IQ

I've been thinking about intelligence recently.

What makes a person more intelligent than some one else? Can intelligence be increased and decreased individually, or are we born with a set number? Where do I fit on the IQ scale, and what does that mean for my potential in life?

This sudden interest in the implications of my IQ comes as a result of several instigators. As I've decided to pursue my Masters degree in nutrition, I've started the process of completing all the prerequisites needed for a girl with a B.A. in Media Communication to pursue a Masters in the field of Science. This includes, but is certainly not limited to, Chemistry, Biochemistry, Anatomy and Physiology, and upper level nutrition courses. Pretty abstract stuff.

I know I can excel at these classes if I put my mind to it, but it's going to take an enormous amount of "mind to it" for me to do so. Some people see a mathematical or abstract concept and instantly get it, like those annoying boys in 7th grade algebra who raced through their homework in the last 15 minutes of class and finished without a mistake in the bunch. I, on the other hand, was, and continue to be, a "plodder", methodically mastering one equation after another, having to build metaphors to really grasp the concepts and behaviors of the equation principles before me.

I'm not one of "those" people. You all know at least one - the person who can do advanced calculous in his head and remembers everything he reads. He can argue both sides of his own argument, and win in either case. He processes data like a computer and reasons like a wise sage, being able to quickly analyze and critique cryptic classical literature while devising a cure for the common cold using basic organic chemistry concepts, for which he wins a scholarship and a nobel peace prize.

Yeah, that guy. As I ponder his many great works and try to understand the basics of his scientific breakthroughs, I have to ask myself: Is my lack of comprehension and speed when pondering abstract concepts because of a less-than-stellar IQ?

Come to think of it, I do a lot of things that would insinuate I'm a few fries short of a happy meal. I'm distracted easily. I mix up my words and colloquialisms. One time, I poured myself some milk and promptly put the gallon up in the cupboard with the plates and glasses. Hours later, Bob opened up the cupboard to grab a dish for a snack and found himself staring at a half-full gallon of skim milk. Confused, he paused and thought, "well, she must have a reason", grabbed the plate and closed the cupboard door.

That night, I opened up the cupboard to set the table for dinner and found the gallon of milk.
"Bob, why on earth did you put the milk in the cupboard?!" I asked him.
Aghast, he looked at me and said, "I didn't do it! You put the milk in the cupboard!"
Of course, he was right. And I was mortified.

Who puts milk in the cupboard completely unawares?

I wish I could say things like this were few and far between, but it would be a lie. Poor Bob has been in the middle of many similar moments of confusion and random acts of weirdness on my part, prompting him to think the warm milk was a planned act. The question that remains for me is this: is this behavior a result of a lesser IQ? Am I really that low on the scale? Would a higher IQ mean the milk would always be put away in the right place?

I recently decided to calm my fears regarding this matter by downloading an IQ test app on my Ipod. Brilliant, I know. I was actually fairly excited about it - I could take the test whenever I wanted and work on my reasoning skills in between tests.

I punch up the app and started my first test. Something about lines and a vague abstract reasoning question. Boring. So I did what I did when I see a clue I don't know right away during a crossword puzzle - I moved on. Well, first I picked a random answer. "C" looked good.

Next question. Ug, a geometry equation. Really boring. Dry as dust. I picked a random answer - "A" -  and moved on.

My third question was at least doable. "Which of these four lines is the same as the line to the right?" "B" looked plausible.

And so it went, question by question, most of them dull and uninteresting, most prompting a haphazard educational guess before moving on to the next, until I reached the end and hit "see my results".

According to my Ipod app IQ test, I have a total IQ of 36.

Oh joy.

Now, I don't think that's my real IQ...at least, I hope not. In fact, I think intelligence goes beyond what we would identify as "classic smart". I've observed there is such a thing as niche intelligence.

At Starbucks, where I work as a Barista, there is a certain level of know-how you need to be considered smart by your co-workers. My ability to do calculous in my head is worthless (A special note, I do not possess that ability). My ability to make 5 drinks and prep coffee while simultaneously chatting with customers, coworkers and my manager is a kind of niche intelligence that is respected. I can process many things that once, solving drink problems on the fly and calling ahead in the line to get drink orders quicker, all with a smile. If you put Mr. Science genius in a Starbucks, would he be able to survive? Would he be adaptable? Is a high IQ enough to make you do well at customer service and coffee preparation?

