In the last two years, 1,200 American soldiers have had to seek medical treatment as a result of anthrax and smallpox vaccinations they received from the military.

While in most instances the side effects — which included temporary headaches, fatigue, fever, nausea, and dizziness — were not serious, some of the illnesses were debilitating. These included chronic fatigue syndrome, migraines, cognitive problems, multiple sclerosis, and degenerative arthritis.

According to the article in Global Security Newswire, “None of the personnel treated in fiscal 2004 ‘has suffered loss of life, limb or eyesight,’ according to a statement from Walter Reed Army Medical Center, which houses the main Vaccine Healthcare Center in Washington.”

I understand we are talking about degrees. Walter Reed probably feels that compared with the shattered kids they get back daily from Afghanistan and Iraq that being diagnosed with MS or arthritis is minor. I also realize that our soldiers are placed in situations where having been vaccinated against biological agents may save lives.

But I do think this story should receive more attention than it probably will. Remember, in the wake of September 11, the government sought private citizens to volunteer to test these vaccinations. Mass-marketed drugs are recalled for fewer problems than this military study displays. And certainly no drug with a sample like this in clinical trials would be approved by the FDA.

It seems, then, that the prudent thing to do would be to cease public trials pending further study. Also halt new military innoculations pending further, in-depth study of those who have already received vaccines against the two diseases to best determine what the safest course should be in the future.

Unfortunately, according to Global Source, that seems an unlikely scenario unless there is public outcry: “The Pentagon, citing a determination that there is potential for a heightened risk of an anthrax threat to U.S. forces, announced Tuesday it would resume providing mass anthrax vaccinations to service members mainly in South Korea and across the Middle East and South Asia.”

If we claim that we want the best for our soldiers, let’s make sure that they also receive the best medical options. Chronic illness is an unacceptable way to say thank you for putting your life on the line for the rest of us.

Sunday dawned bright and clear (and a little bit later than Sunday mornings usually do around here). The trip to the farmer’s market did not bring a cornucopia to our table. Halfway through their hours, flowers were pretty much gone. This wasn’t surprising; it was Mother’s Day after all. What was surprising was that the food had gone quickly, too. They were even out of milk!

We did manage to nab the last basket of morels from Sunnyside, where the farmer threw in our potatoes for free. And we bought a bag of baby lettuce from Heinz, whose strawberries were long gone. Two bunches of asparagus and a dozen eggs rounded out the produce.

Blueberry scones had sold out, as had sticky buns. We contemplated pie, but our options were apple or apple rhubarb and that just didn’t say beautiful spring day to us. So we settled on the goat cheese tart to complement the loaf of maple oatmeal bread I made on Friday night.

Yum! I wouldn’t want to give up blueberry scones on a regular basis, but it’s good to remind myself how nice the combination of sweet and savory can be as a breakfast meal.

Usually when I post something that registers as being written during “the wee hours,” my blog is lying. It seems to believe that midnight constitutes a wee hour, which, clearly, it does not, as 12 is large. But tonight it is 2:21 as I sit here and I do not want to go to bed.

It’s been a long day. Rudi and I got up early (for a Saturday), threw on our grubbies and headed over to a D.C. high school for a marathon painting session. Yes, the main second floor corridor door’s did look nicer by the time we finished. But it was discouraging that we got as little done as we did.

This afternoon, after a Paradise ice cream cone (raspberry ice cream with a chocolate fudge swirl), I came home and dozed off. It’s Jeremiah’s fault. He hopped up on my lap and went to sleep. It’s just very hard to stay awake with a sleeping cat on you.

Rudi woke me up for the Kentucky Derby (a surprisingly exciting 2 minutes of my day) and the end of the Nats game (a nice come-from-behind victory in the 9th) before he made us a lovely dinner of a ramp (a wild leek found in West Virginia that has a foraging period of about three weeks)-morel mushroom-chicken stirfry followed by asparagus and hollandaise (left over from the sauce I made earlier in the week).

Then we headed off to friends’ Siete de Mayo party. I enjoyed some of the conversations and seeing some friends I hadn’t seen in a while, but it was definitely the sort of party where it helped if you were drinking. I wasn’t, so I failed to find the enjoyment in the piñata being set on fire in the neighbor’s yard or the beer bottle-M90 explosion. I mean, come on. How much alcohol must you have consumed when you’re amazed the M90 shattered the bottle?

