With this morning’s unsettling news about O’Rourke’s, I thought it might be hard to switch gears and think about positive things. Luckily, as sad as I am about the (hopefully temporary) loss of a favorite restaurant, I am sufficiently removed from the devastation to be able to see there are still good things in the world. I offer you three from the last week:

1. Yesterday, it drizzled — just a bit — as I was heading home. It hasn’t rained here practically since June (when, you may remember, it rained so much our apartment flooded). While it wasn’t the gorgeous thunderstorm I was hoping for, it felt utterly delicious. Today’s weather was lovely and cool, and more rain is predicted for the weekend. The worst of summer might finally be over!

2. Today was a marathon day at work, with me arriving home just before 9. Waiting for me were two lovely skeins of yarn from The Dye Pot: sock yarn in a purple colorway called “Carmichael” and bulky yarn for this cute purse in a multi-hued colorway called “Wave.” The yarn was on sale, so it was even better.

3. Rudi just suggested that “rapscallion” should be the third beautiful thing for alliteration’s sake. How can you not love that?

Word is trickling down through Wesleyan’s alumni email list that Middletown’s famous diner, O’Rourke’s, suffered a devastating fire last night. This is terrible news for owner and head chef Brian O’Rourke, for the town of Middletown, and for gourmands worldwide.

O’Rourke’s, a Silver City-style diner, was an amazing place that managed to straddle a line with ease. On weekdays it served your typical greasy spoon food, specializing in steamed hamburgers. On weekends it turned gourmet, however, offering up a menu that was pages and pages long and constrained only by the imagination of Brian and his customers, who came from around the state to taste his creations. He introduced us to a variety of new foods, including colcannon, mashed potatoes with cabbage, and sabayon, a delightful custard. The bread was homemade and you were presented a sampler plate as soon as you managed to make your way in the door. The lines were long, particularly if you got a late start to your morning, but the prices were affordable and it was possible for a family to eat after church without breaking the bank.

It’s still early and details are sketchy about what will happen next. I am hoping that Brian, like my cousin Gary whose restaurant burned to the ground last year, will be able to recoup his losses and rebuild. In the meantime, my heart goes out to him and to his employees.

We rented The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill over the weekend and divided the show over the last two nights (due to life intervening not due to lack of interest).

The movie, filmed by fellow Conn alumna Judy Irving, focuses on Mark Bittman, a San Francisco man who champions a wild parrot tribe in the Telegraph Hill section of the city. Bittman is a sweet man who knew absolutely nothing about birds when he first noticed them and who grew to become an expert on the three types of parrots that comprised the flock. For the majority of the film he is essentially squatting in a cottage rent-free, feeding the birds with proceeds of odd jobs (and, eventually, a book).

I was prepared for the movie to be sweet; these sorts of movies never succeed if they don’t take a bleeding heart-approach to nature. I wasn’t prepared for how normal and humane Bittman seemed to be, how individual the birds were — or how heart-wrenching certain later scenes in the movie were.

Irving’s film is sensitive and moving and the colors of the film are over-saturated, calling to mind the bright plumage of the title birds. She does periodically pop into her movie, but in an unobtrusive way, and only in a way that answers questions you have — like why she made the film.

It wasn’t the best documentary I’ve seen this year, but it was one of the nicest I’ve seen in a long time. I’m proud to share an alma mater with Irving, who put together a pretty awesome film. I recommend the movie with the only caveats that you be prepared for a deeper story than you expect and to connect more with Bittman and the parrots than 90 minutes ought to allow.

What is it about a good book that makes it so hard to put down? What makes a book compelling rather than commonplace? Is it the storyline? The characters? A unique twist in the storytelling? Something intangible?

I’m not sure which of these has come into play, but I finally got around to reading Peter and the Starcatchers and it is taking all my self-restraint to put it away for the night and to go to bed. I mean, it’s 2 a.m.! I have another 20 chapters — probably 150 pages — which I could finish by 4.

What sane person thinks like that? What normal person seriously considers intentionally staying up until 4 hours before they need to go to work in order to read a book that will still be sitting there come lunchtime or eveningtide? Will things happen in the book while I’m away that will change the story? It’s not like I’ve left the characters in a precarious situation (which I never would do, by the way). They’re all safe. They’re on the beach. They’ll be fine until I’m able to get back to them. (They will be, won’t they?)

But it doesn’t matter. I really just want to throw myself back on the couch, pull out the book, and read away until I reach “The End” and my curiosity about what happens next is satisfied.

