Scars On My Soul

Not sure exactly where that line came from, but it popped into my head early this morning and has refused to leave. I began to contemplate some of the various implications of it and even to examine some of those scars. Not a productive exercise before work on a Monday morning.

I am not sure if it will transfigure into something other than those few words which beg introspection. (...where angels fear to tread)

Watch and see.

Lately it occurs to me, what a long, strange trip it's been...

After an unplanned hiatus of nearly two years, I'm back.

Watching Coraline as a back-drop to facilitate the ordering of spectral thoughts and random observations. Could you ask for more than a story written by Neil Gaiman and brought to the screen by Tim Burton?

Heading back to Tucson in about six months. Hopefully, Hindolo is forever out of my life. Back doing private duty for special needs kiddos. The daughter has a good husband, and the children have a dad rather than a donor.

It is 5:50pm, I have taken my melatonin and 5-HTP. Need to be in bed by 7:30pm and asleep by 8pm so that I can roll my butt out of bed at 4am. I have dimmed the lights and need to close-out this and shut down the computer. Bri-light, bri-light - not good when trying to increase melatonin levels.

More in a couple of days - promise...

Back at this a bit sooner than expected.

Made it through rolling out of bed at 4am and working 12 1/2 hours without too much pain and strain. Speaking of pain, I need an Ultram. Needed one at about 10:30am as I was standing and bending at an awkward angle for quite a while. Could use a Flexeril as well, but it has been too cold to head out to the pharmacy.

Then, there is the matter of having to deal with the intern pharmacist... Oh my gosh...

Just because my ex-fiance turned thirty-six on his last birthday does not mean that I am a cougar. It means that, while I knew he was younger than I was, I had no idea exactly how many years younger. Had I known he was thirty-two years old when he asked me out, I would not have given him the time of day.

The intern pharmacist on the other hand... maybe 30. Maybe. And is absolutely blatant regarding his interest. It is so bad that my daughter has taken to referring to him as "your boyfriend." Of course he would be absolutely HOT!! Almost as hot as the 28 year old IT and fitness geek from last year... lions, tigers, and bears, oh my!!

(Why I have stopped dying my hair red.)

Still could use some Flexeril, though.

I will be in Tucson by August, so it will all be moot.

Hindolo did give it one final attempt, though. I am still baffled by it, so I try not to think about it. I was at the office working on a Saturday morning last September, and he phoned. I answered (why?) thinking it may have been something important. (His brother had not been doing well following a liver transplant.) He was rambling to me in his typical sort of incoherency. Something he said made me check my facebook page. He had finally accepted the friend request that I had sent him more than 18 months previously, when we were still together. The friend request that had been sent so long before that I was not able to cancel it. He remained a friend for about 2 weeks, phoned me one Thursday evening rambling about someone hacking his account; he had disappeared from my friend list. It was late, and I was tired; I didn't think any more of it. On Friday, it occurred to me what he had done. I checked, his page was fine. He had just un-friended me after stalking my page to see if I was talking to any men. I sent him an acerbic text message and have not heard from him since. As it has been nearly five months, I am hopeful that he has vanished into a void of his choosing.

Going home to Tucson.

I should have the rental application for the apartment building in hand next week. The company that I am working for has an office in Tucson. That would be the chief reason that I opted for going to work for this company.

Planning ahead and making lists. Only in my neurotic world does it make sense.

The Ultram and the Atarax are starting to work.

Time to publish and perish....

I ran out to Hobby Lobby over my lunch hour today. I was intent upon picking up some velvet posters for "my boy" to color. I did buy him some, and of course, I bought something for the sibs as well.

I was headed to the clearance wall to peruse the potential, and I decided I would take a cruise through the yarn section on my way. Eureka! Rack after rack of clearance yarn for $1.99!

Oh, my little heart was aflutter as I slowed to a crawl and scanned the shelves, top to bottom, as I meandered up the aisle. There near the end. 100% wool yarn! SCORE!!!

I immediately set upon selecting colors and matching dye lots and determining how many skeins/yards were matching up and what could be made from these amounts. Three of this one, four of another, and nine of that one over there....

In the midst of the frenzy of plotting, acquisition status, and mental arithmetic , I paused. It occurred to me... "How much of this would it take to do hats and socks for charity?"

There are a couple of charities that I would really like to do more for, but they require items to be made from wool. I have quite a bit of wool. Most of it is not suitable for hats for children and none of it is suitable for socks. The wool that I have is mainly for felting or weaving. As wool yarn tends to be more expensive, I cannot afford to buy it in a retail venue. My wool for charity knitting comes mainly from purchases on eBay where I can generally save at least 50% off of the retail price. However, I must purchase a fairly large quantity, so it is not an inexpensive prospect.

I purchased 6 skeins of worsted weight wool yarn and two skeins of sock yarn. I spent less than $16. I came home and checked the yardage requirements for the hat and sock patterns. I can make two hats and two pair of socks from the worsted weight yarn. I can make four pair of children's socks from the sock yarn. Not a bad deal at all!!

I'm going back tomorrow for more wool yarn.

I do not have a lot of extra money right now, but it makes me very happy to know that I can spend what little bit of money I do have to do something worthwhile to benefit someone else.

More tomorrow and possibly even a photo if I can figure out how to download the camera. LOL

Nine Inch Nails: Wish (1992)

Looks like it's shaping up to be a NIN kinda day. Still my favorite NIN track. Gotta love the fact of putting "fistfuck" into a lyric and winning a Grammy! LMFAO

Nine Inch Nails: Gave Up (1992)

Trent Reznor, the Sharon Tate house, Marilyn Manson, phrenetic energy - gotta love it.

