Sticks and Stones....

I have been so mad at Obama. Still am, in fact. For the past two weeks, I've written missives in my head and rehearsed the talking-to I'd give to the White House switchboard operator.

I scream into my computer about the need to call out more and more National Guard troops. I've dawdled on the walk to the Metro, hoping to run into my neighbors that work in the administration.

The BP oil spill has shaken me to the core. Hell, I've even come to admire James Cameron. His technical prowess, so often disguised as artistic achievement, seems like a godsend to me.

I've looked inward and measured my disappointment at Obama and find that I'm okay with my anger. Yes, I voted for him, but I never thought that he'd be the knight in shining armor everyone else did. I can even laugh at the main reason I voted for him over Hilary - I thought that she was simply too polarizing.

For the last 45 days, there have been two aspects of Obama's reaction that have puzzled and frustrated me the most.

The first is his insistence that BP must pay for the spill. His harangues about the government being reimbursed for all cleanup costs. His snarky "nickel-and-dime" comment from the other day. Hell yes, BP should pay. They should pay until they're bankrupt and BP is the most widely despised brand on the planet. Each and every member of the senior management team should pull on a pair of Royal shrimp boots and grab a fucking rake. They should speed up their payments to shrimpers, fishermen and anyone who has lost one dime.

We got it, O.

There's a recession going on and you've just bailed out the banks and the auto industry. You've spent 20 quadrillion dollars trying to create jobs and boost the economy - and there's very little to show for it.

And now here's something else that needs serious dollars thrown at it to go away. Unlike our previous president, he grew up actually having to pay for things.

The second thing that has puzzled me (and many others) is his detachment. Give me my Anderson Cooper moment, dammit!

I expected more genuine emotion from someone with such close emotional ties to Hawaii. For all you folks who grew up swimming in pools, let me tell you - there is a deep emotional pull instilled in you when you grow up with a beach in close proximity. As a child, you dig for shells and watch seagulls frolic. You get sunburned and have sand stuck in your ass.

At least once, you almost drown and realize how powerful the ocean is.

As a teenager, you get stoned and ponder the ocean for an eternity. You imagine that there's someone just like you sitting on a beach somewhere else in the world - asking the same questions. You slather on sunblock, get drunk on rum and cokes and think that Bob Marley is god.

As an adult, you appreciated the ecological wonder that is a vast expanse of water stretching as far as the eye can see. You make friends with people who have more money than you and go out on their boats. You vow to give to conservation causes, yet rarely do because you believe that the ocean will always be there. Because it always has and the alternative is too scary to contemplate.

You have children, and in turn, take them to the beach. Although, these days you slather on a lot more sunblock. In the 70s we didn't know about skin cancer and our mother and grandmothers used AquaNet before heading to the beach. In the 70s, OPEC was our friend and there were no oil rigs listing a few miles offshore.

And I refuse to believe that Obama doesn't feel that deep tug of family history, of sunburns and seashells, as well.

See... I've come to realize that Obama has shown some pretty serious human emotion here.

It's just not what I want to see. He is showing us, in his refusal to spend a serious chunk of the government's money on the Gulf cleanup, that he has been deeply wounded by the criticism thrown his way by the right.

He's been called a socialist, a fascist and everything in between. For someone who likes to be the coolest guy in the room, the fact that half the country disagrees with him so vehemently has to hurt. And it probably rankles that the criticism is so buffoonish. I imagine that Obama would relish a little one-on-one debate, an intellectual discourse on how the hell to solve the issue of the day. That's when he's at his best. But instead - he has to deal with an outlier of the Bush era - stupidity as politics. A cartoon sign of him as Hitler probably hurts less in the comparison than the sloppy photoshopping.

Sure, he knows that they're idiots and he's fighting an uphill battle to clean up the last decade plus of deregulation, profiteering and tax cuts for corporations. But it still has to sting that he has to deal with some pretty base opposition.

Again.. we got it.

But get the fuck over it, Obama. You're the president and you make hard decisions. Make one more. To spend the dollars to get this cleaned up. Call out every Coast Guard unit we can and train them on boom placement. Go all Venezuelan on BP and privatize the company. Pull the oil rigs out of the ocean and get James Cameron to turn them into windmills. And look ahead for alternate sources of energy. Now.

