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ad·dic·tion (-dkshn)

n.

1.

a. Compulsive physiological and psychological need for a habit-forming substance: a drug used in the treatment of heroin addiction.

b. An instance of this: a person with multiple chemical addictions.

2.

a. The condition of being habitually or compulsively occupied with or or involved in something.

b. An instance of this: had an addiction for fast cars.

This is why I so seldom allow myself to read fiction:

Yesterday at breakfast I started my new library book, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

The last word in the book is "world." I know 'cause I got there at exactly 3:00 a.m. this morning.

Plus, I am babysitting for 8 hours today.

I'm thinking I'll wait a good month before I borrow the next one in the series!

All Washed Up

I hate doing dishes.

This is not the type of hate that makes me plot evil revenge during every waking moment.

It is a hate born out of the drudgery of doing SO MANY DISHES ALL THE TIME!! (I know, Beth. I should just talk to the hand, right?)

Okay, so while I am not feeding quite as many as Beth's crew, I am still running a dishwasher one to three times a day, plus doing whatever assorted hand dishes might have accrued.

Serena told me that her mom says "dishwashers aren't a luxury, they are a necessity." I agree. Unless, of course, you live in a place where domestic help is easily affordable, right Rohini? (Although I'm sure the maids wouldn't mind a dishwasher, either!)

So, because I despise the task, I kind of have to trick myself into doing them. This is my method for doing dishes about half the time (the half that isn't on purpose):

I go into the kitchen to get something, say a glass for a drink of water. Or a pot to start the morning oats soaking before bed. Shoot! says I. Must be in the dishwasher.

So I open the dishwasher, wave the steam out of my eyes, and retrieve the item in question. Of course, once I remove the pot from the bottom rack, there are only a few plates and a couple of other big things left in there, so I think I'll just put a few other things away while I'm here.

Pretty soon I'm working on the glasses and bowls from the top shelf. Before I know it, the dishwasher is empty, except for the cutlery.

The cutlery is always last. I am not sure why I always leave it, except that I'm not really emptying the dishwasher. I'm just putting a few things away while I'm in there for my pot/glass/spoon. But there it is: an empty dishwasher, and a full cutlery tray. Well, by then I concede defeat and just empty the dang thing.

After that, it is short work to refill it with the load that is waiting patiently on the counter, and I am rewarded with a clean kitchen.

All because I am too lazy to do the dishes.

Fall in Love With Peace River

Just some photos I took today. My camera really does not do them justice.

Looking Southward from the highway. (Sorry for the sun-glare.)

Rabbit tracks in the mud.

Looking northward from the highway to the town of Peace River.

Beyond this train trestle is a hill, and up the hill (to the left) is our house.
(The train passes a half a block to the east of us.)

This is, beyond doubt, the loveliest fall I have ever experienced. The beauty of this town continues to astound me.

Standing the Test of Time

He did not look at all like I expected. His grey-flecked hair pulled back into a knot at the back of his head, he strode confidently out to the sleek black grand piano at the front of the cathedral. His white denim button-down shirt hung casually un-tucked over his black pants and black leather slippers. Could this really be the pianist?

I had expected a tuxedo and shiny black patent-leather shoes. Every classical performer I had ever seen had always been dressed to the nines. In college, we were told that we should always dress one degree more formal than we expected the audience to be dressed as when we performed.

This man had been teaching classical piano for twenty-five years. He was performing the last three Sonatas of Beethoven. Surely black tails were going to be in the scenario.

But no. And the surprise was rather pleasant.

I listened as the petite man, with the assistance of an African Drum, went into excited detail about his discovery that the last three Sonatas of Beethoven--Opus' 109-111--had been played wrong, rhythmically, for 200 years, and not only that, but were, in fact, one Sonata in three long movements that Beethoven had passed off to his publisher as three to get paid more for them, and to fulfill contractual obligations.

By the time he was done, I was convinced. I had never heard the Sonatas before, but I was willing to take his word for it, without any outside research of my own. His enthusiasm was contagious, and his performance was quite enjoyable (aside from the fact that as he played, I kept thinking of a bobble-head doll--his style kept his body so loose that his head bobbed all over the place to the music, eyes closed. I kept my eyes closed sometimes to avoid the distraction).

As I listened, I reflected on the use this church was usually put to. It was all vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows, burnished mahogany, and steeped in the traditions and trappings of a very, very old denomination. I studied the pulpit, raised high on a platform, which I had a clear view of from my vantage point behind the altar.

