up where?

Somedays it's a bit of a challenge to get up in front of your class and talk about suppositories. Suppository itself is a mild word, but one full of connotations. And it necessarily goes along with words like vagina and rectum, and if you're very unlucky, urethra. It's good to have a place to pratice using these words with ease and grace. Suppositories are less funny when you have to make them, as was the case today. One of the most challenging specimens of the extemporaneous preparations, suppositories require skill, patience, and knack for covering up mistakes. And my instructor always wants things nice and "elegant." You never knew suppositories could be elegant, did you?

I have to admit that making compounded prescriptions is one of the things I love most about pharmacy. In some ways it's like cooking, which I also love: you follow a recipe and throw things together, but to be really good at it, you have to have a feel for what it should look like. I'd like to think that I have a feel for it, but the other day I totally left out a crucial ingredient for making cold cream (the white greasy stuff your grandmother used) and the product ended up looking like paste. A nice emollient paste, but not quite right.

But on to things that are very right, if you like eggs for dinner, like them poached, and like the sharp taste of raw garlic then turkish eggs with paprika and sage butter should come into contact with your palate soon. Perfect for ameliorating the winter chill.

old pleather

I'm still getting used to Seattle. I've been living in the outlying area for a little over two months now and don't get to spend much quality time in the city proper. The time I do spend is usually in the general vicinity of the U and includes: 1 bus, 2 coffee shops, 2 bars, and luckily, a yarn shop. I still feel like a sneak getting on the back of the bus during rush hour and have to constantly remind myself to pay my fare when I disembark. The other day I was exiting one of the long, white buses with the slick pleather seats and the faux wood paneling. I fumbled my bus pass as I tried to show it to the driver and had to retrieve it from the floor. I apologized, to the driver, to the other passengers who were probably quick and discreet when showing their fare, and to myself for being so clumsy. As silly as it might seem, awkward events like this one make me long for my old life in Portland -- where I understood the whims of public transportation. Where I knew the best bread shops and happy hours. Where other people fumbled.

Despite all of the fumbles, there is something glorious about a new city. A box waiting to be opened. The perfect coffee shop - anticipating me with a clean corner table, a nicely pulled espresso, and a warm oatmeal scone. A stone bench hidden back in the corner of a park - dedicated to the memory of someone who loved obscure nooks in a grove of rhododendrons. The best chair in the library for daydreaming on the fall leaves while trying to study inflammation. There is something lovely about making a little place for yourself in a new corner of the world.

blog reincarnation

A confession: I once had a secret blog. I only let a few people read my varied ramblings on post-baccalaureate education, cooking, films, and unfinished craft projects. But I've grown and am ready to reincarnate the old, secret blog into a new public blog that I'll actually tell people about. A blog where craft projects get finished, I move on to doctoral candidacy, and food is a welcome diversion from studying. Welcome to extemporaneous.