God has given me eyes to see the ruin and destruction that will happen in a life that surrenders to evil.  It takes a great, great amount of faith and perseverance not to give in to hatred, not to fight back, to bite your tongue when you want to lash out, and to simply stand up around this utter folly.  The faith is not mine - it is a gift.  But it still takes a surprising amount of it.

God has healed me.  He has just as subtlely and surely taken root in my heart and started to wind love and security around my inner self.  The problems have not gone away.  This hatred is as real and as present as it has ever been.  But something is different.  Me.

I have been given a picture of what could have happened - and happened easily, almost seamlessly - in my own life.  But, day after day, week after week, year after year, I prayed that I would rather be hurt than bitter.  I would rather be accused than bitter.  I would rather be hated and not deserve it than to give in to the hatred crouched at my own door and become just as bad and wrong and utterly consumed as my enemy.  I just don't want to be that way.  I do not want to look at life through a bitter lens.  I just can't put my feelings any other way.

And guess what?  After all this time, I'm just fine!  It's not that I'm able to ignore their antics, or that I'm able to fight them off...it's that they don't affect me anymore.  It's that I'm able to be me, normal me - not defensive me - day after day. 

It's that a miracle has occured.  I'm telling you - a miracle.  Just as surely as the Israelites escaped Pharoah by crossing through the middle of a sea.  And so every morning I sip my coffee and stare at that plant.  And I'm gonna let it wind up that window for a long, long time.

It pays to drink a lot (of water)

Did you hear the heavenly host yesterday?  In the morning?  The skies split open and there was much rejoicing because I'm in the clear for another six months!  The kidney stone is behaving!  It's not moving, dropping, or growing.  It is perched at the top of my kidney like a bat in a cave, and I'm totally cool with that.

It just goes to show you that drinking 75 gallons of water a day really does work.

Interesting tidbit:
My urologist never specifically recommends drinking cranberry juice; he simply recommends water and lemonade, a lot, daily.  This may be for my specific type of stone, but I was surprised because it seems like that's cranberry juice's claim to fame:  kidney health.  He says drinking it is just fine, but that the acid from lemonade is most effective for me.

Also, I alternate between being very accustomed to sloshing around, and getting almost nauseated by water.  One of the telltale signs of a passing kidney stone is bad nausea, which just so happens to be a side effect of drinking a lot of water, so one can't win, really.  There are times during the day, though, that I'm like, OK, that's it.  No more water, I just can't do it.

So then I reach for the diet Ginger Ale (gettin a little crazy!!).

The sign said "Vintage Jew"

A-peep came up for a much-needed and highly-anticipated girls' weekend.  This blessed event was originally scheduled for last summer, when for one reason or another, it kept getting postponed and rescheduled.

Finally, we were like, enough is enough.  It's time for some retail therapy.  Which we take very seriously.

So she left her kiddos with the husband, and G beat feet leaving the house to go join him for the weekend, nerd supplies in hand.  The weather was buh--yew--dee--full on Saturday, absolutely perfect for walking around quaint little towns and, you know, buying things.

We went into one store that was full of vintage crap stuff and a large sign over a jewelry counter was obviously supposed to say 'Vintage Jewelry,' but most of the letters from the second word were missing and so it said, loud and proud, 'Vintage Jew.'  I yanked out my phone to take a picture, but the sales lady was jealously guarding that counter, so I skulked around for an ungodly amount of time (pun intended), but never had a window of opportunity.  It was a "TGIF, people!" in the making, but alas.

We spent the day shopping and eating, then eating and shopping.  Then eating and talking, eating and watching a movie.  As the night drew to a close (at the late hour of 10:30, let's be honest, people), A-peep stepped around her shopping bags to go upstairs to bed.  She looked at them lovingly and said, "Goodnight, my treasures."

Indeed.

I heart instagram

And I heart London.  

Wish I was there right now.

Delightfully ordinary

Today is one of those ordinary days.  Life is full of them, but today I'm thankful.  I'm thankful that no one is sick, everyone is employed, the rabbit is healthy, the bills are paid.  For this little window, there are no major stressors at work, no fires to put out, no big black clouds on the horizon.

This is just one of those days that goes without notice.  But when something happens and it hits the fan, this type of day is what I fervently pray for.  So I'll take it today.  I'll acknowledge it as a gift.  And I will be thankful.

A plane. With a SPACE SHUTTLE on it.

She graced us with her presence today.  It was mind-boggling.

The Machines Will Rise

I was reminded again yesterday of how much our society--and our world--relies on technology.  Just more proof that Skynet will, in fact, take over one day.  (If you don't know what Skynet is, you are woefully lacking in your science fiction movie knowledge.)

The Jeep that I bought back in December has been having problems with the stereo.  Any amount of bass, from either the CD player or the auxiliary port, causes loud static bursts to come out of the speakers.  This is pretty annoying, and makes me jump out of my skin every time it happens, so basically I've only been listening to the radio since I bought the vehicle.

I finally had time to take it to the dealership yesterday to let them figure it out.  Turns out that the amplifier for the stereo needed a Flash update.  A software update--for the amplifier for the stereo in my Jeep.  They applied the update and poof, no more static from my stereo.