Si, se puede, indeed.

A Vegan Guide to Recovering after Wisdom Teeth Surgery

I come from embarrassingly hardy stock. All my life, I've wished that I could be one of those women who take to the Victorian divan with the vapors, but no... I'm more the "have a baby and be back in the field the next day" type.

Which doesn't mean that I'm not always preparing in case I suddenly become a shrinking violet.

Take my recent oral surgery. Given how I squirmed, sweated, and generally freaked out at my last teeth cleaning, I was sure that I'd finally found my achilles heel - in my mouth. (Not the first time, some might say).

The prep for getting all 4 teeth removed began early - the first time I chickened out and postponed the surgery. Sheer nerves got the best of me and I called with a fictional work trip. Then, of course... a REAL work trip came up and I elected to postpone again.

Between our gala at work, Leesil's graduation, impending trips to New York and San Francisco, I just never knew when I would find the time to potentially be laid up for a week.

But once I bailed out on a conference I was looking forward to, I decided that I wouldn't postpone it any longer... May 14th at 2 pm.... my teeth were coming out.

I read everything I could, made shopping lists, stocked up on pain-relieving herbs (at Whole Foods, people!), and began taking steps to ensure I would have a healthy recovery.

My criteria for food was simple: I wanted to prepare it at home, rather than rely on packaged products - out of some insane fear that preservatives would enter my system much quicker through the open wounds in my mouth.

They had to be foods that I liked, but not too much, in case I got sick and threw them up.

Therefore, split pea soup was in; guacamole was out.

Last, but certainly not least, it had to be prepared ahead of time in case I was too ill to cook.

Here are some of the foods that fit that criteria; they're a lot healthier than the milkshakes and Taco Bell bean burritos most interweb folks seemed to live on.

1. The abovementioned split pea soup:

I soaked the peas two nights before the surgery. The night before, I cooked them with some japanese dried herbs, a huge diced onion, some carrots and lots of garlic. I simmered it for a few hours, then pureed it all in the blender. Then pureed it some more. It was seriously the best split pea soup I've ever made and I have a feeling that it really spurred me on to a speedy recovery.

2. Blueberry and pineapple smoothies:

Pineapple has an enzyme called bromelain that is most commonly used in meat tenderizers. However, it also has super-powerful anti-inflammatory properties, which I'd read would help the swelling. The first thing I ate was a bowl of pureed oj, blueberries and pineapple. Rather than sip it from a glass, I used a spoon since I didn't want to put too much suction pressure on my mouth. It was heaven and I continued to drink the same mix twice a day.

3. Steamed sweet potatoes:

Sweet potatoes often seem like a "special occasion" dish to me. They take forever to bake, they're messy and difficult to peel, and the best way to eat them is mashed with tons of sweet stuff. For some reason, I feel that they're healthier than white potatoes, and I try to eat them as often as possible. Now that I've discovered the easiest way in the world to prepare them, we probably eat them once every few weeks.

Quite simple: Use one of those cheap-ass veggie peelers from Ikea to strip the peel away. Save the peel for veggie stock. While you're peeling, bring a pot of water with about three inches of water in it to a boil. While water's coming to a boil, chop the potatoes into 2 in. chunks.

Pull out your rarely-used bamboo or bear-trap looking steamer, place in the pot of water, put the sweet potato chunks in the steamer, cover, and come back in 10-15 minutes. You'll have yummy, glistening orange chunks of goodness - all ready to eat! Season as you wish, but unless I'm using them in a recipe, I usually just eat them as is to enjoy the crazy flavors bursting out.

4. Mashed potatoes:

Of course. When else is it okay to eat mashed potatoes for breakfast? After the second day, when I was a bit tired of mashed foods, I lightly fried the mashed potatoes and ate them that way.

5. Bananas:

Easy to gum - what can I say.

6. Frozen ice stuff:

Make or buy what you want. I got sick of sweets pretty quickly, so I didn't eat to much of this, but it was nice to have it on hand.

7. Tomato soup:

My ultimate comfort food. I had it for breakfast the Sunday after my surgery and wondered why I don't eat it first thing in the morning more often. I love making my own tomato soup, but for this, I just got one of those squeeze boxes of Imagine soup.

