“The human foot is a masterpiece of engineering and a work of art.” ~ Leonardo da Vinci

“Plantar fasciitis is the most common cause of heel pain. It is caused by repeated strain on the plantar fascia, the ligament that connects the heel bone to the toes, supporting the arch of the foot. A strained plantar fascia causes weakness, swelling, and inflammation, especially in one or both heels. Causes of plantar fasciitis include rolling the feet inward while walking; having high arches or flat feet; and running, walking, or standing for long periods of time. Symptoms include pain upon waking and pain while walking and climbing stairs. Treatment includes resting the feet, doing calf stretches and towel stretches several times daily, and wearing shoes with good arch support and a cushioned sole.” ~ WebMD, Plantar Fasciitis Directory

My left heel has been in pain for the last few months. Not debilitating pain, but enough that getting out of bed in the morning had become a painful exercise.

The thing is, once I started moving around, it was fine. Still painful, but not searing… it’s those first few steps that get you.

Plantar Fasciitis sucks.

I’ve got strong feet. I danced for a many years when I was growing up, and I started dancing again in January. My feet are flexible and strong.

But… I’m a little too heavy for my own good, and I’m sure that doesn’t help. I’m also running headlong into middle age, and that doesn’t help. I walk a lot, and even though I make sure that my shoes are good for walking, I may have hit a pair that’s not doing me any favors. Add to that the fact that my calves tend to be tight; that’s not good, either. It’s only my left foot that’s bothering me, so I suspect there was a precipitating event, but I don’t know what it was (a strenuous dance class with cold feet?).

So for now, I wear a brace at night that keeps my foot in a flexed position. I take Advil when I’m in pain; I ice if it gets bad. I tape up when I go for a walk or to a dance class (and I wear leg warmers for most, if not all, of my dance classes — bellydance, so it’s not as critical to observe the feet).

Not the most masterful job of taping, for sure, but it gets the job done… that tape is really good stuff.

“Optimist: Day-dreamer more elegantly spelled” ~ Mark Twain

After working through the weekend to finish a couple of projects, I’m itching for an afternoon off. This afternoon was spent with the DVR (to watch last Friday’s episode of Grimm), and a glance around the interwebs.

Animal Planet announced their Puppy Bowl VI lineup! Whee!

(I’ll be watching the Super Bowl, but how can you resist these puppies?!)

Update: I was so taken in by the cuteness that I failed to realize that this year’s puppy bowl is actually Puppy Bowl VIII… this video is old… but still cute!

“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” ~ Vincent van Gogh

Well THAT’S a dry spell, huh?

What’s been going on lately? Um, nothing.

No, wait, that’s not true.

We went to DC for Christmas. It was wonderful. I have no good photos of the experience. We went to the National Zoo, and the Museum of Natural History, to the National Gallery and Air & Space.

At the zoo I came face to face with a king vulture as he loped over to the front of his enclosure. (Vultures do that on the ground, you know. They can walk and run, but they seem to be most comfortable galloping.) We had a moment of mutual consideration. (You might commune with a whale or dolphin and consider it communication, but birds don’t seem to be communicative in that way.) It was amazing.

At Air & Space we marveled over the Wright Brothers exhibit, and then the manned space missions exhibit. Did you know that those two “events” were less than 70 years apart? Really, how amazing is it that we went from not having flying machines to going into space?

Flight 85: Orville in flight, covering a distance of approximately 1,760 feet in 40 1/5 seconds; Huffman Prairie, Dayton, Ohio. Public domain photo from the Library of Congress, via Wikipedia.

How cool is it that the Wright brothers got inspired by the notion of flight and then did the work to make it happen? And how amazing is it that with equipment that looked like it could have been purchased at the hardware store, we sent men (and chimps and dogs) into space? Trial and error. Test and refine. Learn as you go. Keep going.

There were clearly some great minds at work there, and an overabundance of courage.

And I’m sorry, but I’m just not getting that in my real life. Presidential politicis? Puh-leeze. Wall Street? Right. Did you know that a lot of brokerage houses want nothing to do with you if your assets are valued at less than $250,000? I’m tempted to become a financial planner just to deal with the “poor.” (According to Merrill Lynch you’re poor if you have less than $100,000 in assets.) The message I’m hearing is that we’re supposed to be able to pay for our own insurance, and retirement, in an economy where traditional savings vehicles no longer work the way they used to, and we’re just supposed to know how to do that… at least until we’ve accumulated enough wealth to make it worth it for a financial advisor. What?!

OK, so it’s time to ignore that TV machine.

One of our local parks is renovating their “mirror” pond to make it pretty… and pretty much devoid of ducks and frogs and turtles. We live in an age where kids don’t know how to behave in the presence of nature, which leads them to trample wetland plants, threaten herons with baseball bats and carry turtles around with them (instead of leaving them be and observing them). I’m not sure how sterilizing an already man-made pond helps with that.

See? What did I tell you? I’m Debbie Downer… sigh.

