Quote o’ th’ day

In the past I have posted quotes with beautiful pictures I thought an apt accompaniment to the words, but this quote is particularly special to me as I live by its advice day-to-day.

Maybe you or I will never make a great contribution to medicine, society or science, and maybe we will not live up to our expectations in other ways.  As long as we try to be the change we want to see in the world and make multiple small contributions that outweigh what we take from life, the world will be better off.  Perhaps not in significant or even calculable ways, but giving back at least some of what we receive is surely our duty.

If you are reading this post, you likely have access to a computer.  In the event that someone reads this post and decides to take it to heart, here are some things you could do to give something back (all but one are free): donate time;  donate money; play a computer game to help scientists establish how proteins fold (this link gives you more information); practice random acts of kindness; donate your old glasses and your old phones; be a virtual volunteer; donate your computer’s time; become an organ donor;  give blood.

 

I’m aware this quote is an approximation of what was actually said.  To me, this is the more powerful version so it is the one I will post:

 

“You must be the change you want to see in the world.”

Mohandas Gandhi

Try it.

Image: Ambassadors for World Peace

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Filed under Quotes, Rambling Observations

Cadaveric contemplations

My first day of medicine is looming ever closer, and with it looms the first time I put scalpel to to lifeless flesh.  I am not a squeamish person.  I have seen autopsies performed; I have seen the bodies of the recently deceased; I have witnessed the last breaths of both old and young; I have dissected countless animal carcasses; and I have been mentally preparing for this first incision for a long time; however, I do not know how I will react mentally when I am the one in charge of the blade.

On the day, I would like to take a few minutes to think about the decedent I will be spending the next year with; to reflect quietly, and to make the first incision reverentially, in silence and alone.  After all, this kind person will have donated their body to science so that I, and others, can learn.  I will think about who they were, how they acted, whether they still have family, what they did with their life, and what brought them to the cool metal slab of the anatomy department.

I know that I will probably be too focussed on other things that day to take the time I should to reflect on this person, and who they were.  I will not be alone, unhurried, and able to be with my thoughts.  I will be in a room with a number of other students: most will be eighteen and will never have seen a body.  From previous experience, there will most likely be panicked, hushed conversation, fainting, a number of desperate dashes to the nearest bathroom, and a few tasteless remarks about genitalia.  Perhaps I give fellow students too little credit, but humour is a well-known coping mechanism, and I cannot help but expect jokes will be made at the expense of the decedent.

A fictional medical examiner once said that the last meaningful conversation anyone ever has is when their body speaks to her.  Over the course of the year, I will use this body as a tool to learn anatomy, to improve my dissection techniques, and to establish a cause of death.

I hope that I do not forget that I am allowed, even encouraged, to be warm and caring as well as clinical and professionally detached.  Most of all, I hope that I do not forget this person’s final act: a kind gift that will go on to benefit others, long after they have gone.  Whoever you are, I hope you went quickly and peacefully.

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A poem for English language geeks