I didn't even know that there was software involved in the stereo system--I figured that the problem stemmed from a bad wire or feedback from a bad speaker.  Never would have guessed that it was a software issue. 

Hence, my latest reminder of how much we rely on technology.  Which means that when Skynet does take over, it'll happen that much more quickly.

And if you don't know what Skynet is, do yourself a favor and click here.

They Rock

Last night, we got to see  

Alison Krauss and Union Station! 

My blurry phone pic doesn't do it justice.

Maybe it's because I was born and raised in the South, but I can dig some bluegrass.  The singing and playing were superb; it was all dust bowls and Steinbeck's America, and shucking corn and jilted lovers and broken lives.  Love, love, love.  Alison (because we're like on a first-name basis) and the band seem so down to earth.  She hobbled onto the stage on crutches - turns out she broke her foot on Easter weekend getting up off the couch to turn off the TV.  See?  Who can't relate to that?  I was all, "Alison!  It's me!  Remember?  I sing along with you in my car!"

And today we saw this!

Source

Finally!  I have to say, it was worth the wait.

No spoilers - here's a quick review.  If you've read the books, I think this is about 75% as good.  It misses some of the nuances of the book, of course, but it does it justice for sure.  The acting is superb and for the most part, the film captures the essence of the characters.  It sometimes misses the boat though:  I thought Haymitch was completely unlikeable in the first book, and let's face it, it's just hard not to like Woody Harrelson.  Also, G thought President Snow's character was much more sinister in the book - somehow in the movie Donald Sutherland just comes across as mean and old.  In the book he's much more evil and mysterious.

Also, in general, I thought the book was much more PG-13ish than the movie; in my opinion the movie was a bit too mild.  It alluded to some of the violence, but then shied back.  I don't want to get all Quentin Tarantino but I think a stronger taste of the brutality of the Hunger Games would have made the viewer appreciate Katniss's predicament and would have added more...fear...into the experience.

Overall, though, I highly recommend seeing it in theater.  Better yet, read the books!

My preciousssssssss

TGIF, people!

Um, no.

Just...no.

Dew knot let them tudor ur kidz

Something New

My little bro and his girlfriend spent their spring break with us a couple of weeks ago.  Due to the Africa trip and some other stuff going on this year, I wasn't able to take much vacation time, so their visit is one big sleepless blur to me.

We saw the sights, walked around, ate a lot, and generally caught up on all things college.  He's a computer science major and is about to enter his last semester of school.  This summer is the key time for him to get an internship; in all the past summers, he was too inexperienced, and in future summers he'll be graduated and frantically looking for a job, so now's the time.

Consequently, I mostly saw the top of this head while he checked his phone for email responses from companies, telling him whether or not he was accepted for a summer internship:

This is what his face looks like.

And there was nothing.  He applied for about a zillion back in the fall, he's doing his part and regularly checking up on the status of all of them, but nothing.

The night they left to drive back home, we all left the house together (G&I were on our way to London).  My bro asked if he could use our computer to check his email one last time before they hit the road.  Lo and behold:  he was one of 10 students chosen nation-wide for a summer internship with NASA in California!  He's going to study computer science and engineering on some of their real-world projects!  They are paying for his airfare, housing, expenses and they're even providing a stipend (I was like, remember your sister who loves you.  Remember me when you're rich.).

The relief was visible on his face - all his features changed for a moment and he was able to breath.  And I got to witness it!  Blessing!  The message doesn't often make it through my sarcastic demeanor, but I'm super proud of him.  Even though I call him a "nashole" and even though I mean it.

Here's to something new.

Spring

After all my whining and complaining and lamenting about the dreary winter, it's gone.  Actually, it disappeared a while ago, but I'm just now posting some pics.  I'm happy to see it go!  No more complaining from me (about the weather, anyway)!

TGIF, people!

One of these is not like the others...

Passion - another perspective

Still with the theme of passion these days.  It's been on my mind a lot.  I consider the first post a summation of a few things I'm passionate for - this is a few thoughts about things I'm passionate against.

Not Listening
This one is a doozy.  I don't know if it's a because I'm a strong introvert or if this is just an innate part of my personality, but I hate when people do not listen to me - or do not listen in general.  A couple of you reading this know that I can blabber on with the best of them, but that is only because we are close.  I would venture to say that 95% of the people in my life think I'm fairly quiet - and also that at least that same percentage talks over me every time I open my mouth.  They like me - some of them love me - but they can't shut up.  And therefore they don't really know me.  And they don't know that they don't know me.

I'm not a subservient person; I know how to get my point across and to be heard.  It's just that I'm not willing to compete with the noise.  At the end of the day, I know I can communicate what I need to, to whom I need to, and the rest is just static.  It is humorous, though, to watch a bunch of people strain to talk over one another about inane topics.  Veins start to show, the pitch of voices starts to rise...and the topic is American Idol.  Really?

