Tales from the Microbial Laboratory

~a moment in the garden~

~Autumn in the front garden~

~~~~~

This morning I was out with the dogs, in between rain showers, and there was a gray-sky moment when the yellow of the falling birch leaves and the rust of the bald cypresses and the red of the savannah holly berries looked just magical.  

The front right garden is a tangle of trees - three bald cypresses that I planted as two foot twigs when I first moved here, a beautiful river birch, a large southern magnolia and a growing-like-crazy lowquat - several deciduous spring-flowering magnolias and a tea olive that is over fifteen feet tall.

It was beautiful, a moment when at least to my eyes, my coastal southern garden was transformed into a Seurat painting with pieces of color flying all over the place, refusing to be defined, refusing to settle on the ordinary.  Is this perhaps why we do it?  Why we plant and weed and water and obsess?  If it is, it's most definitely worth it - the fleeting moment of flying color was worth every minute of it.    

~twilight~

~Blossomtime in grayscale~

~~~~~

The remnants of Ida are rambling through the lowcountry tonight - bringing with it some much appreciated rain and warm winds.  The oh-so delicate Pointer Sisters are refusing to go outside - I suppose that Annabelle Lee has a reasonable excuse, especially after her three hour escape through the fence this morning into the woods and marshes that border my neighborhood - and I suppose that the Dan's excuse is that she is still pouting that she didn't manage to escape herself.  Honestly, sometimes it feels like keeping the Pointer Sisters in line is a full-time job.

~~~~~

As for me, I'm relieved that Annabelle Lee is safe at home, and I'm glad that a grant got submitted successfully yesterday.  It was rather large collaborative effort, one that was officially submitted at two minutes prior to the 8 pm deadline, only to have an error message come back - followed by another submission at two minutes after the deadline.  Today it appears that the proposal was accepted, so there has been a collective sigh of relief.  Proposal submissions such as this redefine what 'last minute' means, especially since at 10 minutes until 8 pm I decided to edit one of the required submission documents - and I was given 5 minutes by the university's grants office to do so.  Yeah, nuts - I know.

~~~~~

With Katherine not physically present in the laboratory during this challenging wartime period, the flow of poetry into our routine science days has lessened - so tonight I was happy to receive an email from her regarding a poetry reading this Friday evening that is part of The Poetry Society of South Carolina's Monthly Programs.  Once again she introduced a new poet (a musician poet in fact) to me, Doug Van Gundy, who resides in West Virginia and teaches at West Virginia Wesleyan.  I think I will try and attend his reading Friday evening - and hopefully he will read the poem below, a poem which includes a line about that time in the evening when the dog is unable to find her ball in the grass near oaks - a time that Annabelle Lee and I are quite familiar with.

~~~~~

The Back Yard by Twilight by Doug Van Gundy

These are the hours I love the best:
when the golden light of summer has climbed
to the top of the abandoned building next door

and all of the neighborhood
cats have slinked from inside
the woodpile beneath the back porch

and the cicadas and katydids
and grey tree frogs begin advertising
in the cacophonous personals section of the woodlot

and the dog can no longer
find his ball in the tall grass
at the edge of the darkening oaks

and citronella wafts across the crabgrass and mingles
with the lingering smell from the deep fryer
at the diner at the bottom of the hill

and the air grows heavy and moist
and the sound of the traffic on the
four-lane takes on a veiled quality

and the blue-white of the sun
is reflected in a satellite’s
long aching arc across the sky

and the windows open
and the box fan comes on

and the neighbor’s coon hound catches
the scent of something toothy & wild
and sounds his dutiful alarm

and the faint bruised smell of a skunk comes on
with the throw of the same switch
that turns on all of the fireflies

and the early windfall apples
fall without any wind at all.

 

(you can listen to Gundy read this poem here)

[This poem first appeared in Ecotone, Volume 3, Number 2, 2008]   

a view off the IOP connector

~the marsh on a late November afternoon, at 50 mph~

...and you?

~a vase filled with wildflowers, drying~

~~~~~

I'm tired.  It's been a strange few days.  Frustrating, hard, and I'm tired.