Nine Inch Nails: Head Like A Hole (1990)

The track that started it all. If you've never bothered to listen to the lyrics, I would encourage you to take this opportunity to do so...

AmpedStatus: Economic Crisis = USA Riots

Some food for thought, perhaps.

Heir to the Legacy

My father's last surviving sibling died nearly two weeks ago, on what would have been my cousin Phil's birthday. My Aunt Betsy was 82. Phil was in his mid-40s when he died 5 years ago from complications of lymphoma and a bone marrow transplant. He had married later in life. His sons were too young to have any memories of him other than him being sick. That is the shameful part of it all. He was my favorite cousin. Betsy was my favorite aunt.

Aunt Betsy was the eccentric aunt. Every kid should have an eccentric aunt. OK, when we were young, we all thought she was weird. It isn't until you are a bit older that you are able to appreciate and respect those who dance through this life to their own rhythm.

My aunt knew no strangers. She was a genuine and honest person who was always willing to lend a hand to anyone in need. Like many of her generation who grew up during the Great Depression, she had developed a life-long mentality of frugality. She wasted nothing.

She was rescuing furniture and household goods from the trash routes long before it became fashionable to the home decorating scene as "shabby chic." There was no reason to throw away anything usable. Someone, somewhere, at some point in time would have need of it. My daughter says I am a pack-rat. HA! My squirreling and saving and salvaging and dumpster-diving obsessions don't even approach the level of that of my aunt.

Her two sons, who live out of state, have the unenviable task of going through her house. It will take at least two years, I am estimating.

The church, of which she was a founding member I came to learn, held her funeral service and then provided a luncheon after her burial. It was an interesting experience to meet my aunt's friends. For that's where her true friends were, in her church.

My aunt was buried in the plot next to my father. When I had spoken with my mother on the phone during that hectic week of arrangements, family coming from out of state, and other miscellany associated with family dysfunction and grief, my mother had commented that she and purchased the plot next to my father for my aunt.

I had been a bit perplexed by this but did not have time to question further during the flurry of activity that week. Betsy's husband, whom she had known since elementary school, had died several years ago. He had been cremated. The reason why there was a need for a funeral plot in which to bury my aunt remained a quandary.

It wasn't until we were at the grave site that the mystery was revealed to me. My cousin Gary, her younger son, commented to me, "Mom decided she didn't want to be buried with the Hoover's. She wanted to be buried with the Johnson's." My reply was spontaneous. "You know, that's just how the Johnson's are."

My baby sister (She will always be my baby sister.) and I were picked up from Mom's house by her husband. She and I were going to head back to Columbus for the luncheon at the church. While Jason was driving us back to their place, my sister was telling Jason about the Lutheran funeral service for my aunt. She laughed and concurred when I referred to Lutheranism as "Catholic Lite." The most difficult part of the funeral for me was when Psalm 23 was read aloud. I had not heard those words spoken aloud since I had read them myself at my father's bedside as he was quickly dying once the life support measures had been removed.

We dropped Jason at their house and headed out on the road. We were talking about my aunt on the drive back to Columbus. I told Deanna what Gary had commented to me at the cemetery and what my impromptu response had been. She laughed the knowing laugh. I guess you'd have to be one of us to understand all that was implied. "Yeah," my sister said, "you marry one of us and it's 'You're coming along for my ride.'" It was then that my sister told me Mom had not simply purchased the plot next to Dad for my aunt. She had purchased three plots in the row behind Dad and Aunt Betsy, as well. The new Johnson section has been staked.

Everyone had pretty well left the luncheon by the time my sister and I rolled in. Three of the ladies who were serving commented about the knitted shawl that I wore. It is my blue wool shawl, which upon beginning to make it, I had informed Hindolo, "This is going to be my winter coat. Therefore, you are not allowed to take me anywhere in the world to live where I cannot wear this as my coat. You have been given a mandate." I related that to the ladies, and they had laughed.

They told me that they had a prayer shawl ministry at the church. They made shawls to donate to a nursing home, and they had been very surprised at how many of the gentlemen in the nursing home had requested shawls made for them in dark colors. Thus far, they had donated fourteen shawls.

I had asked if they used primarily acrylic yarn for the shawls for washability and durability for use in the nursing home. The ladies replied that they used whatever they had or was donated. I told them that I had lots of acrylic yarn that I would be willing to donate. One of the ladies commented, "Betsy's niece having way too much of something on hand. Imagine that." We all laughed. I assured them that it was genetic.

Betsy's older son joined my sister, me, and a couple of the folks from the church at our table. We hadn't seen one another in close to thirty years. We talked and laughed about all sorts of things relating to my aunt.

My sister pondered aloud that my aunt was probably a millionaire, and wished good luck to my cousin in finding all the bank accounts, bonds, investment paperwork.

When our grandmother had died in the early 1990s, my Aunt Betsy was the executor of the estate. Before the estate was settled, my Aunt Lois, the eldest of the siblings died. In order to settle Lois's estate, the money from our grandmother's estate had to be distributed. Betsy produced bonds, CDs, and other investment accounts all in the name of Lois and Lois's children. Aunt Betsy had invested everyone's money for them. She had seen no reason for it to be idle in some account for the state to pillage while waiting for the farm to be sold. She had divided the money up and invested it for everyone.

