Got a call from my daughter who works in Thousand Oaks.  The area was evacuated due to a wild fire.  There are thousands of employees where she works. She was stuck in the parking lot surrounded by black sky during daylight.  No cars were moving.  She was scared, so was I.  She was low on gas.  More to worry about.

It took her two hours to get home.  The panic never ceases.

I was scheduled for a 45-minute phone consultation with the anesthesia department.  They were to call between 9-11 am.  I arranged clients accordingly. They did not call.  I called them.  “Oh, my, I need to talk to the supervisor; you were supposed to be the first call.”  Another call comes in.  It is the person I was scheduled with, apologizing for being late.  We went over the prep and arrangements.

I chose to remain optimistic that their timing will be accurate during surgery.

When I turned forty, I decided to not refer to people by their titles anymore (Dr., Mr., Mrs., Ms., Professor, Father, etc.).  I was an adult and we could all be on a first name basis.  I have followed this decision.  I encourage my clients to call me Natalie, not Dr. Gelman.  I respect whatever choice they make.

Last night I went to a small social gathering to interact with the new Rabbi of the Temple I belong to.  A woman asked her what her first name was.  She replied, “Rabbi.”  She clarified that she would not share her first name because she wants to be called Rabbi in any setting that has to do with her professional role.

I respect her decision.  I will not be close to her.

Had the family over to celebrate two birthdays.  I decided to try a new recipe for a cake.  I bake all the time, but entertain myself with new recipes periodically.  This was a peach/caramel/bourbon cake.

All of my eight guests loved it.  I did not.  I will not make it again.  I have always followed this guide to cooking.  I have to like it a lot to make it.

The recipe is available to those who want it.

When I decided to substitute part time in Maine, I had to have my fingerprints checked.  I had been living there for six years and owned a restaurant.  I discovered I had no fingerprints.  The agent asked me if I washed dishes a lot.  I told him I did pots and pans daily.  He said that would explain the problem and alternative ways of having my prints visible worked.

In California I had to have my fingerprints recorded to join the gym.  Each day I go, I enter my phone number on the machine and place my finger on the scanner.  It typically does not surface properly and I have to give additional information to get through, unless the person at the desk remembers me.

Avoid doing dishes.  It is a hazard to your identity.

Yesterday was Sunday.  I had no plans until noon.  I began by making baby back ribs. Then I washed the upholstery on my sofa; there had been a couple of stains.  That meant adding some laundry to the wash. Then I washed the windows on the inside.  Then I wiped the front of the refrigerator.  Then I went to Rhythmix for a special event. Then I came home and read.  Fixed dinner.  Discovered that my DVR screwed up my recordings and spent the remainder of the evening on the phone with AT&T, the second time this week.

I went to the gym this morning and worked off stress.

A woman told me a story about her mother calling and asking if there was time to get together.  The daughter does not enjoy time with her mother, but did not know how to avoid making a commitment.  When she told me she said she needed to check her calendar, she smiled.  When I asked her how she felt about getting together with her mother, she smiled.  She smiled when she allowed herself to feel the truth: she did not want to be with her mother.  Unfortunately, she still does not know how to avoid being with her.  She feels guilty.

I wish she could see the smile on her face when she allows herself to experience the dislike she has toward her parent.  It is more pleasant than the frown she has when she is with her.

Went to two soccer games on Saturday for Isaac and Ari.  The whole family decided to go out for lunch together.  Isaac rode with Carrie and me.  As we pulled into the restaurant parking lot, two cars were backing out.  I waited for one and pulled into the space.  As we got out of the car, Isaac and I both said, “One of us should stand in the other space so that Mommy and Daddy have a place to park.”  Simultaneously, we said the same line.

Genetics.  It is wonderful.

My dear friends Ken and Pauline invited me, Isaac and Ari over for dinner.  They had sparkling cider for the boys, wine for us.  We all drank out of wine glasses.  During dinner, the conversation had a political theme at times and I wondered if the boys were bored.  After dinner, Ken invited to boys to his music room.  Ken is a wonderful guitarist.  They went and Pauline and I chatted with a background of guitar music from upstairs.  I later discovered that Isaac and Ari had played electric guitar and ukulele.

I was so appreciative that we each had an environment that was enriching and enjoyable.

It is nice to share our interests.

It is difficult to be with someone who you believe is using too much medication.  It is certainly a subject that has caused a good deal of concern.  When working with clients who are trying to encourage someone they love to use less medication for pain, I find much frustration is felt.  There are only two people who can address how much medication is used: the doctor and the patient.  Most doctors are reducing use because they have to.  It is their decision what to prescribe and attention is being paid by pharmacies.  Hopefully the patient follows the prescribed amount.  But the friend or relative has no power, and that can be a difficult situation because all that can be done is offer an opinion and provide support and care.