Scientist, Editor, Wife, Mommy of 3

Goodness me. This has become an all-mommy all-the-time journal.

I had occasion the other day to dig through my archives, on the hunt for migraines-tagged entries for someone who inquired about them. What I found were, well, great things. I used to be quick and witty, insightful and fun. They were fun for me to read, anyway. YMMV

I miss it, you know, having a brain. I miss the feeling of having only stresses of my own making. They were my migraines, my battles with the bacteria, my encounters with The Wall and Joey and the kid who thought a fire extinguisher was the answer to a flaming jar of ethanol. Everything was simple, even when the computer ate my prelim. exam and my committee failed me.

I ate when I wanted to - or didn't, depending on the migraine prophylactic du mois! - I slept when I wanted to. I could spend a whole Sunday in my bathrobe, reading the paper and sipping coffee in bed. Oh, the hedonism!

This isn't a complaint, mind you, not really. This is merely an observation of how struck I am by the changes in my life.

For the first time, I don't have time to myself - or, rather, what time I have comes at a premium and is relegated to the off-hours of the day - but I am finally making use of that time to be creative and to produce. What's that old line about not appreciating something until it's gone? Waste not, want not? Now that I have no time, I'm using what time I can scrape together and maybe, just maybe, tomorrow I'll have something to show for it.

Ok, a finished afghan for Jeff or a quilt for Samuel is (or will be) nice, but taking what I've made and putting it out there for somebody else to judge and (I hope) pay for... well that's a whole other ball of wax. Will I crash and burn, or is this going to be the start of something big? Another major change in my life? My ticket out of the workaday world?

My mind is swimming with ideas and I'm anxious to have that first validation. That first hint that maybe I can do this after all.

After tomorrow's sale I'm giving myself permission to go back to working on my projects for the family. Jeff's afghan and Samuel's bedroom will come first, then Samuel's quilt and baby clothes, my cross-stitch projects (I miss them terribly) and - oh! so many ideas for other projects. I absolutely must finish what I've started. What's amazing to me is the thought that I may actually do it. There's a job, a house, four pets, a husband and (last but really first) a baby to care for, but somehow I'm managing to get in front of that sewing machine, to take the needle in hand.

Maybe this sudden push to pursue my creative dreams is my way of reaching back to grab some of that hedonism I took for granted, of holding onto my Self.

How's that for a good old-fashioned self-absorbed journal entry? No baby talk! Wow!

450.

In slandering and reviling you persist,
Calling me infidel and atheist:
My errors I will not deny, but yet
Does foul abuse become a moralist?


/This is good stuff!

In honor of my inching just *that much* closer to 30, I'm taking the day off tomorrow.

I plan to sleep well past 6:30 tomorrow morning. Beyond that, I have no big plans. You guys may want to send in your tax returns, if you haven't already :)

I hope to get out of the house and I hope to get out of town, at least a little ways.
I plan to bake a bundt cake. Chocolate, with chocolate icing.
Because I am me.

If I'd been thinking clearly, I'd have picked up some pork chops at the store last week for my traditional childhood birthday dinner - pork chops and noodles with cream of mushroom gravy. When we lived overseas, we got our pork in flash-frozen format from the "white meat" store on the compound. So not only was it a special tradition, it was subversive. Then the gubmint forced the company to shut it down and Bronwyn's birthday tradition was quashed. Sadness.

Last week I spotted a reflection of myself in the glass panel of a door. I thought I looked my age and wasn't sure how I felt about it. I don't think I care all that much, except when I remember that when mom was my age, I was five already. Damn, I think, I'd better get on the ball.

Cart. Horse.
No, wait.
Horse. Cart.

So here's to another year gone by, goals not yet met. And here's to another year to pursue those goals and to enjoy and explore the wonder that is my love. Happy birthday, me.

I've been thinking all day.

All. Damn. Day.

And I'm not done yet.

Not only do I have to summarize my work (managed to get that part done), but I have to synthesize it into a model, articulate it well and oh yeah articulate my future directions.

I know I can do this, I just have to wrap my brain around some tricky problems that its been reluctant to be wrapped around so far. Erg.

