The Box

Her fingers frantically dug through the earth. Desperate, she dug faster. "Where is it?", she thought in a panic. This was the third hole she had dug in a two yard perimeter, and she still couldn't find it. According to her recollection, she had buried the box exactly 10 heel-to-toe steps away from the tree. It should still be there. It had to be. Nobody knew to come looking for it, and the ground appeared untouched. Granted, she had buried the box there about twelve years ago. But, the tree certainly had not moved in that time, and the location was well deserted, and likely had not seen much, if any, traffic over the past twelve years.

She stopped digging for a moment. Caught her breath. She came to her senses and thought about the situation rationally. "Clearly, the box is still here, somewhere. The ground may have shifted somewhat, putting the box at a slightly deeper level, and perhaps I'm a little bit off as to the direction. It's been a long time. But, if I just relax, I will find it." That made her feel better.

Reassured by her rationale, she started reminiscing. She remembered the day when she had brought the box here. She had sat under the tree for hours that afternoon as the sun was setting in the distance in a fiery red and purple haze. She had clutched the box in her lap. At times overtaken with emotion, she had cried, then regained her composure, only to cry again some moments later. It had been an emotional afternoon, one that she would never forget as long as she lived. Inside the box were the remnants of a time, now long past. Yet, due to recent developments it had become crucial once again in her life. She had to find the box. It was her only salvation.

The Phone Call

He could hear the phone ringing inside his apartment and he ran up the last few stairs. He fumbled with the keys, and by the time he had managed to unlock the door, the caller had hung up. He quickly glanced at the phone to see whose call he had just missed.

It was her. Anxious, he waited to see if she had left a voice mail. He felt the seconds go by without any evidence of a new message. Relieved, yet disappointed, he sank to the floor where he remained and waited in the dark. After it became obvious that she had not left a message, he let out deep sigh of relief. He was exhausted. Since she had not left a voicemail, he could pretend as if the call had never registered on his phone. “Phew, that was close.”, he thought.

He stayed on the floor in the dark for a while and thought about things. He rather enjoyed reflecting quietly while surrounded by impenetrable darkness. It made him feel calm and at ease. He had just regained his composure, and was about to get up, turn on the lights, and get busy when the phone in his hand signaled a new voicemail. “Oh, crap”, he thought.

A Return To The Scene

At this point in the intern year, I find myself, well, hmm...exhausted. Frustrated. Cranky. Irritable. I whine. I complain. I bitch. And I moan. I even try to cover it all up with an annoyingly happy attitude to pretend that all is well. But, for those who really know me, it's all a charade, and on the inside I'm about as spent as I can be. A vacuous shell of my usual self. Empty and tired. Ready to pass out in a heap of exhaustion.

Thankfully, that is when an entire weekend off at the Door County lakehouse re-presents itself.

An oasis of relaxed tranquility. Again, we found ourselves here, back at the lake house. A little bit warmer this time. Good friends. A couple of dogs. One firepit lakeside, and a fireplace inside. A hot tub, and a porch with chaise lounges. It is just what the doctor ordered and what this doctor needed. A place to recharge my batteries. Ponder deep thoughts in solitude. Discuss profound topics over a glass of wine by the fire. A place to rediscover life and appreciate the joy and wonder of good friends, beauty of nature, and to be thankful for the too brief freedom from work.

Find Your Own Road

'Find your own road'. That was a 1995-96 Saab advertisement slogan featuring a series of different cartoon ads appealing to your secret desire to break out of the mold and proudly display your unique individuality (preferably by purchasing a Saab).

While I admit to being more of a Volvo girl myself (I have a certain affinity for the old 'they're-boxy-but-they're-good' station wagons as they hold some very dear childhood memories of being sandwiched in a wagon full of kids being driven to the beach in the summer time), there's something very catchy about the Saab cartoons with their fluid movement and that jazzy background music urging you to dare to be yourself, and...to dare to buy a Saab.

'Tis So Good...In Memoriam

It is like a large bag filled with my favorite Saturday candy. So delicious. I know, I'm a slow reader, but it's not like I have a lot of time on my hands. However, since I got into this book, it's kept me well entertained and intrigued. The book? 'The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo' by Stieg Larsson.

I find it somewhat ironic that I'm reading the translated into English version of a Swedish book. I love reading books in original Swedish. But, in this case, I made an exception as I was so excited that a contemporary Swedish author is sufficiently appreciated to be sold as an international best seller and found in pretty much any American bookstore.

Anyhow, the novel sucked me in right away and I was hooked! The story spins off into two separate tales...one about the girl with the dragon tattoo, whose character I find fascinating and deeply alluring...and one about an investigative journalist hired to research an old mysterious disappearance and simultaneously write a biography about a famous financier family. Each tale is sufficiently intriguing on its own, but I was so curious to figure out how the two would eventually connect...

...And, the pieces just fell into place! It is so exciting. I think I will pause here and go for a run to savior the moment.

In Memoriam: Stieg Larsson, 1954-2004. Thank you for sharing your gift. Your writing is amazing.

Captured Beauty

Two of my all time favorite movie scenes: American Beauty and 300.

Pixie Dust and Galapagos

Sometimes, when you least expect it, you stumble across the most magical of times.

Such was the case on Friday, when I briefly felt as if the universe was my stage upon which I danced to the rhythm of my heart. However, the moment was elusive and the dance over long before midnight. But while I danced in an enchanted forest of curious exploration, pixie dust fell from the sky. Sparks flew.

Then reality rushed in, and with its harsh and bony fingers, it pried the magic away. But, in the frenzy of the dance, some of the pixie dust was caught in my hair and left on my skin. From its remnants I can sense a glimmer of hope for the future...Galapagos!