I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the bed last night. I woke up this morning feeling like I'd slept soundly all night. I've been physically exhausted all day. It's a good feeling, actually. Lisa really urged us to push ourselves - within our range of comfort - last night. She called it our "midterm." (Last night was our fourth class - three more to go.) I realize that I am facing a contradiction. Although I still don't think of yoga as a "workout," I do acknowledge that it is physical.

We finally got together with Craig today, and took him out to his birthday lunch at Zeek's Pizza. I always seem to make the mistake of wanting to take him out to someplace special, someplace nice - someplace that will put a dent in my budget. I forget that this is about him, not me. I forget that, in his world, a pizza place in Ravenna is someplace special, someplace nice - and someplace that is beyond his budget. I like Craig a lot.

After we dropped Craig off at home, Phillip dropped me off downtown. We were playing Armada again at two different libraries.

I had an odd sensation at the Central Library. Somehow, I couldn't remember the Book Spiral extending all the way to the Reading Room on the tenth floor before today. I thought, at first, that the Spiral had been extended. Then the whole Book Spiral seemed to be more open. It seemed easier to get on and off the stairs and into the Spiral. It felt like the building had changed. It didn't feel that way when I was there last Saturday. I remembered back to the first few times I visited this library, and thinking that once I got onto the Spiral, it was too difficult to get off again. Today, I was accessing every level of the Spiral with ease. I couldn't find any evidence that any new construction had taken place. Surely, they couldn't have changed the building so easily in just one week. Was I simply getting familiar with the place? Have the directional signs made that much difference? I didn't understand that feeling. I must remember to ask Barbara if anything had changed at the library.

I came home and finished reading the story of Don Victor. There is a lesson I can learn here, that applies to both ¡Piensa en Español! and yoga. I should listen to Pet and just "let it happen." The Don Victor story was difficult to me to read because of the irregular verbs and the verb tenses. I struggled with sentences like: "Éste es el caso de Don Víctor." What does that mean, I fretted: "This is the case with Don Victor." or "This was the case with Don Victor."? Then, two paragraphs later, I read "No recuerdo cuando murió." ("I don't remember when he died.") and my earlier question answered itself. I should let it happen at its own pace.

With one of the key office people still out (I don't know the story there), I was informed that, for the time being, I'll be working in the office three days a week, and in the clinic two. I'm not happy with that arrangement, and neither are my coworkers in the clinic, but I have no complaints - it's not like I'm being treated unfairly.

It was the three of us in the office all day. I worked through lunch, again. I missed the first meditation session of the month.

Around 4 o'clock, my lead went upstairs to meet with our manager. At 4:25, my office coworker left for the day (her normal leave time). I was in the office alone, and it was five minutes before the end of my day, and it was Friday and the day for my yoga class. What was keeping me there? I logged off of my computer. The phone started ringing. It is not unlike patients to call a clinic two minutes before closing time and talk for ten minutes. What if it wasn't a patient? What if it was Phillip? I answered the phone. It was our manager, asking if my lead had gotten back. As I was on the phone, I looked out the window and saw the early 60 go by. I taped the phone message to my lead's computer, and walked up to Broadway to catch the 9.

Contrary to popular belief, the buses in my neighborhood are rarely more than five minutes late. This afternoon, the 9 was late. I got home less than twenty minutes before I had to leave for yoga class. I remember that happening last Friday.

I am enjoying yoga a lot. This was the fourth class - three more to go. I was thinking, during class, that I could do another full session. The asanas (the yoga positions) are flowing more easily. I can comfortably and naturally hold them longer. I'm starting to remember the positions by name - as long as Lisa calls them by their English names. The Downward Facing Dog. The Upward Facing Dog. The Plank. The Child's Pose. The Cobra. The Mountain. When she uses the Sanskrit names, I have to look around at other students.

I took my mother's advice. I do that sometimes. Concerning my dilemma over the Bond novels - being faced with the cliffhanger in From Russia With Love, and yet not being in the mood for more 007 books - Mom pointed out that I don't have to read the whole book. Why not just borrow the book, she said, and start reading it long enough to find out what happens to James Bond? If I find I'm still not into it, I can just stop reading.

I searched the Seattle Public Library's web site for Doctor No, and found it on the shelf of the Capitol Hill branch. I checked it out on my way home yesterday.

A group email from Waldi yesterday - letting friends know that she and Eric and Cosima and Maya had survived all the Florida hurricanes - included my email address, of course, which is how Ron found me. He and I have exchanged emails catching up on the last five years.

Back in the Boeing days, I would have never predicted that Ron and Kanna would be parents. Some couples just don't strike me as future parents. Waldi and Eric: Parents for sure. Ron and Kanna: Never happen. That's what I thought. Things change over a five-year span. Back during Boeing, I would have never predicted myself sitting on a Church Council.

