Napping in the sun.
Chasing a reflection.
Waiting for the sun to come back out to he can chase again.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Reflective
Napping in the sun.
Chasing a reflection.
Waiting for the sun to come back out to he can chase again.
Yourself
Be yourself. One of those awful instructions given to the young. Parents, teachers, adults in general, tell them from the beginning how to be, to be good, dress them, correct them in every detail. Hard for a child to know how much of it is necessary teaching and how much the personal preference of the teacher, how much their own self. Very few parents are good at bringing out their offspring's own best character, without imposing their own, and I expect they never say, "be yourself."
Surgeons who are consistent, reliable, and communicate clearly with their staff, and welcome questions are so easy to work for, and with. The difficult surgeons who don't have a routine, are always using different equipment and supplies, ignore question and anger easily, are the ones who always say, "I do this the same way every time!" The good ones who actually are pretty much the same every time, never say that.
People who apologize saying, "I'm not usually like this," frequently are. When I find myself using that phrase, I look very closely at how I've been behaving recently.
~~~~~~~~Grossness alert ~~~~~~~~~~
Had to get on the floor, and reach under the blankets under the sterile field to attach the hose to the bair hugger warmer for a patient. S. laughed, and I said "Dignity. Always, Dignity." Yup, I got the degree, means I'm the one wiping up the floor, crawling in and under and through. For laparoscopic inguinal hernia repairs, I commonly had to get down, reach under, and make sure the testicle was in the scrotum - as opposed to anywhere else. Dignity, I'm telling you. The worst experience was going under a prone patient in a spine contraption, my head sideways, and drool went in my ear. Ugggghhh... . To this day, it still makes me shudder a little. Worse than shit, piss blood, crotch cheese, or bubbles of mucous in any other configuration.
Dignity. Part of the job.
Surgeons who are consistent, reliable, and communicate clearly with their staff, and welcome questions are so easy to work for, and with. The difficult surgeons who don't have a routine, are always using different equipment and supplies, ignore question and anger easily, are the ones who always say, "I do this the same way every time!" The good ones who actually are pretty much the same every time, never say that.
People who apologize saying, "I'm not usually like this," frequently are. When I find myself using that phrase, I look very closely at how I've been behaving recently.
~~~~~~~~Grossness alert ~~~~~~~~~~
Had to get on the floor, and reach under the blankets under the sterile field to attach the hose to the bair hugger warmer for a patient. S. laughed, and I said "Dignity. Always, Dignity." Yup, I got the degree, means I'm the one wiping up the floor, crawling in and under and through. For laparoscopic inguinal hernia repairs, I commonly had to get down, reach under, and make sure the testicle was in the scrotum - as opposed to anywhere else. Dignity, I'm telling you. The worst experience was going under a prone patient in a spine contraption, my head sideways, and drool went in my ear. Ugggghhh... . To this day, it still makes me shudder a little. Worse than shit, piss blood, crotch cheese, or bubbles of mucous in any other configuration.
Dignity. Part of the job.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Sitting
Funny, really, how much easier the bumps of life are to take since I have shifted my attitude over the last couple of years. It's taken a lot of practice. I genuinely see the humor in it all now, let it roll off, never try to trap it, refuse to indulge in anger. I feel the irritation, the frustration, the annoyance, turn it slightly in the light, and grin. I chose my reaction, a gentle smoothing, a kind laugh.
I believe I can handle a visit with my mother, by the time it could happen. I've rehearsed the conversations in my head, as I have always done, a habit from childhood. And I've come up with honest, non-aggressive answers, or bemused silence, for most of them. Deflections for the judgement. I don't care if she sees my tattoos, or slights the length of my hair, or even questions the validity of a second marriage. Neither challenging nor taking it on the chin, but splashing away and draining back, I have plunged through the dark torrent, and found myself in calm water.
My cousin told me life begins at 50. So, I'm starting a few months early. I never doubted that she was right.
So many of the blogs I read today left me not wanting to comment. But where once I might have been bothered, today, I just decided to be silent. Not just to refrain from commenting, but to stop any judgement even in my thoughts. We are all different, with a unique view of eternity, each one valuable. Mine is just mine, the one that makes the most sense to me, but only from where I'm standing. Or, actually, sitting, at the moment.
I believe I can handle a visit with my mother, by the time it could happen. I've rehearsed the conversations in my head, as I have always done, a habit from childhood. And I've come up with honest, non-aggressive answers, or bemused silence, for most of them. Deflections for the judgement. I don't care if she sees my tattoos, or slights the length of my hair, or even questions the validity of a second marriage. Neither challenging nor taking it on the chin, but splashing away and draining back, I have plunged through the dark torrent, and found myself in calm water.
My cousin told me life begins at 50. So, I'm starting a few months early. I never doubted that she was right.
So many of the blogs I read today left me not wanting to comment. But where once I might have been bothered, today, I just decided to be silent. Not just to refrain from commenting, but to stop any judgement even in my thoughts. We are all different, with a unique view of eternity, each one valuable. Mine is just mine, the one that makes the most sense to me, but only from where I'm standing. Or, actually, sitting, at the moment.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Indelible
Reading about PTSD in children. They thought I was depressed, more than once in my life. My father thought I was "turning on the waterworks." Later, when I was on the emotional yoyo that was my first "marriage" I actually got on medication. Hyper-vigilence, bouts of crying, distrust and over-trust, anger, violent thoughts, physical distress, gas and cramps, sore throats and vague pains. I have come to believe I was never primarily depressed, only traumatized, with a dash of anxiety.
I remember drying dishes while my mother washed, and my father sat in the dining room. The phone rang. I was ordered to answer it. Walking past him. I had the paring knife in my hand, wooden handle, and on the way back, I stopped behind him for an eternity, knife in my fist, contemplating jabbing it into the back of his neck. And the whole thought process, not having any idea where to cut, if it was long enough, sharp enough to kill, or just enough to piss him off. I walked back and finished my task, but the thought stayed. I used to console myself while being raged at for hours, his red, greasy face a foot from mine, by reciting prayers in my head, Hail Mary, Our Father. From then on, I began to replace that with fantasies of terrible ways to kill my tormentor, and learned to focus on the bridge of his nose when he insisted "Look at me!" At least I didn't have to stare into those mad, stupid eyes again. Instead, I imagined shooting him in the mouth with a crossbow bolt - which would shut him up.
