(no subject)

In our big research study (not mine, but my boss's), there's a part of the study where we deliberately make the participants angry. It's a role play, and the instructions go something like this: "Pretend that I'm your landlord, and there's something around your place that needs to be repaired. You've left me messages and nothing has been done. Now you're going to run into me in person and discuss the problem. If this has happened to you in real life, you can use a real example - otherwise, I want you to make something up. But the important thing is to make it sound as real as possible."

Every participant has had this problem in real life. The housing problems they report are detailed and realistic. When we play our instigating role in the dialogue - and we are the most obnoxious landlords ever encountered; favorite lines include "It will get done when it gets done," "You need to watch your attitude - don't take that tone with me," and "Well, I don't know what you expect for the kind of rent you're paying" - they are well prepared to respond. More than half threaten to put their rent in escrow until the problem is fixed. They have been down this route, again and again.

Those role plays are on my mind today because we are having a heating problem. The front of the house has been heating just fine, but not the back; the final straw came yesterday when I went into the kitchen and the bottle of olive oil on the counter was congealed solid. To add insult to injury, the freezing cold in parts of the house comes alongside an outrageous $600 electric and gas bill for December. Michael went down to investigate the boiler and came back reporting that the pressure seemed oddly low.

Michael called the landlord this morning. And fifteen minutes later the landlord's handyman rang our doorbell. He adjusted our radiators and explained to me, at length, how the steam radiators we have now differ from the hot water radiators we had in the old house, and what the theory is behind their operation. (It turns out that steam radiators have a steam regulator as well as the little thingy that opens or closes the coils; we didn't know.) Then he went down to the basement and spent twenty minutes or so tinkering with the boiler, drawing off several buckets of muddy water which he said were preventing it from operating properly (and thereby raising our heating bill). He finished by promising that he would come back in the spring and do a full cleaning and servicing of the boiler.

When he left, I called Michael to report. And as soon as I got off the phone with Michael, our landlord called him to assure him that if the house isn't heating to our satisfaction by tomorrow morning he'll send in a full team.

The olive oil is still congealed, but we're going to wait and see what happens when the house cools off at night and then the heat cycles on in the morning.

Our landlord would totally fail as a role-play landlord. Damn, we're lucky. And privileged.

Quick midwife update.

You know what's not a good idea, when you're damn near 37 weeks pregnant?

Falling hard on the ice on the way into the midwife's office, that's what. I seem to be okay, but I think it's going to be a tense 24 hours until we're absolutely 100% positive that it's not going to send me into labor or anything. We are under orders to call immediately if I notice anything whatsoever that seems funny.

Also, I landed on my right hip, which is the difficult one.

Also, thank goodness Michael and Alex came along to the appointment, or I have no idea how I would've gotten up again.

Fall and resultant shakiness notwithstanding, I managed to come up with a good blood pressure reading of 110/72. No sugar or protein problems. I've gained four pounds (!) since last week, which may partly be a factor of last week's visit being before lunch and this one being immediately after dinner. My uterus is measuring 40cm when I'm contracting and 39cm when I'm not contracting. (Why yes, I am contracting a lot.) I'm Group B Strep negative, yay. (That saves me from having to get antibiotics in labor.) My symptoms are as normal as an extremely normal thing. The baby's heartbeat sounds strong and beautiful.

Then I sent Michael and Alex out of the room and told Kathy about the feelings I had after the hospital tour. She is not the touchy-feeliest of midwives, but she was great. She gently told me that it was entirely appropriate and reasonable and expected to still be grieving and to have negative feelings triggered by my upcoming birth. She thinks that laboring women focus intensely on labor, and that I am unlikely to have significant problems with D&C memories in labor, but she is ready to remind me that I am there to birth a baby. Also, she is fairly certain that if I call when I first notice labor signs they will be able to snag me the room where Alex was born, which not only has positive memories associated with it but is huge and couldn't be more different from the rooms I was in when I miscarried. She's going to tell the other midwives how I'm feeling, which is good.

She also told me, firmly, that the universe intends for me to have this baby, that this is the baby who is meant to be. I'm not sure how I feel about that as a theological position, so I will choose to focus on the part where we are positive that I am going to have this baby.

I'm loving this story.

They are victims of hurricanes and women who suffered in abusive relationships; they are disabled adults and children scarred by poverty. Some suffer from terminal illness. They arrived in Washington by plane, train and automobile from as far away as New Orleans, Galveston, Tex., and Wichita, invited to witness one of the biggest events in a generation.

"Prince, you are stepping up!" Prince Brooks said to himself as he walked into the elegant lobby of the JW Marriott Hotel, surrounded by chandeliers, liveried bellmen and ornate furnishings. "I've got to make the most of it."

Brooks, 57, a homeless veteran, was among hundreds of people from across the country whom Fairfax County businessman Earl W. Stafford invited to attend an inaugural ball in space he rented at the Marriott, two blocks from the White House.

Stafford conceived of it as a simple idea: celebrate the inauguration of the nation's first African American president by inviting to Washington as many people as he could afford, people whose health or economic circumstances would prohibit them from making the trip on their own.

He called it the People's Inaugural Ball and planned other events, including a nighttime tour on the visitors' first evening in Washington, a prayer breakfast and a luncheon today in honor of Martin Luther King Jr.

Stafford told a team of volunteers working with him to provide his guests with everything they need, including luxury accommodations and gowns and tuxedos for the ball. [...]

Then volunteers from the Northern Virginia chapter of the National Urban League started contacting men and women who wanted to donate evening gowns and tuxedos. Hundreds of gowns poured in -- so many that volunteers had to announce that no more could be accepted. Two hundred tuxes came in. A shoe company in Atlanta donated 100 pairs of men's shoes. Hairdressers, barbers and manicurists offered to come in to beautify the guests. Seamstresses offered to make adjustments to any clothing.

Yesterday, the guests flooded into the hotel lobby, registering for rooms with 400-thread-count sheets and down comforters. Even as they benefited from Stafford's generosity yesterday, most of the guests said that they didn't know who he was or that he was spending $1.6 million on them.

I know they have a lot of balls to attend, but I really hope the Obamas stop by that one.