Friends are popping out of the past like never before. I feel like my brain has unkowingly sent out a wave that people all over the country are receiving. 2004 is the strangest year of my life. It seems to be going on forever.

I'm listening to "Anchorage," by Michelle Shocked, as I write this post. It is perfect for the mood.

A man phoned our clinic today and told me that he wanted to meet with a doctor. (When I first started working at this clinic, this sort of phone call was a paradigm shift for me. My previous clinic used controlled substances, so a person could never, ever schedule an appointment without a doctor's referral - although many people tried.) I questioned the man awhile about his situation and symptoms. He told me he'd been seeing doctors at another medical center, and had been told that he may ultimately need surgery, but he wanted to get a second opinion. I explained to him that what I could do for him would be to set up an initial consultation with one of our doctors, but that if our doctor determined that he needed surgery, we'd have to refer him to another clinic - we don't have surgeons in our clinic. That was fine with the caller. "So, you want to schedule an appointment, then?" I confirmed. That was what he wanted. I asked him if he'd ever been to Harborview before. No, he hadn't. I asked him for his Social Security number (to confirm that he was, indeed, new to our system). I asked him for his name. Then I asked him for his birth date.

"Excuse me," he stopped me, "but why are you asking me for this information?"

"So I can set up an account for you in our system, so I can schedule your appointment," I explained.

We continued through the rest of his information: address, home phone number, and work phone. Then I offered him our soonest appointment: eight clinic days from today.

"I'm sorry to have taken up your time," he stopped me again, "but I don't want to set up an appointment, after all."

"It was no trouble at all," I replied.

After he hung up, I complained silently about the time he'd taken out of my busy day, and about the medical record I'd needlessly created. Then I realized that what the man was really doing was seeing if we had any appointments sooner than his own doctor did. Then I saw the obvious clues he had given me: mentioning doctors at another medical center, and his surprise at my entering him into our system. My years of experience should have tipped me off, but it didn't this time.

All he had to do was be up front with me, and I would have gladly, and quickly, told him when our soonest opening would be.

I remembered a patient in my previous clinic. She'd been referred by an outside doctor, and absolutely refused to register with our medical center. I explained that the registration was necessary, in order for us to record the results of her scan. She didn't want there to be any record of her scan. I told her that that wouldn't be legal. She told me she didn't want The Government to be able to access her records. (I didn't point out that she was in a State hospital.) I explained to her that, without a record, there could be no report, and without a report, her doctor would never know what the scan had found. She suggested that our doctor phone her doctor with the results as soon as her scan is done. (The impossibility of sending a bill crossed my mind, but I knew that that would have been the wrong thing to point out. I thought about the difficulty that would arise if her doctor wasn't available by phone right away, and about the difficulty of her seeing a second doctor, who would have no record of her scan. But I saw that I would never persuade her.) I brought our manager into the conversation. I don't know he said to her, but the patient left without registering, and without having her scan done.

It's interesting to me how patients imagine the workings of a medical center.

The Queen Is Dead, the 1985 album by The Smiths, contains some of my most favorite and some of my least favorite Smiths songs. The title track is my least favorite song of all they ever did, and it's also the first song on the album. I sometimes worry that if someone were to listen to this album on my recommendation, they'd get the idea that every Smiths song sounds like The Queen Is Dead. They might like it, but to me, compared with other Smiths songs, it just sounds like a muddled rock 'n' roll song.

I mentioned Bigmouth Strikes Again in my previous post, and it's really not a bad song. It has that dancing, multi-layered guitar sound The Smiths were famous for. Morrissey's poetry is good ("And now I know how Joan of Arc felt / As the flames rose to her Roman nose / And her Walkman started to melt") - but it's just not, in my opinion, as clever as some of his other lyrics.

Frankly, Mr. Shankly and Vicar In A Tutu sound like novelty songs, while Never Had No One Ever and Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others come across like unfinished ideas.

This is the album, however, that contains I Know It's Over - a masterpiece of angst. ("I know it's over / Still I cling / I don't know where else I can go / I know it's over / And it never really began / But in my heart, it was so real / And you even spoke to me / And you said: / 'If you're so clever / Then why are you on your own tonight? / If you're so very entertaining / Then why are you on your own tonight? / If you're so terribly good-looking / Then why do you sleep alone tonight? / Because tonight is just like any other night / That's why you're on your own tonight / With your triumphs and your charms / While they are in each other's arms'")

This is the album that has Cemetry Gates, which, like most of Morrissey's lyrics, contains lines no rock song should. ("You say: 'ere thrice the sun hath done salutation to the dawn' / And you claim these words as your own / But I've read well and I've heard them said / A hundred times (maybe less, maybe more) / If you must write prose or poems / The words you use should be your own / Don't plagiarise or take 'on loan'")

There is The Boy With The Thorn In His Side, which combines Morrissey's off-key, arhythmic crooning with those strong, steady guitars so well - plus more terrific lyrics. ("And when you want to live / How do you start? / Where do you go? / Who do you need to know?")

