View from the Top

This view of ocean and rugged coast is taken from Colorado Point looking east. When I think of Aruba, this is an image etched into my soul. Years ago there was an old abandoned concrete structure on the east side of Colorado Point that was partially broken down such that the slab and the back wall were all that remained. Surrounded by cactus and "seven day itch" plants, hiking out to this point through the scrub, dodging inhospitable vegetation and negotiating the uneven terrain was a challenge. But my friend Roberta and I fearlessly made this journey many times, occasionally in flip flops (dumb). We would take drawing pads and a box of pastels, the goal being to capture this magnificent view on paper. I still have some of these attempts at "art". I remember being fascinated by the way the waves crashed against the rock ledge, lifting salt spray and foam high into the air, only to be sucked back into the ocean again and again. Although I could never successfully capture what I was seeing, the time spent was peaceful and absorbing as I created my visual interpretation of the energy and beauty of what we witnessed. Partially shaded by the upright portion of this mostly open air structure, we would sit for hours, chatting, listening to the lizards scurry through the underbrush, feeling the gusts of warm breeze, watching the waves pound the coastline, and sketching.

I remember feeling unencumbered and free. As a young teenager, I knew little else. Sitting with a friend on Colorado Point, at the top of my world; what else to feel but joy and ease? My world was right. Even then I appreciated the chance to sit in the midst of nature and to share with someone else the awe of just being "out there".

Turning Resistance into Acceptance

Allow

There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt,
containing a tornado. Dam a
stream and it will create a new
channel. Resist, and the tide
will sweep you off your feet.
Allow, and grace will carry
you to higher ground. The only
safety lies in letting it all in –
the wild and the weak; fear,
fantasies, failures and success.
When loss rips off the doors of
the heart, or sadness veils your
vision with despair, practice
becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your
known way of being, the whole
world is revealed to your new eyes.

by Danna Faulds from collection of poetry
Poems from the Heart of Yoga

This poem speaks deeply to me. My recent state of mind is fraught with struggle against what simply is, striving to make what is into something that it can never be, and expending valuable energy fighting against the disconnect between what I want to be my reality and what is my reality. Asking that acceptance wash over me to melt away the pain that comes "when loss rips off the doors of the heart, or sadness veils your vision with despair", I strive for peace within my heart so that I may share with those dearest to me, the calm, patience, and love that is most needed in this moment. Now.

Connection

When I look at these images, I see the same gorgeous branching from a common source; the angiogram of the kidney on the left and the barren tree on the right. It is another example of finding the art in the science. I still haven't queried my pathology colleagues about whether they feel the beauty in the microscopic images they see everyday (see post on The Art in the Science). I will also need to ask my radiology colleagues if they find the detailed vasculature of internal organs in the silhouetted ghost of trees in winter.

Spinning Lady

Are you right brain or left brain driven? Are you a combination? Who knows what all this means anyway. Whatever the debate may be, I do know that many of us were mesmerized this holiday weekend by the "spinning lady" image. Whether we saw her spin clockwise, counterclockwise or switching between the two, the concept had us in awe of the fact that what we see is our own perception and may or may not be what someone else experiences at the very same moment. I found the descriptions of right and left brained people interesting but most of us find we are some sort of blend; that we can see the image spin both ways although often one is predominant. Fun stuff.

And now, Thanksgiving holiday weekend is winding to a close. November is almost over. The days have been clear, crisp, and sunny although definitely short. Darkness descends by 4:30 PM give or take. Tonight both kids are out the door, work starts again tomorrow and I just zapped a plate of leftover turkey, sweet potato and squash in the microwave. Delicious. I plan to resist the next phase of holiday decorating for as long as possible. The tree, the lights, the Christmas nick-nacks; it will just have to wait. I really want to enjoy a bit more of autumn before plunging into the holiday looming ahead.

Getting back to the spinning lady again; I see her rotating clockwise 90% of the time and only every now and then do I find her dancing to the right. What do you all see?

Bittersweet

If some of life's moments pass by me as ordinary, almost forgettable, others stand out, made special because of tradition or their own uniqueness. These moments are often infused with a healthy dose of bittersweet. The metaphor "bittersweet" speaks profoundly to me, especially on days when joy, magic, and connection attach tenaciously to an underbelly of loss, vulnerability, and sadness. This was Thanksgiving Day for me this year. From the post on the Wednesday before with its upbeat mood of anticipation comes the more tempered reality of my life. It's not that bittersweet is not good; it may be life's greatest gift to see the pain in the pleasure or better yet, the pleasure in the pain. It's a reality that is sometimes tough to walk because the balance between the bitter and the sweet is always one of perception and experienced uniquely.

