Annual fill-up

There has never been a better time to have an electric (well, hybrid) car. I drive my Honda Clarity to/from clinic and the hospital using the charge, and only fill gas about once per year (usually in January), just to ensure that the tank is cleared out. It takes me several weeks of around-town driving to burn the existing gas in the car (which I start doing in late December).

With gas costing approximately five dollars a gallon in California, it's lovely to only have to make one trip there per year. My grand total of gas for the year was $29.06.

Clean tushies in these parts

I have a houseful of boys.  As you can imagine, potty talk among two- and five-year-olds is pretty common and I try not to react too much when they're joking about it.  I will write about it, though---this post is all about pottying, so skip it if this stuff is gross to you.

The bidet
During the start of the COVID crisis and when people were freaking out about toilet paper, bidets seemed to be becoming a popular investment. I had actually never used on before in my life, although from what I've seen (they are popular across Asia), read, and learned (Stuff You Should Know has a great recent episode on bidets), they are very eco-friendly and better at getting the job done than TP.  This week (despite having plenty of toilet paper in stock), Kelvin decided that it was time for us to get one. He chose a very basic model from Tushy, without bells/whistles or heated water or a seat, and installed it yesterday. We've all (except Niall) tried it out and it works well!  You do have to "pat dry" (we have plenty of cloth prefold diapers we can use), but I think it is a great investment, both from an environmental and hygiene perspective (I joke that the piano was my quarantine toy, and this is Kelvin's!).

Butt-wiping in kids
Iver is five and a half and possibly attending public kindergarten this year (which is still up in the air per our school district for another couple of weeks after a very inconclusive board meeting this week).  He can wipe his own butt and does an okay job (he's taken the "first pass" for many months), but doesn't like to do the task and asks one of us (usually me ["MOOOOOOMM!!"']) to wipe after him (he's very regular, going in the morning and sometimes after dinner, so having to wipe when not at home with us is a rare thing). I was pretty sure that busy and underpaid kindergarten public school teachers didn't have time to wipe their students' butts if they poop at school, so I told Iver that I was drawing the line, and that he'd be on his own this August (August 1st, or tomorrow, to be exact), although I polled a Facebook mom group to be sure that this was developmentally/age- appropriate and not too mean (I got some many great replies, including suggesting "practicing" with peanut butter in a bowl [although Iver is probably still allergic so we'd have to use an alternative nut butter) or with balloons [check out this awesome video with instruction targeting Asian kids who appear far younger than five], and reassurance that I should "let him fly"). We just got the bidet set up (which Iver knew was on its way) and smart kid he is, he said, "I won't have to wipe-- I'll just use the bidet! (Obviously, most places in the US don't have one, so the skill of wiping is still necessary!).

Potty training our youngest
Aah, I can't wait until the day that diapers and pull-ups are behind us! Iver potty trained quite easily around age two, although he wore nighttime pull-ups for another two years. Niall (almost two-and-a-half) has been a bit more challenging during the day, despite being in underwear for several months. Sometimes (even recently), he'll have multiple pee (and occasional poop) accidents during the day, requiring more laundry than I'd like (but still less than multiple loads of cloth diaper laundry), but I think we've turned a corner and they are rare now (we also bring a tiny Baby Bjorn potty in the car when we're out anywhere). He's even woken up dry from overnight a handful of times, which is really encouraging and one day had escaped his crib and was crying at the door to his room at 5 a.m. that he had to go pee. While life with two kids has certainly been getting easier as they get older and more independent, I think we'll have a more marked leap in adult satisfaction and peace when diapers are a thing of the past!

Here's to hoping for very clean tushies all around here going forward!

Earth Day 2020

Social Costs of Isolation and Words of Grief and Comfort Amidst the Unknown

A lot has changed in a week since I last blogged.

Kelvin and the clinic system has moved to "mitigation" for COVID-19 trying to conduct mostly tele-health visits, and having "ambassadors" screen patients at the front doors for any signs of infection (our county reported its second case yesterday). With a big outbreak down south, the whole state of California is on "shelter in place" likely for several weeks (or months), allowing outings only for essential needs (grocery shopping, medical appointments) or open-air exercise, and all of the public schools are closed for the near future.