When both my brother and mother assured me (unprompted) that he'd died peacefully, I listened. He died of obstructive lung disease, one of my nightmare ways to die*. I've cared for patients dying while gasping for their every breath. I have a very clear image how he died, no doubt fighting and blaming every moment. I would not have wished it on anyone, even him. But I will not lie by saying I mind terribly that he was chained to that fate. Whatever they were told by kind nurses, I will hold to my own knowledge of how people die, and how nurses offer comfort to the living, and take my own comfort thereby. He did not die peacefully, he could not have, he would not have had any idea how.
They thought I had something wrong with my gut, for all the pain I had. I had a GI series as a kid, very distressing. I remember when they asked me what I would have for dinner, every one of my favorite foods† started with the word "fry." I did not mention how most meals were fraught with my father screaming, angry, hostile. They asked my mother if I was "nervous." A bad word, one of those my father bandied about, and my mother decried, so would not use to describe me, however accurate. Yes, I was terrified and anxious, traumatized and malnourished.
For the last twenty years, I have recovered, stabilized. My father's death, reestablishing contact with my mother, has aroused these sensations and memories. It'll never be gone because it is what I am made of. I can make something new of them, I have, like junkyard art. No fine porcelain for me. Different, neither better nor worse. Taking it out and reassessing it all, like cleaning out the deepest closets in preparation for moving.
Everything leaves it's mark. I see the scars, with a mild wonderment, that I survived, and have come out the other side. Content, happy, loved.
*Pancreatitis is the other horrible way I'd rather not die. Drowning, any immediate traumatic event, heart attack, all fine. Just not COPD or a sick pancreas.
†My mother did not believe in fresh, green, vegetables‡. Potatoes, canned corn, canned lima beans (blech) - that was it. I remember when Aunt Alma gave me spinach for the first time, I was in heaven. I ate cherry tomatoes out of the yard, as well as sweet clover and rhubarb, and sour green grapes from Mrs. Rizzardi's grape arbor all summer.
‡Not to mention fiber.
I remember drying dishes while my mother washed, and my father sat in the dining room. The phone rang. I was ordered to answer it. Walking past him. I had the paring knife in my hand, wooden handle, and on the way back, I stopped behind him for an eternity, knife in my fist, contemplating jabbing it into the back of his neck. And the whole thought process, not having any idea where to cut, if it was long enough, sharp enough to kill, or just enough to piss him off. I walked back and finished my task, but the thought stayed. I used to console myself while being raged at for hours, his red, greasy face a foot from mine, by reciting prayers in my head, Hail Mary, Our Father. From then on, I began to replace that with fantasies of terrible ways to kill my tormentor, and learned to focus on the bridge of his nose when he insisted "Look at me!" At least I didn't have to stare into those mad, stupid eyes again. Instead, I imagined shooting him in the mouth with a crossbow bolt - which would shut him up.
When both my brother and mother assured me (unprompted) that he'd died peacefully, I listened. He died of obstructive lung disease, one of my nightmare ways to die*. I've cared for patients dying while gasping for their every breath. I have a very clear image how he died, no doubt fighting and blaming every moment. I would not have wished it on anyone, even him. But I will not lie by saying I mind terribly that he was chained to that fate. Whatever they were told by kind nurses, I will hold to my own knowledge of how people die, and how nurses offer comfort to the living, and take my own comfort thereby. He did not die peacefully, he could not have, he would not have had any idea how.
They thought I had something wrong with my gut, for all the pain I had. I had a GI series as a kid, very distressing. I remember when they asked me what I would have for dinner, every one of my favorite foods† started with the word "fry." I did not mention how most meals were fraught with my father screaming, angry, hostile. They asked my mother if I was "nervous." A bad word, one of those my father bandied about, and my mother decried, so would not use to describe me, however accurate. Yes, I was terrified and anxious, traumatized and malnourished.
For the last twenty years, I have recovered, stabilized. My father's death, reestablishing contact with my mother, has aroused these sensations and memories. It'll never be gone because it is what I am made of. I can make something new of them, I have, like junkyard art. No fine porcelain for me. Different, neither better nor worse. Taking it out and reassessing it all, like cleaning out the deepest closets in preparation for moving.
Everything leaves it's mark. I see the scars, with a mild wonderment, that I survived, and have come out the other side. Content, happy, loved.
*Pancreatitis is the other horrible way I'd rather not die. Drowning, any immediate traumatic event, heart attack, all fine. Just not COPD or a sick pancreas.
†My mother did not believe in fresh, green, vegetables‡. Potatoes, canned corn, canned lima beans (blech) - that was it. I remember when Aunt Alma gave me spinach for the first time, I was in heaven. I ate cherry tomatoes out of the yard, as well as sweet clover and rhubarb, and sour green grapes from Mrs. Rizzardi's grape arbor all summer.
‡Not to mention fiber.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Nuts
Poking around over at Mental Floss, came across some good questions. Changed them a bit, still want to give credit.
~ Who’s your famous doppelganger?
I have not been compared to anyone in many years. I really don't look much like anyone famous, although I was told I looked like Barbara Streisand when I was much younger. I put that down to the size of my nose more than anything, perhaps a kind of intensity. A friend in high school alerted me that I was in a painting at the Detroit Institute of Arts. Certainly a genetic kin,
William-Adolphe Bouguereau The Nut Gatherers.
~ What’s the weirdest item marketed at you?
There were people in Germ costumes at the T stations in Boston passing out Airborne samples. Later, we saw a couple of them resting, nearly collapsed, looking very sad on a bench. One had the head of the costume off and looked a bit ill. I so wished I'd had my camera.
I was only in high school, at a public event, and scantily clad women were passing out cigarette samples. When they approached me, I declined, claiming youth, they suggested I could have some anyway, which appalled me on so many levels.
~ What’s something you’d really like to be good at, but know you’ll never put in the necessary time/effort?
Playing any musical instrument. Drawing. I could be barely competent in either, if I really, really worked at it, but I know I'd never be really good no matter what. I do pick up the ukulele, and I can make pleasant enough sounds.
~ What’s the crappiest car you’ve ever owned?
I can't quite remember the year make or model, '72 Plymouth Fury, maybe? An old boat, green, that my uncle sold me for a few bucks. One of those 70's Detroit monstrosities. It got stolen eventually, taken for a joy ride and abandoned - totaled. The '66 Beetle - candy apple red, was the cutest crappiest car I ever owned. The gas pedal needed a paperclip to keep working, the wheel fell off on a turn once. I got it up to 60 MPH once, going downhill.
That's it. Enjoy your weekend.