Woe to those who hope their children grow up to be readers. This is the future that you’re pointing them to — sleepless nights and an unquenchable thirst for adventure and knowledge. It’s a hard life.

There is a 15-20 minute delay on the Woodrow Wilson Bridge in Northern Virginia –or, rather, on the demolition of the bridge. Some days you just gotta love irony.

I think that scientists don’t fully understand why the public dislikes and is confused by science. My theory is that the field has, as have many others, taken concepts that are ultimately understandable and swathed them in language that is so technical and specialized that it is virtually incomprehensible.

I recently read an article about research into the brain’s role on obesity. I have been looking into the subject of obesity for a year now and I still found it hard to follow. This is because in an article that was six paragraphs long it included a ridiculous number of multi-syllabic words (and I like multi-syllabic words!).

Included in the article were gems like

“The importance of these brain peptides and their expression patterns in energy homeostasis is underscored by central injection studies with the peptides themselves, as well as with antisense oligonucleotides that produce a local blockade of peptide gene expression”

and

“These investigations, involving both in vivo and in vitro techniques, enable us to unravel a cascade of factors controlling neuropeptide production, including circulating steroids, glucoregulatory peptides and nutrients, as well as intracellular proteins and lipids.”

The article is neither specifically aimed at the layperson nor at the science community, so it could be that the author did not intend it for the non-science community to read it. But if it was intended for wider circulation, the author (and other scientists who write similar articles) does the field a disservice.

If scientists want to present a friendlier front to the public, they will start teaching their up-and-comers how to present their materials in a way that doesn’t automatically isolate the general audience. As I used to tell science students, explain it as if you were talking to your grandmother. Once you can do that, the public will get behind your work and behind science in general, and it will stop seeming like it’s a club that doesn’t want any new members.

Well, I’ve missed you too.

I’m feeling much better. It’s amazing what drugs can do for you. I am still tired, which causes me to take long naps (and miss key blogging time), but I’ll take that over feverish and unable to swallow.

Today I got up and did a little housework before my two hour nap. Then I went for a walk, did a little grocery shopping, and came home so we could meet friends for a concert.

The Goo Goo Dolls and Counting Crows both put on audience-friendly shows, even though I didn’t know as many of their songs as I often do when attending a show. I did know more than I expected to, though. Our friend Phillip bought them in absentia for our friend Susan and invited us to accompany her to the show. It was a terribly sweet thing to do and, as we like music, we hopped in the car with Susan and Sarah, pointed it toward Virginia and took off. The crowd definitely skewed young, chatty, and prone to drunkenness, but there was less pot smoking in our section than I’d expected. Maybe they bust people there. The attendees certainly don’t clean up after themselves terribly well, though. Clearly all those young people were under the impression that their maids had also come to the show, as empty cans and bottles littered the field. (Thanks for teaching me to tote out my mess, Mum and Dad.)

I wasn’t that impressed with the Goo Goo Dolls, although they put on a fine show. I liked the Counting Crows better, even if they didn’t play “Accidentally in Love,” their Shrek II theme song. Oddly, they seemed sort of U2esque with the lead guitarist dressed a lot like The Edge and the lead singer doing some progressive propaganda à la Bono. But since I like U2 and I liked the Counting Crows’ songs, it was a comparison that worked well for them.

On tap tomorrow: the farmers’ market (must buy milk!), the yarn store (I have a discount that expires at the end of the month I’d like to see about using), and some work.

I’d also like to do a little knitting. I taught myself the Magic Loop method of knitting the other night and have finished the cuff of the sock that was driving me nuts. (For the non-knitters, Magic Loop allows you to knit a small object like a sock using just a long, single circular needle instead of on 4-5 double-pointed needles or a pair of circulars.) Since I needed to downsize this project from US3 needles — which I had two of — to US2s — which I only had one of — the most prudent thing seemed to be to learn a new technique. I’m pleased to say that although it seemed intimidating before I tried it, after looking over a detailed, photo-heavy website and watching an online video tutorial, it was really much easier than I’d expected. I love when that happens.

Sickness has a way of making you appreciate the small things in life, because you’re just incapable of achieving big things. So in that frame of mind, I offer several beautiful things from my sick days:

1. All I wanted yesterday was a popsicle. Really. My throat hurt so much, I was miserable. Needing tp for the apartment and not wanting to trek all the way up to Rite Aid, I stopped at CVS when I got off the Metro. Not only did they have tp, as well as nice soft applesauce and mandarin oranges, but they also sold Edy’s fruit bars. I don’t think I’ve tasted anything so nice as that sweet stream of strawberriness as it melted down my throat (and my arm) on the walk home.