I had a close, very talkative friend once.  Over the years, we drifted apart but I was the only one who realized it because, well, she did all the talking.  And talking.  And talking.  One night, about an hour into talking my ear off, she goes, "So, what's going on with you?" and I mentioned a couple of things.  The silence on her end was, let's just say, uncharacteristic.  I asked if she was still there.  Hello?  Helloooo?  And all I could hear was her steady breathing.  She had fallen asleep.  And that was that.

Mocking the underdog
It is a shallow and thoughtless person who thinks it is funny to mock someone in dire circumstances. 

When I was little, maybe 4 or 5 years old, one of the neighborhood kids had a heart condition.  He could do everything, physically, just like the rest of us, but he would get winded pretty easily.  All the neighborhood kids were playing a game of baseball and they made fun of him so badly that I grabbed the bat and started beating an older kid with it.  They let him play.

I'm not sure what it is - people can get away with saying almost anything to me.  Almost.  But I have such a short threshold when it comes to witnessing cruelty and thoughtlessness toward others.  It's probably a real blessing that I don't have kids.

Close-Mindedness, Uncritical Thinking, Thoughtlessness, Limited Perspective
Well, obviously, right?

And of course, these people tend to fall under the first category of talking all the time. 

False Guilt
I am the first to tell you that I did not get to where I am today (in any sense) on my own.  Not that I think I'm in a particularly lofty position, I'm just saying, in general.  It was part blessing, part luck, part sound decision making, and part miracle.  I have a good husband and great friends and a sound job and, thank God, my health.  I take credit for parts of it, but God gets the credit for all of it.  Also, I view other peoples' lives through this lens.  It eliminates a lot of jealousy.  Not all jealousy, though (unfortunately!).

I cannot abide being in a conversation and someone saying, "Well, I mean, your marriage is perfect, so you wouldn't understand."  Or, "You're going to London?  I thought you were going to Africa this year!  WOW.  THAT must be nice.  Geez..."  You know how they say it's not what you say but how you say it?  I think, no, it's both.

To the extent that I do not take full credit for the blessings in my life, I'm not going to feel guilty and awful about them either.  There have been times that I have secretly begrudged others for the good things they had, or for the bad things they didn't.  It does not surprise me that people would form misguided opinions and perceptions of my life, and that they would voice those opinions so blatantly.  But just because they think something doesn't mean they're right.  And it doesn't mean I have to listen to it.  And it doesn't mean that I will lend any credibility to their thinking.  Beth Moore once said (in who knows what Bible study series) that when God gives you a gift, you take it.  Amen.

Proud to be so difficult
OMG, do you know anyone like this?  A person who is so sure that they are right, that they just put it all out there and beg to be challenged?  I'm like, really?  There is someone I work with (isn't there always?) who takes pride in being so difficult that most people will bypass them rather than deal with them directly.  This person says things like, "They know better than to deal with me!"  And I think to myself, what does that say about you, as a person?  I don't even know how to deconstruct that thought pattern...at all.  Does it mean they are insecure?  Or that their ego is hyper-inflated?  All I can do is hope that people don't view me that way.  I hope people don't find out that they have to work with me and start immediately looking for a way out.

Why do I feel like I should step down off my soapbox now?  I don't mean to be negative...just...passionate.  And for someone who just harshly criticized talkers, I realize there are a lotta words in this post!  Ha!

Eye see London

One of the coolest (and most touristy) things we did in London was the London Eye.  Built to commemorate the new Millennium, and situated on the bank of the River Thames, it offers a stunning view of the city.

As someone who is not a fan of Ferris Wheels, I wasn't too keen on this idea when G first mentioned it.  But when I realized it's only something like 440+ feet tall, and that it takes an entire half hour to make a full rotation, I knew it was well within my risk parameters.

So we rode it once in the day, and once at night.  We have certainly seen London.

Doesn't it look like something from outer space?

The plexiglass is so clear you can't even tell it's there.

Each pod fits about 15-20 people, with plenty of room to spare.  You can't feel it move, and you can't feel the pod rotate as the wheel makes its rotation.  It seems perfectly smooth and uneventful - always a good thing.

Night view of the Parliament and Big Ben

St Paul's Cathedral

Much like the Empire State Building, we highly recommend buying Fast Track tickets in advance.  You will pay extra, but you will more than make up for it in the time you save not waiting in line.  I think the longest we waited was 15 minutes.  The average wait time for a normal ticket is 1.5 hours.  All in all, it is an interesting way to see the city.

Laying it on thick

So, I'm this close to convincing Gama to come and stay with us for a few weeks this summer.  It's something we've mentioned to her off and on, trying to gauge her interest, but she's never responded very enthusiastically.  During a recent conversation with her, it came out that she's been seriously considering it.

Cue the manipulation.

Daily.

I say things like, "Hey, Gama!  I was just remembering how we would go horseback riding when I was seven, and you said that when I grow up and have a house of my own, you would come visit me.  Remember that?"

I text her things like, "No pressure!  Take your time in making the decision.  I just wanted to let you know that tickets are cheaper when you buy them in advance.  Love you!"

And things like, "I don't say this to influence you, but you would have your own bedroom and bathroom, and I would leave my car for you to use during the day.  Ok, talk to you later!"

She's gonna cave.  This is the power of grandchildren.  Especially grown-up, conniving ones.

Stay tuned.