~ Who’s your famous doppelganger?
I have not been compared to anyone in many years. I really don't look much like anyone famous, although I was told I looked like Barbara Streisand when I was much younger. I put that down to the size of my nose more than anything, perhaps a kind of intensity. A friend in high school alerted me that I was in a painting at the Detroit Institute of Arts. Certainly a genetic kin,
William-Adolphe Bouguereau The Nut Gatherers.
~ What’s the weirdest item marketed at you?
There were people in Germ costumes at the T stations in Boston passing out Airborne samples. Later, we saw a couple of them resting, nearly collapsed, looking very sad on a bench. One had the head of the costume off and looked a bit ill. I so wished I'd had my camera.
I was only in high school, at a public event, and scantily clad women were passing out cigarette samples. When they approached me, I declined, claiming youth, they suggested I could have some anyway, which appalled me on so many levels.
~ What’s something you’d really like to be good at, but know you’ll never put in the necessary time/effort?
Playing any musical instrument. Drawing. I could be barely competent in either, if I really, really worked at it, but I know I'd never be really good no matter what. I do pick up the ukulele, and I can make pleasant enough sounds.
~ What’s the crappiest car you’ve ever owned?
I can't quite remember the year make or model, '72 Plymouth Fury, maybe? An old boat, green, that my uncle sold me for a few bucks. One of those 70's Detroit monstrosities. It got stolen eventually, taken for a joy ride and abandoned - totaled. The '66 Beetle - candy apple red, was the cutest crappiest car I ever owned. The gas pedal needed a paperclip to keep working, the wheel fell off on a turn once. I got it up to 60 MPH once, going downhill.
That's it. Enjoy your weekend.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Nice
All went very nicely. Moby his usual social host self. He even allowed D's parents to sit on the sofa either side of him for a while, then prowled, then climbed up to his Fortress of Solitude. Given he'd been up since we got up at 5, active for about seven hours straight, he needed some good catsleep. He's still there.
I'm no natural cook, but I am a well trained nurse, so I know to start here, and do everything in front of me until done. I can be frighteningly organized, this time I used the whiteboard on the fridge to make sure I cooked and served everything I planned. Well, in a small kitchen, it's a requirement. Mostly all turned out pretty good, although the turkey was a bit tough, as turkey often is no matter what. And the broiled pineapple did not cook through as I'd hoped - but not expected. Yams were tasty, cranberry sauce as good as always. D's dad very happy with artichoke hearts - gotten especially for him. D's mom seemed to relish the pumpkin scones, D ate a lot of olives, I felt better after chips and con queso from Red Iguana (picked up yesterday.) Green beans got over cooked, but still edible.
We walked over to the Potential House, yes we live that close to it, and it still looks good. A mild day, a chance to stretch our legs. We can see all the flaws, and they are all minor. Enough, though, that if it doesn't work out, we can focus on the drawbacks to console ourselves. Either way, we wait patiently. We are craving space so deeply, though. One way or another, this is going to be a hard year, waiting or moving.
I cleaned up after we got back, which is the good part of this kitchen, I can stay in the conversation while putting stuff away. Used every single container for leftovers we have. I just really did not want to have to scrub crud later. Neither did I want to abandon guests for the sake of a clean kitchen, I'm no Martha*. I tried to balance the two. MIL of course offered to help, and I welcomed her, but with a tiny kitchen, there was nothing she could do. Funny, how none of it seemed like work, just things to do. I wonder how much of that is just the change in my attitude over the past couple of years. Simply not letting routine bother me. Or anything else, really.
The other great part about this holiday? I get two days off, then the weekend, standard. Even when I worked call and holidays, this was usually a good long weekend, with maybe a few hours of call on a day when the surgeons were reluctant to schedule anything non-life threatening during the football. A good weekend to have an anniversary, as well. We get very squishy. We get enough rest.
*Luke 10:38-42. Yes, I do know my bible stories. I just don't take them literally. Nor particularly seriously.
I'm no natural cook, but I am a well trained nurse, so I know to start here, and do everything in front of me until done. I can be frighteningly organized, this time I used the whiteboard on the fridge to make sure I cooked and served everything I planned. Well, in a small kitchen, it's a requirement. Mostly all turned out pretty good, although the turkey was a bit tough, as turkey often is no matter what. And the broiled pineapple did not cook through as I'd hoped - but not expected. Yams were tasty, cranberry sauce as good as always. D's dad very happy with artichoke hearts - gotten especially for him. D's mom seemed to relish the pumpkin scones, D ate a lot of olives, I felt better after chips and con queso from Red Iguana (picked up yesterday.) Green beans got over cooked, but still edible.
We walked over to the Potential House, yes we live that close to it, and it still looks good. A mild day, a chance to stretch our legs. We can see all the flaws, and they are all minor. Enough, though, that if it doesn't work out, we can focus on the drawbacks to console ourselves. Either way, we wait patiently. We are craving space so deeply, though. One way or another, this is going to be a hard year, waiting or moving.
I cleaned up after we got back, which is the good part of this kitchen, I can stay in the conversation while putting stuff away. Used every single container for leftovers we have. I just really did not want to have to scrub crud later. Neither did I want to abandon guests for the sake of a clean kitchen, I'm no Martha*. I tried to balance the two. MIL of course offered to help, and I welcomed her, but with a tiny kitchen, there was nothing she could do. Funny, how none of it seemed like work, just things to do. I wonder how much of that is just the change in my attitude over the past couple of years. Simply not letting routine bother me. Or anything else, really.
The other great part about this holiday? I get two days off, then the weekend, standard. Even when I worked call and holidays, this was usually a good long weekend, with maybe a few hours of call on a day when the surgeons were reluctant to schedule anything non-life threatening during the football. A good weekend to have an anniversary, as well. We get very squishy. We get enough rest.
*Luke 10:38-42. Yes, I do know my bible stories. I just don't take them literally. Nor particularly seriously.
Appreciation
Thanksgiving is such an atypical, even Un-American holiday in so many ways. Oh, yes, the religious under- and overtones, the excessive eating, paired with football and parades, all that fits. Its manipulation by commercial interests to stimulate consumer spending, yes, essential to this culture. But it's largely hoopla that can be ignored, evidenced by Buy Nothing Day.
Beneath it, stripped of the stereotypes and media screed, it's about being grateful. Right at the core, it's about gathering with people one loves and appreciating what one has. At heart, it isn't religious, needs no gods, only a decent meal of fowl and mostly vegetables, traditionally. There are no flags to fly, no presents to buy, no decorations necessary - a simple harvest festival. Anyone can join in, there are no songs, no rituals. None aside from those unique to each family.