How many other people sat in these pews, week after week, blindly accepting the things that were told to them without any research of their own? Surely on a matter as important as one's eternal destiny, the numbers would be small.

Sadly, I knew this was not the case. I was reminded of the matronly woman who had been in my house that morning, tracts in hand, who had once attended this church. She looked exactly as I expected, even though I had not met her before (although the wisp of a woman behind her on the sidewalk had visited previously.) I've lived in Peace River my whole life, she said. I know everyone. She had been proud of how many people came into their faith from other denominations. This just made me sad. It showed me how many people do not take responsibility for their faith, and do not do their own study, so that when someone came along presenting a different "truth" than the (perhaps) lifeless religion that was served up to them on a platter every Sunday morning, it looked attractive, and had the seeming appearance of being right.

The Bible has been used to justify everything from the merciless slaughters of the Crusades, to divorce, to which colour outfit to buy. All this despite the fact that it says very plainly, "You shall not kill," and "I hate divorce." (I don't think it has any direct quotes about whether green or blue would be better attire for this year's prom.) I can only imagine the sorrow Father God must feel as he looks down and sees how his children have abused and misused his name, and his Word. All that, when He paid the ultimate sacrifice of love for us--and we so often let our lives be shaped by hate.

"You better stand for something, or you will fall for anything," the saying goes. You better know why you believe what you do, or you will be led astray by the first person who comes along that sounds like they know more about what they're talking about than you do. It's so NICE to meet someone who studies the Scriptures, she gushed, after I had just proved to her from her own inaccurate Bible that the trinity does, in fact, exist.

That is the challenge: when you speak the same language, but the words have different meanings to both of you, how do you know that you are getting your point across?

Unless you know what compound metre is, and why it would be all wrong to play a passage as 12/32 in three groups of four instead of 9/16 in three groups of three, how can you know whether what the man tells you rings true, or if you believe it simply because it was delivered to you as truth with an unusual amount of enthusiasm?

I welcome challenges to my ideas. They encourage me to study more, and find out more things for myself.

So while I may be willing to accept something as unimportant to my destiny as the rhythmic interpretation of Beethoven on blind faith, when it comes to True Faith, I refuse to enter blindly. I will search for truth. I will understand what can be understood.

I will "test everything. Hold on to the good. Avoid every kind of evil." (1 Thess. 5:21)

Because whether the pianist is wearing a tuxedo or not, the truth is in the manuscript. The melody is sometimes the more subtle line. There are things that are hidden that are not always obvious. What we've been told is not necessarily the way things really are. And history will show one's work for what it really is.

Will this Phage you?

Here's an interesting article I came across today. Not sure what to think of the idea--personally, I would like to know that there had been much more research behind it than only 10 years.

On the other hand, processed and deli meats should be avoided anyway, due to the high amount of sodium, low amount of food value, and most likely the inclusion of sodium nitrite and/or monosodium glutamate, so perhaps this is just one more reason to do so.

Here's an excerpt from the article. Click on the link to read the whole thing:

The Sun Herald | 08/31/2006 | FDA unleashes viruses to kill food bacteria: "FDA unleashes viruses to kill food bacteria
Phage mixture can help prevent illnesses
By HILLARY E. MACGREGOR
LOS ANGELES TIMES

If you want to get rid of a pest, why not use another pest to plague it?

That's the approach approved last week by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, which will for the first time allow the use of bacteria-eating viruses as additives to foods.

From now on, these viruses -- known as 'bacteriophage,' or phage -- can be sprayed on ready-to-eat cold cuts and luncheon meats by manufacturers to prevent listeriosis, the most deadly of all foodborne illnesses."

Also, while looking for links for this post, I also came up with this great article for Raising a Whole Food Child in a Processed Food World. Great stuff. I could do a whole post on just this, but I don't have time--just read it, whether or not you have kids. Pass it on to your friends with kids.

Barely Breathing

I have been teaching piano for all of two weeks, now. And I feel like I need to come up for air.

I had forgotten how busy life can be. I had forgotten what it was like to have regular commitments.

It is a lot of work keeping your house guest-ready for three out of seven days a week, when you have little tornadoes capable of destroying the calm zen of a tidy room in point-zero-three seconds flat.