The Chaos

Dearest creature in creation
Studying English pronunciation,
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse
I will keep you, Susy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye your dress you’ll tear,
So shall I! Oh, hear my prayer,
Pray, console your loving poet,
Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!
Just compare heart, beard and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it’s written).
Made has not the sound of bade,
Say said, pay-paid, laid, but plaid.
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as vague and ague,
But be careful how you speak,
Say break, steak, but bleak and streak.
Previous, precious, fuchsia, via,
Pipe, snipe, recipe and choir,
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.
Hear me say, devoid of trickery:
Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles.
Exiles, similes, reviles.
Wholly, holly, signal, signing.
Thames, examining, combining
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war, and far.
From “desire”: desirable–admirable from “admire.”
Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier.
Chatham, brougham, renown, but known.
Knowledge, done, but gone and tone,
One, anemone. Balmoral.
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel,
Gertrude, German, wind, and mind.
Scene, Melpomene, mankind,
Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather,
Reading, reading, heathen, heather.
This phonetic labyrinth
Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.
Billet does not end like ballet;
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet;
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Banquet is not nearly parquet,
Which is said to rime with “darky.”
Viscous, Viscount, load, and broad.
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation’s O.K.,
When you say correctly: croquet.
Rounded, wounded, grieve, and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive, and live,
Liberty, library, heave, and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven,
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the difference, moreover,
Between mover, plover, Dover,
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police, and lice.
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label,
Petal, penal, and canal,
Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal.
Suit, suite, ruin, circuit, conduit,
Rime with “shirk it” and “beyond it.”
But it is not hard to tell,
Why it’s pall, mall, but Pall Mall.
Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron,
Timber, climber, bullion, lion,
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, and chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor,
Ivy, privy, famous, clamour
And enamour rime with hammer.
Pussy, hussy, and possess,
Desert, but dessert, address.
Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants.
Hoist, in lieu of flags, left pennants.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rime with anger.
Neither does devour with clangour.
Soul, but foul and gaunt but aunt.
Font, front, won’t, want, grand, and grant.
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say: finger.
And then: singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, age.
Query does not rime with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post; and doth, cloth, loth;
Job, Job; blossom, bosom, oath.
Though the difference seems little,
We say actual, but victual.
Seat, sweat; chaste, caste.; Leigh, eight, height;
Put, nut; granite, and unite.
Reefer does not rime with deafer,
Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,
Hint, pint, Senate, but sedate.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific,
Tour, but our and succour, four,
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, guinea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria,
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion with battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay.
Say aver, but ever, fever.
Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.
Never guess–it is not safe:
We say calves, valves, half, but Ralph.
Heron, granary, canary,
Crevice and device, and eyrie,
Face but preface, but efface,
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust, and scour, but scourging,
Ear but earn, and wear and bear
Do not rime with here, but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, clerk, and jerk,
Asp, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.
Pronunciation–think of psyche–!
Is a paling, stout and spikey,
Won’t it make you lose your wits,
Writing “groats” and saying “grits”?
It’s a dark abyss or tunnel,
Strewn with stones, like rowlock, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict, and indict!
Don’t you think so, reader, rather,
Saying lather, bather, father?
Finally: which rimes with “enough”
Though, through, plough, cough, hough, or tough?
Hiccough has the sound of “cup.”
My advice is-give it up!

by G. Nolst Trenite’

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Quote o’ th’ day

 

“Time is an equal opportunity employer. Each human being has exactly the same number of hours and minutes every day.
Rich people can’t buy more time. Scientists can’t invent new minutes. And you can’t save time to spend on another day.
Even so, time is amazingly fair and forgiving. No matter how much time you’ve wasted in the past, you still have an entire tomorrow.
Success depends upon using it wisely, by planning and setting priorities. Time is worth more than money, and by killing time, we are killing our own chances of success.”

Image: http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/j-eunit/11/1278432526/tpod.html

 

 

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People-watching in the park

People-watching in the park on a summer’s day is one of the not-so-small joys of life.  Today there are two old ladies walking sedately up the driveway, trussed up in trench coats despite the thirty degree weather.  They don’t say a word to each other, but after being friends for sixty years, I wonder what’s left to say.

There’s the man with two young children.  He’s teaching the youngest to ride a bike and encourages her loudly in his strong Nigerian accent, “Go faster, go faster!”  She falls and hurts a finger.  He offers no consolation but pauses for a second before resuming the encouragement.  She goes faster.  Her big brother cycles behind her, quietly asking her if she is ok.  She turns to respond and falls again, laughing.

There’s the couple with the newborn baby, sitting under a bench in the shade.  The mother looks exhausted and upset while the father fusses over the baby.

An Arabian family with a toddler drive into the middle of the huge field in their brand new Mercedes, whilst the English park-goers, who have parked in an orderly line just inside the gate, look on in silent horror at the family’s breaking of an unwritten rule.

A surfer-dude walks past me, smoking a spliff and throwing a ball for his stubby-legged dog to retrieve.  The aroma of pot mixes with the hot, flowery air and makes me smile.  He looks curiously at me, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes.

I hear a laugh: the unhappy mother is amused by something the father has said, and laughs, albeit tiredly.

These are the good times.  These are the best times.

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Quote o’ th’ day

 

“Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so.”

 Douglas Adams

 

 

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Increasing productivity by regression

Lately I have been slacking on all fronts.  I have found it easier to lay in bed and fall victim to the endless TV shows and films available online than to get up and do something, be it productive, fun, or both.

