Outside!

In the past couple weeks, we've spent as much time outside as possible. All of Eleanor's outdoor toys have been dusted off and put to good use. The sidewalk chalk, tricycle, hula hoop, bubbles, sunglasses. I've gone for a run 4 times in the past week and a half. FOUR TIMES!!!

Two weeks ago, I would have said that I haven't run since last May, when I was 4-5 months pregnant with Declan. But the crazy warm weather has changed all that.

I promised myself that, every once in a while, I will actually step out of my comfort zone on the blog and say something that could possibly be construed as controversial. So: I believe that global warming is a reality. I believe that it is caused by human activity. I believe that it's not solely the fault of our generation, and it's definitely not the fault of our kids' generation, but we will have to find a way to fix it, or else we're all in big trouble.

Frankly, I really can't understand why that is considered controversial, and the fact that it is makes me a little sad. Why does empirical evidence need to be controversial?

But anyway: I have no idea if our current warm weather is related to global warming. If it is, that's shocking and wrong. ..... But for now, I am enjoying the sun and the warm breeze and having all of my windows open and wearing sandals. It doesn't mean I'm going to stop working on minimizing my carbon footprint, but I do think I need a new sundress.

Thanks to the cereal, it's a boy!

Even though Keith and I don't want to find out the sex of the baby for sure, that doesn't stop us from constantly guessing what it might be.

We both suspect that it will be a boy, not for any specific reason. Strangely enough, we were surprised last week when we tried several of the old wives' tale methods of telling the sex (wedding ring on a string, etc.) and they indicated "girl" more often than "boy." Maybe we really do need to pick a girl's name.

However, my faith in our hunch was restored by an article my friend Amy sent to me today. According to a British study, a diet high in calories, and particularly one that includes cereal for breakfast, leads to a greater likelihood of having a baby boy. When I got pregnant, I was training for the half-marathon. So I was eating a LOT of calories. And I always eat cereal for breakfast. Always.

So maybe we'll paint the nursery blue after all. This seems like a pretty definitive study to me!

Also, because I haven't posted any yet, here's some belly pics. I can't believe how much bigger it's gotten in the past month. I can only imagine what the next picture will look like!

In the Name of Science

The world is truly an amazing, unfathomable place. Every day, scientists are learning more about the natural wonders it contains, and its complex and multi-faceted workings.

Similarly, I continue to be amazed every day at the stupidity* of the human race. Even though the "Creation Museum draws thousands" through its gilded doors, to hear "two angelic characters who declare, 'God loves science!'", I'm having a hard time coming up with a truly monstrous personal story about the sad state of humanity. I'm sure I've seen plenty, but apparently I'm blocking them all out.

So instead, I give you The Darwin Awards. Truly superhuman feats, worthy of banishment from the gene pool. Below, just one of the many Darwin Award arguments for why humans should NOT be considered a highly developed species:

(26 August 2006, Leicester, England) Darren's death was a mystery. The 33-year-old was found slumped in the hallway of his house, bleeding from stab wounds to his chest. Police initially assumed that an assailant had attacked him, but they could find no supporting evidence. A year later, the inquest revealed why Darren can stake his claim to a place among the winners of the Darwin Award.

Darren had called a friend, but minutes after he hung up, rang back to ask for an ambulance. The front door was ajar, and Darren was found lying near a bloodstained lock-knife he had purchased whilst on holiday in Spain. Forensics investigators saw no indication of a struggle, and the coroner reported that the stab wounds seemed to be self-inflicted. However, Darren had shown no suicidal tendencies.

His wife, who was on holiday at the time of the incident, cleared up the mystery, and revealed why our subject will go down in history as a Darwin Award winner. As she was leaving for the holiday, she remembered Darren wondering whether his new jacket was 'stab-proof'.

That's right. Darren had decided to find out if his jacket could withstand a knife attack. Did he choose to test his jacket while it was draped over the back of a chair? No, our man decided that the best approach would be to wear the garment and stab himself. Sadly, his choice of armor proved less resistant to a sharp blade than he had hoped.

The coroner reached a verdict of accidental death by 'misadventure'.

*BlogFriday Word: Stupidity

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

Yesterday afternoon, I was talking to a co-worker about the events of the day. He said he'd been in late that day because he spent most of the morning with his daughter's elementary school class, on a field trip to the planetarium.

