Mammograms- just squish 'em!

I made my annual mammogram appointment this morning.
While that seems to be a somewhat personal thing to share on a family farm blog, part of that is family, and I'm important to my family, my farm and my blog! It always amazes me when I hear of peers who I think have their act together, but skip this annual ritual. Why? Are they waiting for the promised government health care support? If so, I'm worried prayer for more than just healthy boobs is in order.
Or, are they doing an imitation of the mythical Ostrich?

Now, I'm not an ostrich Veterinarian, but I have dealt with these huge birds a few times, and while they move really fast, and stare at you like they want to poke your eyes out, I have never seen one bury it's head. So, after some investigation, it turns out that they do not "bury their head in the sand" atall atall. That notion probably began with Pliny the Elder, who, judging by the name was old, even when Rome was more than "where The Pope lives" or  "lots of cool ruins to pose near for your Instagram".
These enormous, intimidating birds usually escape prey by running at a sustained 30 mph. But, if they are nesting, running away is counterproductive to the continuation of the species. So, instead, they proactively drop their heads to the ground where they are nesting if a predator is near. Which means they resemble a big black blob, like a boulder on the landscape, instead of a tasty egg dinner-hider.
So, while we might like to ignore the presence of danger to our bodies and boobs, Ostriches don't share our predilection, just the blame (damn you, Pliny!)

So, turning to the current Romans ( Italians, now), a current paper out of Bologna, Italy in the Annals of Human Biology estimates that there are 3.72 x 10superscript13 cells in the human body. This would be 37,200,000,000,000 cells.
Now, cells come in an amazing variety of types, many of which confound me when I see them under a microscope and try to identify them as they are causing a lump/ bump/mass on a dog/cat body. Because dogs and cats get cancer too! And if you are a person, with approximately 37,200,000,000,000 cells, odds are one or two of them could get a notion to go rogue. They then start recruiting other cells to their cause. It's not democratic, (the large lymphocytes don't send delegates to meet in the spleen and have a vote) and it isn't evil ( no premeditated skinhead attack) it just is the way it goes. And no wonder. If we pull our metaphoric social mythological Ostrich head OUT of the sand and look right into the beady eyes of our lives;
we present these cells with a LOT of work. Pick the way we poison them. The organs that are tasked with cleaning toxins from the body are the slaves in the sweatshop of our bodies. We present them with "food" that for thousands of years in our human development didn't exist in it's current form. We assail them with all sorts of challenges from tanning beds to butylated hydroxytoluene (found in jet fuel, embalming fluid and Fruit Loops). Did you ever wonder why petroleum makes our cars go and our lips soft?
Can we expect our bodies to deal with these challenges day after day and control the rogues?
Well, we shouldn't. There are literally hundreds of ingredients in our consumed products that are known toxins. And are permitted in those products because each product has less ppm(parts per million) than it takes to cause recognizable disease. Our liver, skin, kidney etc. can handle that small an amount without causing currently measurable distress. But, consider what happens when you use 10 products in the same day that contain the same toxin. You are now exposing yourself to 10 times more toxin, and that happens constantly. If I count how many "products" I use just to get out of my bathroom in the morning; HORROR!
I'm not a "high risk" for breast cancer. To be sure, if we're thinking about breast health alone, I only have about 1,116,000,000,000 breast cells to worry about. My mom, grandmoms and great grandmoms seemingly have been breast cancer free. But those women also did not seem to possess the "selective" digestive tract I claim so there are already 7,440,000,000,000 cells there that don't agree. I hear the sentiment "with all the food allergies, and diseases we're seeing today, even amongst children, something has changed in the last few generations." And I ask, "What hasn't?" Not all is bad. We no longer use DDT, Alar, arsenic to make our lips red or lead to make our coins....but that is because we didn't go the way of the mythical Ostrich on those particular ones.  Was there an arsenic lobby plaguing FDR's Congress to allow the continued use of arsenate of lead as an insecticide instead of the newly discovered DDT that would soon replace arsenic as the go-to for protecting us against wormy produce????
So, going for the annual boob squish. If  it turns out rogue cells in my boobs have gathered and multiplied-  I get to deal with it, and battle my inner mythical Ostrich.
It's a chance to get a choice for a chance.

The Last 10 Minutes- a poem of morning.

In the last 10 minutes I am warm.
Every part warm, and this won't happen again today.
Only my nose pokes out of the covers, testing the cold of the bedroom air.
The last 10 minutes are the precious ones
Ahead is hot PG Tips with a dash of white
a cherry red sunrise, and mint green hills like frosted gumdrops
thick plumes of horse breath and the radio relay of gravely Netanyahu
the sentence dips of President Obama; Iran, Syria, Afghanistan.
In the last 10 minutes I wonder if I will fix or replace the dishwasher
And decide to drive the truck because scraping the minivan will take forever.
In the last 10 minutes I listen.
And they are gone.

Salem House!

We are in contract to buy a house!

Cowfeathers is still where we live, well, 4 of us, anyway.
The other house is to house Eldest and a few housemates. It is tucked into an adorable little neighborhood near Ohio State U. Now, keep in mind, OSU is a ENORMOUS campus. It is smack dab in the thick of things in TBC, the 15th largest city in the USA. So, there are some inner-city issues to consider. Part of the area surrounding the University is pretty sketchy. So, my house search was thorough and deep; I picked the neighborhood I wanted and looked at two houses.
I have been known to watch the HGTV show "HouseHunters" and think "How in the world could you look at only three houses and choose one? 17 is more like it." I guess three is more than I needed in this case.
I have started calling the house "Salem House", as it is #1692. It is a Cape Cod (also a Massachusetts origin- like Salem, where a bit of a stramash happened in 1692) style home built in 1942, as are all its neighbors. It has sweet little bones, a nice back yard with a large silver maple, wood floors throughout, and an unheard of 4-5 bedrooms and 2 full baths. It has everything it needs, save charm. And I'm accomplished at adding charm.
Thus another project will begin after we close on little Salem House. I will blog the changes, because I think it will be fun to do and fun to share.
Salem House as it looks today.