To bulk up the work load (as if I needed that!), I am basically creating my own "primer level" for the older beginners among my students (which 90% of them are), so this is adding several more hours a week. Also, when I was teaching before, it was for a studio, and all the accounting paperwork was looked after for me--all I had to do was deposit my paycheque every two weeks.

Being a "self-employed teacher" now, I am making more per lesson, but not per hour when I factor in the amount of time spent on books and lesson plans and creating theory sheets.

"Down through another stroke, picking up speed as we go, rising up the other side--higher every time. Inertia slows, until we hang there, seemingly suspended in air at the peak of the stroke, then we are plunging back down, in free-fall. My knuckles get whiter."

I was referring to a different aspect of my life when I wrote this a few weeks ago, but right now, as I go speeding along in my life, with the G-force winds making my cheeks flap unbecomingly and my eyeballs fight to stay in their sockets, I am feeling

*gasping, gulping*

a little

breathless.

Dammed Beavers!

A modified version of this arrived in my Inbox today. Upon looking it up at www.snopes.com, I was delighted to find that not only was this ludicrous exchange hilarious, but it was absolutely TRUE!

In case you haven't seen it before, I share it for your reading enjoyment.

STATE OF MICHIGAN

Reply to: GRAND RAPIDS DISTRICT OFFICE STATE OFFICE BUILDING 6TH FLOOR
350 OTTAWA NW GRAND RAPIDS MI 49503-2341
JOHN ENGLER, Governor
DEPARTMENT OF ENVIRONMENTAL QUALITY
HOLLISTER BUILDING, PO BOX 30473, LANSING MI 48909-7973
INTERNET: http://www.deq.state.mi
RUSSELL J. HARDING, Director

December 17, 1997

CERTIFIED

Mr. Ryan DeVries 2088 Dagget Pierson, MI 49339

Dear Mr. DeVries:

SUBJECT: DEQ File No. 97-59-0023-1 T11N, R10W, Sec. 20, Montcalm County

It has come to the attention of the Department of Environmental Quality that there has been recent unauthorized activity on the above referenced parcel of property. You have been certified as the legal landowner and/or contractor who did the following unauthorized activity:

Construction and maintenance of two wood debris dams across the outlet stream of Spring Pond. A permit must be issued prior to the start of this type of activity. A review of the Department's files show that no permits have been issued.

Therefore, the Department has determined that this activity is in violation of Part 301, Inland Lakes and Streams, of the Natural Resource and Environmental Protection Act, Act 451 of the Public Acts of 1994, being sections 324.30101 to 324.30113 of the Michigan Compiled Laws annotated. The Department has been informed that one or both of the dams partially failed during a recent rain event, causing debris dams and flooding at downstream locations. We find that dams of this nature are inherently hazardous and cannot be permitted. The Department therefore orders you to cease and desist all unauthorized activities at this location, and to restore the stream to a free-flow condition by removing all wood and brush forming the dams from the strewn channel. All restoration work shall be completed no later than January 31, 1998. Please notify this office when the restoration has been completed so that a follow-up site inspection may be scheduled by our staff. Failure to comply with this request, or any further unauthorized activity on the site, may result in this case being referred for elevated enforcement action. We anticipate and would appreciate your full cooperation in this matter.

Please feel free to contact me at this office if you have any questions.

Sincerely,

David L. Price
District Representative Land and Water Management Division

REPLY:

Dear Mr. Price:

Re: DEQ File No. 97-59-0023; T11N, R10W, Sec 20; Montcalm County

Your certified letter dated 12/17/97 has been handed to me to respond to. You sent out a great deal of carbon copies to a lot of people, but you neglected to include their addresses. You will, therefore, have to send them a copy of my response.

First of all, Mr. Ryan DeVries is not the legal landowner and/or contractor at 2088 Dagget, Pierson, Michigan - I am the legal owner and a couple of beavers are in the (State unauthorized) process of constructing and maintaining two wood "debris" dams across the outlet stream of my Spring Pond. While I did not pay for, nor authorize, their dam project, I think they would be highly offended you call their skillful use of natural building materials "debris." I would like to challenge you to attempt to emulate their dam project any dam time and/or any dam place you choose. I believe I can safely state there is no dam way you could ever match their dam skills, their dam resourcefulness, their dam ingenuity, their dam persistence, their dam determination and/or their dam work ethic.

