Rainy Thursday

- Australian scientists win the Nobel prize in medicine for discovering that stomach ulcers are caused by bacteria, not stress. I don't know why, but this fascinates me. I guess it's helpful to know that I can hyper-stress over everything and not have to worry about contracting ulcers into the bargain.

- I used to have this really yummy recipe for microwave fudge. When I lived in Oregon (i.e. when I was a lot younger than I am now), I would mix up a batch of fudge whenever I felt like it and then eat the whole thing over a good book. Once I discovered a recipe for almond roca (or toffee, more precisely, since we never had chopped almonds), and I enjoyed several pans of that while perusing Sara's manuscript. For some odd reason, last night I was seized with a desire for toffee, so I whipped up a pan of it and, delicious as it was, felt very homesick for Archea. So I guess this post doubles as a personal email to you, Sara, asking you when I can get my story back.

- Rainy days always make me feel lazy.

- While backing out of the garage earlier this week, I whacked off the side-view mirror on the driver's side. Michael is always warning me about this, and I couldn't believe I had finally done it! I called him at work in great distress, much overcome with worry at the cost of repair and disbelief at having done something so patently silly and avoidable. His response was to laugh most heartily and tell me never to mind about it, we'd get it fixed and it was time to take the car in for a check-up anyway. Thus a great emotional outpouring of tears was avoided. Seen in that light, it doesn't seem so bad.

- The idea of laughter as a palliative against distress reminds me of a poem that I like very much, only I wish the moral could be adjusted to reprove whining and worry, as I tend to struggle with those emotions - in response to a catastrophe - rather than anger:

I wouldn't be cross, dear, it's never worthwhile;
Disarm the vexation by wearing a smile.
Let happen what may, dear, of trouble and loss-
I wouldn't be cross, love, I wouldn't be cross.

- My little brother Thomas (8) is quite the clever one. I called the other day to talk, and he was all excited about this poem he had learned.

Thomas: Shall I recite it to you?
Me: Umm...how many lines is it?
Benjamin: 36.
Me: Well, why don't you start reciting it and I'll tell you to stop when I get bored.
[He started reciting it. It turned out to be If, by Rudyard Kipling, one of my favourites, so I listened to the whole thing.]
Me: That was very good! Do you like poetry, or do you like to memorise things in general, or do you just like reciting?
Thomas: Well, all of that, but Mommy said she would give me a dollar if I could recite it to you.