for the record.

I am an aunt. And, while this post will be focused on only one aspect of my "aunt-ness", I would like to just start by saying my nephew is probably one of my favorite people... ever. I love him quite a bit and I have a feeling that he will only get cooler with time.

Now, part of being an aunt is showering these little humans with gifts. At least, that is part of being an aunt for me. I have been on the search for some practical gifts for him, as is the nature of me (practical) and the holiday season (gifts), and I have come to find that I hate the baby/infant/toddler "product world". Not only are clothes ugly, they are SO gendered and confrontational. Boys can, apparently, only wear clothes that say things like "stud" or "jock" or "my dad can beat up your dad" or " this is what handsome looks like" or "here comes trouble" or "ladies man". Oh, and the absolute worst was "my mom is hotter than your mom"... somehow, amazingly, one little baby bib is able to not only keep your clothes clean but also reinforce gender stereotypes.

Not only do I refused to spend my money on this garbage, but I will not be responsible for socializing a generation of self involved, competitive, smart mouthed kids. What if my nephew doesn't want to be a jock? What if he wants to be a poet? Or, maybe both. Do they have bibs that say, "be who you are and love other people"? No. And, really, why does it have to say anything at all? It's this weird, subtle objectification of our children that people indulge in merely to boost their own self images... if you want people to know you are hot or strong or produce genetically perfect children that will inevitably grow into irresistible sex objects, then wear it on your own shirt.

I also have negative feelings about anything princess or diva themed, for all the same reasons. My dislike of pastel, baby animals is less socially minded, but I might as well just say I don't like those very much either. Well, that's not true. Even animals are gendered - boys get strong animals like lions and elephants and girls get the pretty, gentle animals (that don't eat much) like birds and kittens.

It's everywhere, people.

Sigh. That's really all, I don't have any brilliant ideas on how to fix this problem, other than craft my own baby clothes. I don't have high hopes that this will actually happen, so we're sticking to solids, stripes and argyle this year, Henrik.

During my trip to NYC I was able to visit Resurrection Presbyterian Church with my friends. I have been able to enjoy more sermons from this church since being home, through their website.

If anyone else is interested, I've added them to my "recommendations" column.

Work, by nature, is going to be hard. Some of us look at this task and desire to find something that fits who we are, something that puts our personal motivations to good use and maybe (or hopefully) brings out some good in the world. I understand that not everyone feels this way about occupation - work is not life and so on. This is true, and part of me is jealous of this mindset. Oh, to see my profession as a paycheck seems so.... nice... right about now.

I am getting better at "drawing a line" between work and life. But, I will admit that is feels a bit counterintuitive. Not because I think bringing work home is necessary, or even helpful, but because I just can't turn things on and off that quickly! Like I said, this takes practice and I still have a lot of time to work out the kinks with this one. But, when you are investing yourself into someone all day, it takes more than just the drive home to stop thinking about them. At least for me.

I identified a whole new, ironic aspect to this yesterday at work. After 8 days of "caring" with what felt like my whole body, I crashed. 2pm, no charting done, no food in my tummy and I felt like more of my self control was being used to keep myself from crawling under the desk than finishing my shift well. After I managed to squeeze in a snack (and the subsequent increase in blood sugar), I remembered how much harder things are for my little patients. The last thing (or maybe one of the last things) they need is a nurse who isn't willing to give. But, how do I give genuinely when all I want is a nice, cold (and preferably huge) beer?

Hm... remembering how much I have been given, how much I've been loved. Imagining myself in their position is always good, I suppose. Eating. Certainly that helps. And, time away, experiencing my own life. 7/8 days is a long time.

SO! The next post will be much more upbeat.... Seriously. My weekend is already off to a wonderful start. Enough about this... off to enjoy a few days away.

After I get my oil changed, of course.

Weekends are sometimes good for grocery shopping, sleeping in, laundry, post office runs, etc. But, sometimes weekends are good for leaving things undone, skipping town and spending face-to-face time with my people. This past weekend was fortunate enough to be of the later variety, and it was just in time.

I count my people as among my most significant blessings. In this category, of course, is my family. My friends, too, are just wonderful, unique, talented, inspirational people and I'm not sure where I'd be without them. A variety, you may call us, but a good mix for sure. Three of these lovelies live out east - one in CT, two in NYC. So, I was able to soak up some good time with them and see new and beautiful places.

And, I have (unfortunately?) learned that I really really love New York City. I was there as a teenager, but experiencing it as a 24-year old is much different, right? We didn't indulge in the more intense NYC experience, but rather played the low key card and enjoyed coffee at Blue Sky Bakery in Brooklyn, caught the Staten Island Ferry for some (free) sightseeing, walked from Brooklyn to Manhattan via the bridge, enjoyed bits of Soho, made our way through Central Park, ate some street food, and did a fairly good job of drinking wonderful coffee by day and lovely wine by night. Looking back, highlights are easy to find.

I'm not sure what it was about the city that drew me in so much. I mean, it is a very large city... but, cities are cities?? Maybe. There was just something different about New York - like, I never felt alone while I was there. The hustle didn't bring up any sort of anxiety in me, but rather I felt calmer than I have in a really long time (the quite of my apt now, for example, is having quite the opposite effect). The word "magic" is coming to mind, although it feels a bit exaggerated for what I'm actually trying to say. Regardless of what it's called, I felt so good being there. A kind of good this girl hasn't felt in a long time.

