Melinda Annie's Blog

Wednesday, July 09, 2014

Science

Once upon a time, I was a seven-year-old.

I played outside, a lot. I fiddled with things, a lot. I made messes, a lot. My speed was fast, a lot. My sound was loud, a lot. Ask my mother.

One hot summer's day, I was playing in the "Playroom." The playroom was a largish room full of chaos if you're an adult, or contentment if you're a seven-year-old, because you know where all the toys are. The 80's orange-brown speckled carpet was even more speckled by debris: a half-built fort, missing legos, plastic dinosaurs, crayons, socks, etc. It was late morning, the neighbors were mowing their lawn, my brothers were video-gaming, and frankly, I was a bit bored. I told my mom I was bored, a lot. She told me to go play with my toys or go play outside.

Well, that was boring too. "Thanks for nothing, mom," I thought. In hindsight, I know she thought she was doing the right thing, but she should've locked me up in my room at that point.

Bored and disgruntled, I rummaged around in my bedroom, found some crayons, and starting going through them to pick out my favorite colors. After sorting out my favorites, I decided I no longer needed the yellow crayons. After all, yellow was the worst color; it never showed up well on paper, walls, or my bedframe, and hence, I deemed it stupid. I collected all of the yellows and went into the playroom. I put them on the floor in the corner. Good work, I thought, and felt satisfied with the accomplishment. I looked around, bored, spotted the playroom closest, and crawled over to see what else I could rummage through.

The Playroom.

The toy closet was pretty sparse. Like I said before, most of the toys were already on the floor. How disappointing. But wait... on the corner of the bottom shelf ...(easy reaching distance, ha!) was a large, yellow flashlight. I fiddled with it, turning it on *click,* and off *click,* and on, and off, on, and into my eyes, onto the ceiling, and off *click.* I walked out with the flashlight. I turned it on and off, and on and off in the already bright playroom. Now, it was at this point that I started to think a little. I saw, in a cartoon, once, that a flashlight could melt ice cream.

If, I turned on the flashlight, *click,* and pointed it at the stupid, yellow crayons, *point,* would they also go away?

I tried propping up the flashlight on the floor with no avail. The 80's carpet wasn't stable enough. I moved the yellow crayons and flashlight to the windowsill. Engineering a stand with some legos and a sock, I propped the flashlight in a perfect pose right on the edge. I lined up the crayons accordingly.

And waited.

The yellow crayons did nothing.

I waited more.

Still... ....nothing.

I waited for what felt like eternity. Maybe I'd just go outside real quick to pet Heidi and Nicki (our dogs) and come back to check on the crayons. They probably wouldn't do anything anyway because they're stupid.

Then, in the middle of my heroic climb up the perilous mountain (swingset), to save the magical sabre (twig) for the village people (dogs), I heard my mother scream:

"WHO MELTED CRAYONS ALL OVER THE PLAYROOM FLOOR!?"

What? Wow! My mind racing. Did it really work?? I ran inside. My brothers were already there, shrugging their shoulders. I looked at my mom. She was furious. Yes... it must have worked. She waited for my response. I engaged the parrot maneuver and shrugged my shoulders like my brothers.

"NOW I DON'T KNOW WHICH ONE OF YOU DID IT, BUT SHINING A FLASHLIGHT..."

My mind was still racing. Man! I wish I could have seen them melt. I stole a quick glance to the playroom. The crayons weren't there! Did they acutally melt?

"...NOW WHY WOULD ONE OF YOU DO THIS?"

My brothers and I looked at her blankly. Her face was red. She couldn't fake this, I thought. They must have melted.

That evening, right before bedtime, I sneaked into the playroom. There was no evidence whatsoever of the stupid, yellow crayons. I sneaked back to my room.

Pondering, I realized that I had made an exquisite discovery that day. I felt like a powerful sorcerer.

Yellow flashlights make yellow crayons disappear.

Epilogue: As of June 2014, I have confessed about the crayon incident to my parents.

Saturday, February 01, 2014

Creativity: It's Not Dead!

