Five Magical Pieces You Will Love This Monday

What Does Your Name Mean To You? Behind Candace's Curtain. Ode To Beer. Learn To Learn. Tending and Witnessing in Medicine.

Friends, We have five great pieces today.

Please enjoy. Happy Monday. — Ben

Noha Beshir

was an old-school, hard-knuckle, no-nonsense original gangster (“OG”). Why? Who’s asking? Because she was the only NOHA around. She exclaims:

The First. The ONLY. The OG.

Let’s look at this more carefully, and in particular at an unexpected, unannounced, and altogether unwanted encroachment on OUR NOHA’s turf.

In The Namesis, Noha, for years the only of her name, takes us through the delicate process by which . . . gasp . . . another Noha came onto her scene, and at work no less. That took serious nerves. As our Noha writes:

Perhaps most upsetting, THE OTHER NOHA was thrilled to finally have someone with the same name at the same workplace, while my sensibilities were offended at the mere thought of it. We met for coffee a couple of months ago, just two Nohas comparing notes and making alliances. When I saw your name in the company address book I was so pleased, she told me. I told my husband, finally! I’ve never had another Noha at work.

What kind of person is this second “Noha” anyway?  Her actions were like going to see a Don and not bringing pastries. Who treats our Noha that way?

Our Noha— “Noha Prime, Noha The First, OG Noha”—is far more magnanimous about the subject, an evolution she handles gracefully.

I loved this piece. Noha highlights her individuality with levity I think you will enjoy.

Candace Rose Rardon

of Dandelion Seeds: Illustrated Essays lets us peek behind the creative process by which she brings together writing and illustration.

I’ll let her take it from here in How do you bring two passions together?

A great descriptive essay.

Polymathic Being

’s

Michael Woudenberg

and

Goatfury Writes

’s Andrew Smith collaborated on the cross-disciplinary piece, An Ode To Beer.

Andrew first takes us through the history of beer, from archaeological evidence of fermentation over at least 8,600 years ago to the first barley-based beer to the roles and limits of carbonation, refrigeration, and the mighty beer can. 

Michael takes the baton from there and teaches us how beer is made using its four ingredients: malted barley, water, hops, and yeast. “With these,” he writes, “we can make almost every beer on the planet.”  But the process is not that simple. 

How does a water’s acidity (pH level) account for Ireland’s Stouts, as compared to the Czech Republic’s Pilsners? How does sugar affect fermentation? What is “wort”? There’s no substantial difference between Ale and Lager, right?  Oh no, there most certainly is. Michael teaches all this and more.

Lest we think Michael’s interest in this subject matter is merely academic, think again. He’s the real deal, kegerator and all, and I’m looking forward to a healthy half-pint at the Woudenberg palace. The dark red looks particularly good. Take a look near the end. 

A great collaboration by two writers who thrive on their own and have also found synergy.

Andy Hickman

“joined the United States Coast Guard . . . almost as a strange sort of practical joke.” He did so for the myriad reasons that lead young men to join the military – many noble, some they later regret, and many for the promise of a Golden Goose in the form of the G.I. Bill’s free college education. 

Andy writes: 

[T]he post-college receipt of a comfy, high-paying job takes on an almost religious quality. For some, it becomes the sole upside of a long, dark journey through service to Uncle Sam. As the young seaman pukes into the bilge in the screaming engine room of a ship in violent storm surge, he consoles himself with the thought of hot college chicks, fat '“Basic Allowance for Housing” checks, keg parties, and the eventuality of a nice office with a window.

Andy takes us on his post-service journey to two college admissions offices, where his desire to pursue liberal arts for the sake of learning leads him to realize that his “simple hope of utilizing [his] G.I. Bill for [his] own academic betterment without regard to ‘employability’ was seen as odd or eccentric.”

Andy asks important questions about the shifting relevance of college degree requirements to employers in today’s economy (think: coding and blue-collar trades), and higher education generally.

You can’t read this piece without walking straight into Andy’s curiosity—one of the traits I most admire—about an entrenched system into which he now embarks.

An important read, and one on which I hope Andy expands.

Amy Walsh—

The Nettle Witch, MD

—an emergency room doctor, raises questions about the U.S. medical system, as well as her own needs as a patient after a car accident that left her with no broken bones, a relevant fact.

In Tending and Witnessing, Amy provides an honest assessment of her role in the system and what that very structure is able—or even should be expected—to provide its patients. Amy writes: 

If there is not something that can be visualized or quantified and something that can be fixed (like a broken bone or a heart attack), then you will probably find your interaction with the medical system feels rather frustrating and pointless. . . . 

[As a doctor,] I walk into the room. I ask enough questions to figure out what tests I need to order and what treatments I need to administer. If it’s not too busy, I might add a couple more questions for the sake of human decency, but that’s about all of the tending and witnessing you are going to get from me, at least in this system.

Unusually, I don’t really feel guilty about that. I simply do not have the time or the emotional capacity to provide more in the current system. Maybe doctors aren’t meant to be the ones providing that kind of care. Honestly, I don’t know. 

Amy’s reckoning comes months after the accident. 

I didn’t realize until months later that I longed for someone to tend to me, to hold me or hold my hand, to listen to the story about the big, scary thing that had happened. I yearned for someone to rub oil on sore muscles. I wished for someone to show genuine care. Real attention and care is so healing. There’s little more powerful than knowing that someone is concerned about the state you are in, good or bad. (Especially bad.)

Amy engages in an honest assessment of her limitations as a healer, how she fits into an often cold system, and the need for all doctors to tend and witness others. 

A really interesting read. 

PHOTOGRAPH OF THE DAY

by Roman Kutukov / Reuters

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