My sister said that she, Mom, and my sister Luanne had been talking in the days before Aunt Betsy's funeral. One of them had posed the question that they had wondered when was the last time Aunt Betsy had bought a new item of clothing. The consenus had been that it was probably for her husband's funeral. One of my sisters then thought that perhaps Betsy had bought a new dress for Dad's funeral. Mom's response, "No she didn't." Too funny! but not surprising at all.

Aunt Betsy was the aunt who always sent a card for EVERYONE's birthday. Nieces, nephews, their spouses, great nieces, great nephews. It was a running gag for many years about the dollar that she always enclosed in the card for the kids. Deanna commented that she remembered being sixteen years old and getting that dollar from Aunt Betsy. Deanna had been teasing Ryan, my sister Luanne's son, on his birthday last year, "Did you get your dollar from Aunt Betsy?" He had received five dollars, Luanne had said. We all laughed and chimed in unison, "Inflation!"

It was good to share the memories and the laughs. It was good to see the old photos that had been displayed at the funeral home during calling hours. My cousin Gary commented to me, after looking at the old photos of his mom, how much I looked like her. On seeing them, I had to admit that he was right.

With the passing of the last of my father's siblings, that era of the family history has come to an end. It is a very sad thing. My mother is the last of the spouses. Phil was the first of the cousins to have died. My siblings and I are the youngest of the cousins. My dad had nieces and nephews older than him. Most of my cousins are in their mid-to-late 60s, and a few are in their 70s.

As my sister and I sat at the luncheon talking with Betsy's oldest son, Todd, and reminiscing about Aunt Betsy's wonderful brand of eccentricity, Todd commented about my own particular brand of eccentricity in what I had done with my life and career and time in the 30 years since he had seen me last.

I was wearing my Doc Marten Mary Jane shoes and black patterned tights with my black dress, its hemline hitting well above my knee, and blue knit shawl. I related that, as my daughter Amanda and I had been driving to the funeral that morning she had commented about my (typical for me but what would be most unexpected for the people whom we were soon to meet) funeral attire. "Sometimes I wonder if you just try to be different," Amanda had said. "No. I'm just me," I replied.

I think Aunt Betsy was one of the very few family members who truly understood that I was "me." That, however, did not stop her from chastising me to the nurses and the residents at the ICU nurses' station on the day my dad died for being too brilliant to not have gotten my PhD in computer science or in engineering. (Either would have made her happy.) I assured them all, the nonconformity and the wanderlust had not been in vain as it had made for a grand adventure thus far.

I am the heir to the legacy of my aunt. My older niece and nephew are getting to the age where they are coming to realize that I'm the eccentric aunt. The younger ones still view me as weird. Lots of fun, but weird. My grandchildren are still too young to know that I'm not typical of most grandmothers. The older two are beginning to observe some notable differences between the grandmother models, though. LOL

The torch has been passed to the next generation. I have a wonderful legacy and irreplacable role model in whose footsteps I will follow. Onward I go (marching to a samba)...

I'm ALIVE! ...and on the internet

It has been a long, cold, grey winter. Welcome to O-hia. We have, after a fashion, had some sunshine at intervals over the last few days. The sky was, at least, more blue than overcast, and I was wishing that I had tossed my shades into my pack... "What is this alien brightness to which my eyes are unaccustomed?"

It took more than two months of rescheduled appointments (due to work and frigid temperatures) to get my cable and internet installed, but as of one week ago, I'm back! As my only available day for an install appointment is Saturday, that in itself compounded the logistics and lengthened the time-frame. Having to work and/or watch the grands on Saturday while my daughter worked complicated the scenario.

After the third reschedule, I even took an afternoon off during the week to make an appointment for the install. The temperature that day was in the single digits and the wind chill was more than -20 degrees. I just couldn't bring myself to have the installer out in that sort of frigid mess. As I told the very nice customer service person on the phone, I didn't want that particular karma lurking about seeking its opportune moment. The CSR was in humorous agreement on that fact. From the left-brained cynical wench next door (aka my offspring), "If you don't have the tech out working, someone else will. That's just stupid." "Maybe, but let someone else have that karma. I don't want it."

The Judeo-Christian interpretation... "reaping and sowing" Why would I "sow" into someone having to be outside working in totally miserable conditions for my enjoyment of something as superfluous as digital cable television and internet access? Do I really want to "reap the harvest" from that particular bit of selfish behavior? Nope. Not me.

Hindolo's take on having cable installed... "You are getting cable? What has changed?" Ever the pragmatist. (He with the 43-inch LCD as the focal point of the living room and no cable...)

Genny IM'd me the other night. I'm glad she did. I have missed our chats. Fortunately, she blogs frequently so I have been able to stay updated on the parental units and the goings on at the shelter. I told her that I had experienced a "Genny moment" on the bus that morning on my way to work.

I was happily knitting away on the Rambling Rows Afghan pattern (shameless plug for Cottage Creation Patterns and Carol Anderson--and why the heck not, Paradise Fibers in Spokane from where I purchased the pattern) that I am making in bright, jewel-toned colors for a therapy blanket for one of the treatment rooms. A rather unkempt man wearing a bright orange insulated coverall boarded the bus after having secured his bicycle to the rack. He immediately commented on my knitting, introduced himself as "Mike" and reached to shake my hand. As I was in the middle of the decrease stitch pattern, I could not shake his hand but did offer mine once I had completed the decrease.