Yesterday I decided to dump the laptop and go old school.  I packed up a pen and a notebook, left my mobile at home, and headed to the park.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Evernote and Remember The Milk, and I rely heavily on them for note-taking and to-do lists, but computers sometimes offer too much distraction.  They have become the profferers of productivity porn, which I absolutely love, but sometimes you spend more time organising your shit than Getting Shit Done.

So, armed with nothing more than pen and paper, I hit the local park.  I had no idea what I was going to write, but I sat down anyway and was immediately overcome with a technology-free feeling: serene, free and peaceful. Within minutes I was writing about the people I saw around me, and within an hour I was brainstorming ideas for this blog.

Here’s my advice: if you’re stuck in an unproductive rut, turn off the computer, take a notepad and a couple of pens to a quiet place and let it all come to you!

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Quote o’ th’ day

“Life is the art of drawing without an eraser.”

                                            John W. Gardner

Image: http://andreajoseph24.blogspot.com/

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Filed under Art, Quotes

Houses

I know I started this blog on a bit of a creative writing kick. I was just so excited about summer, and by extension my hayfever, finally arriving! Today I have for you a few interesting housing concepts. The first comes via Home Designing at Tumblr, and appeals to me because I have a pathological fear of having my computer and hard drives stolen from my house. I live in an area on the outskirts of a large city I frequently compare to Somalia. Needless to say, I do not feel safe here. Do you think living in this house would help allay my fears? The closed version looks like a parking garage for the Millennium Falcon, but I quite like the design when it’s all opened up.  It certainly seems secure enough!
From homedesigning.tumblr.com

For ten months I have been living in “Somalia” in a decent-sized house, but with the world’s most irritatingly small bedroom.  It’s around 8×6, in which space I have to fit a large desk, a double bed, a wardrobe, a bookshelf, a chest of drawers, a bedside table, and all my shit.  This does not please me, as I have around three inches’ space to get by my bed and desk to the door.  There have been bruises.  Anyway, this got me thinking about compact living.  This guy certainly seems to know what he’s doing, and although I’d prefer around double the floor space he has in order to feel less claustrophobic, I love his idea:

This guy lives in a larger space, but with a much more innovative approach.  I probably would have put in a shiny floor and ceiling to make the space seem larger, and I would have painted the walls a lighter colour, again for the illusion of space.  I would have chosen a dark wood to go with the lighter walls, floor and ceiling, but that’s just me being picky.  To me, the glass wall could have been extended and the toilet door removed or replaced and made from smoked glass to become a wetroom with the illusion of more space. I love his design, but I can’t help but wonder where you would fit all your necessities like an iron, your herbs and spices, and the swimming pool.

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The Surfer

I park my car next to his white campervan and catch a glimpse of him in his side mirror. Immediately I’m curious, which, for me, is a curiosity in itself. I have always wondered what it would be like to be a surfer. I like to think they have no ties and no commitments, just a simple life governed by the tides, their friends, and where to find the best waves.

His van boasts stickers that wish me a Merry Christmas from the Gorillaz, despite it being the middle of June. As I wonder whether the sun hanging from his rearview mirror is as spiky as it looks, he gets out. He looks like a surfer, with shaggy, shoulder-length, wavy brown hair, knee-length shorts, and a spliff or cigarette in his hand.

He passes me, throwing a white ball to his little black dog, and I catch the unmistakable scent of pot. He locks eyes with me, and his twinkle but he doesn’t smile. Hours pass, and his van stays there while I carry on writing. I figure I will be gone long before him. Just as I return to my car to escape the evening’s onslaught of pollen, he arrives at his van.

He unselfconsciously pulls off his shirt to reveal a deeply tanned, sinewy body, and sits just inside the van, languidly throwing the ball to his stubby-legged dog, whose tail is wagging so much it looks as though it may fall off. He seems happy to do nothing for a while. In that moment I can almost taste the need for his lifestyle. An hour passes.

He unhurriedly climbs into the cabin and slowly motors off.

I wonder what his story is, what he does for a living, and who his people are. I long for what I have imagined he has, and I find myself thinking of him on occasion, even days later.

I wonder what would have happened had I not been too cowardly to introduce myself.

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Filed under Rambling Observations