It's the same thing in an office, a zoo, a bag factory and a grocery store. Each environment has a certain set of skills and knowledge base they consider to be the threshold of intelligence. Those who grasp these concepts well and can problem solve have the respect of those around them for their intelligence. Those who don't are considered stupid.

I think there are a set of intelligence markers that transcend niche environments. Adaptability, for example. Quick grasp of concepts. Hard work. And there are other factors involved in learning - learning styles, for example. If you an auditory learner, watching someone sew won't be as helpful to you as someone telling you how to sew. If you're a kinetic learner, sitting through a chemistry lecture is almost pointless, where as Lab work is ideal for learning.

Besides, the human mind has an enormous amount of potential. Study after study shows the malleability of the mind, and it's capacity for regeneration and growth. I read a study about a man who lost half of his brain to a virus. He was like a stroke victim for months until, little by little, he regained almost all of his faculties. A study showed the other side of his brain had grown and changed to accommodate him, and carried 90% of the man's cognitive function. Studies tell us to exercise our brains by challenging them to difficult problems to keep them growing and high-functioning. By agitating our think-tank regularly, reading a variety of literature and expanding our understanding of the world around us, we become smarter.

So before I start to fret over my IQ score with the same concern I give my jean size, I have to look at all the contributing factors. I'm a kinetic learner, so it would make sense that I would need metaphors to make abstract concepts tangible which, of course, takes a little longer. I'm a college graduate with honors, so I know what a huge role hard work plays in success. I have moved around more in my young life than many people I know, so I'm well-versed in adaptability, and I have no desire to find the cure for the common cold, so I know the amount of intelligence I have is plenty for what I want to do in life.

Besides, my IQ, your IQ, is only a number. Life and work is ascribed meaning through our relationships, goals, hopes, actions and enjoyment thereof. My IQ doesn't influence the taste of a perfect summer tomato drizzled in olive oil, or the exhilaration of a run in the rain. If it does, it's all I have and I won't ever know the difference.

I would rather focus on learning about the world around me, sharpening my mind through education and crosswords, working hard for the things I want, and enjoying all that I've been blessed with.

And quite frankly, I think that's pretty smart - IQ of 36 or not.

Team Harris!

For better or worse, I’ve been sucked into this season’s The Bachelorette.

A few wonderful friends of mine introduced me to the show, which is made infinitely more enjoyable with a bunch of girlfriends commenting on the idiots, dashing princes and psychological aspects of the show. For myself, it’s fascinating to watch 25 guys from all walks of life fighting for one woman. It’s a contrived, concentrated form of speed dating coupled with forced emotional intimacy, and it’s fantastic.

I feel like a scientist watching the mating practices of humanity. You have Aly, this year’s bachelorette, and a handful of guys trying to compete for her heart within a short timeframe. They need to prove to her they are the best mating option so they all put themselves out there. If they were peacocks, there would be brightly colored feathers flying everywhere. They’re all self-promoting, compensating for the competition by being overly attentive, cavorting around on dates with Aly and bashing the other guys, all because they are completely convinced they are the right and only man for this one woman.

Many memories of my own dating years come back as I watch the show, and I find myself yelling at the TV screen to Aly and all the arrogant idiots who are trying to win her beautiful heart -
      “Stop saying that! She doesn’t want a pick up line!”
      “What are you doing singing to her, you tone-deaf moron, it’s awkward!”
      “Yeah, cause that’s what she wants, to be a prize in your selfish game”
      “Cut him loose!”
      “You are completely delusional if you think she’s ending up with you”
      “Bad move, dude. That’s not what women want”
        and, of course, “Ew. Ew, ew, ew!”