As to your dam request the beavers first must fill out a dam permit prior to the start of this type of dam activity, my first dam question to you is: are you trying to discriminate against my Spring Pond Beavers or do you require all dam beavers throughout this State to conform to said dam request? If you are not discriminating against these particular beavers, please send me completed copies of all those other applicable beaver dam permits. Perhaps we will see if there really is a dam violation of Part 301, Inland Lakes and Streams, of the Natural Resource and Environmental Protection Act, Act 451 of the Public Acts of 1994, being sections 324.30101 to 324.30113 of the Michigan Compiled Laws annotated.

My first concern is - aren't the dam beavers entitled to dam legal representation? The Spring Pond Beavers are financially destitute and are unable to pay for said dam representation - so the State will have to provide them with a dam lawyer. The Department's dam concern that either one or both of the dams failed during a recent rain event causing dam flooding is proof we should leave the dam Spring Pond Beavers alone rather than harassing them and calling them dam names. If you want the dam stream "restored" to a dam free-flow condition - contact the dam beavers - but if you are going to arrest them (they obviously did not pay any dam attention to your dam letter-being unable to read English) - be sure you read them their dam Miranda rights first.

As for me, I am not going to cause more dam flooding or dam debris jams by interfering with these dam builders. If you want to hurt these dam beavers - be aware I am sending a copy of your dam letter and this response to PETA. If your dam Department seriously finds all dams of this nature inherently hazardous and truly will not permit their existence in this dam State - I seriously hope you are not selectively enforcing this dam policy, or once again both I and the Spring Pond Beavers will scream prejudice!

In my humble opinion, the Spring Pond Beavers have a right to build their dam unauthorized dams as long as the sky is blue, the grass is green, and water flows downstream. They have more dam right than I to live and enjoy Spring Pond. So, as far as I and the beavers are concerned, this dam case can be referred for more dam elevated enforcement action now. Why wait until 1/31/98? The Spring Pond Beavers may be under the dam ice then, and there will be no dam way for you or your dam staff to contact/harass them then. In conclusion, I would like to bring to your attention a real environmental quality (health) problem: bears are actually defecating in our woods. I definitely believe you should be persecuting the defecating bears and leave the dam beavers alone. If you are going to investigate the beaver dam, watch your step! (The bears are not careful where they dump!) Being unable to comply with your dam request, and being unable to contact you on your dam answering machine, I am sending this response to your dam office.

Sincerely,
Stephen L. Tvedten

And the winner is>>>

Favourite Cheesy Overused Line Ever:

1. "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!": Mrs. Fletcher, "Life-Call" commercial - 5 votes (22%)
2. "B-E-A-utiful!": used by Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty. - 1 vote (4%)
3. "D'oh!": Homer Simpson in The Simpsons. - 0 votes
4. "Fascinating.": Mr. Spock in Star Trek. - 0 votes
5. "Go ahead, make my day.": Clint Eastwood as Harry Callahan in Sudden Impact. - 2 votes (9%)
6. "Got Milk?": An advertising slogan introduced in 1993 encouraging people to drink milk - 0 votes
7. "Hasta la vista, baby.": The Terminator, Terminator 2: Judgment Day. - 1 vote (4%)
8. "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.": Inigo Montoya, from The Princess Bride. - 9 votes (39%)
9. "I see dead people.": The Sixth Sense, 1999 film. Used also as a parody: "I see dumb people." - 5 votes (22%)

My personal favourite fluctuated between numbers 8 and 9 (which may be partially why 8 pulled into the lead, and 9 got more than only 3 votes!)

Sorry for leaving that one up there for so long--to be honest, I was having a hard time thinking of something worth replacing it with! I'll try to be more on the ball from now on.

While I haven't even heard all of the songs in my newest poll, because many of them are from bands and artists I don't personally listen to, I thought it would be interesting to see what you all had to say about it. (And even though I love Andrew Lloyd Webber, I have to agree with whoever wrote the review of "Memory" on that site: I just don't get why Cats was so popular. It makes no sense to me at all. It is my least-liked ALW musical of all time. And the song "Memory" is okay--but certainly not all it was hyped up to be.)

Ahem. Enough of me ranting. What do you think?

Okay, I got the hint.

I turned the furnace on. You can take off your mittens and vest now, Noah.

Busy signal

This is an article I wrote in 2004 (before the word "blog" had entered my vocabulary.) I was reminded of it the other night when someone looked at my three little boys and once again I heard the words "so, you're busy." Although I only had two at the time of writing this, not much has changed in my perspective. Enjoy.