And there is the song called There Is A Light That Never Goes Out, which turns The Smiths' own gloom-and-doom on its head. Here is the story of a person thrown out his own home, and gets so depressed that he plans a murder/suicide until he discovers that, yes, there is a light that never goes out.

Maybe it's because of reading How Soon Is Never? that I had the song "Bigmouth Strikes Again" stuck in my head all morning. It's not among my favorite Smiths' songs, and it's not a very good song to have stuck in your head at work. We don't have music here in the clinic, so there was nothing to replace it in my head. Then I got an email from Phillip that "our favorite Christmas song" - "Fairytale of New York," by The Pogues - was playing on the radio at his desk. Now it's the song in my head. That's much better.

This blog seems to have fallen completely out of Google's favor. Once upon a time, the words feeding squirrels work and a click on "I'm Feeling Lucky" would bring you right here. Later, a search for those three words would show this site about second or third on Google's list. This morning, I did that search and this blog is nowhere to be found - at least, not on the first 15 pages.

There is hope, however. A one-word search for feedingsquirrels is now the "Lucky" click.

(You may have noticed that I changed this bog's template yesterday.)

I helped Brian with Sunday School this morning. He tells me I should become a Sunday School teacher. I'm not convinced, yet, that it's my calling, but Brian seems to have faith in me, and so do several other congregation members. (No, I honestly don't think he's merely desperate for teachers.) I have time to think about it. It would be an easy hour on a Sunday morning.

After church, Phillip and I stopped by Value Village to drop off some clothes I no longer wear. (Some of those clothes, I'm sure, came from Value Village in the first place.) Then we went to IHOP on First Hill for their "Never-ending Popcorn Shrimp." We were told they'd run out of shrimp. (So, I guess there is an end to never-ending shrimp.) We left, and drove to the IHOP in the University District. They had shrimp, and it tasted good. (Yes, I know: not very vegetarian of me.) I asked Phillip if we could stop by The University Book Store, and he agreed, even though I hadn't told him why I wanted to go there.

I found what I was looking for: a copy of Living Buddha, Living Christ, by Thich Nhat Hanh. I'd looked for it at the library yesterday, and the one copy they have had at least two holds. I wanted it fairly soon. Besides, it's a good book to own.

When I volunteered, in September's Church Council meeting, to provide the Devotions for October's meeting, I had in mind the book I bought today - especially the section where Nhat Hanh wrote about how interbeing relates to The Holy Communion which, in turn, relates to mindfulness. I've been thinking about using this for Devotions ever since I first read the book this summer. I was too shy to volunteer for quite a while, however. It wasn't that I thought a Buddhist monk's writings would be inappropriate for a Lutheran Council. This is the same council, after all, in which LuAnn, whose husband is Quaker, read from Faith and Practices during Devotions. This is the same Lutheran church, after all, who invited a Muslim teacher to come to Adult Forum to teach us about Islam. I just didn't know what is appropriate for Devotions. What guidelines exist, if any do exist? I decided to be brave and find out. Today, I talked briefly with Barbara about Devotions, without mentioning what I had in mind. I learned that there are really no strict guidelines, except to find something interesting that will lead to a discussion. So, Living Buddha, Living Christ it is. What's the worst that can happen? Will they ask me to not provide Devotions again?

When we got home, I continued reading about "Don Victor" in ¡Piensa en Español! I'm having a difficult time reading this short article, for several reasons. Probably that biggest reason is that I have not yet learned to truly "think in Spanish." I still need to translate into English, and a lot of sentences in this article come out worded rather oddly when first translated.

"Muchas veces damos importancia a los personajes famosos conocidos mundialmente. Shakespeare, Alejandro Magno, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz son algunos ejemplos. Pero, ¿que pasa con otras personas que, aunque no sean reconocidas a nivel mundial, sí han dejando huellas en cientos de otros seres?"

The way I translated that last sentence, at first, was: "But, what happens with other people who, although they are not recognized worldwide, yes have left their marks on hundreds of other human beings?"

But "yes have left their marks" doesn't read right to me. Should that be "have left their positive marks," perhaps? Another thing that slows me down is that I don't know enough about Spanish verb tenses yet. Should that be "what happened," instead of "what happens?" The first sentence of the next paragraph is: "Éste es el caso de Don Victor." Does that mean "This is the case with Don Victor," or "This was the case with Don Victor?" Is the fellow still alive?

Also, in that list of "algunos ejemplos" (some examples) of "los personajes famosos" (famous personalities), it took me a long while to figure out who "Alejandro Magno" is. Then I realized that "Magno" is a title, not a name. It is Alexander The Great.

I'm still learning.