He waxed enthusiastic about this trip—how this newer planetarium had so many capabilities, the "guide" was so knowledgeable and interesting, the kids really enjoyed it ...

"Have you been to the planetarium?" He asked.

I answered in the negative, only remembering a few minutes later that I had, indeed, been to that planetarium. I just wasn't awake for it.

I love planetariums. I have an enthusiastic, amateur's interest in nearly all scientific topics. I love hearing about the history and advances of science, and learning a little bit more about our world. Unfortunately, I retain very little of it afterwards. But I still find it exciting.

And I feel the same intellectual excitement about planetariums. The bad thing is that the dim lights and soothing ambient music overrides my mental fervor, and I find myself slowly slipping into a light sleep. The "sky" fades from twilight into darkest night, and my eyelids become heavier and heavier.

Just a few days ago, Keith and I were commenting on how well we could see the stars on early morning runs. We both could clearly pick out Orion's belt—something I've never been able to identify before. I was strictly Big Dipper/Little Dipper, and any other constellations were beyond me.

So hopefully, even though I've slept through the majority of the presentations, I've managed to retain a few kernels of knowledge from my many trips to the planetarium. And I'll keep going, with eternal hope that one day I'll actually stay wide awake for the entire thing. At least I'm catching up on my sleep in the meantime.

A Prime Place for a Meridian

Every day during the trip was different. A wonderful, exciting adventure, if you will. But even so, our trip to Greenwich stands out in my mind as a particularly unique, memorable day.

Although just south of the Thames and accessible with a Zone 2 Underground pass, Greenwich felt miles away from London. When we arrived on Sunday morning, the air was cool and humid. Behind the National Maritime Museum was an expansive, grassy lawn. A trail through the lawn led up the side of a hill, to the Royal Observatory. All across the lawn, people were walking with babies or dogs or both. The entire scene felt very serene.

The Observatory was somehow quaint and modern all at the same time. Just a museum now, due to the horrific light pollution that is the London metropolis, the displays ranged from the first clock to keep correct time on the high seas to the most modern timepieces. I had never truly considered how difficult it was to get everyone on the same time schedule. Back in the day, "local time" meant the church clock in your village, which may be running slower or faster than that in the next village over. Usually I rail against the tyranny of time and my lack of it. But this gave me an appreciation for the development of time-telling technology.

I think what struck me the most about the creation of the Prime Meridian was the arbitrariness of it. Hey! We need a way to define longitude in a concrete way for the entire world. So we need a starting point, like the equivalent of the equator. How .... about ... here! And the Prime Meridian was born. Ah, the joys of a vast and dominating empire! To bend time and geography to your iron will and inimitable spirit.

And the Cosmos Shifted

So Pluto's officially no longer a planet. Is that weird or what?

I actually think that it's kind of exciting. Not quite on the level of Galileo destroying the heliocentric theory, but still an important change in our understanding of the cosmos.

I've read/heard in several different stories the concern that the mnemonic device "My Very Educated Mother ..." won't work anymore for remembering the planets. Is this really that traumatic? Have we become so uncreative that we can't think of a new one, sans "P"? Surely they could turn the creation of a new mnemonic device into a reality TV show. Contestants battle it out to have their phrase win and be memorized by American gradeschoolers for decades to come. (I would say "time immemorial," but we've just learned that these things are not, in fact, set in stone.)

It's fascinating to realize how little we really understand not only our world, but the galaxy and greater cosmos.

I just hope that politicians don't start arguing that this is another sign of easier grading and dumbing down the curriculum to improve test scores.

The Glacier: Not What You'd Expect

On Saturday, we hiked to Grinnell Glacier, which turned out to be my favorite hike of all. We'd been there for 3 days at this point, and I was getting very concerned that I wouldn't get to see a glacier in Glacier National Park. I mean, you have to, right? Because that's what everyone will ask you about.

(Of course, this turned out to be false: Everyone asks if you've seen a bear, and of course the answer for me is "no.")