It's been a (mostly emotionally) exhausting week, between all the time Kelvin has had to spend on the phone coordinating the organization's planning and implementation, figuring out the specifics of the childcare situation (now planning for door ambassadors and no parents inside), and the sheer amount of labor at work reassuring and educating patients and their families about this infection, prognosis, and what the future might hold (with tons of triage calls and MyChart messages -- see the Washington Post article about what the coronavirus is doing to people with anxiety and also how health care workers are starting to suffer from "Pre-TSD") .

Our kids (and those of other "essential workers") are still allowed to attend their daycare, but in small groups (and obviously only if healthy, with screening and prevention measures above). Then, in the evenings and on the weekend, we are attempting to do our best entertaining our little ones in our homes and immediate outdoor space, while trying to limit the tech/screen time while staying sane so we can just catch our breaths (we adults have definitely been on our devices too much and our constant conversation/planning as a result is only feeding the burnout). It's so hard to try to explain to a two-year-old, who still, hopefully, asks "park?" at pick-up that, "No, son, we aren't able to do that for a while" or telling both kids that kisses are not recommended.

Fighting a virus as an enemy has made for a pretty lonely life and has me pretty much dreading the weeks and months (and years?) ahead (I thought the year 2016 was a bad one! Then there were fires, and power outages. 2020 just said "Hold my Corona!"). 

Last year, I listened to a TED Talk and read the book Lost Connections by Johann Hari, which really resonated with me with regards to its discussion of the biopsychosocial model of mood disorders (depression and anxiety) and contextualized the current epidemic of such afflictions.  While I prescribe SSRIs and other medications for mood in many patients, many of whom report that they are helped by the drugs, medications aren't the only answer. Meditation and mindfulness, time in nature rather than on screens or technology, finding purpose and joy in work, in-person or one-on-one relationships, therapy, and exercise can often be far more effective in treating such concerns than pharmacologic agents, and many of us rely on such measures to cope with the stressors of daily life.

However, now many people have had these coping mechanisms pulled out from under them with the recent orders to remain "socially (really physically) distant."  Being confined mostly inside to our homes, often tempted to use screens to connect, feels unsatisfying and, even for me, a strong introvert, has felt incredibly lonely.  Thinking that this will be our "new normal" for weeks, months, or longer, is hard to fathom.  For those of us who are anchored by plans, we feel lost and for me, "getting the virus" (or even dying from it) feels like the least scary part of all of the unknowns.

We talk about the direct health care costs of the this virus (people sick, lives lost, etc.) and I don't mean to imply that they are not certainly grave (nor do I question that these home isolation measures are needed. THEY ARE.). However, I worry--about my kids, my family, my patients, and of course my neighbors, co-workers, and community members-- and about how their futures look in a post-pandemic (but not really because another one could come at any time) life (assuming they survive).  There is a definite huge, depression-scale economic cost for our country and many others, due to individuals' losses of jobs or job security and overwhelming financial stressors (i.e. not even knowing how they can pay for groceries or rent) as a result of the order to "shelter in place."  I do recognize that I am extremely blessed to not have such concrete concerns at this moment and feel totally sick for those who do. But even more far-reaching than financial implications alone is how these circumstances shape our psyches and souls.

As a healer and a feeler, I am grieving all of the psychologic costs that we will all incur as a result of this virus.  The owner of my kids' daycare is facing the reality of having to close her doors and lay off her team of extremely caring employees as she does not feel right about charging ongoing tuition to families whose children can't attend due to our current advisories (and thus cannot pay her teachers).  She's not sure if she'll be able to keep her doors open after this all settles down, and has been distraught with this prospect.  For this, and for all the kids that won't be able to see their friends and teachers, I, too, have been in tears. Teachers, especially those in early childhood education, are arguably society's greatest asset (see "An Open Letter to the Teachers" by Tricia Lott Williford, below) and they are sadly missed. Kids will undoubtedly endure trauma from their school closures, loss of socialization, loss of those attachments to these caregivers that they formed, and the disruption of their routines.