Every day I strive to be thankful. Especially today, every thought, every breath, and with my whole heart I walk in thankfulness. How'd I ever get so lucky?
To all of you who read here, leaving me friendly notes -- thank you for necessary balance, a voice back from the ether, friendship and kindness. I would not be the same without you.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Schedule
Early this morning, my hands on my abdomen, cat standing on the backs of my hands, I was aware it was very early, and I did not have to get up. Called off, but asked to cover my usual day off tomorrow, an easy swap. Went in at 10, though, to do the schedule for the next month or so. Took me an hour. Better than having to ever be in charge. I'd be no good at that, I get up noses when I fill authorities shoes, and that's fine. So, I agreed a while back to do the vacation schedule, to varying results. Re-templated it, so it's easier to read, put it in a nice binder, with the holiday schedule attached. But I have to be more than careful to not screw up the numbers. One of the charge nurses has given me crap over my mistakes, some trivial, some larger. Something like this needs a second set of eyes, without harassment, but I do what I can. Everything is a trade off.
Not eager to get to the necessary cleaning for having the holiday dinner here, but I got there eventually. More or less. Thankfully, my MIL's sense of what is clean was probably worn down having five boys, so I don't feel self conscious as long as it's pretty good. For our friend Dave, I work to a higher standard, because although he'd never say anything, I know how clean he keeps his house. Dave is busy with his own kin this holiday. We'll see him later.
I've been pondering Thanksgiving, as I often do this time of year. It's a holiday without baggage for me, no family tradition, no religious significance. My mother declared it the day she did NOT cook, everyone took care of their own food that day, I usually had PB&J - no sacrifice. Watched the parade on TV in the morning, probably read the rest of the day, or watched whatever was on the CBC (anything not football, my father for all his faults, was no sports fan - I have some recollection of him asleep on the sofa.) The ex expected me to give him a traditional meal, which never quite happened, but that was only six years, and never stuck.
Twenty-one years ago, I spent Thanksgiving with friends, knowing I was shipping out the weekend following, and D with his parents. From that day on, we have been together, with much to be thankful for. The holiday became entwined with us, our beginnings and continuations, and hopefully our endings. We had our reception the Friday after Thanksgiving, a day when friends in town could beg off from the family they came to visit.
Cleaned the fridge, the kitchen, ready to cook in. Yams ready to be mashed, they can sit in their skins a day. Turkey to start thawing in the morning.
As for the house, I do not have my heart set on it, and I'm not in love. But it's all I have to focus on. I have, with reluctance, vetoed D's preference for a condo, in favor of my need for a garden. I dream of growing cayenne and ginger, roma tomatoes and rhubarb, peas and green beans, long grass for Moby, rosemary and parsley, red peppers and sun flowers. A mulch pile. And space to hang clothes to dry. And D smiles and says he knows.
Enough reason to make a day for gratitude. Hell, a whole week is insufficient.
After so long, he knows me pretty well, but never assumes he does.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Twenty-one
Today, as I wrote the date, I looked at the sort-of familiar number. Finally occurred to me that yesterday was the 21st anniversary of our deployment, and the beginning of our relationship. We'd gone out to meet with our real estate agent, and a mortgage guy at an unrelated open house. Because the house we saw Saturday fit us rather well. We wound up chatting with both of them for a long time, since no one showed up to see the house they were actually showing. So we learned about how the real estate thingmabob works a bit more, and told stories, all casual but to a purpose. And, gods help us, we put in a bid for that short sale* house. Earnest money and everything. Got pre-approved for the loan. Apparently, we are a good risk.
We are both a bit terrified, expecting to be screwed over, cynical. But telling our story helped put it in perspective. Starting with our first date - Gulf War I. Moving out to Boston precipitously, our friends sending our stuff along later because our mover didn't even show up. On the way home, I thought about how much easier it is to be a good nurse to reasonable people. I have to think it's the same in every profession. We do our side of the work, listen carefully, pay attention, try not to be stupid. Make other's jobs easier. Sometimes their response to us is just salesmanship, but often, it is genuine affection.
Our impression is that our agent , L is a pro, and a decent human being, and we are most likely right. We could be wrong, but she has a good reputation, as we have heard going to other open houses from other agents. "Oh, her! Oh, she's the best!" "Oh, my L!" Fortune favors the prepared. I think it also favors the generally kind, by and large, on the balance. Not in any way a guarantee, of course. But nothing in life is.
L was very excited, to the point of exclamation mark abuse in her email to us to tell us we got in the first bid. I'm holding back on excitement, because of my Pooh experience. But I am quietly glad that we have a chance here.
The rest of the day, we simply stayed close to each other, talking a lot, holding hands, keeping each other calm, planning our holiday dinner with D's parents. Whatever happens, we'll make it work. This house, or another later.
And today, we remembered, and realized we'd celebrated appropriately, even if we'd forgotten.
*Mis-named, since they take a long time to work through.
We are both a bit terrified, expecting to be screwed over, cynical. But telling our story helped put it in perspective. Starting with our first date - Gulf War I. Moving out to Boston precipitously, our friends sending our stuff along later because our mover didn't even show up. On the way home, I thought about how much easier it is to be a good nurse to reasonable people. I have to think it's the same in every profession. We do our side of the work, listen carefully, pay attention, try not to be stupid. Make other's jobs easier. Sometimes their response to us is just salesmanship, but often, it is genuine affection.
Our impression is that our agent , L is a pro, and a decent human being, and we are most likely right. We could be wrong, but she has a good reputation, as we have heard going to other open houses from other agents. "Oh, her! Oh, she's the best!" "Oh, my L!" Fortune favors the prepared. I think it also favors the generally kind, by and large, on the balance. Not in any way a guarantee, of course. But nothing in life is.
L was very excited, to the point of exclamation mark abuse in her email to us to tell us we got in the first bid. I'm holding back on excitement, because of my Pooh experience. But I am quietly glad that we have a chance here.
The rest of the day, we simply stayed close to each other, talking a lot, holding hands, keeping each other calm, planning our holiday dinner with D's parents. Whatever happens, we'll make it work. This house, or another later.
And today, we remembered, and realized we'd celebrated appropriately, even if we'd forgotten.
*Mis-named, since they take a long time to work through.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Walking
When you are the leader, walk in the tao.