When you think "glacier," what do you see? In my empirical research, 97.6% of test subjects imagined a big hunk of ice. Of those, a whopping 68.2% drew a picture of that ice hitting the Titanic with Leonardo DiCaprio on board. The remaining 2.4% of subjects mistakenly heard the word "glazier" and envisioned a person putting in new windows. But they were British, so they don't really count anyway.

I guess I'm not exactly sure what I thought a glacier would look like. I thought it would be more majestic, awe-inspiring, cold.

My favorite hike at Glacier was when we took a boat across two lakes and then hiked up to view, up close and personal, three glaciers. The entire hike was about 8 miles and most of it was along a path carved into the mountainside. Like the rest of our time there, it was a gorgeous, sunny day and I was torn between looking at my feet to ensure I stayed upright and alive, and wanting to look out at the amazing vista spread out before us.

From the ferry boat, the park ranger pointed out Salamander Glacier. It didn't seem nearly deep enough or wide enough to be a glacier—it just looked like snow pack on the side of the mountain.

At the summit of our hike, we snacked while overlooking Salamander Glacier, Grinnell Glacier, and the Jem (glacier). We were far enough away from them that we didn't feel much of a chill. The coldest part of the hike involved following the trail under a small waterfall on the mountainside.

I'm not saying I'm disappointed in the glaciers. I would have been highly disappointed if we hadn't seen a glacier at all. Or, conversely, I'd seen glacier without even realizing it, because they aren't quite as imposing as I'd expected.

I'm sure if you traveled somewhere further north, there would be glaciers aplenty like the ones we all imagine. But, even so, I'm not sure that I'll be planning my next vacation there just to get that tingly fresh "glacier awe" feeling. I'm feeling a hankering to see what the perfect 12-oz. strawberry margarita looks like at sunset ...

Slightly Uneven Tan

And by "slightly" I mean parts of my face and neck are adorned with strange, geometric figures.

I burn easily. This is why I wear sunscreen every day, in my face moisturizer. Even in Cleveland, which has been excessively cloudy of late, one can never be too careful. Once in middle school I spent an entire day at the beach without sunscreen, and spent the next week in bed until my entire back blistered and peeled off. So I always wear sunscreen.

A week ago today, we were traveling across the Going-to-the-Sun road from West Glacier to the Many Glacier area. We stopped at Logan Pass, which is at the top of the Continental Divide. While there, we learned that the Continental Divide splits the water flow—if it lands on one side, it flows to the Pacific and on the other side to the Arctic Ocean or the Gulf of Mexico. (Did you know that's the big deal about the Continental Divide? I'm sure I knew that at some point in 2nd grade, but it was quickly pushed out of my brain by the fact that Robbie put boogers on his PB&J sandwich.)

So anyway, the Continental Divide is high. Logan Pass, as clearly illustrated in the picture, has an elevation of over 6,000 feet. In contrast, Cleveland's elevation ranges between 600 and 1,100 feet. This is also something I learned the hard way: higher elevation = thinner air = more UV rays + walking across highly reflective snow = oh my god, the burning!

It wasn't really that bad. I do still have skin on my back. But my usual SPF 15 in the moisturized wasn't cutting it. Or it sort of was. I discovered the next day that my nose was burnt, as well as a thin strip of skin just along my hairline that I missed.

So for the hike on Saturday, I covered myself in recently purchased 30 SPF sunblock that smells just like Creamsicles. Which made me a little nauseous, applying it before breakfast. And also made me feel like a bear treat.

You would think this meant I was safe? But no! Apparently a spot on the leftside of my neck somehow escaped the slathering, so in addition to 1) a burnt strip across my forehead, and 2) a gleaming nose, I also have a curved triangle of bright pink skin on my neck/upper back that is slowly fading.

I've never tried very hard to be tan, because I knew that it was probably a genetic impossibility. Once in my life I did feel tan: when we got back from spending a week in Mexico for our honeymoon. The tan didn't live to see the following month, and according to most people I wasn't really that tan anyway.

But now that I have these strange patterns in noticeable places, maybe I should consider going to a tanning salon to try and even things out. But then I would probably not get the sunblock exactly on the burned skin, so I would end up with burned/tan skin, tan skin, and a strip of completely white skin separating the two. If you can imagine it ... but I wouldn't recommend trying.

On second thought, I think I'm just going to stick with being pale. It's coming back into fashion, right?