Thanksgiving was warm and delicious. I was surrounded by people that I love and who love me back. Memories of past Thanksgivings brought laughs and a sense that as life marches on, this particular day stands out. Stringing all these (Thanksgiving) days together in my mind forms one long train of cars, exploding with abundance, connection, and gratitude.

Thanksgiving also stirs up memories and thoughts that whisper loudly to me that every breath changes us and moves us farther along into an unknown place, one that we never control. For someone resistant to most change, struggling to maintain and balance the present now for the long haul, I realize that this is not the nature of living. All this verbiage is my way of alluding to the specific pain in my heart, the bitter of the season: when we gather again for the next Thanksgiving who will I be and who will be with me? Said another way: what will be for those two loved ones who raised me and whose life this past 18 months has been fraught with great challenge and loss, whose connection to me is infinite yet finite, who I see slipping away from me, who are either on my heart or hands, and whose vulnerability and need for protection is sometimes all that is left? This is the bitter in my sweet.

** The botanical print is the bittersweet plant; at once lovely, utilitarian and poisonous (berries and leaves).

Thanksgiving

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving has always been my favorite day of the year. Anticipation of the next-day family gathering with the plates piled high with terrific food in the soft, fading light of a late fall day is an obvious reason. But there is more. If I'm at work on that day, the mood shifts to a more pleasant, upbeat level and there is unusual camaraderie and sharing of Thanksgiving traditions. Then there is the knowledge, if I am lucky enough to not be on call, that a 4 day holiday weekend is about to begin; blessed time to think about and do things out of the routine. Preparation of some of the much loved side dishes, like the squash and sweet potatoes and even the pies (when I was making them from scratch) is a much loved Wednesday before task. And the evening tradition of eating pizza with the kids and watching Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving video is magic.

Years ago, in high school and college, Thanksgiving was a time to travel to be with family or friends. Houston, Cincinnati, New York City, Watertown were some of my destinations since Aruba was too far for such a short trip. As a young adult in Houston, we usually gathered at MM's house and in later years since moving to Seattle, our meals have always been at our home. The cast and the location may change, but the feelings are much the same each year; grateful for all the blessings and the chance to pause and consider all the bounty that is. And, although in recent years there seems to be more media hype about Thanksgiving, in general the focus is ahead to Christmas, leaving Thanksgiving refreshingly free from the pressures of gift giving, greeting cards and decorations.

But the Wednesday before; ahhhhh, these moments contain the magic for me. Today is that day and as I write this post from my bed, the sky is turning bright. We will likely have some sun today in the midst of barren trees, fallen leaves, and chill. Laura is home. Chris will be coming home later in the day and we will be blessed with another chance to sit together, tease and laugh, eat, and experience the wonder of our opportunities. Thanksgiving to me is about pausing to honor blessings in our lives: family, friends, bounty, good food shared, reflection, connection and joy.

Happy Thanksgiving.

The Art in the Science

The Glomerulus: Filter of Life

Thirty years ago, sitting in a lecture hall at UT Medical School at Houston (can it be that long ago?) I remember being mesmerized by histology slides projected up on the screen during basic science lectures. Histology is the study of tissues sectioned thinly; a glimpse at the micro-anatomy of our bodies. We laboriously worked our way through all the organ systems of the body in this way; first the normal histology and then the abnormal (histopathology). Although I never remember mentioning this to anyone else, I thought (and still do) that so many of these projections are gorgeous pieces of art. The various staining techniques that offset the microanatomy, the juxtaposition of different cell types, the uniqueness of each image; all strike me as the beauty within.

I remember thinking that if only I could get my hands on some of these slides, I'd have them blown up poster size, framed, and displayed in my home or office. But, in those days the slides were the property of the professor and I let the idea go concluding that I must be the only one seeing the art in the science. I never recall a professor mention (much less discuss) the beauty of the colors, the design, or the mystery. It was only the facts; the micro-anatomy, the pathology, and the practical relevance. So, as a young student, I kept my mouth shut, quietly enjoying the show while taking notes on the scientific significance of the images projected on the screen.

Nowadays, these histology "slides" are available all over the Internet. Not only can one enlarge images, frame, and enjoy them as pieces of art, they also insert easily into documents and morph into screensavers and wallpaper for the computer. Amazing.

I never tire of these images and not surprisingly, my true love is renal histology because it is closest to my heart. Here science blends with art most completely; the grand mystery of the glomerulus, the tubules, the interstitium. This enticing microanatomy has been the backbone of my professional life for several decades and offers up a wealth of imagery, forever inviting me back to a place where awe and wonder exist.

The Renal Tubules: Master Chemists

The Renal Interstitium: Mysterious Glue