8. Avocados:

Once I knew that I'd keep down food, I sliced them and nibbled on them throughout the day.

9. Vegan cheese and bean quesadillas:

Easy to make, and if you don't let the tortillas crisp too much, very easy on your mouth. I had some salsa in the fridge, and I just stuck it in the food processor for a few minutes to make it nice and smooth. Then I chilled it in the fridge for a bit - I love the contrast between the warm, oozy tortilla and the crisp chill of the salsa.

There you have it. Not the most healthy diet I've lived on, but certainly not the worst. It was all easy to make, and I really believe that it helped me recover so quickly.

Here's a breakdown:

Thursday: surgery

Later that night (after 5 percocets): small bowl of smoothie

Friday: smoothie in the morning, pea soup for lunch, quesadilla for dinner

Saturday: smoothie for breakfast, both kinds of potatoes for lunch, and quesadilla for dinner. Banana and smoothie in the evening.

Sunday: tomato soup in the morning and smoothie in the morning, probably some sweet potatoes for lunch, more split pea soup for dinner.

Every single person is different, but here's a timeline of how I felt.

Thursday: ugh... a lost day - probably due to the 5 percocets. I slept off and on all day, and got a bit nauseous later in the evening. The bleeding tapered off in the early evening.

Friday: a bit groggy, but by mid-afternoon I was feeling a bit better. I took one Tylenol 3 in the morning, and that was it for the painkillers.

Saturday: still swollen, but my mouth felt fine. Took the dog for a long walk in Rock Creek Park, and even ran a bit. I took care to keep my teeth clenched firmly so that nothing rattled out:)

Sunday: my mouth felt a tiny bit tender and one side is still pretty swollen. I can open my mouth wide and wiggle my jaw back and forth with just a twinge of pain.

I think that if I can make it through tomorrow without any more pain, I'll be out of the woods. I still fear the dreaded dry socket and probably won't rest easy until day 5 (Tuesday).

As much as I dreaded it, having my teeth pulled didn't seem like a big deal. Actually, let me clarify. Getting the teeth pulled was a huge deal; the recovery was fairly painless.

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It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood...

After a fruitless early-morning trek to DMV (my second in two months, plus a nice stint at the Social Security office a few weeks ago) in an attempt to renew my driver's license, things got better.

Still no license, but all I need now is DNA from my great-grandmother, my 2nd grade class photo, and a family tree authorized by Dionne Warwick, and I'm sure I'll get it.

Leesil and Barksdale the Wonder Dog were still sleeping when I got back, and I knew she needed her sleep and was looking forward to a late morning lounging in bed. But it was so beautiful outside that I harangued her into getting up and walking down to Big Bear for a cup of coffee with me.

We're making great progress with Barks, and he'll do astounding things like walk across the street now. Believe me, this is HUGE in our world - seriously... death metal in Norway huge.

Step 2 is to get him acclimated to being around crowds of people and sitting calmly while a lot of activity swirls around him. He did well - barked at a few dudes - but for the most part sat peacefully while we drank and read the paper.

This is a big improvement over him dragging half their metal fence down the street when I made the mistake of tying him up outside when I went in for a cup of coffee.

I'm talking Paris Hilton shoe size big.

The frustration of my early morning was fading as we walked back, chatting with neighbors and checking out how everyone's yards fared this winter.

There were construction crews at every other house, and I kept wondering "How did they know it was going to be nice today? Does everyone in DC, except me, know how to get a work crew at a moment's notice?" Because I could seriously use that knowledge.

Then I remembered that there's this new-fangled thing called The Weather Channel. I'm sure it's great and all, but I prefer to take my chances -usually realizing my mistake about halfway to the metro in the morning.

All this industry made me eager to jump into working on the yard when we got back, but mainly I was thinking that I'd be able to soak up some sun and get rid of this wan Victorian pallor I've got going on.

Now, this may come as no big surprise to anyone who knows me, but I don't have many tips on how to sustain a relationship. BUT... here's one that has worked well for Leesil and I: One person gets the front yard, the other gets the back.

