Saturday, March 12, 2011

An Unscientific Study On Diversification That Is Not Conclusive

A woman I know has a frozen shoulder and is unable to move it. The connective tissue of her shoulder has thickened; though there's not always a known cause, often the condition comes on following an injury in which the shoulder was immobilized. Perhaps other parts of her body were overcompensating for its disuse, and this caused stress on the shoulder, which finally decided to give up.

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Our bodies are selfish. The muscles and bones are greedy children demanding equal attention from Mom or Dad; they act out when ignored.

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A young fan of Justin Bieber's claims she thinks of him 99% of her life.

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Where do 99% of my thoughts go?

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When I first had children, I was surrounded by literature and people obsessed with child-rearing. Their advice on rash cream and pureed peas proved useful at times, but the constant attention to their offspring elevated the babes to star status, their mothers to mere stagehands.

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What I write on, I think on. The other way, too, but the act of writing secures the topic a space in my brain. If I only write on childrearing; on fitness; on diabetes; my attention is stolen by the topic. For a time, this is fine, and good.

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An obsession with a sport or hobby may not be a negative. It can be a way to divert attention away from the larger questions of life, to relieve the pressure of heavy focus there, or complement it. It can be an escape, but an escape, for a time, is not always bad.

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I read a study showing that star athletes often come from larger cities. Researchers deduced that as children, these future stars had no one driving them regularly to soccer/football practice, as is common in the suburbs, and therefore they played whatever they could in the streets. This athletic well-roundedness served them well once they decided to specialize.

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We're participating in a year-long study with first-year medical students. Young men in crisp shirts and ties arrive at our house and ask us questions about Theo and his diabetes. They're there to learn the personal side of disease, to see firsthand how the lives of patients are affected. I tell them this: Our endocrinologist is a brilliant man, and we wouldn't have it any other way. But what we appreciate most about him is that he's an interesting human being. He's a classical cellist. He can comment intelligently on any book Simon's got with him. He's pursuing a study of mining cars in Pennsylvania, just for fun. We talk about diabetes, yes, and all these other things.

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3 comments:

  1. O, dear, I never gave you advice on mashed peas? Surely not. Disgusting. I got to that point in your post and I couldn't read any more. Surely not on diaper cream? Well, if I never did, I will now: Mashed peas are an abomination (and) I like Butt Cream. Glad we could share this special moment.

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  2. You were the relief to all those moms. And I preferred butt cream too, but when you put it in the same sentence with peas, as you did above, it sounds like a topping.

    That's what happens when you read half a post.

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  3. Butt cream is delicious on peach pie.

    Whoops, did I do it again?

    BTW, I finished reading the post.

    Go beat somebody up! How funny that I have a friend I can say that to, and know that it will happen. I'm know it's more technical than beating someone up :), so go slug somebody in the head. Ha. What a rush to write it ::;;)). Just joshing with you.

    thanks for reflecting on Japan, above. It's so hard to even begin to write anything about something so large.

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