Try keeping up with this!

I warned myself I would not be able to write as often when I started inpatient medicine. I wouldn't trade it, mind you.

Tonight's thoughts are a shishkabob of ideas. Shiskabob #1: Thank goodness for Valentine's. Many would attack this kind-hearted holiday. But how can you not enjoy it when kneeling down to pray and hearing your very own better half thank God for a day to celebrate our love and relationship together. Whew! Life does Not get better than this. For all who have suffered more than I can dare dream or comprehend because of failed relationships, all I can say is thank you for teaching me that your feelings of love have given you strength to endure the heartache of loss. Love transcends everything, I believe even failed commitments, because it invites the Atonement into the recovery process.

Amazing where writing can take you when you sit down to a blank blog. Speaking of taking and amazing, I had my first Corvette ride this past week. Another classmate (don't ask me where he got the money for this) gave me a ride to the hospital in his 2009 6.2 L 8 HP charcoal corvette, just like the one in the picture. Now we all know we laugh at speedracers who accelerate in their fast cars out on the streets only to be stopped at each red light where we easily catch up like the tortoise following the hare. Well, I gained insight into the speedracer's mindset when riding with my classmate

. He doesn't mind the red lights. In fact he welcomes them. All of the fun was seeing how fast you could accelerate and then decelerate before the next light. It was better than Indiana Jones at Disneyland! Pure adrenaline. So

now that we slow drivers know this simple fact, we can no longer laugh at the cars flying by us on the roads. They really don't have anywhere to go, they just want to be

on the road hitting the accelerator as many times as possible. And every red light is one more reason to hit that pedal.

Shishkabob #3 (since I've been counting even though you thought I lost count). A DNR is a "do not resuscitate" form for patients in the hospital. If someone signs this form and they go into cardiac or respiratory arrest, then doctors will allow natural events to progress, eventually leading to death. As standard procedure, all patients should be offered this form. It was bad timing this morning though when a resident brought this form to a patient who five seconds earlier had said, "I think I'm going to live!" Irony.

Shishkabob #4.

Anna and I celebrated our third Valentine's together with our tradition of Shishkabob's for dinner. They are colorful and tasty. This year we added mango sticky rice to the menu.

Shishkabob #5. I also included a picture of a cork oak. This tree's oak is the stuff wine corks are made out of. This whole time I thought they were synthetic material. Who knew? Also, I included a picture of a deciduous tree in front of an evergreen, an African Sumac. The sun is flowing through both of them. I call the picture, "Life After Death." Am I not merciful?

Shishkabob #6. I just quoted from Gladiator.

Shishkabob #7. Anna is awesome. Friday and Saturday she was packed with clinicals. Sunday morning she spoke for both of us at church since I was on-call, then she taught the lesson in Young Women.

Tomorrow she has a major nursing exam. And the next day she is getting ready and playing the harp in New Beginnings. She has no weekend to speak of and she still went on a two-hour walk with me down the River Trail this 71 degree afternoon.

Shishkabob #8. I drove past this bus in Tucson while dropping Anna off at work one morning. The best part of waking up...is Folger's in your cup. Unless you live in Tucson, where you drive, get coffee, and then wake-up. Car insurance is pretty expensive here. See you in the future...

A Valentine for Sisters?

So many memories. So little time. Next week my sisters are gathering in a hamlet in Utah, somewhere in the snow. The sun will surely be missed. But I think the brother will be missed more. How can I be so sure? Well, after a day's reflection in preparation for this fairly-narcisstic column, I've come to the conclusion that my sisters don't know how to have fun without me. First, introductions: in the picture associated with this post, the girl on the left is Whitney, the one next to her is Erin, then me, then two cousins, who will represent Rachel and Sally, my other two sisters.

So back to my day's reflections...which in fact, have become memories.

My earliest memory together with my sisters is, I think, a funny one. It's funny because I remember it so clearly, and I remember knowing I was truly innocent at the time. I was like Adam in the Garden, as you're about to find out. My sisters were sitting in the front room. I walked down the hall from my bedroom to the front room and stared at them. I then dropped my pants and showed them something they didn't have. When my parents got home, my sisters told on me. That was the night I learned about respect for anatomy. A funny memory because I think they don't remember it at all. But it was a turning point for me. (at least until Jonathan and me got caught mooning Whitney's friend, Becky Tanner, who also told on us) Red moons that night when we went to bed. :(

Another memory proving how much fun my sisters have with me involves "fraggle-rocks." I'm not sure that's how you spell it, but for fear of PTSD symptoms, I will never type those two words into google. Never. For some reason these buggers creeped me out. One night, sick in bed, my sisters came in to see if I needed a glass of water. (I might not have been sick but this adds drama in a Stephen King way) I said yes. What pleasant little women for sisters I have. With three standing sentry at the door, one came back with a glass of water. I raised the glass only to have fraggle rocks tumble down into my face! Knowing me today, I must have cursed a storm and thrown the glass back at them as they ran laughing out of the room.

Times were better when I got older. When I say "better times," it always means for my sisters and rarely for me. One of my joys in life is either buying a new hat, or a new watch. I still remember my first hat. It was a Lakers hat my dad bought for me. I'm sure I wore it everywhere. One night with my parents gone (for some reason I always remember them being gone at night to the temple) I was sitting on the couch reading a book. From behind, one of the sisters, I won't name names but her's starts with an "r," grabbed my hat. I jumped back for it but she threw it to "w." "w" then threw it to "e." And around it went...r...w...e....e....w...r. After reducing me to tears, my happy sisters replaced my hat on my head. Life went on. Can you begin to imagine now that next week my sisters won't know how to have a good time if I'm not around? :)

My next memory isn't really a memory as much as a legacy. Talk to my sister Sally someday about the art of sneaking out at night. She is Houdini. When there were locks, she went through them. When there were no locks, she made a lock, and still went through it. Good times in Fruit Heights. But Sally, I think it's safe to say, I trained you in the art, no? For many a weekend you monitored my sneaking out our Harvest St. home, off to battle dragons. Oh the things we do in the name of Valentine. Good times.

Sadly, I have to burn the rest of my midnight oil on more important things, like sleep. So to keep the post thematic, I will end on a romantic memory. It's a memory I've always wanted to share with Erin. We moved away from our Harvest Street home in 2000. I stayed in AZ with Erin to attend ASU while the family moved to Utah. During this time Erin was dating her current husband John Tingey. One night my friend Jonathan and I were walking by our sold home. The home was completely empty, awaiting new occupants. We were curious when we saw a light on in the house. We walked up to the front door and peered through the arched window at the top of the door. There, in the front room of anatomy, my sister and future bro-in-law were making out! Jonathan and I looked at each other and after a nod and chuckle, we rang the doorbell and ran away....Happy Valentines Whitney, Rachel, Erin, and Sally! Your brother missed you today and always.

Quote of the day

From espn.com columnist Bill Simmons:

He analyzes when it's okay to say you have the worst team. I love the Suns but I love the reason for the worst team immunity even more

"Warm weather mellows you out, removes that life-or-death dynamic and puts sports in somewhat proper perspective. Suns fans are a good example. On paper? Level 1 eligible. Forty-one seasons, no titles. Lost the Kareem/Neil Walk coin flip. Lost the famous triple-overtime game in 1976. Lost three agonizing games in the 1993 NBA Finals, as well as Mario Elie's "Kiss of Death" 3-pointer that ended their season in '94. Their Nash era stretch from 2004 to '07 was basically one long liver punch. And yet, how could Suns fans be truly tortured? They live in Arizona! They have things to do!