mud pies to medicine: Learnin' to Fly

Friday, January 13, 2012

Learnin' to Fly

I'm running on three hours of sleep and thought I would just get behind for a day on my resolution (remember I said that was allowed). Then, I happened upon something while driving back from the grocery store! Once against did not have my camera but luckily it was in my neighborhood and still there when I got back. It was a great chance to use my telephoto. So thanks, Society Hill, for my wildlife shot of the day. It's not the best quality, but it's a BLUE HERON. At least I hope that's what it is. I'm a medical student, not a bird watcher.

Today after our exam I worked on my red wall. It is an ongoing project but here's a little peak. Excuse the low quality- it's an instagram shot.

And on top of that tomorrow is my birthday today was the end of our block, and thanks to MLK it's a three day weekend! BEST BIRTHDAY EVER! Annie made me a cake:

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The inspiration you ask?

I miss making mud pies. There is this huge rock in my front yard. To call it a rock really does it a dishonor. It is a boulder, brought home by my father on a huge dump truck after he blasted it out of a work site. My mom one day told me that even though it is nearly 2.5 feet high, 6 feet long, and 2.5 feet wide, that it was, in fact, only half-showing. The scientist inside of me was disbelieving and set out to get some proof. Clad in a dress, bow in my hair, and my best accessory, a shovel, I trudged outside ready to prove my mother wrong. That is when the digging began. I dug, and dug, and dug, and nearly all 3.5 feet of Danielle fit in that hole when I had reached the bottom of the rock. That became my digging spot, my mud pie kitchen. Each day it was dug, and each evening it was filled back in. Sometimes the holes were small, sometimes they were enormous, and most days the hole was turned into my mud mixing bowl with that rock as my counter. The novelty never wore off. The ebb and flow of my childhood was, in many ways, measured by the ever-changing depth of that hole in the front yard, the hole that never really disappeared even each day after it was filled in. Even though the grass has grown back in that spot, there still remains, an indentation, the scars of a childhood well lived and the disbelieving scientists I have always been.

So, you ask me why I want to be a doctor? I do not want to be a doctor. I want to open a mud pie bakery with the cash register on that rock in my front yard. But, somehow, I doubt I would stay in business long, for the world seems to have lost its taste for mud pies. I guess being a doctor will have to do.