Mike then commented about how he thought it was a very exciting and interesting thing that I had the telecommunications receiver antenna connecting the pointed sticks together. (I was knitting on a circular knitting needle, two short sticks of bamboo connected with a nylon cable. * explanation added for clarity for the knitting uninitiated*)

I explained that it was a nylon cable, a very poor conductor of telecommunications signals. "My attempt at reality orientation," as I explained to Genny. Mike was, however, not to be dissuaded. It then became a fiber optic cable. Genny laughed; had Mike been able to be convinced, he would have then had to admit that he was able to be cured. Not likely to be with schizophrenia that is generally poorly managed among the underserved who are out in the community.

I told Genny that I really wanted to drag him on to the office with me and start upon "fixing" him.

I genuinely despise it when God gives those glimpses of clarity and unction. I am not a psych nurse.

I will tell you that I am not a pediatric nurse, either. I just happened to wind up, through God's doing, where I'm at. It was no fault of my own; I had nothing to do with it. I work at a job that I didn't even apply for! (This is the second solely pediatric stint of my career, by the way.)

Ali (my doc) thinks it's funny. Since I told her of how I came to be at this job, she has enjoyed relating it to a few of our patients and to some of the students and interns and residents who have rotated with us. She didn't envision her practice being what it is, either. God just seems to have these ideas for us...

What are you gonna do? I have enough experience in going down this road to know that you can go along the hard way, or you can go along the easy way. Sort of like trying to put a coat on a two-year-old. "Do you want to put your coat on here or do you want to put your coat on by the door?" It is understood that the coat is going to be put on. The variables are timing and place.

Time for me to be on to some other things.
More later.

I did it! Over the last 5 months, I have successfully waded through 10,000 emails that have come through my sorely neglected for the first six months of this year Yahoo Inbox. YEA ME!

"YEA ME!" has become the new catch-phrase of the offspring and myself in response to the myriad and on-going deluge of overwhelmingly negative "stuff" that has been pouring down over the last couple of months.

She's about to drown in it. For myself, being far more jaded and cynical (there are distinct advantages to being "old"), I manage to laugh my way through most of it in the end.

We are vehicle-less. Between the two of us, we have managed to kill three minivans in the span of 2 months. I view it as a karmic signal that an SUV is in order. Having the long-held belief that minivans are tangible evidence of evil, it was merely one brief exercise in fuzzy logic to arrive at the karmic connection.

Gabe has been suspended from kindergarten five times in six weeks. She is not surprised but is highly frustrated by this series of on-going events. We knew that it would be a challenge playing "catch up" in getting him the medical, behavioral, and educational help that he needs, but I am certain that she was not bargaining for anything this extreme. Progress is being made, after the ex-son-in-shit-head's years of denial, thankfully. He is being medicated (short-term) for the ADHD while further testing for allergens and metabolic imbalances is under-way. Preliminary testing has found that he is not Aspergers but is definitely in the "spectrum" for sensory integrative disorders. The school psychologist has decided to forego information gathering and proceed directly to testing. He has an IEP in place, but the school is not willing to be stern enough with him regarding his outbursts and maladaptive behaviors. There is nothing that Gabe loves more than an audience. When his behavior in the classroom (typically running on the tables, throwing things at other students) necessitates him being removed, they send him to another room full of students. The only difference being, the second room is the in-school detention room which is pre-filled with a disruptive element before he arrives to contribute to the melee. With Gabe needing to be the center of attention, this particular group of children only serve to escalate his behavior even further.

Aren't the people who came up with this resolution supposed to be the "professionals?"

I am glad that my daughter is a pro-active as she is. This would otherwise be an unwinnable scenario. However, it is wearing on her immensely.

The latest "YEA ME!!" will transpire later this afternoon when she is finished with work. She will drive 35 miles east and scour the should of the interstate for her keys, which were presumably lost there last night when Minivan #3 bit the dust.

The gas was off for a week-and-a-half. Thankfully, the diligence of a single father of seven (who officially had nothing to do with fixing the gas leak as it is against the policy of the fascists at the utility company) found and fixed the offending gas leak allowing hot water to return and heat to be generated, just in time for the onset of the cold weather this week.

The clothes dryer was kaput for a week and a half. In spite of promises to look at and fix it from Al, Amanda was able to find a loose wire and reconnect it herself. I was impressed. She disassembled and reassembled the components in the fashion of a true professional, including having two miscellaneous screws left-over at the end of the exercise.

For now, I'm closing this in order to assist the children in cleaning the living room before she gets home from work. It is painful to live a mess; there is no point in living in a mess.

~yawns and stretches~

It's 5:26am, and I'm just sitting down with my first cuppa joe. My caffeine consumption is seriously lagging these days, and that is probably not a bad thing.

I am relatively wide-awake for it being such an early hour. I was awakened around 3:30 by a combination of the pain in my back and the wretched feline yowling downstairs... sounded too much like my daughter saying "mom." Does that "mother hearing" never go away? ~sigh~

I hope you all liked yesterday's entry on The Story of Stuff. Other than some statistics, it really didn't present any information that I didn't know, but I hope it gets spread around the internet enough and seen by enough of those with the "Wal-Mart mentality" that SOMETHING in there strikes a chord with our consumer-driven masses.

Not that I think Wal-Mart is really any worse of a retailer than Target or K-Mart or Sears or Abercrombie or Macys... I see the same countries of origin on the labels of products sold in those stores as I do in Wally-World.