“So, You’re Busy!”

by Talena Winters

“So, you’re busy,” I hear, for the fourth time that day. This time, it comes from the matronly lady at the Wal-Mart checkout, as she eyes four-month-old Noah in the stroller, and 20-month-old Jude perched precariously on top of it.I am trying to rummage through my purse with one hand, looking for my debit card, while preventing Jude from toppling to the floor with the other, as he is fearlessly reaching toward the debit machine because he likes “helping Mommy with the buttons.” I smile at the clerk, and say, “But in a good way,” finish paying for my goods, and mercifully get to leave the store behind, with its many temptations for little fingers.

I am never quite sure how to respond to that comment. Are people saying I am crazy to have chosen to have two children, only sixteen months apart? Or are they secretly trying to discover if I have chosen this? Are they commenting on the energy little boys are known to have, and imagining if it were them trying to keep up? Or simply trying to express empathy for the “harried mother?” So many things that could be wrapped up in one innocent sentence.

Yes, I have to admit, there are days when I look back at my life “before children” and wonder what I did to keep myself occupied. I remember that I was always busy then, too. Busy with trying to get my home-based business to succeed. Busy in indulging my own pleasures. Busy with trying to accomplish dreams that seemed so important. Always working at my busy-ness, all day long, afraid of what would happen if I ever slowed down for just a moment and reviewed what all of it was accomplishing.

I question, now, as I examine my life, why I always felt so much “busier” then, and why I am so much happier, now. If busy-ness can be equated with the amount of work and personal projects one can cram into a day, am I really busy?

No mother can deny the amount of work it takes to shape young lives into something of value—to focus and direct the boundless energy, imagination, and enthusiasm that each child carries in their little heart. But do you really consider it work to explain, for the “nth” time, that they need to apologize when they hurt someone, the first time you see them do it voluntarily? Do you really count all the times you’ve named that colour, or letter, or animal, when they finally recognize it and name it themselves, and pride fills your heart at your young genius? Are the acts of discipline you have to hand out regretted when you see your child spontaneously perform an act of kindness and empathy for someone else? Do not a simple hug and kiss erase all the frustrations of the day?

The quality of my busy-ness has changed since becoming a mother. To spend my days instructing my children, loving them, and encouraging them, seems of much more worth than the vain and selfish pursuits I used to partake in. Perhaps this is what the outsider who comments on my daily life is seeing—the self-denial it takes to be a mother, regardless of the number or age of your children. You no longer have the time to be selfish. Perhaps they are secretly relieved it is not them, and admiring of someone who would be willing to give up so much of themselves to further the species.

As for myself, I do not begrudge these days that are filled with the rearing of two little boys. Although they are still so young, I already know in my heart that it passes far too quickly, and soon enough my young fledglings will grow up and fly from the nest. Then, I will have all the time I need—forty years or more, most likely—to pursue all of the things that I have had to set aside right now. I will probably look back with longing on the days when my sons were small enough to fit in a stroller, labeling them “good ol’.”

So, the next time some stranger tells me how busy I am, I will take it as a compliment. And without any pretense at all, I will confidently smile at them and say, “I wouldn’t trade it for the world!”

July 4, 2004

Oven-Roasted Squash, Garlic, and Apple Soup

This is the soup I made for lunch today. It was inspired by a recipe I got from Chatelaine a few years ago. This is also the perfect time of year for this soup--the flavours and aromas just say "Autumn." Hot, homemade, aromatic soup--the ultimate comfort food.

3 med. butternut squash (or 1 large pumpkin)
2 med. onions
3 heads garlic, unpeeled
olive oil
celtic sea salt
cracked pepper

1 tbsp. olive oil
1 tbsp. butter
4 med. apples, peeled, cored, and cut into chunks
1/8 tsp. ground nutmeg
1/8 tsp. ground cloves
1/2 tsp. turmeric
1 tsp. mild curry paste
7-8 cups homemade chicken stock
1 tsp. celtic sea salt
crème fraiche (or sour cream)

Cut squash in half and scoop out seeds. Score in a criss-cross pattern. Arrange on stoneware baking pan, cut side up. Peel and wedge onions and arrange around squash. Chop off the tops of the heads of garlic and arrange on pan. Drizzle all with olive oil, and use a pastry brush to make sure everything is well covered. Sprinkle with ground salt and pepper. Roast in 375 degree F oven for about 45 minutes, until squash is soft. Let cool until able to be handled.