Will kids ever feel secure again in their young worlds, especially those who are already quite anxious (like one of mine)?  Will they remember how stressed their parents were with all the talk about COVID-19 which (in a two-physician household) dominates our workdays as well as our after-work time?  Will our family units and marriages, confined to small spaces, survive the stress on one another? Will kids be able to accompany parents to stores and walk around not seeing people in scary masks? Will we have to wear gloves and neurotically wipe down handles of car doors, knobs, grocery carts, and food packaging indefinitely (this behavior is totally foreign to a non-germaphobe like me and feels impossible to sustain)?  Will we feel comfortable visiting our far away but elderly/immunosuppressed relatives, even if we know it might be our last chance to connect?  Can we hug our friends, kiss our kids, and socialize closer than 6 feet apart? Will we ever feel safe booking international travel or vacations (it scares me how recent our return from South America was before this all hit the fan in the U.S.)? What happens to tourism (will Americans be even more reluctant to leave our shores to explore some of the awesome parts of our planet)?  Will people feel comfortable planning weddings months or years in advance?  Will we feel safe in meetings and schools, basketball arenas and concert halls?  Will we want to re-congregate in churches and in theaters and go out to crowded restaurants?

Or will we be forced to live in the silos of our homes, fearful of the novel pathogens our neighbors may bring to us or us to them and practice social isolation indefinitely?   Will we not feel comfortable donating goods and items to others, or buying things secondhard for fear that they're contaminated? What good will come from this test (other than notably cleaner air and water)?  Will we find that technology (Facebook, FaceTime, text messages, etc.) can in fact really bring us together rather than pushing us apart and away from our loved ones? (Will kids be able to, without a power struggle, go back from using screens for learning and play to more constructive, physical play both in and out of doors?).  Will working from home become the default for many businesses including in medicine, where physical touch is so important and has been one of those things lost with using computers and electronic heavy-on-the-clicks medical records for charting? Is that a good or a bad thing for us humans as social beings?

Will we remember how hard we and neighbors were hit and change our behavior, hearts, and minds about things which previously seemed not to be threats to our own lives and liberty? Will we realize how few things we actually need and conserve accordingly? Will anti-vaxxers now trust their doctors and scientists and choose to vaccinate, their eyes opened to what a world without immunity looks like?  Will we have more or less faith in our public leaders, who have let us down in a big way by firing pandemic teams, defunding public health departments, and ignoring scientists (among other things)? Will people recognize the importance of health insurance and access to health care, because even the young and otherwise healthy are not invincible when faced with an equal-opportunity microscopic enemy? Will social safety net programs become popular and well-funded because, well, you never know if you'll be in need?  Will we, when many parents will be forced to stay home and homeschool (not out of choice), realize the extreme value of our nation's public schools and teachers (and pay them accordingly)? Will we have more, or less, trust in our neighbors based on their actions in these times? Do we think that people will do the moral and right thing, or act act in their own self-interests (like hoarding toilet paper)? Will we come again together as one nation, seeing how interconnected we all are, after being divided and socially isolated both in the past years and in recent times?

Only time will tell.

Writing words here on my blog is somewhat of an outlet for my emotions in such uncertain, scary times. Here are some more powerful words I read recently to get you through.

Pandemic

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love–
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

   –Lynn Ungar

And especially for all of the terribly underpaid and undervalued teachers out there, who truly hold together our world and save our children, my thoughts and prayers are with you. Please re-read John Pavlovitz's article about these superheroes and these touching words from by Tricia Lott Williford which had me in tears yesterday (and up at 4 a.m.).

The Sadness is Real: An Open Letter to the Teachers

"What's keeping you awake at night?" A friend of mine asks this question when she wants to get the to the heart of what's on the minds of the people she loves. The worries that keep us awake at night can point to the core of who we are.

What's on my mind tonight? The teachers. It's 3:00 in the morning, and I can't get you out of my mind.

You didn't plan on this. And let's be honest: teachers are planners. This is one giant curveball.

You were gearing up for spring break - that's all the time off you needed. One week off, and then you had plans to head into the homestretch of the school year, the weeks we've all been waiting for. The most fun units that you save for springtime. The sentimental traditions. The finish lines. That last stretch where your team rounds third base and heads for home plate.

And now this, the closure that was one week, then two, and now four, probably eight, but who really knows?

I taught kindergarten and third grade, and the thought of someone taking my kiddos away from me in those last weeks? Well, it has me awake tonight, feeling so very sad for you.