I always get the backyard - due to my softness for geranium planted bathtubs and the like - but hey.. that's okay. Just means that I got to add a vintage Scandinavian tealight sconce to the chain link gate.

Before I got started, though, I made the most amazing salad, which I created last week. Beware, if you invite me to a potluck any time in the next 6 months, this is probably what I'll bring.

Summer Kale Salad

Half-head kale, stems removed and chopped fine

1/3 cup chopped scallions

1 cup steamed, cubed sweet potatoes

1 chopped pear

Mix everything together, then lightly drizzle Fig Vinaigrette over it:

2 parts fig infused vinegar

2 parts canola oil

A few squeezes of orange or tangerine

Salt and pepper to taste, but go lightly - you really want the fig taste to emerge

Dash of yellow mustard for (foodie term alert) stickiness

This is best made ahead in order to let the fruit and vinegar soften the kale a bit.

While that was marinating, I pruned my kafir lime tree, which has miraculously survived a tsunami its first week in the back yard, then a frantic re-planting in a pot so that I could control its water intake (where I nervously veered between over-watering and parching it), then 4 months sitting next to the radiator in the dining room this past winter.

I dug up some lily-type plants that never bloomed, but - another miracle - survived being buried under 3 ft. of snow. I weeded the mint bed, rotated the rosemary bush (another winter warrior), and planted some cacti pups in bigger pots in anticipation of some huge growth this summer. Our neighbors were all out at one point or another, the crew working on the new condos were all chatting in Spanish, and I could hear the sounds of dogs playing in the park.

Barks kept me company - hauling off some sticks and sniffing the mint and rosemary with his big ol' snout.

There is nothing as calming to me as gardening - it fulfills both my contemplative and artistic needs. Last year, I was a timid gardener - unsure of the yard's soil, light patterns, and drainage options, and I was oddly reluctant to spend lots of cash on some beautiful plants.

I still have a great deal to learn about gardening in DC, and the smallest thing thrills me. For example, the soil is still soooo cold - I've never had that in Florida. When I was digging up the lilies, I could feel the chill even before I reached the dirt.

Most of the herbs and plants I bought last year came from two sources: the Songkran festival at the Thai temple in Md. and the Nati'l Arboretum's annual plant sale. I played it safe - getting mostly things I'd planted before (basil, lemongrass, etc), but it gave me a bit of non-Home Depot variety, and I'm ready to brach out (ha ha.. no pun intended) even more this year.

I took a break to... make homemade pizza dough.... my first time! I kept coming back in to the kitchen to watch the dough rise.. marveling at it every time. I'm like a kid with food - touchy feelie all the way - and I wanted nothing more than to poke my finger in it. A tiny giggle coming out of it would have completely made my day.

After I'd finished in the yard, and swept, arranged and re-potted to my heart's content, I started on the pizza. Punching the dough (alas, no giggles) and rolling it out was so cool - I felt deeply connected to my meal, something that I've been really relishing lately. The more fresh, whole foods I eat, the more I come to appreciate how a simple, home prepared meal can really transform the way you feel about yourself, your home and the world. It becomes an exercise in self-care and a political statement all in one.

Topped it with a tiny bit of pesto, some fresh tomatoes and basil (knowing that this year's crop would be even better - pick early! Lesson learned.), vegan mozzarella, chopped pine nuts and carmelized red onions.

Delish! The dough was a bit thicker than I would have liked, and it puffed up in one corner, but it was really, really good - much better than I thought it would be. We sprinkled some nutritional yeast flakes on top, had some salad with it, and went to town.

A great day, a newly transformed yard, and a healthy, lovingly prepared meal. Seriously.. it was was a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

My casting call for the Gilligan's Island remake

Michael Cera as Gilligan

Holland Taylor (the mom from 2 and a half men) as Mrs. Howell

Donald Sutherland, Brian Denehey or, if you want the film to do zero box office - John Goodman - as Thurston Howell III

Christina Hendricks as Ginger

Ginnifer Goodwin as MaryAnn

Steve Carrell as the Professor, and in a twist, Rowan Atkinson as his twin brother. No, wait.. Bob Saget!

