Origin and Evolution of “You go sleep in the garage.”

This title will at least ring bells if you've read either of my previous posts (Nov. '08, yesterday) about our friend Abdoulaye, just returned from Mali for a new stint of study at MSU.

It
was fairly early in Abdoulaye’s first weeks with us, in the fall of
’05, when he told us that in Mali a man may have up to four wives, but
that he has to declare, when he marries the first one, whether he plans
to be monogamous or polygamous. No springing surprises on the first
wife when things go sour.

“And what do you want to do, Abdoulaye?” my husband asked. “How many wives do you want?”

Abdoulaye rolled his eyes. “One is enough, I think.”

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Return of the potato specialist: Abdoulaye of Mali

Ablo w. Eliz

Clap your hands and cheer: Abdoulaye has returned! Yes, my favorite potato specialist from sub-Saharan Africa is back in town. I know I already posted one photo of him dancing with my mother-in-law, but it seems to me a topic worth revisiting.

In the summer of 2005 my husband told me he'd seen a poster on campus: housing was needed for visiting scientists from Mali; did I want to do it? Sure, I said, (thinking, Mali? Mali? Where the heck is Mali?) The kids concurred, so we signed up. I chose a moment when I was alone in the house to get out the atlas: there was Mali, one country inland from Senegal, in Africa's big bulge into the Atlantic, with the Congo–the Congo River!–curving through its southern half and Timbuktu–Timbuktu!!–up there in the north, just south of the Sahara.

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Wildlife stalks the city

Deer across street 

I took this photograph yesterday morning, as the deer proceeded quietly along the sidewalk across the street from our house. (That's our car in the lower right, proof that this is not out in the wild woods.) The deer did look round at me when I stepped outside with my camera, but they didn't run off.

We always see a few tracks and droppings in our yard come spring, and now and then in winter we see the deer themselves, but this year they are bolder and more numerous than ever before. I'm hoping they don't become resident pests here in Bozeman as they have in Helena, where they've caused such problems that they've had to be culled–i.e., shot. They leap out from between parked cars, causing accidents, heart attacks, and divorces (because of all the cursing), but that's nothing compared to the damage they do to gardens.

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A New Low: cold snap in Montana

640x480_currents_nam_temperature_i1

http://www.findlocalweather.com/weather_maps/temperature_north_america.html

When I got up Tuesday, the temperature in our back room, where we’ve been sleeping since my surgery, was 39ºF, or just under 4ºC. Upstairs in the bedroom we’re not using, I hit the “on” button of an electric heater to check the temperature there: 26ºF (-3ºC). I’m considering opening the refrigerator door downstairs to help heat that room, and using the bedroom as a freezer.

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Please welcome–my new knee.

All right, I admit it: I have not been entirely straightforward with you. In the midst of this long hiatus, I had knee surgery. Total joint replacement, in fact, the fringe benefits for which included going to total joint replacement “camp,” a two hour meeting which was, thank goodness, far more useful than its chirpy literature, strewn with exclamation marks. Nothing makes me feel more curmudgeonly than being told that I will be prepared! and that everyone is going to work together to make sure that my experience is top notch! Grrr.

Fortunately, everyone did work together, though when they were all doing so in my room at the same time, most of the work involved pushing through the crowd: the nutritionist, the physical therapist, the occupational therapist, the case manager, the pulmonary expert, the phlebotimist, the anesthesiologist, the hospital nurse, the surgeon’s nurse, the surgeon herself–it’s extraordinary how many people were involved. On several occasions one of them sent others away because the oxygen levels in the room had dropped dangerously due to overcrowding.

All went well, and after four days I came home, where I am strictly forbidden to vacuum or cook. However, no one forbade my turning a compost pile, and the stool I use for showering works great in the greenhouse. So you can guess what I’ve been up to.