and now, introducing the newest member of the family

...the Breadman! This little machine boasts perfectly made bread every time, just add some contents, set it and forget it.

First impressions: high maintenance! I had fun measuring out the ingredients, which reminded me of my chemistry days in college. But the specificity annoyed me. 3/4 cups + 1 tablespoon of water? I'm used to cooking real time, whether stir frying or barbecue, and methods have never been THAT exact. To stress over one tablespoon of water was something unusual to me. But this was the first time, so I begrudgingly complied.

Second impression: the device is a maniac. Like, Pomeranian, honeycomb monster, gremlin, take your pick. It can't make up its mind which way it wants to turn. First right, then left. I was trying to scrape some dough off the side and it nearly took my hand off. It also is so sporadic with the speed that it nearly vibrated its way off the table it was set on. I'm going to have to put a leash on it.

Third impression: The final bread is pretty darn good, so it looks like I'm going to have to suffer and get used to it. So far, white and egg bread have been winners, and I'm going to step up to the next level tonight: coconut pineapple pound cake!

Pieces of a Puzzle

Isn't it awesome when you can look to the past and see how random events, done without purpose or plan, form one logical, continuous chain of events?

16 months ago: I go to a doctor and he uses a flexible laryngoscope to examine my vocal cords.

14 months ago: I start working for that doctor, preparing other patients for the scope, applying topical anesthesia and setting up the equipment.

6 months ago: I purchase and assemble equipment (camera, xenon light source, plasma tv, recording adaptor) for a new fiberoptic laryngoscope system in the office.

2 weeks ago: The physician shows me how to hold a laryngoscope. After hours, when patients have left, I practice controlling it.

Today, 11:00 AM: I prepare a patient for the scope, placing local anesthesia and decongestant in both nostrils. For the first time, I decide to place an additional cotton swab in the left nostril. Something about that side feels too loose.

Today, 11:04 AM: The patient decides to tell me his life story, and requests to know mine. Normally, I make an exit, citing a busy schedule. However, today I decide to stay and converse.

Today, 11:10 AM: The doctor tells me to glove up and operate the scope myself, while he stands beside me. I hold it as he showed me. The patient, knowing my background, enthusiastically agrees. The left nostril is clear. I slowly insert the scope along the floor of the nose. Crouching low, sneaking under the inferior turbinate, I slip by the Eustachian tube and make a nosedive into full view of the trachea.

Today was a 60 second experience made possible by 14 months of work. And it was totally worth it.