Actually, you could cast the entire film from the Mad Men folks:

Jon Hamm would be the professor

Brian Blatt would make a damn fine Professor

Christina Hendricks is already covered

Peggy Moss as Mary Ann

Aaron Staton as Gilligan, or you could cast Petulant Pete Campbell - they're interchangeable in this instance. Wait, wait, wait...this could be the twin brother scenario I'm suddenly thinking is absolutely crucial to the success of the remake.

Bert Cooper as Thurston Howell III

January Jones as his much younger wife

2nd choice: The suddenly ubiquitous Betty White

Hmm.. so now I'm seeing Matt Weiner direct this. Imagine it... the cutting dialogue, the drama, the intrigue, the coconuts placed just so, authentically sourced and period-accurate radio equipment washing up on shore, a Gaugain inspired color palette, racial tension.. oh never mind, and above all.. the vintage Polynesian drapes!

Things I thought about when I couldn't get to sleep last night

1. Boy, our ceiling fan needs to be dusted

2. I never fixed that ceiling fan last summer, did I?

3. What did I have for dinner tonight?

4. Why can't I even remember what I had for dinner? What's wrong with me???

5. I wonder if I have a Vitamin B deficiency?

6. I should really write that picture book about the things people think about during yoga.

7. Maybe it's almost time to get up?

8. Meditate.

9. Meditate.

10. I can't meditate because I miss the knob on the radiator in our old apartment. That was my fixed spot to meditate on.

11. I can't use the fan - it's too dusty.

12. I should really start feeding that cat that lives outside; it sounds so sad?

13. Wait.. is that one of our cats? Did she get out?

14. Fake chicken cutlet with lemon caper sauce!

15. I wish I could make sauces like Leesil does.

16. This comforter sure is cozy.

17. Wow, I can't believe I just spent the last 10 minute completely organizing PCRM by desired outcome, organizational structure and budget.

18. Meditate.

19. Meditate.

20. I wonder if the dog wants to cuddle.

21. Did I count Germany when Leesil and I were tallying all the countries we'd been to?

22. Did I count Portugal?

How Stella Still Ain't Got Her Groove Back

One crappy day turned into a few more, then.. horror of horrors!... started rearing its ugly head in my sleep.

One of the things that I've come to value so much in the last few months is a good night's sleep. I can honestly say that I've been sleep-deprived my entire stay here in DC. I look back at pictures of me in the last two years and in every single picture, I have huge bags under my eyes.

I can pretty clearly see how it began and how it became such an issue for me. Our first apartment was FULL of mold, but it didn't become apparent how full until I would literally stop breathing in the middle of the night. I became convinced that the air duct return over our bed was the site of a serious concentration of mold, but the landlady would never really address the leaky roof. And the weird configuration of our apartment made moving the bed impossible. Our only other options were to move it into the room next to the kitchen (and the window closest to the partying' hippies house) or move it into the small room off the living room. We eventually chose the living room, and things cleared up somewhat. But I believe the damage had been done.

Paired with my inability to breathe was my stress about work. A simple cough would wake me up and lead to an entire night spent worrying about work, then worrying about the mold, then worrying about the effect both were having on my health, then back to worrying about work, then the mold, then my health.. it was horrible.

So now that I'm at a place - both physically and mentally - that doesn't lead to sleepless nights, I'm more grateful than I ever could have imagined.

Which is why one sleepless night turns into a nagging concern that MORE sleepless nights are right around the corner.

And the beat goes on.

I actually stopped to smell the roses

Today, I woke up in a crappy mood. A really crappy mood. I'm so over this weather that I went to bed at 9pm last night - unwilling to let my allergy-infused day last any longer.

I'm ready to start my period. Barksdale is on a new thing - he wakes up in the middle of the night, wanting to go out. Really, it's just a ploy for some attention, and I'm determined to not give in to his wet nose nuzzling my face. When that doesn't work, he goes down and nuzzles my feet.

So.. not much uninterrupted sleep these days.

Crabbiness abounds - couldn't find anything to wear. Had to take out the garbage this morning. Ice on the streets. Still.

Cold. Blah. Two days away from payday and every bit of it has to go to pay bills, the mortgage, and homeowner's insurance.

Double blah.

Walk into work. Ugh. A cog in the capitalist machine. Except I work for a non-proft, so.. a cog in some other machine? The DoGood2000?