Every time I visit home in Oklahoma, I'm amazed by the creativity of my grandparents (unfortunately my grandmother's paintings aren't on there, but I can assure you, they're beautiful!).

Every time I visit, I forget how good it feels to make something. There's something a bit strange about a graduate program in a physical science. In my experience, it kills creativity. It kills art. It teaches you to think rationally, to consider each word carefully, and to substantiate each point with evidence. How can you let your imagination run wild in an environment like that? Why can't we all be allowed to be silly?

Every time I visit home, my imagination is given a free pass to run wild. It is bliss. I can create. I can make. It doesn't even have to be a real thing; abstract, and I'm not talking about the kind at the top of a scientific paper, is allowed! Intangible thoughts are encouraged. I really ought to thank my grandparents for giving me (and everyone in the family) the opportunity to make, create, play, and let their imaginations run wild.

Back to grad. school, committing to a PhD program is more than designing, executing, and completing a research project. You can't "run hot" and maintain your mental and physical health.

So how can I instill that openness of creating, making, imagining?

I've invested $100 into sculpting supplies, $50 into music supplies, and $25 into writing supplies. This time, grad. school won't take away my creativity.

Here's my Anhinga's first day:

For those of you who don't know what an Anhinga is. It's a silly bird:

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Dreams

This morning, I won an 8-mile trail-running race (6:31-minute miles, mind you), clearly beating an ex-from-nearly-10-years-ago's time. The trail was bright green, wet, and hilly. The organizers of the event forgot to record my time, but it was okay, because my ex saw that I had beat him and that's all that mattered. Then, I hopped on a small sailboat to circumnavigate a small, snowy volcanic cone south of Mt. Rainier. This small volcano usually had water in its crater [I had seen it from above before], but today it was cold and full of snow. After drifting past half of it, I straightened the sailboat's wheel, steering straight towards one of southern Norway's fjords.

As I drifted further and further into the fjord, the waterway narrowed and oak trees squeezed in on either side; it was very dark, but peaceful. Upon arrival to a dock, I wasn't sure how to actually stop [the boat], and two friendly men helped tie the lines. Then one of them asked me for a favor, and me, unsure if I could actually understand what he was going to say [in Norwegian], smiled and tried to listen very carefully:

"Will you make sure somebody read's our wills when we die?"

I said hurriedly, "Oh, yes! Yes! Of course!" [I didn't want to let them down due to a language barrier]

Realizing that I could understand every single word [of Norwegian], and how somber a topic they had brought up, I was a little confused. I responded as if they had asked me for a cup of tea.

"Sorry...," I said slowly, "I didn't mean to say yes so fast. I hope you live for a very long time!"

They laughed and went back to their business [wood-working?]. I wasn't sure if I had offended them or not. I guess not.

When I turned around back to the boat, I went below. It was warm and cozy inside. Lanterns were lit and maps were folded over a table. Not sure why I was there or what I should do next, I decided to see if I could "unpark" the boat and head out of the fjord. It was a little embarrassing, you see, because I was bumping into everything [gently] and paddling with my hands and legs to steer the boat. I did manage to get it out of the fjord,... eventually, and with an audience trying not to stare.

While I was exiting, I found what appeared to be a black power switch on the side and worked out how to turn on the boat's engine. Steering became immensely easier! But I also had more speed. I could go forward, neutral, and backward, just like the bass-fishing boat on Grand Lake. I headed back towards the small, snowy volcanic cone.

It was autumn and the sun was beginning to set. Dark, navy blues and pale yellows striped the sea and sky; there was no wind. The small, snowy volcanic cone was a magnificent white. I'm not sure where Mt. Rainier went. I turned the boat around to go back into the fjord. I wanted to try parking the boat again [with an engine] and sell runny honey to anyone who wanted it, because time was now going backwards, and it was mid-afternoon.

I eased alongside the wooden, water-laden dock nervously. Now there were three people working on the dock; a woman and the same two men. But it had worked, the boat was parked and I required no assistance from the three locals. I went below [the boat] to retrieve the honey. I found three square, glass jars, turning one over in my hand and watching the honey settle.

Then:

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNK

I woke up.