That's all I really have for now.

~~~~~

Sunday morning.  This morning I realized how goofy it was of me to write what I did above.  It was kind of melodramatic and just goofy.  I was tired.  What I meant to say was:  my Father has been declining cognitively - and in a faster progression than is typical for Alzeheimers (which has not been his diagnosis thus far yet still remains as the elephant in the room) and at his appointment on Friday the word 'delirium' was used.  The upside is that often there is a physical cause for this - an infection, drug interactions, etc - that is linked to the decline.  So he had a number of tests and we are waiting to hear back regarding the results.  At the same time I've been making phone calls to interview possible live-in healthcare providers (my family has the good fortune to have a Father with longterm healthcare coverage).  Last night I spoke with my Father about not driving until we know what is going on for sure - (fortunately my niece has been with him this weekend, but she catches a flight back to Burlington this morning) -- he asked if it was okay if he drove her to the airport, which is close by, and I said yes.  I told him not to go to church, but I'm sure that he will.  He always does.  So with that as the backdrop, I have a collaborative 2M grant proposal due tomorrow, on Friday night the Airstream lost power and it was 46 degrees inside of it when I woke up (it's been since repaired) and the person who terminated my contract/position has done given notice that our business person will be reduced to a 50% position soon.  She has been with the University for a longtime and his justification was bogus and I've strongly felt that old cliche:  'you can mess with me, but you'd better not mess with my friends'  and I'm exhausted from watching this person systematically and with little oversight cripple an exciting program and the individuals loyal to it. Then there is the fact that as of January I am once again without a salary (my grant finally got transferred for the fall)  and there are few jobs being advertised and what the hell will I do?  I think I'll start by planting the sasanqua my camellia friend gave me a week ago.  That's a good place to start, don't you think? 

'Allhallowsgiving'

~Camellia sasanqua 'Yuletide'~

"Tracing Cape Romain" by Bob Raynor

 

 "Tracing Cape Romain Archipelago" by Bob Raynor (The History Press, 2009)

~~~~~

Last Saturday at the Sewee Center there was a wonderful presentation by Bob Raynor regarding his newly released book about his trips around various waterways of Cape Romain - solo trips made on his small sailboat, the 'Kingfisher'.  At the last minute I decided to go and hear him - and I'm glad that I did.

His stories about his sailing adventures in this pristine area were interesting and informative and intimate - but as I listened to him speak, I realized that the hidden gift in his book is that discovery occurs on any scale we want it to:  we can walk on the moon, land a vehicle on Mars, we can roam the wilds of China in search of the yellow Camellia nitidissima or get lost in a bacterial biofilm - and we can use the wind to help us explore a wilderness in our own backyard.  Even in our own gardens is everything we need for a journey of exploration and discovery.  It's all right there, waiting for you.

~~~~~

To learn more about Cape Romain, go here.

To see a description of a wonderful day I had out on Bull Island (a part of the Cape Romain National Wildlife Refuge), go here.

To really find out how beautiful this place is, instead of all of the above just go and find out for yourself. 

Halloween 2009, a Recap

~The Deadbodys, at church on Halloween evening~

~~~~~

Shouldn't one sit back and reflect on such an important holiday?  Perhaps review a bit, take some notes, write a poem, plan for next year?  Such reflection sounds better than obsessing over one's worries:  a looming grant deadline, a looming birthday, a whole batch of looming decisions [about one's father and one's career and one's home and one's family (who is still finding their footing after it's matriarch passed away)], a head cold from hell and ...see?  You are bored already.

So - Halloween 2009 recapping it will be!  
  
~~~~~

~Airstream kitchen window shrunken heads~

~~~~~

The Airstream was decorated minimally this year - two heads hanging in the kitchen window (it's amazing how two $1.50 heads from CVS Pharmacy can entertain me).  Yes, once again, heads (or the lack thereof) was a continuing theme...

~~~~~

 

~Lily the Pencil~

~~~~~

Is this not the sweetest, scariest, most realistic pencil in the whole wide world?

That most certainly is not Lily, but I'm told that it is.

(Lily is a budding biologist, fellow lover of Halloween, and forever in my heart because of a lovely little prayer).

~~~~~

~Vincent Van Gogh~

~John Stewart~

~Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining'~

~~~~~

 The eclair-baking postdoc (yes, the one who hasn't brought us eclairs in a long, long time) is one of those fancy pumpkins carvers.  A skilled one in fact.  He sent me these images of his three selections this year (and forgive me, but doesn't 'John Stewart' look an awful lot like Vladimir Putin?).

~~~~~

~the lab's senior graduate student (newly appointed) in her Halloween socks~

~~~~~

A few years ago, a friend came to the lab one morning when I wasn't there, and placed a brain in the lab's 'deli box' - he was like a Halloween 'easter bunny, hiding Halloween-themed socks all over the place.  Every now and then a pair still surfaces, as demonstrated by the feet of the lab's senior graduate student.

My lab is very patient with my Halloween silliness, in fact - perhaps it's been a subconscious screening tool that I've been using all these years?

Now that's a thought.   

~~~~~

~Mr Sperman and SuperSperm~

~~~~~

Now how does one transition from Halloween-themed socks to Mr Sperman and SuperSperm?

I'll just leave this one alone (and no - I wasn't at the party).

However the lab's newly minted Ph.D., Mr Sperman, was.

(I hope that Mr Sperman is wrapping up his dissertation edits as I'm typing this.)

~~~~~

 

~Mr. and Mrs. Deadbody~

~~~~~

Each Halloween, Mr. and Mrs. Deadbody are spotted roaming the streets of Charleston, on their way to church on Halloween night.  They're a delightful pair, aren't they?  Rumor has it that they were both poets in the day - he a writer of magical tales, she a teller of family stories and famed observor of the Day of the Dead.