Never use force, nor try to conquer.
Because every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
Resentments and fury appear when coercion is used.
Deprivation takes over after military victory.
Better to just do what is needed,
Instead of overpowering.
Do what needs doing,
Without expecting glory.
Without boasting
Or excessive pride.
Do what needs doing,
This is the job at hand.
Never using violence.
Force and torture show a weak person in a hopeless position.
This is not the way of balance and life.
Anger and force will crumble what it purports to protect.
Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1963 p. 940.
Never use force, nor try to conquer.
Because every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
Resentments and fury appear when coercion is used.
Deprivation takes over after military victory.
Better to just do what is needed,
Instead of overpowering.
Do what needs doing,
Without expecting glory.
Without boasting
Or excessive pride.
Do what needs doing,
This is the job at hand.
Never using violence.
Force and torture show a weak person in a hopeless position.
This is not the way of balance and life.
Anger and force will crumble what it purports to protect.
Walk. This is a remarkable word. It comes from the O.E. wealcan, to roll; whence we get wealcere, a fuller of cloth. In Percy's Reliques we read:--
She cursed the weaver and the walker,
The cloth that they had wrought.
Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1963 p. 940.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Melt
"Oh, no, D.... I think I've melted the cat!"
Sorry, no photo, it was early on a wet morning, a black cat on a dark blanket. I'd put on the electric bed pad, high, when I got up. Moby flattened out for maximum tum exposure, chin included. Seemed bonelessly contented. A puddle of fur snerfeling softly.
The snow came through, I expect a lot of the more exposed freeways were not safe for driving last night. But by morning, perhaps an inch on the lawns and roofs, no doubt more further up. Not especially cold, now.
We looked at more open houses today. One place built before the turn of last century, squeaking floors, awkward rooms, kludged shelves and storage. A tile strip about 3' wide between living and dining room, extending from a wood burning fireplace (not converted) not flush with the rest of the floor. We wondered what it hid. Thick, obnoxious paint slathered over every wall, in muddy, teeth gnashing colors. Odd shaped windows, odd smell. All I wanted to do was leave. A condo that we could live in, but nothing special. And a lovely arts & crafts era house that we would do very well in, if a tad too big for us, and the price a skosh high. Still, it's a short sale, so we contacted our potential realtor about maybe putting in a bid. We aren't as ready as we'd like to be, but maybe there is no such thing.
Oh, and the posh condo that is WAY out of range, but we had to be nosey. First floor entryway room, which confused D - understandably. Long flight of stairs up to a formal dining area with professional kitchen, including wine fridge. Tall windows, loads of light. Another flight of stairs, three large bedrooms, two full baths with black stone shower stalls, one with a spa tub. Laundry room, too. I figure, we could convert one bathroom into a kitchen, and we'd be fine with just that floor. Too much, a glut, but with a definite appeal for those who can afford a cleaning service.
I really have to start taking the camera with us.
Must clean, get the place sorted. Working all three days, and I rather not do a massive clean Thursday - Thanksgiving - morning.
I really have to start taking the camera.
Sorry, no photo, it was early on a wet morning, a black cat on a dark blanket. I'd put on the electric bed pad, high, when I got up. Moby flattened out for maximum tum exposure, chin included. Seemed bonelessly contented. A puddle of fur snerfeling softly.
The snow came through, I expect a lot of the more exposed freeways were not safe for driving last night. But by morning, perhaps an inch on the lawns and roofs, no doubt more further up. Not especially cold, now.
We looked at more open houses today. One place built before the turn of last century, squeaking floors, awkward rooms, kludged shelves and storage. A tile strip about 3' wide between living and dining room, extending from a wood burning fireplace (not converted) not flush with the rest of the floor. We wondered what it hid. Thick, obnoxious paint slathered over every wall, in muddy, teeth gnashing colors. Odd shaped windows, odd smell. All I wanted to do was leave. A condo that we could live in, but nothing special. And a lovely arts & crafts era house that we would do very well in, if a tad too big for us, and the price a skosh high. Still, it's a short sale, so we contacted our potential realtor about maybe putting in a bid. We aren't as ready as we'd like to be, but maybe there is no such thing.
Oh, and the posh condo that is WAY out of range, but we had to be nosey. First floor entryway room, which confused D - understandably. Long flight of stairs up to a formal dining area with professional kitchen, including wine fridge. Tall windows, loads of light. Another flight of stairs, three large bedrooms, two full baths with black stone shower stalls, one with a spa tub. Laundry room, too. I figure, we could convert one bathroom into a kitchen, and we'd be fine with just that floor. Too much, a glut, but with a definite appeal for those who can afford a cleaning service.
I really have to start taking the camera with us.
Must clean, get the place sorted. Working all three days, and I rather not do a massive clean Thursday - Thanksgiving - morning.
I really have to start taking the camera.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Prepared
I was prepared to stay until seven this evening, especially after we picked up the case from the other room (to no effective gain of time.) But, J came in and relieved me, as the later shift, she'd come in at 9am to cover lunches, then relieve the last case. Which was mine. I made damn sure I got her everything she needed - stocked my suture cart, finished my charting, got her a sling, shredded my papers with patient information, cleared my detritus.
There is a winter storm on the way, I wanted to get to the grocery store before it hit. I'd called earlier, and they had turkey roll, what they call boneless turkey - which puts me in mind of Gary Larson's Boneless Chicken Farm. A good size, and easier to cook, for four people. Yes, I'm doing Thanksgiving here. It's a small place, but comfortable enough for four. I'm planning cranberry sauce (from frozen berries) yams with pineapple, scones, green beans, and whatever else I think of before Thursday morning. Pistachios for nibbles.
D got a few episodes of Mastermind, which we'd never seen before. Heard of, certainly. It's kind of awesome. People sit in a chair, and answer incredibly difficult questions about their chosen subject, then they all come back again and answer general knowledge questions nearly as difficult. D and I do passably unembarrassingly on the general ones. No fuss, no flashing lights, no buzzers, just a powerful test of one's intellect and memory and exposure.
Continuing to enjoy Inspector Montalbano, to the point of getting some of the novels. Luca Zingaretti is a joy to watch. I feel like I'm picking up a bit of Italian, but it's probably actually Sicilian.
Arrivederla.