You know, if Americans were to not shop for a month (hell, two weeks), it would do more to damage our economy than high gas prices, plummets in the stock market, the failure of large banking/insurance corporations, and the housing crisis combined.

Whomever is to be the next president of this country (I really pray that it isn't McCain, and I'm a Republican. A Republican with a conscience, that is.) is walking into a truly fucked-up scenario.

Another big thank you to the Clinton administration. It was his administration that deregulated the securities industry in '98/'99 (somewhere around there, I'm getting old, gimme a break, OK). Those controls had been put in place after the GREAT DEPRESSION. And, hey, look... it took us less than a decade without those controls and regulations in place to totally screw things up. Gotta love the global economy and the fact that our currency is backed by nothing of any value. We have tremendous national debt and trade deficits. Oh hell... you all know how we got into this mess.

Oh, hey... I got one of those DVD's that Clarion sent out in order to smear Obama. If you didn't receive one, it is titled "Obsession." The "O" in the title is the Islamic crescent and stars and the cover art definitely lends an "apocalyptic" tone. I didn't get to watch it. The perverse and twisted part of my nature really did want to watch it for purely vicarious reasons. The offspring (another Republican with a conscience) however, stated quite matter-of-factly, "You know we're not watching this, right?" as she deposited it in the trash on Saturday - the very same day that it was received in the mail. I really don't know where that bitch gets it from.... ~insert giggle and wink here~

Well, it's 5:50am... shower time.

Ciao!

www.storyofstuff.com

Everything I Needed to Know in Life...

... I learned from Horatio Caine!

teehee

Your family are the most important people in your life. They may make things extremely difficult for you at times, but you do your best to take care of them. Remember, if you don't love your family, no one else may.

No matter how uncomfortable the situation, you must do the morally right thing.

You always eliminate the threat with extreme prejudice... no wavering, no doubt, no second thought.

A wry one-liner never hurts.

Isn't that all there is? LOL

Yeah, I watch CSI Miami. Not so much for David Caruso; more for that quasi-forensic stuff dramatized there. And, the plot lines of most of Bruckheimer's CSI series have some decent twists. I prefer the forensic shows for the truly vicarious stuff, but I've seen most of them. My mind is sort of warped that way.

I'm one of those people who looks at the grotesque photos on Rotten.com and is more fascinated by the "hmmmm, now exactly how did this get to be this" aspect of them than viewing them just for the sheer shock/schlock/horror value. I don't slow down on the highway at accident scenes. I have no morbid fascination. There's really nothing there that I want to see.

A couple of years back, the offspring and I were watching some forensic science-inspired TV program. I commented to her that I had been offered a full scholarship to study forensic science years ago, but my parents had been so appalled by the thought that they refused to allow me to accept it. She was incredulous. The next time we visited my family, I brought it up the subject of that offer. The memory of it still brought revulsion to my mother. I, however, think I would have made a kick ass blood-spatter expert.

On the internet browser homepage at msn.com yesterday was a little "what do your color preferences say about your personality and good career options" quizzes. I took it. It was pretty accurate. Paralleled my Jungian personality ENTP results. Said I would be ideally suited to arts/design/creative-type professions. Yeah, what else is new?

In defense of my left-brain, I took a career satisfaction inventory test from the same site. I'm well-suited and perfectly happy in my profession except in areas of salary, benefits, some of the organizational structure things. Who doesn't experience some dissatisfaction and frustration with those areas? It wasn't enough dissatisfaction to cause disharmony in my soul, so I suppose it doesn't matter that much, does it?

I have acquired the "head cold" that is making its way through the household. Rather than opting for the green death Nyquil route, I went the Vitamin C, Zinc, echinacea in addition to the B-complex vitamin and probiotics route. Some increased intake of water, some green tea with honey lemon and ginseng, and a bowl of hot and sour soup for good measure has me not feeling too badly at all.

The guy is heading back to class tomorrow. Two quarters to go. He's taking this engagement ring-thing quite seriously. I had joked that he should pick it up for me from Tiffany when he goes to NYC to do some Christmas shopping. He decided that was a good idea. As he stated to me, "Yes, you should have a nice ring." Guess I need to now redirect him to Ashcroft and Oak instead. Wonder if there's one in NYC? lol

Little Foxes

Gotta love those things in life that go wrong at the most inopportune of times. ~~sigh~~



The van had some post-son-in-shithead mechanical issues. Some money for parts and tools had it fixed yesterday. This morning, went to head to work.... turned the key in the ignition and was met by a loud ka-chunk (not good, methinks), turned the ignition off and tried it again.... loud squeal from a bearing and a rod knocking... (definitely not good), let it idle for a few minutes and it smoothed out, put it into drive with my foot still firmly on the brake - still running a bit rough and the bearing is ka-thunking but no rod tapping, pulled out of the parking spot.... Well, I made it around the block, fearing the rod was going to be thrown through the cylinder at any minute...



So, I'm waiting on Al to finish downloading some data and head in from the East Side in order to schlep me to the office for work.



Several phone calls back and forth to relevant parties, and I'm waiting...



Damn!!



The non-native English speaking quasiboyfriend of the daughter is still kinda on the scene. I should have included the (sic) after the quoted text message in my last post. LOL... think I'll go back and edit that in a bit.



The divorce from the above referenced son-in-shithead is finalized this evening at the lawyer's office. Gotta love it when you can pay your own judge to stop by and take care of things for you.