...thanks for coughing into my ear this morning, dear.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

The Perfect Work Sunday

This is one of those perfect Sundays to get work done at home. Outside is entirely socked in with fog, and it smells like the ocean...

Low tide.

Extremely odd for Seattle, and one wouldn't expect this to come in through the fog, but a real-live storm system is approaching! I think I may get to see lightning and hear thunder in 30 minutes (I rarely hear thunder more than a handful of times each year).

The first of a few systems approaching for today.

What pairs with these conditions? Well, I can't decide. Either wild rice casserole with freshly foraged mushrooms (cremini, chanterelle...) or lasagne (bison, anyone?), finishing it off with honey & rose tapioca pudding for dessert.

Yes, today's a great Sunday for working at home...

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

The Mighty Forager

Last weekend my plans to climb Mt. Ruth were spoiled by much-needed rain. To boost our moral, we went mushrooming instead. It was my very first time, and a 13.4 lb (~6.08 kg) success!

We found "Chicken of the Woods," (not to be confused with a ptarmigan), some type of puffball, and a big, brown mushroom. Fortunately for me, my friends knew what these mushrooms were and whether or not they were edible. We made a delicious pot pie with the chickens, and another pie full of rhubarb, peaches, and blueberries.

~~Ptarmigans~~ Chicken of the Woods that tasted like chicken on the left, some type of puffballs that tasted nutty in the middle, and a big brown mushroom that we didn't eat on the right.

The following day I gathered ~1 kg of blackberries at Magnuson Park (I'm still not sure what I'll do with these... morning smoothie?), and made the ultimate bloody mary from heirloom tomatoes in the garden: http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/yellow-tomato-bloody-mary-recipe.html

I suggest upping the tomatoes, or reducing the champagne vinegar.

The week prior, I climbed Mt. Washington in the Olympics, picking blueberries and huckleberries along the way and eating a fresh Rosa Hale peach at the summit:

Mt. Washington in the Olympics.

This is my stomach's favorite time of year, (don't tell Christmas that).

Friday, August 16, 2013

In the City

Sometimes I like to pretend that we don't live in a city, but instead, on a hill in the middle of the forest surrounded by beautiful, jagged peaks. See Example 1.1.

Example 1.1| Towards Sunset Hill, Seattle.

But, we do live in the city, and though there seems to be three main parties of opinion about city living (love it, hate it, indifferent), my feelings swing through the first two like a pendulum.

Cities are fantastic.

Population density is high. There are many wonderful people to meet and talk to. There's some diversity.
Food. I can acquire a plethora of obscure spices, mixtures, and extracts from faraway lands, and do successfully tasty food experiments at home.
Coffee, separate from food, is a magical thing in this city. You can find every flavor imaginable, or even obtain unroasted beans to roast to one's desire.
Music! Art! Shows! Movies! It's all happening right now! There's always something going on! Must do something!
Short distances. I can hop on a bus, bike, or car, and access everything I need in a 2-mile radius.

As for the negative, I'll leave that list vacant. How about enjoying the next photo instead?

The Olympic Mountains: Mt. Constance (named after George
Davidson's sweetheart's sister) in the background.

Monday, August 12, 2013

U.S. National Places

It's been at least 31,536,000 seconds since I last posted, and a lot of life happenings have happened. What's motivated me to post is to share some of the beautiful locations that I've been so fortunate to be able to visit. What all of these have in common is that they are U.S. National Parks or U.S. National Monuments. They were created "For the Benefit and Enjoyment of the People."

All of the hard work that those incredibly insightful souls did in the 1800's and 1900's has paid off, and continues to pay off. Grandparents, sisters, brothers, senile parents, uncles, aunts, friends, strangers, and communities continually visit the parks and see nature at its finest. Nature wouldn't be so fine if it hadn't been pushed into conservation and protection. Not to go too deeply into a pessimistic thread, but this act of conserving and protecting such beautiful places, and its rewards, will only become more valuable in time. I sure hope that they last beyond generations that I'll count in my lifetime, because there is nothing quite like the rejuvenation of a breath-taking landscape, or encountering wildlife where it's truly wild. Enjoy.