Trashy elements of the show aside, the whole point is for the bachelorette to find a husband. She mentions, on camera, the different qualities she’s looking for, and different qualities the guys around her meet. Which got me thinking…

It is a great joy and pleasure of being on the other side of the dating game. In fact, my three-year anniversary is coming up, and I’ve found that as I watch this show and observe the many different approaches taken by each guy to win Aly’s heart, I am overwhelmed with thankfulness, not only to be out of the dating world, but for the wonderful man who won my heart, and the way he did just that.

For two years, my Bob chased after me. He didn’t need ABC to fund a trip around the world or create contrived dates. He didn’t even need much money, for that matter. Nope, he was simply patient, understanding, sought to know who I was, and always put me first.

I had a prejudice against guys, convinced that they were in a relationship for their own selfish gain and once that was satisfied on whatever level, or they got bored, they would leave. I had oodles of guy friends and I knew how they talked about dating and women. I’d gone out on lots of dates, and I saw how easily they could be absorbed into themselves. They didn’t care about me, they just wanted to talk allllll about them, and their needs and their dreams, etc, etc, and they usually went away feeling the date had gone really well. Of course, I hadn’t gotten a word in edgewise.

To be fair, I didn’t want to get a word in edgewise. I liked anonymity. It was a nice way of controlling things. My prejudice had a root – the fear of rejection and the belief that I wasn’t worth the time and energy, a belief confirmed with each date I took.

Bob didn’t let me do that.  It was never about him. If I asked him a question, he would ask it back and listen for the answer. When it was my birthday, he would devise a whole day devoted to things that I really loved – a picnic, friends, chocolate-covered strawberries and my favorite Italian restaurant. When it was Christmas time, he found a way to make it snow for me. We had inside jokes, long walks with long, equal-input talks, and mini-adventures.

What makes it remarkable is he did this all after I rejected him twice.

He wanted to date me. I said no. So we hung out a lot and became good friends. A year later, he told me he wanted to date me, and again, I said no. So we hung out a lot, did more great things, and became best friends.

It was only after two amazing years that I came to love him and see him as the man I see now – my wonderful Bob. For the first time in my history, I approached a boy, told him that I wanted to date him, and the rest is history. Five months later, we were engaged. One and a half years later we were married, and on June 30, 2010, we will have been married for 3 glorious years.

He never had to self-promote, puff out his chest and tell me all about the great things he’s done. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t have cared at the time. No, all he had to do was convince me of two things – that he would never leave me, no matter the cost to himself, and that I was worth pursuing.

As we talk about it today, he says that it was a huge lesson to him during that time of how Jesus pursues our heart. He never leaves us, no matter the cost to himself, and he always finds us worth pursuing, no matter what we’ve done. He sees us, loves us, values us, and taught my Bob how to pursue me that way. In turn, I learned how to open my heart to Bob, trust him with it, and be as devoted to him as he was to me.

That foundation and commitment to each other is a great way to start a marriage, I can tell you that. Three years later, we absolutely adore each other. We’ve had our share of life together too - We have moved around the country, braved new jobs, cut coupons, and survived grad school. We’ve discovered each others quirks, we've fought, we’ve grown, we’ve made some bad decisions and some great moves, and we’re still here to tell the tale.

The funny thing is I know this is just the beginning. Those of you out there who have been married for 10, 20, 30 years or more know that fact. “Oh, just you wait” you might say, “Year 7 is a beast” or “Wait until you have children”. All in good time.

For now, we are relishing each day we have with one another. It’s cheesy, but it’s true: I love him more today than I did on my wedding today (awwww). More to the point, we are a stronger team today than we’ve ever been. I know his strengths and weaknesses, he knows mine. We hold each other up, keep each other strong, encourage one another and have a hoot of a time.  

That said, I hope the Bachelorette can truly find what she’s looking for. It’s a reality TV show, I know, but still – she seems like a lovely woman who wants what most girls desire in their heart of hearts - someone to take care of her, pursue her, love her unconditionally and do life with her, with all its good parts and bad. I can’t vouch for any of the strapping young men who are so eager to win her over, but if I could, I would tell her this: If she can find that person, it is truly wonderful.

I know. 

Happy Fathers Day

My dad deserves a monument.

