The 3rd house in astrology is associated with writing, conversation, personal thoughts, day-to-day things, siblings and neighbors.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
My housemate called my attention to this article in this morning’s Boston Globe. Apparently scientists studied two different kinds of voles – meadow voles which are polygamous and prairie voles which are monogamous. Previous studies found that unlike the polygamous meadow voles, “monogamous prairie voles have a receptor in the reward center of the brain for a hormone called vasopressin, which is responsible for feelings of pleasure in voles and in humans.” In the new study:
(T)he scientists inserted the gene for vasopressin receptors into that region of the brain and then left the male meadow voles with a single female vole for 24 hours. The researchers later put the male voles into cages between the first female and another female.
The males with the vasopressin receptor gene consistently chose to huddle with the familiar female rather than seek out a new female. Members of the control group, which received a dummy gene or had the vasopressin gene inserted in another area of the brain, mixed with both females indiscriminately or spent time alone.
According to Young, vasopressin most probably ''makes you pay attention to who you are with."
The research into the role of vasopressin could lead to possible treatments of disease. ''In humans, there are diseases where there are severe disruptions in social behavior," Young said. ''Autism is the key example."
So many things I could say here... Never mind.
I just went for an hour-long walk (decrepit, hmmph) and went up past the new homes with all their lawn sprinklers pulsing, up through the golf course that opened a year and a half ago with its first 9 holes and now all 18 are open. I haven’t been up there in awhile. I don’t know anything about golf (playing the miniature kind with my brother’s kids once a year doesn’t count), but it looks like a nice place to play, very scenic, hilly. I left my camera at home in favor of bottled water (you can’t be too careful when you’re as old as I am), but maybe I’ll take it next time. All along the road that winds through the course, where it wasn’t smooth green lawn, there were rocky fields full of red clover with chubby bees and delicate butterflies feeding on it, and clumps of daisies and dots of buttercups.
Most of those fields are house lots that haven’t been built on yet. There were houses shooting up everywhere, sprouting out in branches off the road that winds through the course and directly on the road leading back down the hill and out of the “community.” Apparently there are to be a total of 150 new homes surrounding the golf course. I thought some looked a little too close for comfort to the course, broken windows being the least of the worries. But they sure are keeping a lot of people employed – construction workers and landscapers all over the place. And the course itself was active with golfers and golf carts and workers maintaining it all. Busy place.
My housemate Kathy has been walking this woman Marta’s German shepherd several times a week and occasionally on weekends when Marta is away. I met the dog, Bibi – she’s a nice dog, but very pampered. She has her own room and bed (a regular full-sized human bed), and Marta insists she be taken out for an hour each time she’s walked – 3-4 times a day if Marta’s away.
Last week Kathy informed Marta that she’ll be leaving for two months this summer and she suggested that I could walk the dog if she needs someone. Marta generally has a couple of vet students she can call on for dog-walking duty. Anyway, Kathy mentioned that I’m 45 and Marta (who is 38) responded with a dubious “Well I usually get vet students because they’re young and can take Bibi for long walks. I mean, do you think she can do it?”
I suppose since Marta’s never met me, she can be somewhat excused. She doesn’t know that I routinely walk these hills around town for an hour at a time – and at a clip mind you, much faster than I’d haul some fur-coated beastie out in this heat. Kathy’s been ribbing me ever since. When I come in from a walk she says, “You were out a long time – Are you alright?” and “Do you think you should take your cane with you next time?”
I recently shaved three years off my internet dating profile. I mean, can you blame me? People just think you’re decrepit at 45. And over 50, forget it. My friend Maddy is out dancing tango every night – and I mean every night – and she looks fabulous. But she has to chop years off her internet profile to attract men her own age. The men lie, too, by the way. You get emails from men who say they’re 48 when their photos look like they’re geriatric. I met one guy last year who said he was 49 on his profile when he was actually 63. He told me. He was very active and probably had the body and attitude of a 49 year old. But he was looking for a woman no older than 45.
So, as far as anyone is concerned, I am officially getting younger every day.