The Woman Makes the Clothes

You know that expression--clothes make the man? Well, I believe where Michelle Obama is concerned, the expression should be--the woman makes the clothes.

It is so incredibly refreshing to see a wonderfully self-possessed common sense intelligent woman in the White House.

Recently, Essence magazine released their latest magazine with Michelle Obama, and her mother, gracing the cover. As she has before, Michelle is wearing an off-the-rack dress--in fact, a T*lbot's dress. Here is our nation's First Lady, wearing this store's clothing, presumably of her own volition. She is not wearing high-end designer labels that are loaned for a one-time use; she is wearing the kind of clothing many of us wear. T*lbot's--a store where I have been known to shop--should be thrilled.

So, when I was in T*lbot's the other day, I spied the dress. I had no intention of buying it (not my kind of dress), but it was fun to see it in the store. I mentioned something to the sales clerk about the Essence magazine cover photo. Well, she said, here it is--as she handed the magazine to me. Then, she continued, but I don't like the sweaters Michelle Obama chose to wear with the dress. The colors are off.

WHA. . .? You are kidding me. The First Lady wears your dress. She is on the cover of a national magazine. And you don't like her color choice for the accompanying sweaters? Puh-lease.

Anyway.

It has been fun catching the various news stories about the Obama family settling into a living routine in the nation's home. Michelle's incredible sense of the right thing to do--inviting members of a cooking class into the White House kitchen to watch the chefs at work; planting a garden with children; praising a group of young girls at a school in London--makes me catch my breath.

Add to these stories of the obvious fun President Obama seems to be having in the lighter moments of being president--helping children roll eggs on the White House lawn, running with the new first dog, Bo--and I am left with nothing but gratitude that at this moment, Obama is our president, and Michelle is his wife.

A View from the Window

Dr. Virginia Kauffman died today.

Now, that may be a strange way to start a blog, but she was a remarkable woman and certainly merits the attention of one of my blogs. I knew her when she was a missionary doctor in then Northern and Southern Rhodesia (the countries are now called Zambia and Zimbabwe, respectively).

While there were other mission doctors from time to time, she was the one I remember the most because she cared for me through a childhood illness. When I was 12 years old, home from school on holidays, I complained to my parents that my arm felt funny, that I couldn't always control it. At first, since this was the mid-1950s, my parents were very concerned that I might have contracted polio.

So, Dr. Kauffman was contacted, and she came, did a thorough physical exam and took a blood sample. The diagnosis--rheumatic fever. Of course, I couldn't have the usual symptoms--I had to develop St. Vitus' Dance, a spastic condition that renders a limb or limbs uncontrollable. That explained my quirky gait and the fact that my left arm would suddenly fly out to the side.

I have written before, in My Sibling Stories entry, about some of the things I did during that illness. I was confined to bed with complete restriction on any movement, excepting to get out of bed to use the toilet. What I did during that time I remember somewhat. Since my mother was pregnant with my sister, I was cared for by one of the missionary women who was a nurse. And weekly, Dr. Kauffman would come to see me, and draw blood. What she was doing with the blood was allowing the blood to settle to see how quickly it would separate into liquid and sediment. Frankly, I don't know why. Caused by A Streptococcus bacteria, rheumatic fever is nothing to be messed with, as it can leave residual heart valve damage.

Photo from http://www.anbg.gov.au/gnp/gnp7/eucalyptus-mannifera.html

One of the things I did during that time was look out the window. From my bed, I could see a stand of tall eucalyptus trees that was on the mission station. When the wind caught the leaves, they moved gracefully dancing and flashing. I stared out the window alot. So, when I heard that Dr. Kauffman had died, I looked out my study window. Not quite the same view, but evocative nevertheless.

Obviously, I was very grateful to Dr. Kauffman for the care she gave me. In addition to the weekly visits, she started me on penicillin and instructed me to continue it until past my teen years. I did, and whether from that, or good fortune, or her care, I rebounded with no residual cardiac damage at all.

For a while, during high school and my first year in college, I thought I wanted to be a doctor. No doubt I was influenced by the fine example of Dr. Kauffman. But, then in my freshmen year, I ran head long into chemistry--two semesters of it. And once I got a C the first semester, and a D the second, I determined that maybe I wasn't meant to be a doctor after all.