There is a winter storm on the way, I wanted to get to the grocery store before it hit. I'd called earlier, and they had turkey roll, what they call boneless turkey - which puts me in mind of Gary Larson's Boneless Chicken Farm. A good size, and easier to cook, for four people. Yes, I'm doing Thanksgiving here. It's a small place, but comfortable enough for four. I'm planning cranberry sauce (from frozen berries) yams with pineapple, scones, green beans, and whatever else I think of before Thursday morning. Pistachios for nibbles.
D got a few episodes of Mastermind, which we'd never seen before. Heard of, certainly. It's kind of awesome. People sit in a chair, and answer incredibly difficult questions about their chosen subject, then they all come back again and answer general knowledge questions nearly as difficult. D and I do passably unembarrassingly on the general ones. No fuss, no flashing lights, no buzzers, just a powerful test of one's intellect and memory and exposure.
Continuing to enjoy Inspector Montalbano, to the point of getting some of the novels. Luca Zingaretti is a joy to watch. I feel like I'm picking up a bit of Italian, but it's probably actually Sicilian.
Arrivederla.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Stalwart
Working yesterday with one of our more... um, challenging surgeons. Two huge cases, no disasters, I just kept ahead, or at least up to him, all day. In no small part because of V, a great scrub, although I still often struggle with her accent. She does a lot of non-verbal communication with me, and we are both fluent there.
Arthroscopy is all about keeping the fluid going. Three liter bags of lactated ringers solution, four bags, two pairs spiked with Y adapter tubing, that flow into a double tubing that goes through a pump - with a control on the sterile field. Part of all this fluidity comes back through the suction on the shaver, some simply flows out and onto the floor. For keeping the floor from becoming a lake, puddle guppies, flat floor suctions, round but with a suggestion of fish shapes.
It all pours through the joint, providing the space for visualization, and flushes out debris. Running out (because one is busy doing several other jobs) causes whining (from the surgeon.) Bubbles from an air pocket when spiking a new bag, or letting it run out, get into the working space - which takes a bit of work to get cleared. Which slows down the case.
A normal knee scope, to debride away a torn meniscus, with a surgeon who manages fluid well, takes about two bags. Add in a resident getting practice, add another bag. Regularly for Dr. Challenging, 4-5 bags. In this facility, we have 20 liter self-contained suction daleks, called Neptune. They roll well, and there is a station in decontam where they offload and wash out. Best system I've ever worked with. Most routine knee scopes, they don't even need to be changed for two cases. For an ACL repair, usually one per case is sufficient. On a very large shoulder rotator cuff repair, a second one is fairly normal. That's the background so you will get this next set of numbers.
My long standing record for number of bags on a case - 23, recently fell when I got to 30. Yesterday, 32, THIRTY TWO, and filled the Neptune 5 (five) times, and I had #6 in the room ready. All with Dr. Challenging. All shoulders. And he hates the noise of puddle guppies, but yesterday I ran two throughout the case, and he didn't so much as mention that to me.
Recently, we were given a new stand to hang fluids, square tower, about 6" per side, with a knob and graduated notches to raise and lower each hook individually. This saved me yesterday, because I didn't have to reach up as high, but I could still easily keep the bags at different levels, allowing me to change them out more or less at my leisure, and keep the bubbles out. Raising one half of each double spike so the bottom of that bag is above the top of the other, the pressure of the lower one keeping the higher one from running out, until I had time to respike a full bag, then pinching below the single tube of the confluence to allow the air to flow back into the bags instead of down the tubing. An apparently empty upper bag can happily sit there for quite a while, as long as the lower bag is at least 3/4 full. Dr. Challenging only had to have me describe what I was doing once, and he's trusted me since. Some of the otherwise-less-challenging surgeons still remind me every time that I'm getting low on water, when I'm not. But then, the nurses I work with seem uninterested in my method, and I stopped trying to show them long ago.
Dr. Challenging, after our ten hours together, thanked me for being "Stalwart" - which I appreciated.
(I've gone back and edited this a dozen times, but if anything is still wrong, let me know.)
Arthroscopy is all about keeping the fluid going. Three liter bags of lactated ringers solution, four bags, two pairs spiked with Y adapter tubing, that flow into a double tubing that goes through a pump - with a control on the sterile field. Part of all this fluidity comes back through the suction on the shaver, some simply flows out and onto the floor. For keeping the floor from becoming a lake, puddle guppies, flat floor suctions, round but with a suggestion of fish shapes.
It all pours through the joint, providing the space for visualization, and flushes out debris. Running out (because one is busy doing several other jobs) causes whining (from the surgeon.) Bubbles from an air pocket when spiking a new bag, or letting it run out, get into the working space - which takes a bit of work to get cleared. Which slows down the case.
A normal knee scope, to debride away a torn meniscus, with a surgeon who manages fluid well, takes about two bags. Add in a resident getting practice, add another bag. Regularly for Dr. Challenging, 4-5 bags. In this facility, we have 20 liter self-contained suction daleks, called Neptune. They roll well, and there is a station in decontam where they offload and wash out. Best system I've ever worked with. Most routine knee scopes, they don't even need to be changed for two cases. For an ACL repair, usually one per case is sufficient. On a very large shoulder rotator cuff repair, a second one is fairly normal. That's the background so you will get this next set of numbers.
My long standing record for number of bags on a case - 23, recently fell when I got to 30. Yesterday, 32, THIRTY TWO, and filled the Neptune 5 (five) times, and I had #6 in the room ready. All with Dr. Challenging. All shoulders. And he hates the noise of puddle guppies, but yesterday I ran two throughout the case, and he didn't so much as mention that to me.
Recently, we were given a new stand to hang fluids, square tower, about 6" per side, with a knob and graduated notches to raise and lower each hook individually. This saved me yesterday, because I didn't have to reach up as high, but I could still easily keep the bags at different levels, allowing me to change them out more or less at my leisure, and keep the bubbles out. Raising one half of each double spike so the bottom of that bag is above the top of the other, the pressure of the lower one keeping the higher one from running out, until I had time to respike a full bag, then pinching below the single tube of the confluence to allow the air to flow back into the bags instead of down the tubing. An apparently empty upper bag can happily sit there for quite a while, as long as the lower bag is at least 3/4 full. Dr. Challenging only had to have me describe what I was doing once, and he's trusted me since. Some of the otherwise-less-challenging surgeons still remind me every time that I'm getting low on water, when I'm not. But then, the nurses I work with seem uninterested in my method, and I stopped trying to show them long ago.
Dr. Challenging, after our ten hours together, thanked me for being "Stalwart" - which I appreciated.
(I've gone back and edited this a dozen times, but if anything is still wrong, let me know.)
