A holliday mystery

Two years ago we hosted a progressive dinner block party. My neighbor across the street hosted the dinner part. She is deeply passionate environmentalist. Her priority was to host the party without using any paper products. I contributed to effort by offering our back-up dishes which were carried across the street for the party. It was a huge success, many people attended, and at the last minute we ran back to our house to grab more plates. All of our dishes minus the three in the dishwasher attended the party that year.

Christmas and New Years came and went. The plates were not returned. Irritated to be washing the same 3 plates all of the time, but not concerned because we are at work a lot- and it may be difficult to catch us at home.

On a icy Saturday afternoon 3.5 weeks after the party my neighbor showed up at the door. With a nervous laugh she told us she was carrying the plates across the street, the dog pulled the leash, and they all fell, breaking into pieces. All that was left were two dinner plates and a cereal bowl.

It really was not a problem. Still stock at the Crate&Barrel the dishes were replaced.

What was unusual was the time line, the story and the odd delivery of news. Made me wonder if there was more to the story- let my imagination run wild. Late night fight with throwing of dishes perhaps? We will never know.

We did not have a block holiday party last year, but this year my husband and I hosted......

Worst days of a life

Walking over from the parking garage this morning I walked through the worst day of a families life. Three women gathered outside of the Cardiothoracic ICU grief stricken. Who knows what was happening- I just passed by. So this is what happens after doctors deliver news. We are taught to be clear, firm and strong. Compassionate by acting immune to their response- providing a sense of order. The doctor, the one in control, has seen to it that everything that could be done has been done. Their response, whatever form grief takes is allowed, welcomed. On occasion the physician's eyes may well up with tears- the most rare form on tears I am told- tears of compassion. For only a moment, however before rushing off to the next patient. Leaving the family there, living the reality they cannot escape. Played out in the dramas of life each of us takes our turn in the role of physician, family and even patient.

The absent hostess.

Staring at a half empty (full) bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough and glancing at the clock. 11 AM. There is no way that I am going to make it. Out of bed this morning at 9 (should have been 7). Bake cookes, organize kitchen, pick up house, go to the lab, host party. The first three went well. Driving to my house one hour after the party started it occured to me that I work too much. Arriving to a home full of neighbors, they welomed me and said how great it was that I could make it. Meaningful are the hugs and conversations shared with the great people that live on our block. Meaningless are the data collected from the experiment started on Friday afternoon and completed at 445 PM today. On auto pilot it made sense that after my board exam was over I would throw myself into my research. Eight weeks on crutches, a few months without data, a serious blow to my career. Working as hard as I possibly can before my leave is the way I make it okay. In case you are wondering, I do have incite into my extreme nature. Seeking balance is the reason I planned the party in the first place. Too busy to even think about being angry- now that is an improvement.

Angry.

Have you wondered why the periphery? I have been tossed out from my expected path. My friends have jobs, children, and sense of consistency in their lives. I am so angry. Angry that I couldn't have a baby. Angry that I hate my work. Angry that my body is broken. Angry that my relationships are distant. Angry that no one can understand my pain. Angry that I am expected to look on the bright side. Angry that everything is NOT sure to end up okay. Angry that I cannot exercise. Angry that my car is in the body shop. Angry that it is cold outside. Angry that I have to go to celebrate my father when my happy days were ruined by his selfishness. Angry my aunt is being placed in a nursing home at 53 years old. Angry I have no control. Angry there is no joy. Angry.