Prep apples. Melt butter and olive oil in large pot. Add apples, spices, and curry paste and stir-fry for 2-3 minutes, until aromatic. Add chicken stock. Scoop out pulp from squash and add along with onions. Squish garlic directly out of papery skins into soup. Add salt. Cook on med-low for about 10 minutes, until apples are tender. Remove from heat, and mix right in the pot using a hand-held blender.

Serve with a dollop of crème fraiche.

Makes about 10 cups.

So Blessed

Today, I am thankful for simple pleasures:

• The sound of children playing happily in the basement or the back yard.
  
• The smell of roasting squash, garlic, and onions for the soup I'm making for lunch.
• A good night's sleep.
• A little time to spend in the Word after breakfast.
• A vacuumed carpet and clean bathroom mirrors.
• Chubby baby cheeks to kiss.
  
• A puppy that is excited to see me.
• Kids that need me to tie up their "super-hero capes" (receiving blankets!) at least half a dozen times each.
• Knowing I am loved.
• New friends.
• Old friends.
• An unexpected phone call from one of either kind of friend.
• Hot, creamy tea.
• Clean jeans in my closet.
• Knowing I am needed.
• Looking through the newest Stampin' Up! catalogue and making my "Dream List."
• The feel of cozy, chunky yarn and sleek wooden needles in my hands.
• The touch of cool black and white keys under my fingers, and the ability to make them produce music.
• A pink puppy tongue tickling my toes.
  
• Reminders that my life has purpose and meaning, no matter how often the Enemy tries to deceive me into thinking otherwise.

Great is thy faithfulness, oh God, my Father
There is no shadow of turning with thee,
Thou changest not, thy compassions they fail not.
Great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.

Great is thy faithfulness! Great is thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see
All I have needed thy hand hast provided
Great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

-Thomas Chisholm

Careful. We don't want to learn from this.*

"The martyr sacrifices themselves entirely in vain. Or rather not in vain; for they make the selfish more selfish, the lazy more lazy, the narrow narrower.
Florence Nightingale

Our street is not very long. Yet, despite this fact, I would estimate that there are around 100 men, women, and children that live on it. The entire other side of the street consists of townhouses, filled mainly by low-income families. (Although you would never know it by the row of brand-new half-tons that sit along the curb. Oh, and the Harley. But that's beside the point.)

Now, considering that the two main employers in this town are the pulp mill and the regionl health centre, it's safe to say that there are a few people who live on our street that work shift-work. They probably hoard whatever sleep they can get.

Also, there are many families with young children on our street. So, even for those who do not work shift-work, I imagine that the pre-dawn hours, while the sun is still down and the children still in bed, are usually devoted to the land of Nod. (Especially if, like me, they were up until 1:30 a.m. preparing lesson plans for the week, etc.)

Despite all this, at the rosy hour of 5:30 a.m., a full hour before sunrise, some inconsiderate jerk started honking their horn repeatedly to gain the attention of whomever they were giving a ride to. We're not talking once, or even twice. This went on. And on.

Jason is far too nice sometimes. He said that he "seriously thought about going out and giving them a piece of his mind" after he got up to find out what was going on. Apparently, it was still too early and fuzzy to actually voice the thoughts that went through his head, and mine:

"What, have you never heard of a doorbell?!"

*Quote from Calvin and Hobbes, by Bill Watterson

Chemotherapy: Cure or killer?

Killer cancer treatment: How toxic chemotherapy kills both cancer cells and cancer patients: "Imagine that you own a house that is absolutely perfect and beautiful with all the necessities, except that it has some rodents inside. When you call the exterminators, they tell you that they won't be able to target just the rodents, as these rodents are of an especially stealthy breed. They tell you they're just going to set off a series of explosions in your house that may kill the rodents. They warn you, 'Oh yeah, it may destroy some of your house in the process, but, hey, you want those rodents out of your house, right?' There's probably no way you would allow that; instead, you would do some research and find other, more specific and less generally destructive ways of getting rid of the rodents.