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Saints
Watching a documentary about Johnny Cash. At the very end, one of his cohorts says, "maybe he was a saint." The phrase rang with truth. Could it be this is what saints really are? Not paragons of virtue, not religious messengers, but powerfully unique people, incapable of being anything but genuine, who shake the world where they walk? Full of doubts and flaws, but life expresses itself through them lucidly, uses them up to pour grace over all they touch? Bodhisattvas showing us a way forward, exploding our comfortable assumptions? Damned to be misunderstood and copied, when the real message is to find our own, particular, unmappable path?
I remember once asking a nun if any one of us, in our class, could be saints. She equivocated, I don't remember how she answered. But, I think we are all called, the sacred is just the other side of our fears and self delusions. If only we push through, willing to look, courageous enough to struggle to understand.
We are all capable of being saints. No excuses. It just takes everything we are.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Obligation
Two full on days, when home is sweetest, so long as love is there. Here, three souls who love each other.
And having my mother back in contact means I hear her voice again, the one inside my head. That animals are animals, not people. As though that excludes them from real love. Her disdain for those who think too much of a mere cat or a dog. I find myself explaining - again, only inside, why we really do love Moby, and he, in his cat way, seems to love us. We rely on each other, are kind to each other, make each other laugh, provide comfort and joy. If that's not love, what is? (As Tevye would ask.)
Then a lyric prodded me, and I listened to Graceland.
And I may be obliged to defend
Every love, every ending
Or maybe there's no obligations now
I let go, live in my moment of home, my small, complete family.
We are doing Thanksgiving here with D's parents. My idea. We are planning, and looking forward to this very much. In our tiny apartment, snug and warm.
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
Marrow
A worrier, in terms of a tenacious pulling, picking working at. A part of my character, even more when handed a hard experience, and I will strip the meat, gnaw the bone and suck the marrow to get every possible lesson out of a miserable time. A kind of researcher, a scholar, I studied, pieced together every scrap to understand where I'd been. I studied people, striving to understand, playing out scenarios in my head, practicing conversations. I don't believe in suffering conferring grace, unless it is through hard earned wisdom. Education is never a waste, so long as it's not wasted.
Or, maybe I'm watching too much Columbo lately.
This, from Whiskey River.
"You find your genius by looking in the mirror of your life. Your visible image shows your inner truth, so when you're estimating others, what you see is what you get. It therefore becomes critically important to see generously, or you will get only what you see; to see sharply, so that you discern the mix of traits rather than a generalized lump; and to see deeply into dark shadows, or else you will be deceived."
- James Hillman
Doze
A cool, sunny day, means a dozy cat.
I dozed of myself this afternoon.
Moby sunned for a moment before going up to the Fortress of Solitude bed.
Accessorize
The Knife Through the Head prop, rather late, but when I was ill, I was neither up to taking photos, nor did I want to be seen so green. I think it looked a bit more convincing over my OR hat.
The new, progressive lens, glasses. My brain is adjusting pretty well, although the muscles in my eyes are tired and a bit achy from the unfamiliar movements. Nothing I can't handle, and it's lovely not to have to snatch my glasses from my face every time I need to see something right in front of me. My hand keeps wanting to try, then needs to be reassured that yes, I can see just fine, thanks anyway. Still using the old glasses to drive, since I can glance better with them. Not cheap frames, which is painful financially. But shoes and glasses are not a good place for bargain hunting, winds up more expensive in the end. But I got an employee discount, and payroll deduction, which makes it doable. And I can see to scrub properly. Will facilitate grocery shopping as well. Going to be happy with them, after an initial period of adjustment.
And, they suit. The woman at the eye center picked out a few for me, nixing others, apologizing that she was being bossy, but I was glad of her expertise. I knew I had ultimate veto, but I trusted her immediately. There was a cheaper pair, but it was already wobbly, whereas this pair just sat on my face like a cat who belongs.
Oh, the joys of seeing clearly.
Monday, November 07, 2011
Flittermouse
Think you have it all figured out, and can do better than everyone else?
I don't think anyone can.
The universe has it's own music.
We can barely understand some of the questions to ask it.
Whenever we try to change nature, we make a hash of it.
When we try to contain it, it escapes.
Events pass too slowly, or too quickly for us.
We struggle to breathe, or we fly effortlessly.
One day strong, the next weak and vulnerable.
We see it all with perfect clarity, then the fog rolls in.
When we are wise, we are moderate & tolerant, alert and curious.
Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1963. p. 366.
I don't think anyone can.
The universe has it's own music.
We can barely understand some of the questions to ask it.
Whenever we try to change nature, we make a hash of it.
When we try to contain it, it escapes.
Events pass too slowly, or too quickly for us.
We struggle to breathe, or we fly effortlessly.
One day strong, the next weak and vulnerable.
We see it all with perfect clarity, then the fog rolls in.
When we are wise, we are moderate & tolerant, alert and curious.
Flittermouse. A bat (cp. Ger. Fledermaus). An earlier name was flinder mouse.
Then came... the flyndermows and the wezel and ther cam moo than xx whiche wolde not have comen yf the foxe had loste the feeld. --CAXTON: Reynard the Fox, xli.
Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1963. p. 366.
Gentleness
My mother called, D didn't recognize the number so didn't answer, but I called right back. Better that way, with voip I don't pay long distance, which took a bit to convince her. She told me when she'll be moving to Texas, near her oldest son, next month. And I spoke to her as I would a nervous patient, kind, calm, lightly joking, reassuring. As we spoke, I began to realize my only decent choice was to use this as an opportunity for grace, for both of us. Expect nothing, pour out gentleness.
I do think she should get online, if only because it has become nearly as important as having a telephone was when I was small. A way to keep up with her grandchildren by email. I could send her photos. But there is time, and no need to run ahead. Let her settle, find her new reality for a while, first. I'll have to get SIL & brother ok with it as well, since they will have to do the hook up and support, although I will send the macbook if so.
No one's fault. No one to blame. Nothing needing to be done. Nothing owing, everything entire.
I do think she should get online, if only because it has become nearly as important as having a telephone was when I was small. A way to keep up with her grandchildren by email. I could send her photos. But there is time, and no need to run ahead. Let her settle, find her new reality for a while, first. I'll have to get SIL & brother ok with it as well, since they will have to do the hook up and support, although I will send the macbook if so.
No one's fault. No one to blame. Nothing needing to be done. Nothing owing, everything entire.