Still not feeling any better about life, but I do manage to hold the door open for another building cog, er.. resident.

Sitting on the receptionist's desk is a small bouquet of flowers, which... this isn't really a spoiler by now, is it?... I stopped to smell.

Despite my stuffy nose, they smelled good. Refrigerated florist good, which is to say - not so good. But still... I stopped to smell the freaking roses and I feel a little bit better.

Mark Bittman - a kindler, gentler Anthony Bourdain

I'm quickly becoming addicted to TED Talks, the online lecture series hosted by TED, a non-profit devoted to "ideas worth spreading". One of the best things they do is award three $100,000 awards every year to people who have an idea they believe will change the world.

Every morning, I just pull up a lecture before making my coffee and smoothie, and by the time I'm ready for my shower, I've been inspired, enlightened - or sometimes pissed off.

Here's an older speech I found by Mark Bittman, where he rails against fast food, factory farming and cow farts. Even though he's not a vegetarian, he presents a compelling argument for consuming less animal products.

When two bad habits make a right

Leesil often accuses me of "stuffing", but I prefer to think of it as "tidying". If the house is cluttered, and someone's on their way over, I have no qualms about wholesale sweeping of crap into a bag and putting it in the cupboard to deal with later. Leesil, on the other hand, is fascinated with hoarders and if the Sunday paper isn't in the recycling bin by Wednesday, starts mumbling about interventions and ladies with 27 cats.

This is the first time in my life I've ever owned a dishwasher (that works), and there were many, many times that I'd slam a sink's worth of dirty dishes in the oven while frantically straightening up before someone rings the doorbell. Incidentally, in the only other comes-with-dishwasher home I've lived in, I used it to store plastic grocery bags.

See... I like things neat, and I think that's close enough to clean.

I will admit that there is one time when I freely indulge in stuffing - when we're packing the car for a trip. Knowing that two people, one dog, assorted magazines/books, snacks, electronics, and our luggage has to fit comfortably in a Mini Cooper is enough for me to break out blueprints and consult Navy-wife moving guides.

Most of the detritus, by default, lands on the passenger side of the car, and Leesil's not dumb - she'd rather drive for hours than sit with her feet perched on a stack of reading material and discarded water bottles.

It was especially bad on our holiday drive to Florida - packed with presents, dog food, etc.

We were running late and I was throwing stuff into bags willy-nilly, knowing that halfway down 95 I'd be rummaging past work papers to reach my allergy medicine or ipod.

Sure enough, at some point, I'd started re-arranging things - dog bowls under the seat, small items in the glove box (the second largest storage area in the car).

A week later, we're home - safe and sound. The car's unpacked, but not washed or cleaned out yet. Leesil's tootling around town - saving lives and jeopardizing others by talking on her cell phone while driving.

She gets pulled over - PISSED! It's her personal belief that social workers should be exempt from parking, speeding and illegal U-turn infractions because they're busy saving lives. Not sure that I agree with her, and I'm pretty sure MPD doesn't either.

The cop asks for her driver's license and registration, so she goes into the glove box, where -- ta da! A pair of my pink panties is lying on top of stashed parking tickets.

Needless to say, she didn't get the ticket, and I've gotten a free pass on stuffing for another week or so.

I am a self-centered bastard

Sunday morning. It's cold and rainy, but I've got the NY Times and the Post to keep me happy. I'm thinking that the Leno/Conan brouhaha will be front and center in the Styles section, and I'm looking forward to a more in-depth analysis than some internet based "TEAM CONAN" crap.

But all I see are stories about Haiti, and I'm just not ready to deal with it yet, so I decide to take the dog for a walk.

Now, this inspires in me a feeling of grandiose moral superiority usually reserved for someone who.. say... just performed life-saving CPR on a stranger.

But not me.. the sheer act of putting on boots, raincoat and loading Barks' neck down with training collars.. let's just say I'm pretty much Mother Teresa in my head right now.

We get to the park and - probably because I'm being so selfless - there's a nice big stick right inside the entrance. Karma.

This means we'll get some cool playtime without the worry or distraction of other dogs. Stick throwing ensues, and I'm even inserting a little bit of training in the mix, so I'm feeling especially good about myself right now. I tell myself to stay out here for 30 mins. at least. I'm soaked and freezing cold, but this feels like the type of "giving" required of dog owners and I feel good about it.