I'm not going to post pictures because I just don't have the energy... soon, though. While the weekend was nearly perfect it was also quite exhausting. In a wonderful sort of way.

Yesterday, volunteers came around the unit with a cart full of children-sized Halloween costumes. One of my little patients asked in eager anticipation, "do you have a Buzz Lightyear outfit?"

We all breathed relief as the volunteer dug through her pile and proudly held up one, very precious space cadet costume.

And so, his mom and I worked to get the costume onto this little body. Disconnected the IV for just a minute, cut the costume as needed to get it over tubes and around braces... pretty soon we had a (very modified) Buzz Lightyear in our midst.

He was so delighted! And, really, so were we.

This week has been marked by tragedy. My journal is missing.

Ok, so you all know me and know that I sometimes say things that are a bit on the dramatic side, but I am being completely honest and fairly rational when I say this is the saddest thing that has happened to me in a very long time.

I started (serious, committed) journaling in 2005. Since then I have really come to cherish the little books that are my testimonial. You know the question, "if you are stranded on an island and you can have one thing it would be..." or "if your house was on fire and you could bring one material thing with you ..." Hands down, I would choose my journals. It is on those perfectly blank pages that I find most freedom to express my ideas. There is no need for correct grammar, flow, sentence structure... anything really. I can do whatever I want - have any opinion - in my journal and no one gets to know. And, no one gets to tell me that what I'm feeling is wrong or I should approach a situation in a different way... or whatever.

I know that the loss of this journal is not the loss of journaling. But, it is the loss of a year's worth of knee-jerk reactions, deep reflection and sweet anticipation. I wrote about my first days as a nurse in this journal, my first (professional) experience with death. The overwhelming joys of meeting my first nephew. The nervous excitement that came with moving into my very own apartment. Gosh, even the thrill of watching our nation's first African American President take office. To not have my written memories of all that is so.... sad.

Normally when something like this happens, I would journal about it. But, since that isn't an option right now I will blog. And, I can say with confidence that blogging is really second best.

Last summer I was invited to join an online book club. As you can imagine, the lack of face-to-face interaction made it very difficult for me to stay committed to the text. Well, that and the fact that The Brothers Karamazov was not an ideal pick for light summer reading.

The thick beige and red book has been patiently waiting for me on my bookshelf and I have decided to give good ol' Fyodor another shot. I am 19 pages in and already in love. Not because it is incredibly easy, or because I feel as if I've been hooked by action or glamour... but, rather, because it is just beautiful.

This book is going to be no small task for me - mostly because my nursing school experience has resulted in the development of a special reflex. The one that makes me go to sleep two paragraphs into any kind of reading. I have determination, though, to retrain my attention span to not only stay focused during these long pages, but to actually .... get ready for it... enjoy reading again.

In hopes of "setting the stage" for this endeavor, I went to the Russian Museum of Art in Minneapolis last weekend. I don't know much about Russia - at all - and I thought that maybe by getting a small glimpse of how Russian artists interpret their culture, I'd be in a better place to enjoy this novel.

But, it didn't really help. Well, ok, that might not be true. It just didn't help as much as I had hoped. What I did find is that a.) I love Russian art (at least the art they have at this museum) and b.) I want to learn more about Russia.

I was talking to one of the museum volunteers and he was telling me about an exhibit they are trying to bring in this coming spring. It is composed of art that came from the Siege of Leningrad. Now many of you, I am sure, have heard of this part of history. I will blame my ignorance on my intense participation in biology and anatomy during college and less interaction with the "arts" and history classes. It is probably fine that I am learning this late. Anyway, I have spent some time exploring the details of this 900 day siege - a siege that took more lives than any other modern day conflict. And what I have found is actually quite amazing.

From what I can tell, this siege did many things to Leningrad. Mainly - and I'm not trying to make light here - it destroyed it, right? But, like Annie Dillard taught me to say, there is so much evidence of "the inrush of power and light" in the stories I've read tonight. Stories of human resiliency and motivation to cling to good and deny evil. The German and Finnish armies cut off all sources of life from Leningrad - it started in September and by winter there was no heat, no electricity, only ounces of bread for each person. But, in the face of this all, the people of Leningrad did not surrender. FOR 900 DAYS. I also read stories of people risking their lives to dig up potatoes in forbidden fields, only to then surrender their sweet harvest to authorities so they could be distributed equally among all the civilians. The city even commissioned cooks and chefs to "invent" high-calorie soups and breads to be distributed in the bread lines. Granted, their supplementation of cotton for flour didn't provide what people needed. Most during this time died of starvation or from the actual bombings. I think it is only accurate to say that with each sweet story of devotion to the whole community, there were also terrifying stories of human desperation. Factory workers eating oil off machines to satisfy hunger.... and of public authorities creating special forces focused primarily on attacking the cannibalism that eventually developed.

One might think the end of this siege was a beautiful day for Russia. I'm sure it was in many ways, but I think it was probably also a quiet victory. An unbelieving sigh of relief, or whatever could be mustered up by the souls who still stood 900 days after suck darkness struck their city. The Red Army, an army of Russian revolutionaries, eventually brought defeat to the German forces.

My visit to the museum did good things for my curiosities about Russia, although, like I said, none actually lead me any closer to understanding The Brothers specifically. But, I'm just going to say that is okay. Because there is a lot to know about the world, and learning it a little at a time is just fine.