One of many randoms: Gospel #5

In January, my mom dropped a real gem in my inbox, after we'd recently returned from a great trip to Patagonia together.

From BioBio Patagonia

On our last day in Argentina, on our way home, my mom's bag was stolen from the hotel. Big bummer. In the end we were glad it was hers, not mine, where I'd irresponsibly left my passport. This bit of background provides some context for the purchases and missings noted below:

"My six-day headache is almost gone, so I think my brain tumor is shrinking. (I need a new alternator.)

My sprained ankle from tripping in tall grass in someone else's unsecured sandals is better.

I had to buy a comb and nail clippers and tweezers.

I'm saddest about my perfect down coat and old Columbia khakis and brand new Columbia white blouse from the BA airport (!).

And Gaza is burning. WHAT am I talking about?

What are you going to do Monday, on the new National Day of Service?

ilu and apparently needed some attention."

At least she's honest.

Ocean trash: Gospel #4

Luckily I got to hear about this depressing news piece three times between Friday and Sunday, when my mom was in Portland for a visit. The news, and Brenda, report there is a mass of trash in the Pacific twice the size of the state of Texas. More specifically, the "Pacific Garbage Patch" is made of 80% plastic from those bags, etc. that migrate down your sewer drain and mine, or fall off ships. The Patch weighs about 3.5 million tons. Mom also reports that it is as deep as a mile in some areas, making it impossible for marine life to pass, as they get entangled in the trash.

Biologists are monitoring the trash island, but thanks to the gospel, this continues to be nothing short of depressing, all of three times I heard the story. Moral of the gospel: Take your own bag to the store.

A little education about DNA and Meryl Streep: Gospel #3

I have a good bit of catching up to do, so when I think of it, I'm going to keep at this blogging thing...

On Ash Wednesday of this year, my mom sent me the most fantastic email. I decided it was too personal to publish, but felt no remorse about reporting the following:

"Today one of my 6-year-olds said to the two kids sitting next to him: 'I have some of your DNA and some of your DNA, smart and cra-a-a-zy. I'm also part Irish. I'm part a lotta things.' Another 6-year-old said, 'My mom and dad were fighting last night and my dad yelled at my mom and she pushed him and he called the cops.' And they came.

Did you see President Obama walk into the joint session last night? What an event. It was thrilling and I cried. And the high school girl sitting next to the lovely first lady. What a story!

Isn't Meryl Streep the classiest?

I love you, Mom"

Something we must all understand is that a woman's brain, and even more so, a mom's brain, and EVEN MORE SO, my mom's brain, is able to multi-task. It's phenomenal. She greets struggling kids with open arms and then has the brain space to remember how classy Meryl Steep is. I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast.

The Gospel Continues... Gospel #2

It's been a while since I posted on Brenda's latest word. More accurately, it's been a year and a half, but who's counting. We have a grandchild in the family now, so blogging has taken on a whole new meaning.

I'm starting again though, consider this a new beginning...

I've just returned from four days in New Orleans. It was a fantastic trip, but I didn't have much time for family conversations, which means that I returned to some real gems in my inbox.

A few words on brown fat straight from the horse's mouth:

"Maybe Bree or Ani read about brown fat cells or heard it on NPR. Babies have brown fat cells to keep them warm, because they don’t have enough muscle mass to shiver. Until now, they (THEY) thought adults didn’t have brown fat cells, because they searched in the same place that babies have them: up and down the back bone.

Some adults have them, just a very few, in the hollow between collar bone and neck. They are literally brown. They work for you. They help metabolism. Perhaps explains why people my size are always cold and some others aren’t."

Now, don't you feel so much better about shivering?