The allegorical exterminators' logic makes no sense; yet, it's the same logic that doctors who prescribe chemotherapy follow. Like the exterminators' explosions, chemotherapy doesn't exclusively target cancer cells; it also harms your good cells, destroying some of your body – your 'house' – in the process. As a result, many chemotherapy patients lose their hair, develop immune deficiencies, lose weight and vomit. Chemotherapy poisons your body as a whole in an attempt to kill the cancer cells before the 'treatment' brings your body to an unrecoverable state."

Read the full article at the link above.

You know you're busy when...

...you haven't had time to read any blogs for nearly a week, let alone contribute to one!

So, here I am, with a hole in my sock. The fact that I'm wearing a sock at all should tell you something. Yes, summer is officially over in Peace River. Following several days where the temperature reached nearly 30 degrees (that's Celsius, by the way) last week and on the weekend, today I woke up and went "BRRR! Why is it so darn COLD in this house?" and promptly put on a sweater and some socks. One of which now has a hole in it. Darn cheap socks. Yet another reason I really need to learn to knit my own.

Last weekend was BIZ-EE! Dad and Logan were here until Sunday night--they managed to get two rounds of golf with Jason in on the weekend, so they were loving the warm weather. We managed to get some good visiting time in during the evenings. I managed to cook up the turkey that had been in my freezer for about a year. Any weekend with family and turkey usually ends up being a good one.

Yup, I guess it qualifies.

Then Monday, after the relates had headed out, I spent the day moving my craft area down behind the wet-bar downstairs (I never knew you could fit so much STUFF into such a small area!), and moving my piano, etc., into the office, because...

Wednesday was my first day of teaching for the year. Back in the saddle again, that's me. I haven't taught in two years, but I am really excited about it. What's really exciting is the number of students I have already--for someone that's new to the community, and has done very little advertising, it has been surprisingly easy to generate business. I found out that there has been a shortage of piano teachers up here the last few years, so that would probably explain it.

I was a little nervous yesterday before the lessons, and was running on only about 5 hours sleep from staying up late and preparing everything the night before, but it went well.

Here is the part of the post where I tell you the funny things the kids have said lately. Just so you're warned.

Dad: Did you do that, Jude?
Jude: No, probably not me, probably Noah did.

(I don't think he quite grasps the concept of "probably" yet.)

While babysitting the Burdick kids yesterday, Dawson asks me at lunch, "Why are the adults the boss?"

"Good question," I said. "Why do you think it is?" The stuff that kid thinks of!

And, by way of finale, I would like to point out that there is still magic in the world. And it was one of the best things that happened to me today.

ADHD: Risky Treatment, Fruitful Prevention

Has anyone else wondered why the cases of ADHD seem to have skyrocketed over the last few years? Does that seem fishy to anyone but me, that a "disease" that was virtually un-heard of over a century ago should now become so prevalent, and that so many children should be on medication?

While a voice sing-songs in the back of my head "it's all about the money," there is likely a little more to it than that. However, I am sick and tired that the first solution is always a band-aid--I mean, a prescription--not something that will help prevent and cure the problem.

This article addresses some of the recent concerns of the fatal risks of ADHD drugs--and, I was gratified to note that while the American FDA may be "playing God" again in the lives of their citizens (although maybe I shouldn't say that, because God gave Adam and Eve an informed choice), Health Canada has issued warnings about the use of ADHD drugs.

While scientists clash over the dangers of ADHD drugs, the U.S. government does nothing to protect children: "In late May 2006, Health Canada issued warnings of heart risks -- including sudden death -- on all drugs used to treat ADHD. 'The effects are usually mild or moderate, but in some patients, this stimulation may -- in rare cases -- result in cardiac arrests, strokes or sudden death,' the agency warned. Health Canada issued the warning even though no deaths caused by ADHD drugs have been reported in Canada.

The FDA is being sluggish to issue warnings on the newest risks ADHD drugs pose to users, the majority of which are children. It forms committees such as the Drug Safety and Risk Management Advisory committee, which convened in February 2006, and the Pediatric Advisory Committee, which convened in March 2006 and was attended by FDA epidemiologists and physicians, as well as two representatives from Big Pharma, to discuss if and how patients should be warned about the dangers of ADHD drugs. Notably, both committees did not find the need for a black-box warning 'warranted.'

One might wonder why Canada -- which has suffered zero deaths because of ADHD drugs (thus far) -- found the need for a warning 'warranted' and acted quickly to issue it, while the United States, which has suffered 25 deaths (19 involving children) because of ADHD drugs, has effectively done nothing to warn its citizens of the dangers of such medications.