Too Good to Pass on This One...

The week at work has been crazy thus far. Not altogether unexpected but still more than enough stuff to keep on top of and keep up with that I'm struggling to keep my desk clear. (That's why they invented filing cabinets and file folders, ya know.)

Amanda is making some changes that she feels will be good for her. The quasiboyfriend is having some difficulty grasping the concept that it has nothing to do with him. He just can't seem to understand that they haven't known each other long enough and they aren't involved deeply enough that he is even considered in her decision-making process. Yeah, one of those who seems to think that everything must be all about him. (Her dad gives their involvement 6 months max, by the way.)

So, what does this self-involved and non-evolved dumb ass do this afternoon? OMG! This was so great!! I just couldn't believe it when she told me this when I got off work this evening.

He sent her a text message that read, "merry me"

Oh is that not just the fucking best!!

A TEXT MESSAGE!!

Shit, and here I was feeling like a commodity simply because Hindolo just sort of assimilated me into his marriage mindset. LMTCTFOAO (laughing my twisted cynical tired fucking old ass off). At least he had enough sense not to do something that totally assinine.

Truthfully, Hindolo doesn't text. Doesn't even read text messages when he gets one. I know. I have sent him a few. I gave up. However, if he did text, he has more sense than to even allow something as blatantly stupid as the idea of texting a marriage proposition.

I say proposition because something that totally idiotic could not ever be considered a proposal.

A TEXT MESSAGE!!!
O-M-G!!!

Of course I had to ask her if she had replied..... lmao.... Hey, that's just me.

Amanda can't wait to share that one with the girls at work tomorrow. Neither can I, the truth be told. That one is just too good to pass up.

Ciao.

It Just Figures...

The weather has continued to be miserably humid though not quite as hot these last few days.



The job offers are flooding in. One thing about my industry... it takes forever sometimes to get a job. I was to have an appointment this morning with an agency to do home health for pediatrics. A tumble down my daughter's back steps last evening (Calling myself doing her a favor and taking out the trash.) has left me very stiff and sore and aching. Fortunately, no major injuries... a skinned knee, a jammed finger are about the extent of the acute problems. A sore back, sore arms, aching hips and a drastic decrease in ease of mobility (and that nice dull, throbbing ache with just sitting) are the order of the day.



I rescheduled the appointment to do the paperwork for the home health agency until tomorrow. Seems they have lots of peds that I can do on the weekends! Gotta love it! LOL



I haven't shown any signs of bruising from the fall (yet). And, I'm supposing that when they do show up...



There's no nice way to put this... I'm scheduling my appointment Monday, as soon as I find out which practitioners are covered on my new insurance plan...



I think I have cancer. Possibly a lymphoma... non-Hodgkins... Haven't had any of the fevers, or localized lymphadenopathy (swelling and tenderness of the lymph nodes) that are typical with Hodgkins.



I have two bruises on my right, outer lower leg that have remained relatively unfaded and hard for more than a month now. I had an extreme bout of itching (that's putting it VERY MILDLY... OK, I was about to overdose on Benadryl it was so bad for about 5 or 6 days) in May that I attributed to an allergic reaction to the St. Johns Wort/Griffonia Seed compound that I was trying for an holistic alternative to commerical pharmaceutical antidepressant therapy. When I showed no hives, I then assumed it to be some type of vasculitis related to the autoimmune disorder with the rheumatoid. I have had a congested cough for three? four? weeks now that I attributed mainly to my allergies and the bad air quality... Should have thought about it sooner, though... non-productive, moist cough. And, when I was on the telemetry unit Memorial Day weekend, before I had my cardiac cath, there were abnormalities with my iron studies and some minor things with my blood count.



It wasn't until I became concerned with this nonhealing bruising within the last week or so that I began to put all of the symptomology together.



Oh yeah... I had a couple of glasses of red wine over the weekend and got some pain in the regions of various lymph node clusters... another indicator.



And, then there's the fatigue, which I just chalk up to the RA.



I've had a lot of capillary fragility due to the years of steroid therapy, so bruising doesn't really set off an altert with me. However, unknown (all of my bruising tends to be of relatively unknown origin) bruising that remains this long...



I told Amanda last night that I think I may have cancer. Just told her there's no nice way to put this.... so.... Told her about the bruising, the itching, the cough, the blood abnormalities.... What it all added up as a possible cause....



I really hope I'm wrong. Cancer would be such a pain in my ass. Just one of those things in life that anyone can best do without.



We have the Arthur G. James Cancer Hospital and Richard J. Solove Research Institute (sounds so very, very impressive) here. However, me being me, I'll probably go the Mt. Carmel/Trinity Health route. LMAO Not only do I work for them...



I really wanted to work for them for a reason... I love the philosophy. "Mount Carmel and Trinity Helath were established on a foundation of faith-based principles: Respect, Social Justice, Compassion, Care of the Poor and Underserved, and Excellence. These principles and the Mission serve as a compass to guide our ongoing health care ministry." That mission statement is posted in all Mt. Carmel facilities. On the front cover of the booklet that outlines our organizational integrity program is "But as for me, I will walk in my integrity. PSALM 26:11."



Unfortunately, I don't/can't do the hospital thing any more, and the turn-over rate in the offices are very low. So.... and, as we know, God somehow managed to work out a job for me in an office that I neither applied for or applied to... still makes me LMAO!!

So, I think I'm going to start where I believe...

