This Girl

Well, folks, the Rapture has come to pass and I am still here. Best I make the most of it, right? It is quite likely that God said "That's it! I was going to start the Rapture on May 21st, but now that some guy down there thinks he knows the hour and the day, I'm not going to do it. They'll just have to wait!" However, I still can't help admitting that all the hoopla was a cause for reflection for me. And I did so, in the middle of a Keynote address at a Microbiology conference in New Orleans. Somewhere between being mired in the grandeur of gut microbiology and considering whether or not I agreed that Lamarck was right, I thought about my meager existence. For a split second. And when the ground didn't open up and swallow NOLA whole--Po' Boys, Hurricanes, Beignets, Chicory coffee and all--I forgot about it. But then, being surrounded by really smart people, I began to reflect once more. (Of course, one trip down Bourbon Street and the smartness disint...

 If there were ever a more misunderstood and under appreciated concept than communication, it would be news to me. If communication were a cartoon character, it would be Charlie Brown. Lonely. Moody. Disgruntled. Unheard. Confused. Good intended. And occasionally, it would make people so happy, they would carry it around on their shoulders while yelling, “Hoo-Rah!” But communication is not a cartoon character. It is a word. And it’s complicated. For starters, it’s five syllables long. Really? The word that describes the act of sharing ideas, thoughts and opinions is five syllables long? That’s four too many. And look at the phonetic spelling: [k uh -myoo-ni- key -sh uh n]. What the? Hooked on phonics? No thanks. I think I’ll pass. Did Dick and Jane ever communicate? No! They saw. They ran. They looked. They played. They worked (apparently that book series was written before child labor laws were enacted). Simple words for simple concepts to help us learn what should be a...

I finally get it. It took 36 years, but I finally get it. The other day I was asked my age. You would think that I was asked who the 16th president was. Or how many light years are in a year. Or what time train A arrives at Station B if it leaves Station Z traveling 43 mph, is traveling west with strong headwinds, and has to stop to allow train X to cross the track. But no, I was just asked how old I was. I was so flustered that I could not even subtract my birth year from the current. All I could remember is that I am 3 years younger than my husband and he just had a birthday. From that, I was able to deduce my current age. Looking back to my youth, I finally get how my Mom could be 39 five years in a row. Again, being slow on the uptake as a kid, it took me 5 years to realize something wasn't quite right. Back then, it was a "woman thing" not to tell your age. I don't think this was a "woman thing". Nor was it a brush off from a woman who apparently did ...

Does my obsession with the Royal wedding make me less of the educated woman I once thought I was? I think not! We women often talk about the endless search for our own brand of unobtainium--the mysterious work/life balance. Perhaps the answer requires a little escape from both work and life. When one has had a particularly bad day or week or 14.3 minutes, why not partake in a little frivolity to make your problems at least appear frivolous? After a day full of the mental equivalent of shoveling dirt to fill in holes left by the previous shift, I find nothing wrong with plopping on the couch, glass of red in hand and soaking up the culture our forefathers fought so hard to dispel from our shores. Well, Eastern seaboard, at least. Don't think they had ventured too far west as of 1776, but then again, history is not my strong suit. By watching the recap of the Royal wedding, I am reminded of all the dreadful worries that I do not have to worry about. For instance, I think it is safe...

I'm an anomaly. I'm a woman, yes. I know this to be true. Just have to trust me on that one. But there is one thing that women are supposed to like that I just cannot stand. I hate the S-word. No, not that S-word. I mean shopping. In my frugal years, I thought I hated shopping because I did not like to spend money on items that I felt were over-priced. Now older and with a more lucrative job, I still don't like to part with money, but there's got to be something more to this. A recent trip to the closest shopping mall, in the midst of the fiery throngs of Suburbia, USA, enlightened my XX mind. And that's chromosomes. Stay focused! I conceded to this recent trip after a fierce negotiation with my husband (we are the married equivalent of a Union Boss and "The Suit"....not sure who's whom), who desperately wanted to go to the Apple store, but did not want to abandon me on our only day off together. Before I go any further, I must say right here and now...