I would have worried for the kids who were hungry - for food, yes, but also for soul care. For eye contact. For morning hugs and high-fives and secret handshakes. There's so much you can learn by looking at your students, by the way they slump over their desk during a spelling test and the way they hold the book too close or too tight when they're in the reading corner. You have spent months, weeks, days, and a million moments with them. Your heartstrings are tied to them, and now your heart feels stretched in so many directions that it's frayed down the middle.

A kindergarten teacher I know lined her kiddos up for the "last day," and one of her students said, "Well, I hope I see you again." Oh, bless it all. That's too much. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

In beginning literacy, we teach them that every good story has a beginning, middle, and an end… but your ending just got interrupted.

I get you, teachers.

In a week's time, you’ve gone from being overlooked and underpaid, to now finally being recognized as some of the most important players who keep our world spinning. You're the glitter and the glue.

And I hear you saying, "Right. We knew that, actually. Now can everybody just follow directions so we can get this virus under control and I can have my students back? We've got work to do."

I hear you, teachers. I get you.

You can call it work, but really it's love.

You had more loving to do this year, and you thought you had more time.

I can't fix it for you. But I know a thing or two about grief, and there's a lot to be said for naming what is sad and letting it be sad. So I can sit in the space with you, I can lie awake at night with you on my mind, and I can get up to tell you this: the grief is real and valid and yours.

Grief means you loved well.

Thank you for loving our kids this hard, this much, this well.

And so as to not to end on too negative a note, here are some photos from our fresh-air time outside last weekend (prior to the shelter-in-place order but in the spirit of social distancing. We skipped church to take a walk), where the sun's rays gently kissed our faces.

Thank God for beautiful Trinidad Head, and for us living near such lovely outdoor spaces.

Sunny street

Walk in Arcata's Community Forest

And, now indoors, here's are some snaps from a Vu Family group Face-chat today!

Lovin' on the dog Pepper (who is delighted we're home so much!)


Stay safe and as positive as you can be, everyone! Pray for one another and strengthen your virtual connections for now. 

Resolutions 2020: LESS

So many people consciously make New Year's Resolutions every year. I am not one of those people; however, it seems like a great time to put out there that I would like to make my personal THEME of 2020 (and even the next decade) to be..... LESS.

It definitely has much do with the state of our planet.  A friend posted on Facebook these great graphics from National Geographic UK., and they (as well as the devastating photos and stories of the raging Australian wildfires) are an important reminder of how fragile our planet is right now. I've become pretty good at shunning almost all single-use plastics from my life, including traveling with stainless steel cutlery sets, drinking plain tap water, and trying to buy lotion/shampoo/conditioner bars or toiletries in bulk, and I will try to be even better about encouraging all of those around me to do the same and to use and trash less (I will become an anti-waste evangelist, if you will).

I am also working on having our family waste less food (while I'm a big food rescuer, not all individuals in my household feel the same way about the plight of leftovers). We tend to do once-a-week grocery shopping on Saturdays, but I'm finding that sometimes too-far-in-advance planning sometimes leads to changed plans and thus ensuing waste which causes me a lot of guilt. We may start to do smaller/more frequent trips to the store, and buy things when they are more urgently needed. I'm trying to make smaller batches of dinners so that there are fewer leftovers (even though I hate cooking any more times than I absolutely have to) and (although I love variety) I am really trying to make only those meals that four our out of four people will likely happily eat.

While not (yet) a vegetarian or vegan, I am also consciously eating less meat (I think I could do fine without beef, personally), and trying to (for mostly environmental, but also health) reasons trying to embrace a more plant-based diet.


I am really trying to keep our lives simple and just have less. Despite not wanting family/friends to go overboard, the solstice birthday/Christmas influx of toys and gifts was overwhelming for both my kids and us, and it's made us really think hard about what we want to keep out and around here and what we prioritize. Too many toy choices leads to indecision and poor attention spans, as well as less in-depth play, and I try to keep only a small proportion of toys accessible at any given time (rotating things into the closet, etc.). I've even (gasp) withheld or put away gifts to be brought out months later on a rainy day, or even given some away for Toys for Tots or other toy drives (and hope that I can convince my kids to be on board, knowingly, with these efforts in the future rather than having to do it sneakily).  I/we really value gifts of experiences, and I vow to be better about being the giver (and not only the recipients) of gifts like these in the true spirit of not promoting consumerism and the acquisition/production of more stuff to clutter our homes and planet.