That's how my week is shaping-up so far. I'm pondering some things, cultivating peace... Funny how your perspective begins to shift and reshape your priorities and the things that seem "important."

The "dog days" of summer are upon us here in Cowlumbus, Ohia. With the combination of the heat, high humidity, UV warnings, and air quality alerts, I have been confined to the relative comfort of air conditioned indoors and relegated to regular usage of antihistamines and inhalers to combat the allergens and airborne pollutants. Thankfully, I do live in a neighborhood where brown lawns become the norm this time of year, so some respite is at hand.



Love our local planning here... One of three bridges into downtown has been closed for replacement for well over five years now - closer to ten I'm fairly certain, but I cannot remember the exact time it was that I chased the thief over the closed bridge... (**you have to love the way my right-brain correlates data...**) Last month, one of the two remaining bridges into downtown (also scheduled for replacement) was ordered permanently closed by the Ohio Department of Transportation due to structural issues. That leaves the one remaining two-way bridge on Broad Street as the only way into downtown. It was bad enough that the Broad Street bridge was the only way OUT of downtown to the West, but to have it as the only access into downtown as well.... And, I will find myself part of that fray on Moanday morning... I am close enough to I-70 that I could attempt that access into the southern edge of downtown/the Brewery District/German Village via that route, but the 70/71 split across downtown is an absolute clusterfuck at the best of travel-times. That section of freeway is the eternal/infernal traffic fatality just waiting to happen. Thank God the Level-1 trauma center at Grant Hospital is about 6 blocks from that particular section of freeway. Many, many people (the ones who actually managed to survive the wrecks that occur on that miserable section of highway, to include my own cousin) owe their very lives to the fact that Grant is that close. Gotta love seeing the helicopters dispatched for a 6 or 8 block flight, but it's necessary for the survival of the victims.



Having spent some time on the trauma unit and in various long-term sub acute units around town, I have had to question exactly why we save some of these people. People on vents in persistent vegetative states, people missing large portions of their brains... permanently restrained, unable to speak or understand, barely able to see, heavily medicated to prevent self-injury and control the persistent, violent rocking and writhing movements... Why do we do this to people? We save their lives to allow them to live at what quality of life?



When I was a much younger nurse, I was convinced that trauma medicine was the place to be. As an older and more jaded (and perhaps a bit wiser, at least a bit more introspective) nurse, I have to ask myself "why?" I will admit that I have formulated no rational, logical answers. I have come up with no answers at all, to be truthful, but at least the process of examining the practice allows me to be able to sleep at night.



Granted, many people (including my cousin) have been given that "second chance" and go on to live productive lives. Many do not, however. Who is to decide? At what level does the cost out-weigh the benefit, not initially, but long-term? Trauma medicine is a money-losing service in itself... another prohibitively expensive health-care quandary/boondoggle irrespective of any moral, ethical, or ideological considerations. Sort of like cancer care and treatment. Cancer research, however, is a tremendously lucrative venture... ~~digression to be better served at another time, LOL. I will merely close that particular avenue at this point by stating that my jaded, cynical self sees that cancer will never be "cured" as there will be waaaaaaay too much money lost by such a particularly fool-hardy action.

Staying Alive

Round Two of my employment at Park West came to an end in early June. That ending has brought both relief and hardship, though thankfully, more of the former than the latter. Though I've had to contact Wage & Hour to try and recover salary that they owe me and money has been extremely tight, I am more than thrilled to be away from the malpractice and the drama.

I'm currently doing in-home care for an autistic child (more on that later) and grossly under-employed, yet it's a job so I'm not complaining.

Classes and the ensuing ton of nursing school homework/busy-work are keeping the guy far busier than I would like. But, we're still together... it has been a year. I'm certain that none of the people who know us would have thought that with the major differences in our personalities that we'd have made it together this long.

I am still a bit dismayed with the cultural/male attitude that I'm an "assumed acquired commodity" but hey... I was at his place the other night, and he had to run out to pick up notes from a classmate. I was left at the apartment to my own devices (another first that reiterates that I'm equated to "acquired commodity status") while he ran. He returned and assumed the position in front of the computer for the next round of the previously mentioned busy-work. I watched a bit of the news on the 43-inch LCD TV that gets recpetion on three channels (as it is connected, not to HD cable service, but a set of rabbit ears... omg, he is such a different one...), kissed him goodnight, and told him to wake me when he came to bed.

I had commented to him earlier in the evening that I'm not sure what he is going to do when we are at a point where he sees me daily as it will be so different from how things have been throughout our relationship to this point. I told him he will need to work three jobs in order for things to seem "normal." He laughed.

Tom came from California for a visit with Amanda and the kids. They spent a few days in Pennsylvania with family and attended a family reunion. Amanda was finally able to meet some relatively normal members of the family. Amanda has also determined that her parents are never allowed to be together in the same room - ever. We, her parental units, determined that as her dad only makes it here for a visit every three to five years, she will simply have to deal with it.

Amanda and Tom had gone out to shoot pool one night and managed to be home an hour before last call. OMG, he's getting OLD!! That never would have been the case, even 10 years ago! I had been watching the kiddos while they were out, and had just carried Gabe up to bed at 1:30am right before they got home. We were sitting around the living room talking and Amanda was seriously nodding on the love seat. Her dad told her to just go ahead and go up to bed as we would be OK without her. I reminded her that "after all, we are your parents." He laughed and she looked annoyed.