2. Rudi attended a fundraiser last night and stopped home to bring me a bunch of balloons before going out with some friends for a late dinner. They were a very sweet gesture, rustling over my head and freaking Jeremiah out with their pinging against one another. (I’m pretty sure he vaulted through the window in our bedroom in a single bound. I admit it; I laughed.) They were even funnier around 4:30 this morning, when they deflated a little, floated out of the bedroom, and caught their ribbons in the clamp that holds the fan’s screen on (not actually in the fan’s blades). There they were doing balloon boxing when I awoke. Della was looking on from the cat perch with utter delight. You could just hear her thinking, “More! More!”

3. I went to work on Tuesday because, as I have noted, I have an encroaching deadline that has me remarkably stressed out (and because I thought the flu was waning. If I’d known that it was strep and that it just a breather before the major bout, I might have handled things differently). Nonetheless, there I was on Tuesday, so I went up to our weekly lunchtime knitting group. I had knit a bit on the sock over the weekend — enough to know that I need to pull it out (again!) and knit it on smaller needles. (It does occur to me that I should perhaps let these socks rest for a little while and try a different pair…) So I decided to knit a gauge swatch for the baby sweater from the yarn I bought on Saturday. (For those who don’t knit, you knit a gauge swatch — a little 4″x4″ square — to avoid problems like I had with the sock where you find out that you and the person who wrote the pattern differ so dramatically in your choice of yarn or how tightly you knit that you end up with a different sized garment from what you’re expecting. This is not a problem in a scarf or a bag. It is a much bigger problem in something like a sweater and something you really ought to do if you’re giving said sweater as a gift to a friend.) And I’m on gauge! So I don’t need to mess with different sized needles and can cast on for the sweater as soon as I’m feeling a little more lively. (Don’t want to give any strep germs as a bonus baby gift…)

Three bonus beautiful things:

4. Moms: My own is a wonderful caretaker and is sending me emails several times a day to check on my recovery. There’s no one I’ve ever wanted around more when I was sick, and I’m grateful for the virtual nursing. Rudi’s mom is a doctor and is supervising my recovery from 2,500 miles away. And my boss’s motherly instincts kicked in yesterday to send me home as soon as she saw me. Even if I couldn’t see that it wasn’t essential for me to be in the office for things to get done, she could see that I needed some additional recovery time.

5. Increments: I am feeling better today. Not well, but well enough to work from home. I expect to feel even better tomorrow. And the day after that. The miracles of penicillin…

6. You: Thank you for all the well wishes. I don’t even know some of you! All suggestions were taken, and it gave me a little boost each time I got up and someone else had left a note. I’m sure today’s progress is, in part, due to all of you.

After three days of having what I believed to be the flu, my throat developed white spots and I got a red rash on my chest. No doubt about it — strep.

Swallowing hurts. Talking is now done in a whisper. I don’t want to eat. I can’t sleep.

No wonder my boss sent me home from work today…

I look like those one of those crazed lunatics in their mug shots where you wonder how many substances they’re on. I feel not like death warmed over, but more like death warmed over, allowed to grow cold again, and then left on the floor in the hopes that the dog will eat it.

But there’s nothing wrong with my sense of humor!

I have some sort of bug that has prevented me from doing many of the things I’d hoped to accomplish this weekend — find yarn for my sock pal, read education white papers of the mayoral candidates, and work through de Tocqueville.

I did manage to toddle down to the farmers’ market this morning, but pretty much I’ve moped in bed all day sleeping off and on. I’m on deadline at work, so I’ll have to pull myself together by morning, but otherwise I’d stay home.

Apparently, I will do anything to avoid reading de Tocqueville.

Update (Monday morning): A 102* fever, ague, and two hours up in the middle of the night have convinced me to stay in bed one more day. I awoke in a dead sweat two hours after going to bed last night convinced that the sweater yarn and pattern I bought in the spring would look terrible on me, that the deadline I’m under is going to not be met in a major way, that I’m going to be fired from work, that people in DC weren’t really my friends and were just pretending. Usually I’m pretty unflappable and things like this only stress me out in tiny doses once in a rare while. So clearly my body is trying to fight off some nasty bug and thought I needed nightmares and panic attacks as a symptom to convince me to stay home. So I’m going to listen to my body and am returning to bed. See you when I feel better.