My self-assigned task for the next week: seek out inspiration.

Other things on the to-do list: find a job (I see a change in direction on the horizon), draw more (better than therapy!) and cook some yummy non-food-hangover-inducing food.

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.” ~ Christmas Hymn, 1st verse, author unknown

I’m a little loosy-goosier than the average person, and I’ve never really been a type-A overachiever, but I must admit I’ve never really understood the follow-the-natural-rhythms-of-the-year crowd’s exhortation that we slow down in the winter.

It’s not like I can’t see it happening all around me in the natural world. Most of the birds are gone (except for the juncos, the goldfinches who overwinter in our neighborhood, and a few chickadees), the yard goes dormant, there’s a lot less sunlight and it’s a whole lot colder.

I just thought it shouldn’t affect me so much, but I’m finding — especially as I get older — that it does.

I naturally go to bed a little bit earlier and read more before going to sleep. It’s harder to wake up (or get out of bed) in the dark, cold mornings to go to the gym or do some yoga before starting my day. I not only look forward to my morning coffee, I find I actually need it to get going.

Starting in about mid-November, I live in layers: camisole, t-shirt, sweater, fleece jacket, warm jacket, plus a scarf, gloves and maybe a hat, if it’s bitterly cold outside. And socks… thick warm, dry socks. I have a wardrobe of winter shoes: boots for walking around in snow, muck boots for shoveling snow, boots for cold and dry weather, hiking shoes, waterproof slip-on clogs, and, of course, slippers.

I even crave slow, warm food in the winter: beans, stews, roasted fruits and veg, baked goods of all stripes. The oven goes on for hours at a time while I figure out what I can bake next — or if the oven should go through a self-cleaning cycle — because if the oven is on, the kitchen warms up.

I get it, intellectually. I do. Physically it seems to be an imperative — you can’t scurry on slushy snow without risking injury (especially if you live on a big hill). But while winter slows me down physically I find my anxiety level ramping up. Why is is so dark all the time?! Why can’t I seem to get s*&% done?! Instead of going fallow for a little while, I lament my inability to work at the same pace I do for the rest of the year.

I don’t have a solution, except to admit that maybe it’s time to get on board with the follow-the-natural-rhythms-of-the-year folk. Maybe for the winter, slow(er) should be the new fast. Maybe I should just put on an extra sweater and see if I can pick out any extra details I miss when running around at break-neck speed is the norm.

Or maybe I should just take a nap… until spring.

“To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common — this is my symphony.” William Henry Channing

I have too much stuff, and it’s everywhere. Sometimes it piles up before I know it and it’s time to dig out a little bit so I fit back in to my regular life.

Last year was a prime example of a collecting phase. I was flying a lot, away from home a lot, and generally not picking up after myself very much. The end result: a mound of shredding that took about 12 hours over three days to sort through and dispatch appropriately. (Actually, I found checks from before D and I were married, which meant we’d been hauling around a bunch of detritus for years.)

Here’s what I discovered: Chase Bank is evil. More specifically, the Continental Airlines card offered through Chase Bank is evil. Here’s a stack of 15 (yes, FIFTEEN) credit card offers our household has received over the last several months… and these are the ones I decided to save and count AFTER going through a seemingly endless pile of the same credit card offers dating back a year.

What makes these super insidious is that your name/address appears at least three times in each of these envelopes. It’s like the bank wants someone to come along and steal your identity if you carelessly throw these away.

Not. Cool.

I was tempted to toss these in a box and send them back to the Chase address on the back of the envelope, but I’m not sure I want these floating around the country.

Besides, it’s a tremendous waste of resources. And I suspect that those of us who are already Chase customers are financing this giant misadventure. Geez. Bank of America is no better, with those balance transfer “checks” they keep sending. (Dudes, those go straight to the shredder without passing “go.”)

Next, a collection of boxes, each full of books, to be donated to the library.

Yes, I have way too many books, even after thinning my collection. Some people collect shoes, some stamps, with me, it’s books. It’s not the worst thing, I think, but I need to learn to keep it a little bit more in check.

Finally, a stack of new Utrecht sketchbooks. I don’t live near a Utrecht store, and I don’t usually shop there unless I’m visiting Seattle or Portland. I missed it last Thanksgiving, which is fine, except that I’m in need of some sketchbooks and I really like Utrecht’s.

I’m not sure why I like these sketchbooks so much. From what I can tell, they’re not all that different from any other sketchbooks, but for some reason I have a preference for the paper in these. Is it irrational? Oh, sure, but I like what I like (and fortunately, the shipping was free for Black Friday).

“And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.

The above snippet, friends, is why I will argue in favor of The Star-Spangled Banner every. single. time. Thanks to the efforts of the FDNY ten years ago, the flag was displayed above the smoldering wreckage of the World Trade Center, visible night and day.

