the fifth season

Since moving up here from Texas, I have delighted in the changing seasons, and written about them quite a bit here. They change the way one experiences the world - looking forward to summer means something new entirely. It's not just time off from school, it's sunshine and greenness and fresh berries. Certainly this made my mother's childhood somewhat different from my own. Here, I savor the heat; back home it was something I tried to avoid. Well, I just want to add onto my other seasonal revelations that I have discovered that perhaps there are more than just four. I'm pretty sure there should be a 5th season: end-of-summer. It's still hot and the sun still hangs in bright blue skies, but when it sets things are a bit more golden, and you might notice a few leaves showing their spines or fading, ever-so-slightly, into yellow. It's a lovely time of year.

Here are a few photos from my end-of-summer. I've had a whopping 10 days off between surgery and medicine clerkships, and they have been glorious. There was yoga on the beach, camping, lazy pancake mornings, plenty of time for our new kitty, and a belated birthday party.

 

The party menu:

1. blini bar with crème fraiche, roasted onions, bean spread
2. heirloom tomato salad
3. zucchini salad
4. roasted carrots (recipe below)
5. summertime shandy/radler/clara [tasty by any name]
6. corn salad and amazing baked goods from friends!

It was a lovely evening, and I was so happy to be surrounded by so many great friends in my own home. Like I said, I need to cook for people more often.

Finally, a recipe! These roasted carrots are incredibly straight forward, but absolutely delicious. They are one of my favorites to bring to parties because they actually get people to want to put more vegetable on their plate. Even people who don't like carrots.

Roasted Cumin Carrots:

Preheat oven to 400 F
Wash and peel several large carrots. Cut them into french-fry size sticks.
Spread onto a baking sheet in a single layer.
Drizzle with olive oil and rub it around with your hands so that they all are well-coated. Sprinkle with cumin seeds and cinnamon.
Bake for about 40 minutes, until the edges begin to brown and caramelize. It's okay if they start to burn a teeny bit.

bottle that feeling up

I recently read Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese. This novel did not receive very high reviews amongst the literary community, but it was strongly recommended to me by several medical students and physicians. Like them, I loved it. I suppose it stems from a love for the intertwining of medicine and art. Verghese is a physician who displays passion for pure, simple, hands-on medicine. He lauds the skilled physician who considers the whole of the patient and is able to diagnose with only his hands. Reference: "A doctor's touch" TED talk.

Throughout the novel he describes anatomy and disease processes in a clear and beautiful manner. Well, beautiful compared to a textbook. Apparently it's gibberish to the non-medical ear. Either way, I soaked it up and felt inspired to continue along this path to becoming a doctor. It made me want to really know my stuff - well enough to write about it without having to reference Netter's, well enough to feel minute but essential differences between radial pulses. (Shoot, I still get excited when I feel a liver edge.)What I'm about to say may sound crazy, but it was enough to make me think that studying for boards might not be that bad. Synthesizing all that I have learned the last 2 years, putting the pieces together and seeing the bigger picture of what all this time and discipline has really been about.

Wow. I wish I could bottle that feeling up and carry it around with me for the next 5 months.

Maybe a little Ethiopian food will help as a reminder. You see, most of the novel is set in Ethiopia and descriptions of the food sneak in every now and then. Of course, I became curious about sour injeera and garlicky wat. Finally, this weekend, we went to the Ethiopian Diamond with one of our favorite food-loving couples. To be honest, the experience itself was worth a lot more than the food. Don't get me wrong, it was tasty, but I don't think I would get excited about leftovers. The dinner itself was fabulous. The restaurant was filled with groups of people from every ethnic background imaginable, all eating with their hands, smiling. I love eating with my hands, like adding in that additional sense makes the food that much better. Ian had a bit of a cold, but medical students are pretty proud of their immune systems and nobody minded his hands in the mix. The sour injeera, salty meats, sweet honey wine, and friends to share it with all combined to make a beautiful evening.

i danced

When I was in middle school I was lanky. Well, I still kind of am but I've come to think of it as tall and thin, and on most days I am very happy with my physical self. But when I was in middle school it was a bit more awkward and I was especially aware of that fact at school dances. Do you remember what middle school dances are like? I don't know if most people had similar experiences or not, but let me tell you about mine.

I went to small private school and there were probably about 60 people total in grades 5-8. The school hosted dances 2 or 3 times a year in the very large hallway basement, with red and white square tiles, connecting all our classrooms. They turned out the lights, brought in pizza and soda, and a DJ played pop music. When a slow song came on girls and boys would pair up, girls with their hands on the boys' shoulders, keeping a safe arm's-length distance. The boys tried to find the appropriate place for their hands, somewhere between poorly distinguished hips and barely budding breasts. I was okay with this part, but most of the time the songs were fast. Which meant we girls would form small circles with our best 5 or 6 friends and dance with one another. Every now and then one girl brought her boyfriend into the mix. I joined in and tried to move my hips to the rhythm but somehow that rhythm always alluded me, and I felt uncomfortable bending my knees so deeply, and I had no idea what to do with my skinny arms, and I didn't know what to look at... My friends giggled. They were certainly just having a good time and maybe even feeling some of the same things as I. But after some unknown number of laughs I stopped dancing.

Those feelings stuck through high school. When my friends went to clubs I just didn't join them. Of course, from time to time I have since then been in situations where dancing was necessary and I would participate in a slow song, or a group song like "the boot-skooting boogie" or one of those hip-hop songs where the singer tells you exactly what to do. And of course I danced at my wedding.

But this weekend I danced. I was still a bit self-conscious, but I enjoyed it and I felt free. I was at a party/concert and the band was composed of friends of mine. It was in somebody's house, but it was like this house was made just for this occasion. At first I watched a few other people dancing, impressed by the fluidity of their movements and the fact that they were so brave to stand up in front of so many people and move like that. Relaxing, absorbing the whole spectacle, I thought to myself that we humans have not changed so much in some ways. I pictured medieval Irish jigs and tribal dances around bonfires. And then a friend said to me, "Let's go up there and dance." I gave her a sheepish grin and thought about staying in comfortable spectator position, but instead I turned to my husband and said, "Hold my purse, I think I need to do this." And I did. I danced. The music was a cool sort of indie-rock, somehow very chill even in its most intense moments, with complex dynamic rhythms. And, surrounded by modern hippies, I was finally able to just let my body move on its own. I still wasn't sure what to do with my arms but I just let them float around every once in a while. I still wasn't sure of where I should direct my gaze, so I looked at the band, I looked at the people around me, and tried to take it all in.

It was a wonderful evening. I felt a bit more connected to my friends, and even the strangers around me. It was a growth experience, and I found a part of me that I have tucked away for over a decade. The part that dances.

My husband has told me some about Friedrich Nietzche and his idea of "play." I found this quote of his from "The Gay Science."


How much a spirit needs for its nourishment, for this there is no formula; but if its taste is for independence, for quick coming and going, for roaming, perhaps for adventures for which only the swiftest are a match, it is better for such a spirit to live in freedom with little to eat than unfree and stuffed. It is not fat but the greatest possible suppleness and strength that a good dancer desires from his nourishment - and I would not know what the spirit of a philosopher might wish more to be than a good dancer. For the dance is his ideal, also his art, and finally also his only piety, his "service of God."