I'm not talking about those popular "World Greatest Dad" paraphernalia,  although he is certainly worthy of a t-shirt or mug of that variety if he wants one. Nor am I talking about a nice plaque mounted in a prominent location for all the world to see.

No, I'm talking Lincoln-sized. A timeless tribute. A giant statue or a national park or, even better, a expansive garden named after him, with all of his favorite hydrangeas. Why?

Because you will not find a man of greater character, grace or wisdom between here and Texas.

I should know. For 25 years, I've been raised by this remarkable man, learning life lessons and skills at his knee, gaining new perspectives on old theological arguments and mastering the art of his perfect cinnamon sugar toast.

When I was little, I loved to go on errands with him in "the jazzy car", a car complete with seat warmers, awesome 80's interior and the glove compartment where he kept his fancy leather gloves during the winter time. The fun wasn't so much in the car as it was feeling all big and important traveling somewhere with my daddy.

He used to sing "Blue Moon" to my brother and I. We loved it. We would beg him to sing it again, and he would, over and over, until we were in stitches. It's from my dad that I learned all the words to Elton John's most popular songs by age 10, and developed a love of Crosby, Stills and Nash, the Beatles and James Taylor before I came to know about any other bands or musicians. I can still hear his voice harmonizing to the recording each time I listen. I couldn't tell you anything about today's top 40, but I can rattle off 70's rock artists without a thought.

I'm handy, thanks to him. He taught me how to paint a wall, sand a chair and refurbish a floor. With his own two hands and a set of do-it-yourself books, he remodeled a house, built a deck, built a sprinkler system and added a window. He's taught me that with hard work, tenacity, education and investment, anything is possible. He taught me how to give a firm handshake and look people in the eye, how to take responsibility for my finances and how to truly enjoy a portobello mushroom.

My dad was the one to instill in me and my family a love of food and dining. When I was little, he would bring my sister and I a roll of sweet tarts every Friday or when he came home from a business trip. That stopped as soon as the cavities started. He replaced that tradition with a new one, White Castle sliders and fries picked up on the way home from the airport, which we promptly pounced on and shared post-trips.

He taught me the sport of restaurant-ing, a game we still play today. From the wine to the appetizers, the restaurants and the ethnic cuisines, dining with my father is sport. We try new things and old favorites, always ending with coffee and dessert and a critique of the meal. There's nothing I like better than seeing my dad perusing a menu, turned towards the waiter and pointing out with a dramatic index finger what to bring to us and when. He has a wonderful tradition of taking his kids out to dinner if he's traveling for business near where we live, and it's always the same - a new restaurant, or an old favorite for a specific dish, and a phone call at the table to the unfortunate others who couldn't be there for the feast. He's traveling to Sacramento next week. Last time we tried a fantastic Spanish Tapas place. I'm currently researching our options.

Life with Bob Schumaker as my father has been grand. But there is more - much more than good music and great food, memories and tools.

No one else in my life has had more of an impact on my spiritual growth and character development than my dad.

My dad's life is a tale of redemption. He has risen above a generational battle of alcoholism. Without the example of a great father, he became one, pursuing my mom's heart daily as they raised three great kids together as a team. He took risks, running for political office then changing careers with a young family and a baby on the way. Through hard work and determination, he worked his way up from the car factory to the corner office, and yet there was a never a question where his priorities lie. He loves his family. When Emily or Mark had a basketball game back-to-back with a work trip, he was on the red eye flight that night. When I was in a play, he was there for all 6 performances, center row.


He has always given me the room to make my own decisions and mistakes, and always there to talk through the struggle. He's ever ready to give insight into life's problems and situations, identifying perspectives, choices and giving encouragement. His wisdom into life complexities has not only directed me through dark times, but helped to shape my own believes and perspectives. He has a great laugh. He tells the most wonderful jokes. And he is a man after God's own heart, teaching me more about the nature of grace and person of Jesus Christ than anyone else I've ever known.

And so, I believe that this remarkable man, this excellent Father, deserves a monument for his character, his humor, his wisdom, and his life.

For these things, and many more...

I love you, Daddy.

Happy Father's Day.

The Grand Experiment

Food is a sensitive topic.