I didn’t watch much TV today. I don’t need help remembering a day I can’t forget. Watching the second tower fall while trying to figure out how to get home. The ash floating into downtown Brooklyn, accompanied by the scent of smoke and god knows what else. Making plans to sleep in the park if the bridges and tunnels didn’t open… and walking… so much walking, with no place to go. Waiting anxiously as the train made its way slowly under the East River, stopping every ten feet, it seemed. Emerging from the station to an absolutely silent East Village.

It was pretty awful. And there were more than a few occasions in the following days when curling up into a fetal position seemed like the only option for getting moment to moment.

But here’s the thing: that was ten years ago.

I didn’t lose any loved ones. I wasn’t in the shadow of the towers. I wasn’t displaced for more than ten hours. I’ll guess that my experience of the day was more vivid than those who weren’t in New York, but in the grand scheme of things I came away relatively unscathed (apart from the asthma that developed in the following year).

With all due respect, in my mind 9/11 should no longer be a media event. Respectfully, it’s time to let those who lost loved ones, first responders and their families, and those who had to struggle mightily to survive continue to figure out how to make sense of the day.

I know today was the 10th anniversary and all, but still. I think it’s time for the rest of us to leave it be. Remember it, sure. Memorial programs where the names of the lost are read are good for all of us. But endless programming allowing us all to relive the day, moment by moment? Maybe it’s time to show a little more restraint.

And so, today, I didn’t watch TV, except for football. I watched the Jets/Cowboys game and enjoyed the 9/11 presentation. Lady Antebellum sang the national anthem, and they did a great job. I was moved, but not shaken…

… until the Budweiser Clydesdales*, that is.

The Budweiser Clydesdales are amazing, and whomever designed this commercial hit all the right notes. So what if it’s blatant manipulation? Ten years on I’d rather be moved to tears by a staged act that signifies quiet dignity and pride than by watching terrorists attack New York over and over again.

Sometimes, less really is more.

* Apparently, Budweiser aired the original commercial only one time, at the Super Bowl in 2002. This one is either a remake or some good editing.

P.S. Note to KHQ, our local NBC affiliate: opening your postgame newscast with footage of the first plane was an ambush — tasteless, classless, and otherwise so, so uncool.

“Anyone who conducts an argument by appealing to authority is not using his intelligence; he is just using his memory.” ~ Leonardo da Vinci

Our on-the-verge-of-closing little museum (saved by the legislature, barely) is hosting a great show right now: Leonardo da Vinci: Man, Inventor, Genius.

Being an old fuddy-duddy, my favorite part of the exhibit is the timeline at the very beginning of the exhibit. Leonardo’s life was summarized along three walls, with a corresponding line mentioning other Renaissance greats. Not only was Leonardo an amazing man, he lived among amazing men.

It’s interesting to hear people talk about how talented da Vinci was. I don’t doubt that he had no shortage of natural ability, but I think that attributing his work to his talent doesn’t tell the whole story. One of the items in the exhibit was a stack of 6,000 pieces of recycled paper. What did that have to do with da Vinci? It’s the volume of his extant work.

6,000 pages… an extraordinary amount of work, by any standard. Turns out Signor da Vinci was prolific, and that’s putting it lightly. He did a lot of work over the course of his 67 years, and that work encompassed a number of disciplines: nature studies, portraits, drapery studies, anatomy, cartography and engineering.

How much of da Vinci’s work is purely the result of his talent? I’m willing to bet that none of it was. You don’t get to 6,000 pages on talent alone. Add curiosity, discipline and persistence, though, and then it starts looking like a situation that’s conducive to 6,000 pages.

I am so going to see this:

“Dinosaurs are nature’s Special Effects.” ~ Robert T. Bakker

When Walking with Dinosaurs — the arena show — came to Spokane, D and I went. There were people of all ages at the show, but I think we were the only ones who hadn’t thought far enough ahead to borrow a six-year-old to come with us.

Everybody was impressed, but the only ones in the audience who knew anything about what was going on were the six-year-olds… It seemed to be proof, to paraphrase Picasso, that the young possess dinosaur knowledge along with artistic inclination; the challenge is to hold on to both as we grow up.

I missed the dinosaur phase. Maybe I was too girly… I suspect I tried to grow up too fast and missed several moments of child-like fascination because I was embarrassed to be perceived as too… well… child-like.

I’m happy to report that I’m so over that now. Being a grown-up is fun and all, but sometimes it’s totally overrated. Kung Fu Panda, grilled cheese sandwiches (with American cheese and white bread) with tomato soup (Campbell’s), arena shows featuring life-sized dinosaurs? Color me there.

In the mornings I go downtown for coffee. (I never work in my pajamas… or sweats. I get up, shower, eat breakfast and leave the house for a few minutes.) There’s a small independent toy store at the mall there, Whiz Kids. It has a new owner, and a whole bunch of cool dinosaur stuff, including this tube of dino skulls.

When I plunked them down on the counter, I told myself they’d be great for sketching. (After all, there’s nothing like a 3D model for figuring out how an object works with light.) But mostly, I think I bought them because they’re just so cool.