Sunday, November 06, 2011
Saturday, November 05, 2011
Might
Good concert, as per. A bit odder, more experimental segments than usual, even for them, or rather They. Strange set of songs. Possibly because the've brought out two albums in the last six months. I hoped they'd play Judy Is Your Vietnam, which they did on the first encore. No confetti cannon this time. I'd love to see them in a really tiny venue, say 50-100 people, unplugged, guitar and accordion, heavy on the slower songs. Ok, they can bring Dan Miller along.
Their audiences here are always enthusiastic and sing-along-y. Which seemed to take the opener, Jonathan Coulton, a bit by surprize. His own fans were present, vocal, and in good voice, as well. The rest of us picked up and sang along too. One of the best opening acts They Might Be Giants have brought along.
Perhaps a lot of loud music and bright moving lights was not precisely what I needed this week. Chewing ginger gum got me through. I wished I could have stood on the floor in front of the stage and danced along as I used to. Getting too old for this, mostly because of damage. That, and I usually go to bed when they started playing, no night owl me. Still, enjoyed myself.
From 64˚F in the afternoon, it was snowing madly when we came home. Then, the covered parking full last night, we had to take a spot on the street, and move the car by 8 am. Mostly fluffy, salty lake effect snow, not difficult to clean off. Instead of just going around the block to get into the parking, we fetched sausages from the supermarket, me in what I threw on to move the car, hair uncombed. We looked like we'd been up too late and threw on sweats, like everyone else in the aisles. A warm, welcome breakfast.
Air full of snow, cat watching impassively.
Their audiences here are always enthusiastic and sing-along-y. Which seemed to take the opener, Jonathan Coulton, a bit by surprize. His own fans were present, vocal, and in good voice, as well. The rest of us picked up and sang along too. One of the best opening acts They Might Be Giants have brought along.
Perhaps a lot of loud music and bright moving lights was not precisely what I needed this week. Chewing ginger gum got me through. I wished I could have stood on the floor in front of the stage and danced along as I used to. Getting too old for this, mostly because of damage. That, and I usually go to bed when they started playing, no night owl me. Still, enjoyed myself.
From 64˚F in the afternoon, it was snowing madly when we came home. Then, the covered parking full last night, we had to take a spot on the street, and move the car by 8 am. Mostly fluffy, salty lake effect snow, not difficult to clean off. Instead of just going around the block to get into the parking, we fetched sausages from the supermarket, me in what I threw on to move the car, hair uncombed. We looked like we'd been up too late and threw on sweats, like everyone else in the aisles. A warm, welcome breakfast.
Air full of snow, cat watching impassively.
Friday, November 04, 2011
Ginger
Still dealing with residual aches and nausea waves. And we have a concert tonight. So I walked over to the pharmacy and asked to talk with the pharmacist. She pointed out the dramamine, which I'd never thought of*, a few similar options - in cherry flavor which would not have gone down, for long. And suggested a ginger hard candy, which they didn't have, and a ginger gum that they did. More expensive, but I was in no shape to make it to an asian market before this evening. Nor do I have ginger root at home. I got the dramamine, and the ginger gum. Chewed some on the walk back, and felt immediately better, as good as sniffing rubbing alcohol, better. Glory.
I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be able to go. To miss They Might Be Giants? Unthinkable, horrible, just not on. I was getting desperate.
*Yeah, RN behind my name, didn't think of it. Hell, I'm an OR nurse, I know local anesthetics and IV pain meds, first line post anesthetic anti-emetics, I lose track of more practical stuff. And anyway, pharmacists are more highly, and specifically trained. Any nurse worth her scissors loves pharmacists.
I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be able to go. To miss They Might Be Giants? Unthinkable, horrible, just not on. I was getting desperate.
*Yeah, RN behind my name, didn't think of it. Hell, I'm an OR nurse, I know local anesthetics and IV pain meds, first line post anesthetic anti-emetics, I lose track of more practical stuff. And anyway, pharmacists are more highly, and specifically trained. Any nurse worth her scissors loves pharmacists.
Thursday, November 03, 2011
Pizza
Made me laugh. I don't know if I've met a representative sample, but everyone I've met from Korea has had this wonderful deadpan, subversive sense of humor.
Managing a bit of food.
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Tossed
Sick as the proverbial dog. Or in some places, parrot. Bad taste in my mouth starting yesterday afternoon, a little beer when I got home - which is usually a good idea, then bread and jam because I didn't feel like a meal. Two hours after bed, I woke and began the ordeal of vomiting every one to two hours until 10 am. When the other end chimed in. The beer didn't help, but this has to have been food poisoning. D got a coke from the lobby for me before he left for work, and I let it go flat, drank some of that, which seemed to prevent further emesis. Had some cereal at 1pm, and tea that tasted terrible. Sore everywhere, chills, then sweats, then chills, weak and icky. Called in sick for tomorrow, knowing they were going to call off staff anyway for low census.
Sleep is all screwed up, but with the time change this weekend it'll hardly matter. The last time I went through something this bad, chicken wings were to blame, and I'd just been diagnosed with three herniated discs. That was a fun night.
We all go through this sort of thing, once in a terrible while. Between D and Moby, I am comforted in my misery, keeping my humor up while keeping the chicken broth and crackers down.
Sleep is all screwed up, but with the time change this weekend it'll hardly matter. The last time I went through something this bad, chicken wings were to blame, and I'd just been diagnosed with three herniated discs. That was a fun night.
We all go through this sort of thing, once in a terrible while. Between D and Moby, I am comforted in my misery, keeping my humor up while keeping the chicken broth and crackers down.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Snowish
Not cold enough for more than a raincoat, but tiny pellets of snow melted in my hair as I left work, dusted white the mountains. Shifted to spattering rain lower down. Turning of the season, mild, a bit slow, this year.
The Day of the Dead, All Saints Day, tomorrow All Souls, Dia De Los Muertes. Bring on the dancing skeletons. The Dead Can Dance.
I was the only one yesterday who did anything for Halloween. A Knife Through The Head prop. Made my patients and their families laugh, most of my cow-orkers, got some very nice doubletakes. Deadpanned comments, mostly. Loved making people laugh.
The Day of the Dead, All Saints Day, tomorrow All Souls, Dia De Los Muertes. Bring on the dancing skeletons. The Dead Can Dance.
I was the only one yesterday who did anything for Halloween. A Knife Through The Head prop. Made my patients and their families laugh, most of my cow-orkers, got some very nice doubletakes. Deadpanned comments, mostly. Loved making people laugh.
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