5 minutes in, and a car pulls up. I put the leash back on, and wait to see who gets out of the car. I recognize the car, but can't really place it. Might be Leon and Cairo, might be Hercules and KC's owner - not sure.

I can see the owner eyeballing us from the front seat, so I decide it's best to just leave. Either it's someone who knows us and doesn't want to risk a fight, or it's someone with a "problem" dog like Barksdale and they've had the same thought: playtime away from other dogs.

Either way, our session's cut short and I'm trying to talk myself out of a full-blown internal hissy fit.

I see who it is, and sure enough.. it's a much bigger dog that Barks went after the other day.

I love this dog and love his owner, so just wave and smile and head over to the "bike trail". The trail that borders the Metro track, and is full of mud and tar, and for some reason is strewn with garbage right now. Seriously... huge bags of garbage are torn open and lining the trail.

Don't get me wrong - I normally love walking along and checking out the graffiti on the abandoned buildings. It's a cool little urban retreat - quiet and toxic with dredged oil pits, slabs of construction material, and muddy holes. But it's beautiful and I've found some pretty amazing pieces of abandoned steel there.

I also feel a bit weird about the trail. To construct it, the city has had to clear out a homeless encampment, and that leaves me a bit conflicted. I came across the encampment once, and it was a small, fully functional city - bathing facilities, sleeping area, etc.

Some of the homeless have moved over to the trail - for a while there was a stack of blankets and a small children's mattress at the entrance, but for the most part, it's been pretty quiet, albeit strewn with garbage.

But I've had my heart set on hanging in the grassy field and I'm annoyed.

Why were we the ones to leave; we were there first?

Why didn't I think to ask her to keep him on the leash so that we could work on his socialization skills?

Now he's going to need a bath when we get home.

It's cold outside. I'm wet already.

Why why why whaa whaa whaa...

And then I see it.. a small cardboard sign. Perfectly lettered, almost as if it was drawn by a 14 yr. old girl. There was even a small drawing of Woodstock in the corner.

There was a lot of information packed onto that piece of cardboard:

Disabled.

Complications from back surgery.

Hungry.

Help.

And suddenly.. my stupid jockeying for a bit of unclaimed space in the city seems even more ludicrous, selfish and petty than ever.

I know that when this walk is over, I'm going to head back to my home, turn up the heat, and drink a cup of coffee. In warmth and comfort. And the dog will be bathed and wrapped in a thick, dry towel. All of which seems like such an unbelievable luxury to me as I stand in the rain and look down at the sign in the mud.

I look down at the dog, click my tongue and say "C'mon pal, let's get you some exercise" and we jog down the path - thankful, chastened and wet.

Surely, there must be some mistake

One of the cool things about living in DC is, depending on how crazy you get at guest registries, you can get junk mail from pretty impressive places. National Arboretum. The Smithsonian. 9:30 Club.

So, it wasn't really a surprise to see a small white envelope from the NIH (Nat'l. Institute of Health - a BIG employer in the area) stuffed in amongst the Ikea and pizza place fliers. What did catch me off guard is that it was from the Mental Health division. Even that I could explain away. "Must be something to do with Leesil", I quickly thought.

Oh HELL NO! Someone has obviously mixed up the DOB fields in their Excel file and put me on the wrong mailing list.

That's the only explanation I can come up with.

Barksdale the Wonder Dog

If a person's lucky, at least once in their life he or she will own a dog that melds into your life in such a way that you can't imagine a life before the dog. A dog that will gambol ahead on long walks, but come back to check in periodically - nudging your hand with a wet nose as if to say "Hey, it's fun chasing squirrels; I wish you could join in".

When you find a dog like that, you willingly walk through the snow so that he can potty in his favorite spot. You envision buying a farm so that he can enjoy his old age lying in an apple orchard by a creek. You wake up every morning to him curled up at your feet, and you go to bed each night hearing the soft thump of his tail.

Barksdale's not that dog.

Barksdale's the dog that it took me 2 months to teach how to shake hands, but after 30 seconds, has the game "get the broom" seared into his head, turning every (rare) house-cleaning session into a battle of wills.