While the United States has a few lobbyists on the side of public health arguing for strong warnings and patient education on ADHD drugs, it seems no one has considered the third alternative: That ADHD can be prevented, rather than treated."

The article goes on to talk about some easy ways to prevent and treat ADHD--from your kitchen.

Rough and Buff

Thank you, Colleen, for these. Although I didn't actually use any today, they were humourous enough to help me back on the path to sanity.

It's been a heck of a week. On Sunday, I woke up with a sore throat and a runny nose. Bummer. So Jason said we should stay home ("If you go to church, you'll just sing with all the songs, and talk a lot, and then sing on the way home, and then sing while you play the piano this afternoon, and then..."), and I agreed this was probably best. However, this meant that I would not be getting out on my last chance for socialization before he needed to use the van to drive to work again for three weeks. (His car-pool buddy's wife just had a baby, and he's taking three weeks off.)

So. I've been fighting a cold all week. I took most of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday to sit on my butt as much as possible, occupying myself with watching the boys and our new puppy play in the yard, or making sure Suri didn't have an accident in the house, or making sure Noah wasn't picking her up by the tail, or making sure Jude wasn't chasing her around to the point of utter exhaustion ("Jude, she's just a baby! She needs lots of naps, still!") and reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

I thought I'd finally make up my own mind on the whole Harry Potter thing, since Heather Anne loves the series so much. I have to say, I can see why J.K. Rowling is so successful from it. She weaves a good tale. As far as the controversy--I can see the points on both sides. Jason read it too. I think we're going to have to think about it. However, if I got rid of my copy of A Wrinkle in Time because of the New Age leanings in it, I'm guessing Harry Potter won't be surviving in this house. We'll see.

By Thursday, my cold didn't feel any better, but I knew I had guests coming for the weekend, so I had to make some sort of an effort to put the house in order. So I spent the day working. A lot. And still doing all the same Suri-and-kids-related activities as before.

To make things more fun, I think Jude may have been fighting the cold, too, because he took a nap almost every day this week, even though he seldom takes them anymore. And his attitude has sucked.

And oh, the LIES!! This kid has a serious lying habit that I am at my wit's end about. And he just lies about stupid stuff he doesn't even need to, sometimes. What sucks is that he's the only kid that can talk somewhat articulately, so I kind of rely on him to tell me what happened in a situation I was not an eye-witness to. But how can I trust the kid when he just LIES first thing?

Jabin seems to have been getting up unusually early this week, as well. And the naps have been all wonky--I think there was one day where all three children, and the dog, were sleeping at the same time, so I got to have a little nap--I had been asleep for maybe half an hour and the phone rang. I forgot to unplug it because I am not in the habit of taking naps anymore, either. This woke both me, and Jude, up.

So between the cold, the short nights, the napless days, preventing the kids from torturing the dog, and getting completely frustrated by the liar with the bad attitude in my house, it all built up to the screaming-through-my-keyboard that you were witness to this morning.

Only because if I screamed in real life, it would scare all my kids and the neighbours would call the police.

However, there is a sunshiny end to this dismal week: my brother and father arrived tonight to visit for the weekend. This is the first time Logan has met Jabin, as the last time I saw him was only weeks before Jabin was born at my grandfather's funeral last October.

I found out something really cool about my brother tonight. He entered a strongman competition. And he pulled a bus.

You have to realize: my brother is a self-proclaimed computer geek. He has been a computer geek for as long as I remember. And although he has always been a semi-active guy, he's not the guy I had ever visualized pulling the bus in those strongman competitions.

But apparently, this is one computer geek that refuses to be totally out of shape. (Visualize Dilbert's paunch.)

Instead, he really is buff! Check out this post for pictures of the competition. My brother is the one in the blue shirt that says "I'm made of meat" on it. (You might not have been able to read it in his photo--I only knew that because he is wearing the same shirt tonight.)

Also, he has this interesting goatee look going. Tell ya, Bro--cut your hair really short, add a gold earring or two, and I'd mistake you for a drummer, not a computer nerd. (I'm thinking most people don't guess your true profession by looking at you, do they?)

My baby brother. *sniff* All grown up.

Maybe that's why I keep getting his name mixed up with Jude's: I keep forgetting he's not a baby anymore. Dang it!

AAAAAAAAAUAUAUAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHH!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I want a weekend off!