Did you happen to see them too?  I hope so.

~~~~~

~Jeff the dead...lumberjack or something or other~

~~~~~

So what does a Halloween sock Easter Bunny look like?  Does he have floppy ears?  No, no, no.  Does he hop?  Heavens no!

A Halloween sock Easter Bunny looks dead, no he is dead - more like undead - so watch out for him next Halloween.  If you are lucky, he might bring you a pair of socks too.

~~~~~ 

  

FYIs to share for this most spectacular of days...

What's for dinner?  Boone Hall Fright Nights.  The Thirteen Nights of Halloween.  And an appropriate for the season book review by Frytopia (a fellow admirer of this holiday).

Now, quit sitting at your computer and get out there and scare someone!

Update, 1 November 2009:  Now this is the way one should carve a pumpkin -- don't ya love it?

The Headless Marine Laboratory Presents...

“Being Headless in the Post-Cranial Era”

An Invited Seminar by

a seminar by

Dr. M. Vesicles

 

Head of the

Institute for the Promotion of Hideous Headless Research

Fort Johnson Campus, Charleston, South Carolina

 

~~~~~

 

At first, it was like any other HML seminar (except perhaps a bit better attended)...there were people with questions every few seconds, the token sleepyhead, the token airhead, others sitting back, taking it all in - there was even a pathetic cry for attention due to some unresolved 'mommy' issues....

 

 

~~~~~

 

There were annoying interruptions by headstrong members of the community (now, who is s/he really talking her/his head off to??)...and of course that stereotypic dopehead blatantly reading a silly romance novel titled 'Love in the Magnolia Garden Greenheaded Coneflowers'...

 

 

~~~~~

 

...and the usual finger-pointing by the omnipresent front row chuckleheads!!!

 

 

~~~~~

 

A heady Dr. Vesicles discussed several controversial trends in her data...sending shivers down the backs of the audience. raising the frightening question:

 

Will there ever be a headless recovery???

 

 

~~~~~

 

There were moments when Dr. Vesicles was riveting, leaving the audience on the edge of their seats...their hands clutched to their foreheads together...

 

 

~~~~~

 

...and moments when her words were met with outbursts of pure hardheaded disdain!

 

 

~~~~~

 

No one could ignore the ocassional be-heading, uuhh...choking,..the zombiesque lapses in appendage control... 

 

 

~~~~~

 

And of course there is always a bonehead in the crowd, raising his long-ago-severed head just so he could see it...while another shows complete disrespect, with their hands behind their head former head and feet propped up on the table in front of them.

 

 

~~~~~

 

At one point, Dr. Vesicles stops discussing trends in her data, and briefly reviews the history of headlessness in the Headless Marine Laboratory, recalling the reluctant members in '06 (rarely venturing out of the lab), the growing bullheadness in '07 (as evidenced by the restlessness at the lab's door, while growing increasingly anxious to escape the lab's confines and spread the word), and finally their growing numbers, proudly documented in this '08 archived image.

  

 

 

~~~~~

 

But the end of the seminar looms, and the audience quickly grows eager (well, at least some of them do...) as they anticipate Dr. Vesicles always illuminating concluding remarks... 

 

 

~~~~~

 

"You really can get a head in a headless laboratory

without while losing your own head!"

 

and

 

A Happiest of Halloweens from the Headless Among us!

 

 

 

 

 

~~~~~

 

I made it!

~my very own locks of love~

~~~~~

Thankfully - the day finally arrived when my hair easily reached the 'ponytail' length necessary for the Locks of Love organization.  I started growing my hair out right after my Mother's lung cancer diagnosis, in March of 2007, and it was on the short-side when I started to grow it out.  I think that at one time, when I was quite a bit younger, that I had the patience for long hair - but now it just annoys me:  it's miserably hot in the summer, the back knots up on long (or hell, even short) flights, and, well - it just bugs me.  It's nice because I've never chemically treated my hair - and there's no gray - so it can go in the 'pile' of hair used for young children (who are more sensitive to the chemicals).  I know how important it was for my Mom to have a nice wig when her hair started falling out - it was comforting to her, and made her feel better about going out in public.  I've also had a good friend who has unexplained Alopeciaas an adult - and while she has grown comfortable with her bald head (which is stunnning, by the way), she's made me more aware of the condition in people of all ages.

I know that there is the ocassionally publicity about Locks of Love, and other similar organizations - publicity that suggests that they are mis-managed or that what happens to your hair often isn't what you hope it to be.  But regardless of the annoyance, all I had to do was doing nothing for a few years - nothing to my hair that is - and even if there is only a small chance that my hair will end up helping someone, I still know that my Mom is out there smiling somewhere, saying 'thank god she finally cut that ratty mess'.  Thinking about her saying that makes me smile too.

For that thought alone it was worth two years of bad hair days.