Since arriving home a little more than an hour ago, I’ve just been sitting here, surfing the web. I sort of feel like the day passed me by without a whole lot getting accomplished. Clearly this isn’t true; I did quite a bit. It just wasn’t a satisfying sort of day and some part of me feels like I ought to stay up until it becomes satisfying. The sane part of me realizes that’s just likely to make me grumpy tomorrow, though, so I think I should head to bed. There’s a farm market in the morning and the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival and a potential bike ride in that area in the afternoon. I wouldn’t want to miss out on those because I stayed up in pursuit of an elusory ending to today.

My back did something yesterday morning. I don’t know exactly what. It wasn’t like I was asking it to do anything out-of-the-ordinary. In fact, I think it was bending down to find shoes.

But apparently it didn’t care for that, because either a muscle pulled or a nerve tweaked because boy does my back hurt!

I have hopes that the popping and cracking that are going on today mean things are loosening up and that my back will be feeling much better tomorrow for our volunteer clean-up day at Spingarn High School in Northeast.

It could be because the only cartoonist’s blog (do other cartoonists have blogs?) didn’t mention it until 11:45 p.m. EDT. Or it could be because I didn’t see yesterday’s paper to see the fun gags they pulled in the comics (did they pull any?).

But either way, I managed to miss National Cartoonist’s Day on May 5, and I’d like to formally apologize here and now to my favorite cartoonists.

So, I include here links to some of them:

• Intrepid Adventure, by my best friend, Danny Atwood
• Unshelved, by fellow library conference exhibitor Bill Barnes and his librarian pal Gene Ambaum
• Mutts, by Patrick McDonnell
• For Better or For Worse, by Lynn Johnston
• Rose Is Rose, by Pat Brady
• Foxtrot, by Bill Amend
• Six Chix, by Isabella Bannerman (Mondays), Margaret Shulock (Tuesdays), Rina Piccolo (Wednesdays), Ann Telnaes (Thursdays), Kathryn LeMieux (Fridays), Stephanie Piro (Saturdays)
• Rhymes with Orange, by Hilary Price
• Zits, by Jerry Scott and Jim Borgman
• Get Fuzzy, by Darby Conley
• Peanuts, by Charles Schulz (did you really think he would be left off?)
• Calvin and Hobbes, by Bill Watterson (retired, but not forgotten) [author’s note: the official site is littered with ads, but it’s the best I could find]

You might also find Lambiek’s Comiclopedia of Artists, Women’s Cartoon Index, and Online Comics interesting resources.

Tuesday night, I decided I was finally going to try making bread.

I had bought bread flour. Karen had kindly supplied me a bevy of non-dried milk recipes. I checked the yeast I’d bought years ago. Oops. August ’04. Hmmm… And would this kind even work?

So a trip to Safeway for yeast. We bought two kinds — just to be on the safe side. And a can of pears.

Back home. Which recipe?

Rudi selects the pear-based recipe.

A phone call to Karen: Which yeast do I want? Either will probably be fine, she says. She is a calming voice to my inexperience. Even if it does not work out, it will be fine. She adds the sage (but not basil) warning that I should not yank the bread out of the machine as soon as it ends and slice into it. It won’t be done cooking. I won’t have to wait all 15 minutes, but 10 minutes would be smart.

I pull out the breadmaker bowl and follow directions. Mash pears, add liquids, add dry ingredients, add yeast (the active, not highly active, variety). Remember not to stir. Throw bowl back into machine.

The moment of truth — will the machine work?

Hooray! It’s making noises! (Jeremiah hopped up on the butcher block to investigate.)

Rudi and I watch the dough like anxious nesting sparrows. Will it become a ball? Will it rise? Will it brown?

It did all those things. Truly exciting.

And the smell wafted through the Burrow, keeping us up late enough to eat it.

The most effort I had to put in between pouring in the ingredients and slicing the bread was getting the loaf out of the pan. It stuck a little on the sides and a spatula was necessary to loosen it. But boy did it look pretty once it was cooling on the counter.

After letting the bread cool precisely 10 minutes, I sliced it. A little butter and it was gone. Mmmmmmmmm…

We’ve had it toasted with jam for breakfast the last two days and enough remains for tomorrow’s breakfast. Then on to the next loaf. You don’t notice the pear, except when you open the paper bag, when the scent of ripe pear wafts out. Yum!

I have to admit: I experienced a surprising amount of pride for this little loaf. I didn’t do much. The breadmachine did most of it. But I suppose it wouldn’t make it without me, so I will consider it a successful working partnership.