As someone interested in food, nutrition and the culinary arts, I've enjoyed researching all kinds of perspectives on food, and I've discovered the subsequent strong conviction with which people cling to those perspectives. In fact, you can put it right up there with religion and politics. Try criticizing a friend's eating habits, or even tell them you've decided to change your own. Watch as they become defensive, proud, agitated, excited or ashamed. Why is this?

As a culture, we've attached a sense of morality to food in broad sweeping generalizations. Vegetables are good, cake and ice-cream is bad. Bad food takes better, but good food is better for you. If you eat bad food, you're bad; if you eat good food, you're good. There are "guilty pleasures" and the ever-popular "diet", insinuating restriction and unpleasant "health food".

Moreover, what people eat has come to say or represent something about their deepest values, self-worth and humanity. An obese person feels ashamed to eat in front of others for fear of the judgement associated with a lack of self-control. That same person uses food to cope with unresolved problems, stresses and emotional frustrations. An underweight person feels the pressure from others to consumed more than her or she is comfortable with, as they use food restriction to cope with life's trials and hurts.

The health nut feels a sense of pride over pure eating practices, indicating superiority to others. The junk foodie neither cares about their health nor the opinions of others, a sense of pride in and of itself. The vegan uses food as a sense of promoting justice and peace as well as pointing out the animal killers and ignorant members of society. The epicurean seeks power and superiority through knowledge and critique of the preparation and complexity of food. The constant dieter seeks a better life through a rhythmic routine of restriction and bingeing, manipulating the purpose and consequences of consumption and giving food the power to provide both happiness and depression.

It's fascinating, isn't it? Food and its method of consumption tells as much about a person as a hobby, a job or a checkbook. Of course people get defensive.

Despite personal perspectives of food, however, I'm going to go a step further, out on a proverbial limb, and propose that there is a grander perspective on food, one that is marketed to and in some form or fashion accepted by all in our American culture, despite niches, subcultures and personal edits, and it is this:

Food must be fast, cheap, convenient and tasty.

Now, you may not agree with all of those adjectives, but chances are you embrace at least two. You're not the only one. It's an expectation we've developed as a country over the past 40 years. In recent research, I've discovered this statement is result of a movement started in the 70's with a change in farming practices (reducing the cost of food), continued with a cultural shift of two-working parents in the 80's (making the need for quick preparation necessary), included the integration of more preservatives (to increase the shelf life of convenient food) and has culminated in the science of taste manipulation (a higher taste profile moves sales).

The end result is a nation clinging to this concept that their food must be fast, cheap, convenient and tasty. To live this way, however, comes at a price to our health.

Without preaching the gospel of organic living, cheap and tasty foods that are created by companies for fast, convenient access are typically full of chemicals our body cannot process. Here's a creepy story - a friend of mine recently said a friend of hers worked in a funeral home, preparing bodies for burial. He said his job has been made easier by processed foods. Corpses are coming in so well preserved already, a result of the many pounds of preservative ingested by the newly deceased and stored in the fat of the human body.

Processed foods have also been linked to obesity, depression, thyroid problems, heart problems, digestive problems, headaches, dehydration etc, etc. If it was created in a lab, it's generally not something that will promote the health of your body.

That said, I have a confession to make: I, a person many of you would regard as a health nut, nutrition diva and green-eater, have not been doing so as of late. I know, I can hear your gasps. I have been subsisting primarily on processed foods since arriving in Sacramento. Yes, I have a salad every now and then, but I will no longer reach for an apple when I'm hungry. I'll avoid the carrots in lieu of the tortilla chips. I'll have stovetop popcorn instead of, well, anything else, and I've been consuming almost exclusively refined sugars, flours and packaged food in the last two weeks.

The end result? I feel miserable.

I feel depressed and sluggish. I have more headaches, anxiety and aimlessness than I have in years. I've gained weight, I've stopped exercising and my brain is constantly fuzzy. It's awful.

You would think with all of my nutritional inquiry and interest, a thing like this would never happen, but I'm very, very human. I have old default reactions to stress and change. Sacramento has been a doozy of a change and a challenge I wasn't prepared for. It's a change I didn't acknowledge for a long time. As a result, I've gone to my default of salty, sugary and fatty foods that don't support my body, and it's taking it's toll.