Upon returning from our East Coast trip, I have been in a big New Year's cleaning mood and am eager to PURGE many of our old baby/kids' and household items, finding new homes for things that we used and have loved well but which no longer spark joy. De-cluttering now (and not waiting for spring or later) à la Marie Kondo feels so freeing, and it is a great New Year's tradition to maintain (but discarding non-essential things should be a year-round activity). I'd much prefer to have fewer, high-quality toys, clothes, books, etc., instead of a larger quantity of things to clutter our mental and physical spaces. In addition to clearing out things that we don't really need, I've also tried to be much more mindful about things I purchase (making myself really ruminate prior to buying something I could possibly do really well without). I am making a point to, when items are truly needed, buy things used, or get things from local vendors/smaller businesses (rather than buying from big corporations or requiring shipping packaging). I am definitely prioritizing owning higher quality and longer-lasting items even if they're more expensive in the short-term.  In terms of just quantities of stuff, I plan to keep and obtain much less.

I also want to strive to do less in 2020 and lead a more simple life. I am an active, task-oriented doer, and am very guilty of being a super multi-tasker in the spirit of productivity. I'm making a point to slow down and try to smell the roses a bit more (check out this great WP article which captures the essence of my frantic feeling!). Rather than being stressed about my to-do list, I will try to fully embrace watching my children play and discover the world around them and to slow down to play more with them. I am starting to be able to let some things go (learning the skill of semi-procrastination, which is against my nature!) and to not have to feel the pressure to get so many things done right away (fewer things are truly urgent than I once thought). I will be better about saying "no" to people and events that bring more stress than joy. I desire to travel less, and want to spend more time in the area of home and the beautiful tree- and nature-filled area in which we live. I want to spend less time on social media and with the distraction of the smart phone and more time diving deep into good books or other high quality entertainment and connecting in person (or via conversations rather than via text) with those whom I love.

 Less can be more (rewarding). Bring on subtraction 2020!

Flight shame, eco-anxiety, and the personal struggle

I recently came across an article in Time magazine about "flygskam," a Swedish term translated to "flight shame," the concept (also discussed in the Washington Post, among other sites) being that in these times, traveling via air, instead of by land/train, or not traveling at all, is looked down upon as it is a major contributor to climate change.  The article really struck me, because, while I would consider myself very environmentally preoccupied (to the point of struggling with "eco anxiety," (identified in 2011 by the APA as the "dread and helplessness that come with 'watching the slow and seemingly irrevocable impacts of climate change unfold, and worrying about the future for oneself, children, and later generations.'”), I also love to travel. And because I live in a rural area of Northern California, far from family and old friends, don't have access to a rail (like is lacking in our country throughout), and have two young kids, car travel isn't at the top of my list of efficient/enjoyable ways to get around and so we do fly quite a bit.

What are some other ways we as individuals can decrease our carbon footprint?  (check out this CNN informational quiz here)
- avoid single-use plastic or other disposable items (like diapers, cups, forks, and straws)
- buy less stuff and upcycle used items
- eat less beef
- buy in bulk
- use less water
- walk, bike, or travel by train, carpool
- have fewer kids


We use cloth diapers in our home, try to potty train early (and plan no no more children).
We compost.
We use washcloths to wipe the kids' hands and faces after meals, cloth napkins, and (washable) bamboo paper towels.
I bring a water bottle with me everywhere and basically refuse to ever get other drinks when out and about that use a plastic/disposable cup or straw.
I have stainless steel straws and cutlery that comes with me in my diaper bag.
I use my own thermal mug any time I get a coffee when out (which is rare).
We rarely eat out when not on the road (and try to bring our own containers for leftovers).
We use reusable produce and shopping bags.
I rescue leftovers like no one I have ever encountered before (hence the blog title) and take great pains to never throw out food.
I take short showers and have moved to washing my hair a few times per week rather than daily (Kelvin and Iver shower together and Pepper gets to bathe in Niall's water when he's done), getting by with dry shampoo.
I buy shampoo in bulk at our local Co-op or use a shampoo bar, and bar soap instead of plastic-packaged bodywash.
I buy hand soap in large containers and use less with using foamer dispensers.
I try to wrap presents (especially family Christmas presents) in reusable cloth bags.
I drive a (plug-in hybrid) electric car, and drive fewer than five miles most days (and fill gas less than once per year).
I rinse out and reuse Ziploc bags until they have no life in them yet, and have some silicone zippered bags that we use in our home freezer.
I buy about 98% of my kids' clothes and shoes used.
I vote (for progressive candidates who care for the environment and for state ballot measures like high-speed SoCal-NorCal trains).