Barksdale's the dog that has cost us nearly $3000 in vets bills and broken leashes in the 7 months that we've owned him. He has eaten shoes. Books (his favorites are dog-training manuals). Sheets and towels. Disposable razor blades. Dog dishes. A cactus. The prickly kind.

Because we rescued him from Baltimore, and because I'm the kind of dork who will name a dog after an obscure cultural reference, we named him after a drug dealer on "The Wire", and he has lived up to that name in more ways than I can imagine. He uses his varied skills for evil, not good and his mere presence can clear the dog park of the neighborhood's more upstanding owners.

I live in constant fear that he will ultimately go down in a blaze of gunfire after charging one of the many cops patrolling the streets around our house.

Right now, we're working with a dog trainer, who is on the verge of referring us to a dog behaviorist. Who will no doubt in turn refer us to a hypnotist. Who will then probably gently suggest we buy an apple farm - with a creek - away from people, cars, and other distractions.

Believe it or not, he has come a long way in the 8 months that we've owned him. He no longer barks at plug-in air fresheners, nor does he freak out if someone walks by under an umbrella, ella, ella. He hasn't chased the homeless guy in our neighborhood in nearly 3 months, and he now sits, stays, shakes, "gets the hat", lies down, and comes - sometimes - when you call him.

Our training sessions are equal parts street theater and Dog Whisperer. He's afraid of loud noises, so I'll careen around the field by our house pushing an abandoned Home Depot shopping cart, laughing so that he thinks it's a game. He loves to feel as if he's pleased us, so I'll often fall to my knees in rapture if he performs the slightest task correctly. It's truly embarrassing.

Last night, Barks and I had one of our epic "who's the boss" moments, er.. 45 minutes. It ended with him DRAGGING me across the living room floor by the hoodie on my sweatshirt while I fought to keep the zipper from decapitating me.

And somehow I still think I won that one.

It's warm in my heart this Saturday

Surprisingly - given the hell that I went through trying to get to sleep last night - I woke up refreshed and convinced that it was a nice sunny Florida morning here in DC.

Let me tell you - if you've ever been so frustrated that you start throwing pillows at the person sleeping next to you - and you're not at a slumber party - then this is nothing short of a miracle.

It's been a week since our epic 20 hour(!) drive back from St. Pete, and I've been waging war with some bugs in my throat ever since. My strategy, which includes kale soup with chiles, grapefruit from Joellen (thanks so much), vitamin C and bitching non-stop about the weather, seemed to be working.

Until last night - hence the pillows.

Today, I felt much better and able to tackle one of my New Year's Resolutions:

Eat in a Conscious Manner

My conscious eating revolves around three things I grapple with:

Healthy eating:

Even though I've been a vegetarian nearly my entire adult life, I still find it easier to pop in a fake chikn patty than chop, shred, saute, etc.

This year, I've resolved to remove as much processed food as possible from my diet.

Second, I want to be as responsible as I can to the people who grow, pick, and prepare my food. This means buying locally (easy to do in season at the many farmers markets we visit; not so easy in the winter), buying organic, and third...

Not Wasting Food

See, I have grand plans for healthy dinners, but there are lots of good restaurants in DC, and I find my fridge full of rotten broccoli, mushy ginger, and slimy peppers way too often.

These three things are so intertwined that it's impossible to even assign a hierarchy to them.

One is simply not possible without the other.

Purchasing outside the big-ag system is more labor-intensive, costly (no thanks to gov't. subsidies), and time-consuming. But it's worth it to me, and I enjoy doing it.

Which is all a very soap-boxy way of saying that I used the following ingredients to make some pretty yummy Pumpkin Pear muffins for breakfast this morning:

Left-over pumpkin from a soup recipe gone awry

That last bit of oatmeal that's not enough for a full bowl, but too much to throw away

Not mushy YET ginger

One of two pears that were definitely in the mushy stage

So.. waking up, pulling up a Neko Case playlist on LaLa, and whipping up some healthy, conscious breakfast bread was a pretty kick-ass way to chase away the no-sleep blues.

And I can now tackle cleaning up the oatmeal box I gave the dog to play with while I cooked.