To that, I have had enough, but I've decided to use this situation as an academic experiment of sorts. Perfect for a nutritional education junky like myself.

The Grand Experiment, then, is this: To see if it is possible, profitable and beneficial to live a life with a process-free diet.

The Time-Frame: One Year
(Friday, June 18, 2010 to Saturday, June 18, 2011)


The basic Idea: To eat foods in their closest to natural form as possible, avoiding processed and refined foods, artificial sweeteners and chemical preservatives.

It's a broad definition for an experiment, I know. For the purposes of the experiment, here are some specific, measurable guidelines for what we are defining as processed:

   White sugar and white flour
   Artificial Sweeteners
   Trans-fats and foods fried in unhealthy oils
   Dairy Products, save homemade yogurt with probiotics
   Pesticides
   Chemical additives
   Most alcohols (occasional glass of red wine excepted)

A few qualifiers here - first, I understand there is some level of processing to most foods we eat. I don't live in the Caribbean, so I'm not going to be able to go out to my backyard, hack off a pole of sugar cane and squeeze it into my coffee in the morning. Shoot, my coffee has been picked, dried, washed, roasted, packaged, ground and shipped, along with several other steps I'm sure I'd be shocked to know about. Oils are all processed from something. However, there are cold-pressed oils, which is the least-processed and unaltered chemically. There is organic coffee, and a dozen all-natural sweeteners that won't leach nutrients from my body and send my blood sugar skyrocketing.

There are usually less-processed options. Instant oatmeal is a whole grain, but did you know it's already been rolled and steam-cooked, then cut into smaller pieces so the hot water you pour on it can finish the job? And that's before the sugar and dried milk is added for the flavored types. Even old-fashioned oatmeal has been through the same process, minus the last step. Steel-cut oats are the "purest", most unprocessed form of the grain.

Second, this doesn't mean I'll be saying goodbye to tums, advil, and basic medications. I'm applying the experiment primarily to my diet, and consider advil a modern marvel we should never be without.

Third, I will allow for a nibble or two of processed food in a situation where it would truly offend or matter. I will always put people before food, and I have been in situations where it really was an issue. It's rare, but it happens. For example, I now work at Starbucks (NOT me in the picture). As an employee, I have to taste certain beverages for promotional reasons and perform coffee tastings. I reserve the right to sip a new frappuchino rather than get fired. =)

The bottom line is this experiment is not about getting legalistic. It's more about being intentional, purposeful and intelligent about what I'm putting into my body and see if helps my mood, my mind, my weight, my outlook on life and my insides. It's approaching food with reverence and respect for my body rather than out of mere convenience. And, quite frankly, it's a challenge. Our culture has processed just about everything there is to consume, and created a few options in the lab to boot. Can I beat the system? Can I live process-free?

This does mean I will be saying goodbye to some good friends of mine for a year. I adore Tostito Hint of Lime Tortilla chips. I attack a bag of those like a raccoon at a garbage bin, and can polish it off far quicker. If you've ever seen me around cereal, you know the damage that can be done in a short amount of time. Twizzlers are a major problem. And I adore cinnamon sugar toast, made with big globs of butter to soak in the raw sugar granules.

However, I'm too sick, sluggish and blech to care right now. That's how bad it's gotten.

I know I will have days - oh, so many days - when I'll want something loaded with all the chemical preservatives you can find in a lab. There will be moments of weakness and moments of great triumph. Like any scientist, I will be charting my progress and journaling my findings. I'll keep you updated on particular moments of enlightenment or struggle.

I don't start this journey lightly. I've done similar things in the past and I know the weight of the commitment. One year, I cut out all chocolate, chips, candy, cookies, cakes,  and cream just to see if I could (I won't lie, the alliteration was a huge motivator). I made it six months, and I became aware of just how saturated social situations are with the "C's". They are all celebration foods (there's that "C" again) and darn near impossible to avoid.

Now I'm ready for another journey, one I intend to see through to completion despite any situations that may compromise the guidelines I've set forth. I'm ready to change my way of thinking and explore a new way of living. I'm excited to see what happens, what I find as a result of the experience, and what I learn from the experience.