I have backed off in meat consumption, particularly beef, as I don't really find that I miss it (see this article mentioning a trade of beans for beef). I've taken to quinoa, eggs (although never being much of an egg-eater) and nuts for most of my protein, and truthfully could get by with eating what Kelvin terms "rabbit food," (including things like crackers/cheese and fruit/veggies). My youngest, Niall, seems to be pretty meat-averse and, while anemic, he and I could probably be vegetarians together (Kelvin and Iver, however, would be harder to convince. "What is this "queen-oh?!" thing, Iver asks, when he sees quinoa [and he wasn't a fan]). I haven't tried the plant-based/meatless "Impossible" and other burgers, but would like to, sometime soon.

These are all things that are easy for me to do.

But then there is the struggle when things aren't as easy.  What do you do when your inclination to help the environment makes something less convenient or more time-intensive, or more costly (in terms of finances), when you are (like I am) someone particularly busy and/or frugal? I am often torn between these priorities. I'm no Greta Thunberg.

When I don't like to cook (and toddlers don't like to sit still in restaurants), calling for take-out saves me some time and sanity (but creates waste, even though we ask for no silverware and no napkins).
We sometimes use those (environmentally awful) fruit/veggie pouches to feed to the kids when on the go or traveling.
We get Blue Apron meal deliveries a couple of weeks out of the month, which saves us (me) a lot of time in meal planning, although the plastic bag/waste really bothers me (recycling the materials is possible, but not very easy).
I drink sparkling water in cans sometimes when on the go, even though I have a Sodastream sparkling water maker in our kitchen and try to drink just plain tap water, rather than juice, alcoholic beverages, soda, or anything else in general.
I hate in-store shopping with a passion (doing it with kids is hard, but even alone I hate it and find it inconvenient and time intensive), and I often buy things online, with the associated shipping/packaging issue.
When we travel or our out for the day, we use disposable diapers.
I sometimes keep the small-volume hotel shampoo/conditioners, because it's annoying to not be able to pack a normal-sized shampoo without checking a bag (and that added cost), although I don't like the idea of tons (or more) of those small bottles being encouraged to be out in circulation (although Kelvin tells me that the hotels may refill them if you use the contents but leave them there).
I hate being cold and am guilty of wanting our home temperature to be closer to 70 degrees than 60 during the day, or using space heaters at work so that I can think better.

As I get older (or more eco-anxious because of what I fear is the trajectory of our planet for my kids and subsequent generations, especially in light of our country's current leaders and overall thoughtlessness, if not outright malicious intent, with regards to preserving our environment), I am finding myself more and more being willing to pay higher prices for something-- whether it be local food, or an item of clothing that is more pricey but higher quality or which supports sustainable causes (like some  $125 Rothys, some cute [and machine-washable] shoes made out of recycled water bottles that I recently purchased and were proud to wear). I am lucky to be able to afford doing so, but many people unfortunately don't have that luxury-- and will buy processed (more unhealthy and heavily packaged) food or shop at Walmart for cheaply-made items. Average Americans don't want their jobs shipped overseas or to China-- but they're not willing to pay for American-made items because they cost more...

... but at what cost to our (one, precious) planet and for future generations?


While I literally feel sick to my stomach when I accept a disposable straw when out and about or see them at fairs and large public settings, it doesn't mean I will never drink from one.  I just vow to do it far more infrequently (and to try to, as gently as possible, encourage others to do the same).


