Hen Saddles

Spring break was wicked productive, but that translates to an acute unwillingness to return to neurology hell tomorrow. I was so busy with book related things that I didn't really stop and smell the Oregon air and recharge for the last big push through this semester. If I can survive April, I can survive the rest of the year.


Was able to talk to Dr. Wolff briefly, and he wanted to talk all about neuro. I wasn't so excited to do that because he knows way more than I do. Then he said, "Oh, I don't remember as much as I used to. I took that class...oh, 49 or 50 years ago." Holy crap. I forget that the guy is pushing 70 or so. Hasn't aged a day in the last 19 years.

Book details are coming together. Starting to brainstorm which indie bookstores I want to pursue, where to host readings and whatnot, and aligning myself with alumni and charity organizations. Was able to snag an interview with one of my primary nurses, Kaylee, and finally get some vignettes to form a caregiver's perspective. Also took care of a lot of mundane things like making sure all the name changes are accurate and putting page breaks in the right places. I find myself oscillating between, "No one will ever read this," and "Oh, my god, what if someone reads this?" After reading it all about 77 billion times for revisions and whatnot, it all sounds totally dumb. 

Made big scores in Portland: Stumptown coffee (x3!), Yum sauce (x2!), a new batch of VanDyke sausage and last but never least: new black patent wedge trophy shoes. Huge WIN.

Then I came home to an email from former Shoreline neighbor, Sue, who has her very own mini-flock of chickens. One of the chicks she raised turned out to be Kevin, not Kristina, and has since proved himself to be a rather feisty lover. But fear not, hen fans, they actually make--wait for it--protective hen saddles, so the gals are less wont to lose their feathers to Kevin's amorous undertakings.