Are you ready to see what happens when a process-filled body enters a process-free zone?

Me too.

Here's to a year of process-free eating - may I come to know the true meaning of "Au Naturel".

The Plight of Flight

Traveling by plane can be such a pain.

Before I say anything else, however, I would like to note how thankful I am for air travel. I've just returned from a week-long tour of friends and family, and I couldn't have done it without an airplane.

Over the course of 7 days I flew from Sacramento to Los Angeles to Orlando to Philadelphia to Sacramento to O'Hare and back. In a handful of hours, I flew from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean. When I think of all the pioneers traveling west in the early days of our country, and how many months they suffered to cover the distance my flight covers in an hour, I'm overwhelmed with thankfulness.

That said, flying isn't always a breeze. There are challenges.

First, you have to get your ticket and, if you must, check your bag (also known as paying to have your luggage lost). I refuse to check my bag anymore. I've had too many experiences of bags lost, delayed or destroyed for me to have any confidence in the system.

Then there's security. Thanks to a number of terrorist plots, crazies and idiots, security is tight...as it should be. And yet, there doesn't seem to be any method to the madness of screening. Do you remember the almost-London attack? It was that little event that brought to fruition the 3-oz liquid rule. I flew two days after the London incident with my brother.

Security was tight - everyone was checked, every bag and purse was opened and sorted through. As Mark and I approached security, we realized he had his EpiPen with him, a 9-inch needle to inject a medicine to stop a deadly allergic reaction in case he's stung by a bee. We were both sure this wasn't going to fly, and I, as the protective older sister, was ready to call in whatever lawyer I needed to make sure he had his EpiPen with him at all times.

The security officer opened my carryon and promptly tossed all chapstick, hand lotion and hand sanitizer I had on me. He opened by brother's bag, and Mark spoke up. "Uh, I have an EpiPen in there..." he said. "No problem" the officer said, "it's prescription, it's allowed."

Wait, so I can't bring Burt's Bees onto a plane due to it's potential for evil but my brother can bring a nine-inch needle filled with injectable fluid just because it's prescription? Don't get me wrong, he needs to have that at all times and I would have fought for him. But doesn't that make you think? I fairly certain a terrorist could get a prescription filled for an EpiPen too.

Without a doubt, however, the worst part of flying are the delays.

If you have ever been delayed, you know how frustrating this can be, especially if you have a connection or tight timetable. It's not good for anyone - passengers become especially cranky, pilots have to apologize again and again, flight attendants have to fight fights and put out fires, and no one has a good time.

Such was the case on Sunday night at O'Hare airport. I had an 8:40 PM flight to Sacramento, scheduled to arrive at 11:00 PM. I was starting a new job the next day ( more on that in another post), and I was exhausted. It was the end of my tour de family, and besides having no idea was time zone I was in, I was sick from getting up early, staying up late and traveling by so many planes - flying petri dishes, I call them. I just wanted to get home. I had been sitting in the airport since noon, seeing my family off on their flight to Houston, and as fun as it is to be in the airport for 8 hours, I was done.

Well, there were storms in Chicago that day. Flight after flight was delayed, but mine was so late in the evening, I was sure it would have passed by then. I was wrong. The departure time changed from 8:40 PM to 9:49 PM. A groan could be heard from the waiting area as the new time flashed up on the screen. A few minutes later, the screen flashed again - 10:03 PM. Sigh.

I made my phone calls, grabbed dinner, and came back to yet another new time - 10:25 PM. This means I would land in Sacramento at 12:30 AM on a work night. I called Bob, he said he was going to bed so he could catch a few winks, and I waited.

The screen flashed again - we were being moved to a new gate. A whole flight full of people, grumbling and complaining, stood up and trudged a half mile down the airport to the new gate.

I didn't believe it would happen, but we finally started to board the plane, and quickly. No one was messing around. We got in, sat down, situated ourself and watched the flight attendants scurry around to prepare for a quick take-off.