The back patio (yawn) with a hot tub? Anyone want a hot tub?

The kitchen is where I will put some effort to make it a nice place to work, as good food helps your brain, and these kids need to study.



I relish the moment I get to relieve the walls of the wallpaper border- I opine a particularly outdated movement in American decorating. But, not the only thing needing a bit of polish here! Those cabinets! That fridge! Hello...ceiling fan (not a fan.)
In other areas there are red walls with black curtains, pressboard "pine paneling" and carpeted stairs. These things don't deter me, atall. There are closets in every room, a linen closet, windows, light, and will be a really lovely place to live. The neighborhood has a playground, tennis courts, a garden, and a mix of students, young families and older people, although I would guess very few original owners!
Stay tuned for a transformation of Salem House!

Catie Bradshaw

Every so often, I leave the kids to their own devices by going off on a lark (one cannot watch soap operas and eat bonbons all the time).
Every so often I pretend I'm Carrie Bradshaw.
So:

As I tried to come up with ways to make sure the things that need to get done while I am not here are done by my children.....I couldn't help but wonder; is there any way to keep the children off the computer, and away from the television long enough for them to complete their tasks?
What if the basic problem between kids and their moms is that Moms expect too much? Or, could it be that kids are just not responsible enough to control their own desires?
I ask the question: "Will we ever find common ground?"

I thought about punting off this question to the one person designed to know the answer to everything: Huz.
But, first I had to find some jeans that look beat up but that are really expensive, my Chanel (ahem, well, Chanel inspired) jacket and some really high heels. Probably a cigarette, too. Could I be taking this Carrie thing too far? Certainly need to drop the cigarette idea, as Huz won't appreciate it, and they are stupid expensive. Plus, I don't want to make my "Chanel" stink.
No way can I achieve Carrie curls, I've a much more Samantha set of hair. But, she's not as introspective, couldn't answer this question with anything but "Send the brats off to Swedish boarding school and be done with it. Besides, everything on that list could be done by a really handsome barn boy."

Maybe what I need to do is leave a list and trust it will get done. But, it wouldn't hurt to hide the remote and the mouse.

Kids are washable.

I was just making myself my third cup of tea, and musing on the blessings of a quiet morning at home. The hardest part was getting the ram to go out of his stall, when all he really wanted was to be with me. Tricky, that, as he is happy to have you scratch his back or rub his head, but he is equally happy to ram you with all 250 lbs. Imagine having an NFL linebacker in your barn who can put you through a wall at will. OR, he may be content to let you pat him on the nose. In any case, other than the trip to the barn for animal care and ram scratching, I have been at loose ends. I could've, for instance, spoken on the phone for an hour, while sitting at my desk, taking notes. Or, sit here at the computer, typing a blog post. And it wouldn't be a management nightmare. I say this, because I was thinking about another time in my life. The time of small children and acute attention to their every breath. The time when they never left my side. Not for school, or band practice, they were extensions of my arms, and the subject of my consciousness.
When we were moving from Oklahoma to Ohio, I had to negotiate the details of the close on our new house. It was midday, and in expectation of the phone call, I had to plan a safe diversion for my two children (Youngest was not yet in my awareness). I hoped for 20 minutes of uninterrupted time, where my focus could be on something other than my girls.
So, I set them up on the little cement patio outside our back sliding doors. Door cracked, but not open, girls in art smocks, Eldest "in charge". The easel had fresh paper on it, and the paint tray was equipped with an array of bright colors to tempt their imagination, and retain their interest- hopefully for 20 minutes. I explained to them that "Mommy needs to talk on the phone, so you need to stay right here and paint pictures until I come back outside. Okay?" Solemnly they both agreed to this slice of independence. The phone rang, I released them to entertain themselves.

There are my beauties. Eldest already fashioning a tree, Middlest working on her color mixing skills. Never forget that they were not completely without supervision, as I did post Hannah- our trusted "yellowdog", to prevent most tragedies, and she was there, on patrol. She would keep the girls on the patio, and all squirrels at bay. I took a picture, so pleased to see them ready to give Mommy a few minutes.

The entire moving process had been a whirlwind. From the moment Huz had walked into our room (we had a living/dining/kitchen in one) and loosened his tie, informed me that he wanted to go interview at Ohio State, to the moment we moved into our house in Columbus was only a few short months. He had interviewed, gotten the job, I had listed our house, which sold in 3 days, found our new house (with my Mom's help, I had house looked and picked a new one in 3 days), we packed up, drove around in circles for 2 weeks, and moved in. Okay, so it was a bit more complicated that that, but still. It was speedy.
And, with my children's help, and a blessed patio/paint diversion, the negotiations went well. I pretty much got everything I wanted, other than my chosen time for closing, which would be two whole weeks after our Oklahoma closing. This is why we were homeless drifters for two weeks, but it couldn't be helped.
The girls had been quiet for the entire phone call, and I was very pleased with them when I opened the screen door to see what kind of art they had created.











20 minutes for myself meant an exchange of clean up. But, this is how it is for mommies of young'uns. And they were so proud of themselves. I never did find out if they did their own, or each other's faces. Luckily, kids are washable.