Dog in Disguise

 My dog, dressed up as the Saltillo tile floor. Clever. He also does great impressions of a dingo.  

I wish I had some sheep (or chickens, or ducks) for him to herd because he is smart and clearly wants a job .  And I know from our childhood Collie "Gus" that some breeds can herd anything..including the aforementioned and kids too.

And it makes me wonder about breeds of people...(NO, emphatically, NOT what you are thinking in terms of race) I am thinking of something more subtle that has to do with personality etc.  I guess these inventories we are taking right now to figure out our future medical specialty has me thinking about natural leanings and skills v. training and absolute choice.

I am definitely a 'mixed breed' in the personality/medical specialty leanings area....making those inventories one thing one day and another the next!  

Dingo today, Shepherd tomorrow...

Old York

  I loved my years in York, England.  I took this picture one spring/summertime there. It is near two particularly wonderful places....

A French restaurant called "The Blue Bicycle" where every meal was perfect...and it only made it more delicious to know that a few decades prior, the 'dishes' on the menu were of the feminine variety,  and other articles of interest were smuggled up from the water below.

The other is an old half-timbered hall that, among other things, held a concert of live Tango music and dancing...by candle light.   yes, the candles were melting with the music, ah!  

Shades of Grey

White is my favorite color, even though people tell me it isn't a color.  Grey is my favorite color of cat. And Red is the only color for a really wonderful blanket...you know it is warm just by looking at it.

Any day in Medical School that allows time for considering favorite colors is a wonderful day.

Actually, any day in life, for that matter that includes such great things as homemade tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches made by fabulous housemates is a kind of holiday.

Happy favorite color, tomato soup and grilled cheese day to you all!

Art is a Lie...

.....that shows us the Truth.       -Picasso

Free Range

Cycling on Arivaca Rd, a small town on the way to Nogales.  People here have horses, or goats or cows or dogs.  The road signs warn cyclists to slow down for the cattle guards, and tell everyone with a picture of a cow and the words 'free range' that you may be surprised at what wanders into the road around the next bend.  

I was reading an article in the New York Times this morning about how if you literally sit inside a boxed space versus sitting outside of that space you will be more creative (think outside the box), the same goes if you are allowed to gesture with both hands rather than just one when considering different viewpoints (on the other hand).   I have read similar studies done before about walking and talking/thinking versus sitting still...the obvious is true - when you move, your thoughts have free range.

I grew up in a small town and spent a lot of time barefoot and building forts and playing in the hills behind our house. Maybe the lack of a neighborhood, straight streets and playgrounds helps to explain why I never understood the term 'thinking inside the box'.  What box? I thought. How do people get into this box and what do they think about in there?  It is still a  mystery for me.  All I know for sure is after a day of class, I crave fresh air and space, and I study better with a good view of the mountains in the distance.

Kosher sewing

I have never been one who was closely acquainted with pig's feet, until tonight.   A little scalpel work, some monofilament and I was throwing stitches left and right with my fellow students.

So many things in life that need sutures...lets throw a few stitches into our politics...I am thinking of the lyrics "come together, right now, over me".

But not so fast, you say, think of all the 'dangerous webs we weave'  of bringing pieces together that are better apart, or of staying at our loom, weaving while the world moves by, like the Lady of Shallot, we are lost in the river of our own imaginings of what might be.

How dangerous it is, to be armed with a needle, and thread, and a vision of what should be.

I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike

This is a local place to build your own bike from pieces of old ones.  I tried here first before buying my new bike, and I still like the idea....

Mechanical objects have their own logic.  Nobody has to tell you something is right or wrong, it either actually works or it doesn't.  And you like the way it works or you don't.

I love the subjective nature of people (as opposed to mechanical objects), getting the pieces of say, the physical exam to flow smoothly is not just a mechanical feat - it turns out, people are different mechanically - light pressure to one is heavy to another - too heavy, too light...and what are you conveying non-verbally and verbally - this is complex machinery, rewarding to make it run relatively smoothly for all those involved.

So I love to ride my bicycle, whether spinning in the gym, or past the saguaros in this desert - for the sheer mechanical 'this is right'-ness...and the passing hills and houses and cacti are surprisingly un-opionated about my conversation or body-language as I ride by, and that suits me fine, since all I think of is the feel of the road and texture of the air.