Just as we were about ready to close the door to the aircraft, the pilot came on the loud speaker. "Folks, this is such and so, your pilot for this evening. We just received information that the plane did not pass the walk around inspection. There are two things on the craft, the blankety-blank and the flubbernut, that are flat. We're going to inflate them as soon as they bring the equipment around, but it might take a little while. Our departure time is now estimated at 11:50 PM. We'll put a movie on for you all and apologize for the inconvenience."

2:00 AM. That was my new arrival time for Sacramento. 2:00 AM on the day I started my new job. 2:00 AM on a work day for Bob. I hate delays.

I did get home eventually. The Pilot, bless him, made up some time in the air, and at 1:45 AM, a plane full of bleary-eyed passengers stumbled out into the baggage claim. I got home safely, always the goal, and was able to catch a few hours of sleep.

Flying isn't always a breeze. There are challenges. I'm still thankful for the way I can zip across the country so easily and visit friends and family so often. However, if we could nix the delays, I'd be grateful.

Technophobe

I have recently become aware that I am somewhat of a technophobe.

technophobe (noun) : a person who dislikes or avoids (new) technology

"How is this true", you might ask, "After all, you are typing away on a blog. That's fairly advanced for a self-proclaimed technophobe."

Well, I'm not a complete idiot. And I did have training in Junior High and High School. In fact, I wasn't always this way. As a 12 year old, I had a fascination with all things computer. My dad was a computer guy, and he would teach me how to work with the technology. I was playing those Dos-prompted PC games, and learning how to install CD-ROM programs. It didn't matter than the install prompt was automatic - all I had to do was press "OK" and "Finish", and I felt cool. Like the computer geniuses in the movies. Does anyone remember the movie Sneakers?

Anyway, I went on to learn basics in a school computer class, and I learned how to type. Around that time, AOL Instant Messenger was created, and I became very good at typing. You have to when you're in a live chat with someone and you type something stupid or misinterpreted. Lets just say thanks to AOL, I passed my typing test at school with flying colors.

So when did this fear or dislike of computers appear? I'm not sure. Slowly, I've become less civil with technology. If it's new, I don't trust it. If it's broken, I get frustrated at it. Yet I hung onto my college laptop for 5 years and two hard drive before buying something new. Many times, Bob has come to my rescue, fixing whatever is broken (bless him) and keeping me from growling at a lifeless piece of metal and wires.

I remember thinking in junior high "I'm never going to be one of those old people who don't like new technology". I am 25 years old, and I am one of those people. It didn't take years and years to get there. BUT WHY?

Why is it that something breaks around me, or doesn't work the way it should, and all I can do is growl? What is it that makes techno people so good at figuring out the problem? It's all I can do to turn on my computer. It tests my patients beyond all limits.

I wish I could tell you I have an answer, but in truth I don't. I'm just...here. Trying to get my computer to work. Hoping I won't have to poke it too much.

If you're a techno person, please comment on your secret to success.

The Bees

The Bees act strangely here in Sacramento.

A few weeks ago, I was walking along the sidewalk when I came upon this:

It was so odd. There, in the middle of the sidewalk, for no apparent reason, a pile of bees. There wasn't a sweet spot they were collecting around, like flies, or a nest underground. There was nothing there, but they were busy buzzing in circle, congregated and flying around the spot and trailing off a bit. 

I came back later and found the bees gone. There were a few dead ones on the ground, squashed, probably from the local business owner, but other than that, no trace. Nothing on the ground to suggest why the bees acted like that. 

So, a few weeks later, today, I'm walking back to my apartment and as I approach the intersection, I see a swarm of bees flying around the intersection. Bizarre. There were masses of them, a great cloud concentrated in the middle of the intersection, being hit by cars and buzzing around. There was no place you could see them flying out of, no nest that had been disturbed, just bees - everywhere! People had to cross the intersection right through the swarm, it's amazing no one was stung. 

I ran to my apartment, grabbed my camera and ran back to the site. By then, just a few minutes later, the swarm had moved up, away from the cars, creating a cloud just above the intersection, with a few low-flyers.  Here's what it looked like:

See the intersection...

And the bees!

Masses of them. 

It was very Alfred Hitchcock, with insects.