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In the meantime, over at UE, there has been some discussion about the Columbia disaster. Some of the folks over there have expressed that they feel rather untouched by the loss of the shuttle. Some feel a little sympathy, but little else. Others don't understand what the big deal is, since people die in tragic ways every day. I responded a couple of times, and thought I would copy one of my responses here. . .

I think I feel it closely because I'm a scientist. Although I am 15-20 years younger than the astronauts who died on Saturday, I feel the same passion for learning, science and the pursuit of knowledge that drove several of them. It's the same passion that drives many at NASA and most members of the scientific profession.

I guess I feel a kinship with them. I would love nothing more than to peer through a window and look back at my planet far behind me. Not everybody is built for it, however, and my body may not let me. But don't be surprised if someday you find out that Dr. Bronwyn E. Ramey is working for NASA. As it turns out, my specialty, biofilms, is a field of particular interest to NASA for a vast number of reasons, so I am extremely hirable over there! But I digress.

The point is, there are a lot of people who feel a kinship, some just an innate one, with the space program even if they don't follow it day to day. Others simply don't. I suppose there's no reason to feel badly if you fall in the latter category.

The death of a mother in a car accident, like the death of my cousin or the death of my friend - these were all tragic losses of life, and are incalculable because the lives lost were filled with POTENTIAL, they had not yet been fully realized, nor were they killed while completing a mission for their nation.

Harsh as it sounds, the loss of Columbia and the attacks on the WTC and Pentagon are tragic and both incalculable AND calculable in both human and economic and scientific terms. Not only were lives lost (and the emotional familial things that go along), but so was important data, cargo, materiel, and sheer intellectual capacity. These people WERE on a mission. That's what makes the difference.

It doesn't make the loss more sad or more tragic. The difference simply makes the Columbia disaster newsworthy. (emphasis added)

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Back to the grindstone. . . . model model model model model. . .

*sigh*

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One last thought. I was going to title this Everything Matters, then I changed it to Everything Matters to Me and I realized that this is probably why I have such a hard time coming down on one side or the other in many arguments. If I can't minimize the needs of one side in order to favor another, how can I ever make a decision easily? No wonder I'm a registered Independent. Heh.

Ever feel like you're talking to wall?

And then the wall goes and does something it wasn't told to do?

And then your boss looks at you and asks you why the wall did what it did, as if you told it to do what it did, and not what it should have done?

Yeah. That's where I am today.

Grrrrrr

It's amazing the things I manage to accomplish when I don't turn on my TV.

Two days ago, I came home and made a barely decent meal of macncheese and grilled zucchini. I then watched my new exercise video as I ate. . . yes, yes I know that's not how you're supposed to exercise, but it's a new tape and I wanted to see what was in store.

So I then turned OFF the television, washed my dishes and then actually did the work out with the tape (thank you Dave for the great little TV-vcr) while my cat watched and tried her best to get stepped on.

Ok, so I'm being a pretty good girl so far, right? Well then my domestic goddess rose to the fore. . . I chopped and seared and readied my crock pot (a kitchen miracle if you ask me - thank you, Aunt Sharyn and Uncle Phil) for a dee-licious stew that I was going to get started in the morning. And while I was at it with the kitchen gadgets, I even set up my bread maker to make cinnamon raisin bread that would fill my house with baking-bread-scent as I woke in the morning.

Well, this is where I get demoted to demigoddess. Yesterday morning, I overslept and couldn't work out. I got the stew started, but was unsure how much broth to add, so I had to guess. And I opened my bread maker to find a loaf that hadn't risen - it was a flat-top. Disappointed, I tried a slice, but just couldn't see myself eating it, much less sharing it with my lab mates. *sigh* All I could do was cross my fingers that the stew would turn out ok.

When I returned from work and opened my front door, the most heavenly scent met me there. *yum*

Of course, it was delicious and I felt very proud and VERY thankful to not be eating tuna fish or macaroni and cheese. Now I just hope I can continue to enjoy it for three more meals.

The hazards of living alone - you have to eat a LOT of leftovers.
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I haven't yet mentioned today's anniversary, but only because we're all painfully aware of what today's date is and we all remember vividly what we witnessed and what our fellows suffered on this day last year.

I can think of nothing to say that wouldn't be trite or superfluous, so I'll just say this:

Take care of and respect yourself and the people around you.

That's all any of us can do.