use real butter

Recipe: shredded beef tacos

That phrase is the first sentence I learned in Spanish way back in high school, from a bunch of friends who took Spanish. I took French, see. So when I headed down to South America to do field work for graduate school I was all, “Guys, I don’t speak a lick of Spanish.” Well, except for por que tu eres un taco grande? Everyone assured me I’d pick it up.

I did pick up some Spanish, all with an Argentine accent. That got me a lot of funny stares when I flew across the Andes to Chile for work on a field project with Jeremy and a team of astronomers. When Jeremy met me at the airport in Santiago and we caught a cab, he was amazed while I chattered away with our driver in my Argentine Spanish explaining the geophysical research project I had been working on for the past month. Jeremy speaks Spanish. When he saw me off at the airport in the US, the only new Spanish I had learned was No me molestes! and Chupacabra (from an X-files episode).

When I say Jeremy speaks Spanish, I really mean that he knows a lot of Spanish, but the guy hardly speaks much in English and even less in Spanish. He actually *thinks* before he speaks. That’s why when he finally says something, everyone listens. It’s usually something quite good. But me, I run my mouth all the time and let my jabbering find its way around until I say what I wanted to say. I don’t hesitate to speak. Same goes for my Spanish.

**Jump for more butter**

Recipe: tofu fish

Long hiatus, I know. That’s what happens when you have major surgery. Apologies for the silence. I haven’t been on the blog at all and barely looked at my email in the past week. It’s all piling up and I’m not overly concerned at the moment. Thanks for all of your notes and comments.

I was in the hospital for 5 days with all manner of nurses “caring” for me round the clock while I endured some pretty horrific pain. [Caring is in quotes because I really believe if left in the hands of some of those nurses for more than a 12 hour shift I would indeed be dead by now.] Because it was emergency surgery, I got the surgeon on-call instead of my normal surgeon. Funny how some people have an accountant or an attorney, but me? I have a surgeon. I prefer my normal surgeon, but more than that, I prefer no surgery, no staples down my belly, no incapacitating pain when I sit up or stand.

I had mentioned a while back that we were preparing for a slew of visitors. Our first visitor, my dear friend Mitch, arrived in Boulder the night I went to the ER and flew home to London while I was still in the damn hospital – but we were able to share some QT while I was hooked up to oxygen, IV, O2 monitor, catheter, morphine, etc. I managed to get home right before Jeremy had to go on travel for a very important something or other (mum’s the word still), so my aunt came to stay with me until he returned this weekend. Now my parents are visiting. If ever you wondered how I got to be so hyper and full of energy, I point you to my mom and dad.

Kaweah was confused and a little depressed while I was away, but upon my return she has been quite pleased with all of the visitors and extra attention. Plus, while Jeremy was out of town, she snuggled up next to me on the bed each night, although she nearly killed me on Thursday when she shoved her chin on my abdomen and tried to hoist herself closer.

Recipe: grilled chili-lime corn

I had my last radiation treatment yesterday afternoon (Wednesday)!!! Sweeeet.

Surgery: check.
Chemo-frakking-therapy: check.
Radiation: check.

Unlike chemo, radiation is a big lounge scene. I love my radiation techs and because it’s a daily thing, you really get to know the other radiation patients scheduled around your time slot. Last week, one of my favorite patients, Glenda, finished her treatments and I baked up a batch of cookies for her and everyone else. The waiting room is more like a living room for social visits (except half of us are in gowns – people are so used to stripping down at the drop of a hat for radiation). So when I walked in yesterday afternoon with a batch of baklava, I saw the usual crowd… AND Glenda. “What on Earth are you doing here?” I asked her. She told me she called to find out when my last day was and came just to see me. And she had brought me a rose. What a sweetheart.