I told Kelvin that this year (2019), I was fine not traveling anywhere far as an international destination, more for reasons of ease with two young kids than for flygskam, but I think it was a good decision for our family (and the earth. Except that he still wants to jet over to the Dominican Republic for Christmas). While all of the above doesn't mean that I'll stop flying altogether (the U.S. really needs to get its act together regarding public transportation systems, taking some guidance from progressive Europe), because it does bring me considerable joy, I will try to do it less.


While no one can be perfect, I strive to do better-- progress, not perfection, is my goal (and I hope it'll be yours, too).  The health/survival of our planet does really depend on it (us).
 

 from "Make Earth Great Again"

Sunshine vs. Pollen

We live in temperate coastal Northern California. While we do have seasonal drier/sunnier spells, the temperature here rarely exceeds 65 degrees on a *warm* summer day.

We had a warm patch and, today, it hit a true summer temp of 87 degrees in our town of McKinleyville! My car, sitting in the sun, registered 93 when I got in it.  While it may just be global warming to blame, I do love summer weather like this (as I loved the dry Sacramento heat, even though it was regularly in the 100s-110s in the summer, including on our 105-degree wedding day).  I rarely get to wear shorts and tank tops.

I really wish I could, without reservation, take advantage of and enjoy our summer weather-- to head to the beach, go for a run, or sit outside and read. However, I am beat down by seasonal pollen allergies. While I've suffered from springtime hayfever nearly everywhere I've lived, living in Humboldt has been about the worst. It starts with congestion and cough usually in April (with the whole season lasting until July) but the worst and most bothersome symptom I suffer is itchy eyes to the point of  rubbing my eyeballs and eyelids raw (which is the price I pay for spending significant amounts of time outside, particularly in windy conditions, like at backyard barbeques, parades, or park time).  About five years ago, I was allergy tested, and learned that I'm extremely allergic to grass and tree pollen. I was offered desensitizing shots, but couldn't make the weekly commitment to drive to Eureka with my work/life schedule.  I've considered it a lot of times since, but never made the plunge.

This year, I've used my usual regimen of neti pot/flonase/zyrtec/prescription singulair and patanol eye drops, along with Visine antihistamine eye drops. Val, a co-worker who recently completed some acupuncture training, stuck needles in my face and ear one lunch break at work (regretfully, I did not catch a photo).   I also recently purchased sun goggles, picture below, which I bought in a desperate attempt to keep the pollen out of my eyes more than regular sunglasses to allow some periodic outdoor ventures. It was so summery today that I decided to test them out on a short run. While not the most fashionable, they seemed functional and I haven't been sneezing as much as I'd normally do after even 30 minutes outdoors (and haven't had to ice my eyeballs).

The kids have been enjoying the weather. We attended a nice backyard party at a going away party for Anne and Jasen C. in Trinidad on Sunday, Iver loved trekking down to the nearby beach. 

 

Niall loves to play in our back yard.

While the temperature is supposed to drop twenty degrees to go back to our usual average high of 65 degrees tomorrow, I'll keep you posted on whether my new "allergy goggles" allow me to enjoy our rare sunny spring and summer sunny days.

Super Bloom!

We have had torrential rains in Nor Cal and it's been rainy throughout California this winter, leading to perfect conditions for a rare (about once per decade) but spectacular year for super (flower) blooms in the normally pretty arid desert regions of Southern California. The colorful fields of wildflowers can even be seen from space.


We drove about an hour east of Orange County on Monday to check out the blooming Golden poppies (Eschscholtzia californica, California's state flower) near Walker Canyon/Lake Elsinore.  While there was long stretch (a half-mile or so) of parked cars to pass to even start to walk on the trail, we hear it was far busier over the weekend with long lines to even exit the highway. It was lovely to see the orange poppies (also known as the Flame Flower or the Copa de Oro [cup of gold]) up close.

Cousins! Kingston, fresh back from a trip to Italy, was a trooper

"Poppy-napping," like in the Wizard of Oz!

We could NOT get Niall to crack a smile.

(the only snaps with a grin)

"Papi" and the poppies

 

This one hams it up for the camera

Attempts at a family portrait

 The boys wanted to hike for "just a little bit more" on the trails.

Where's Iver?

 

 

Enjoying a packed lunch before heading home

 The Super Bloom was truly super! Check it out if you're close!