Al stopped in for a couple of brief visits while Tom was here. Olli also met her dad (having met Al the week before her dad's arrival in town). So, Olli was straight as to which dad he could and could not mention certain details. Always a major consideration when dealing with my two exes/her two dads.

YES!!! The phone call finally came!! FULLTIME EMPLOYMENT HAS APPEARED ON THE SCENE!!

The money isn't the greatest, but it's for a pediatric practice affiliated with Mt. Carmel Health Systems. Ergo, excellent benefits. One of the physicians has an integrated practice and does lots of special needs kiddos. And, I do really believe in the philosophy of Mt. Carmel - providing service to the under-served and disadvantaged. My health insurance will be about $28 a month and the 401K is available for enrollment immediately and matched fully to 3% and at half to 5%.

The best part about the position is how God worked it out. Especially as I hadn't even applied for this job!! Or even applied at this office.

I had emailed a resume for an office coordinator/nursing position at another practice affiliated with Mt. Carmel. How my resume came to be in the hands of this particular physician/office manager, I have no clue.

I went for an interview late one afternoon last week. The weather was miserably hot and humid - heat index near 100, with the actual temperature itself above 90 - and my daughter's van has no working air conditioning. So, what to wear for this interview was quickly becoming a dilemma. Being that I'm very much a "what you see is what you get" person, it was even more of a challenge.
I opted for a long, sleeveless rayon dress in a dark blue print. It was nice enough to look good, still me, and weather-survivable.

On being ushered into the back office, the physician greeted me first. She stated that she had not intended to even be present for my interview as she had a previous commitment, but when she had seen me in the waiting room, she KNEW that she simply had to meet me.

As it turns out, her previous commitiment was the charity medical clinic that is organized and run by one of the larger, nondenominational churches in the area. The large nondenomination church that is right up the road, pretty much, from the large nondenominational church with which I am affiliated. So, it turns out that we're on the same page on the important things.

You just have to love how God chooses to do things.

His way. His timing. His purposes.

I will be primarily this physician's nurse, though there is another physician in the office - with a completely different type of practice (again, another more on that later), and they are looking to add a fulltime nurse practitioner to the practice. The offer had already been made to the nurse practitioner, but there was no word yet (as of my interview day) on whether or not she had decided to accept the offer. So, exactly what my job description/duties will be is subject to change depending on how the office practice may be restructured, but I'm flexible. And, new challenges and changes are always fun.

Still, too funny about how God decides to do things.

Even funnier, I had no idea that I would be receiving this phone call a couple of hours after I logged on to begin writing this post this morning.

I'll have to call the y-chromosome person and let him know. He's at work, so I'll make it after all of the administrative "powers that be" have left grounds for the day... which should be around 3:30 as it's Friday. Was planning on calling him later today anyway to suggest that he pick me up tomorrow after work and drop me back home Sunday morning on his way back to work. As he won't stay here because he's worried that the German Shepherd dog would bark at him.

Oh, he is so going to love the male Jack Russell Terrier that I gift to him. I am greatly anticipating the 5-pound dog standing in the middle of the bed barking and growling and telling him "my mommy!" I am also anticipating the dog vs the expensive leather living room furniture (if only in my dreams!! ~evil laugh and wicked grin~).

It's time to get moving on some lunch for the kiddos.

More later....

Life Goes On

I was awakened last Monday by a telephone call from Annie, the administrative assistant at our corporate office. (Translation: The secretary who secretly runs everything.) She was phoning me because the people who had volunteered to make the quilt from the blocks had no idea how to do such a thing. Her tone was almost that they (the supported living division) hated to put upon me to ask if I could do it. As I work for a separate division, and this was “their” project, not “ours.” In truth, I felt very honored to be able to be able to put these individual expressions into a singular, creative whole.

As I spent last week ill from the kiddie krud, staying with the rotation of ailing children who could not go to the babysitter’s, and still having to work over-time because I have no nurses/am short on competent nurses, I could not get started on the quilt until this week.

So, I have spent the last two days at the corporate office piecing the blocks together. And, I’ve had a wonderful time and received a bit of an epiphany.

Being a quilter, I subscribe to the methodology of modern quilt making. Rotary cutting, strip piecing…. Speed and precision is the name of the game.

It isn’t working with this quilt.

The squares of fabric had all been cut by hand. Not one of them is exact same size or shape. No uniformity what so ever. Some of the blocks that the clients made from the squares have embellishments that go completely to the edge of the block. No room for seam allowance.

So, I’m having to do this quilt the “old fashioned” way. Take each block individually, give it the particular attention that it requires in order to be able to piece it into the whole, and one-by-one, add it in.

As I was fidgeting with these blocks yesterday morning, it occurred to me that this quilt represents exactly what it is that we do as a company.

The individual blocks that our clients made are a personal, unique reflection just as each of them is a unique being with different interests and different abilities. Those blocks are just like all people. We are very similar, we all have the same basic components, but no two of us are alike. We are all a bit non-uniform and have our own particular quirks.

In modern quilt making, there are degrees of “one size fits all” methods of doing things. With this set of blocks as with our set of clients, there is nothing that is standardized and uniform and applied unilaterally. We must tailor each thing that we do for that particular individual to their particular needs. Just as I must take each individual quilt block and give it the particular attention that it requires.

This quilt is an exact representation of what it is that we do as a company. It was a very cool thing to realize that.

The supported living staff has been very appreciative of my efforts in assembling the quilt. The director of that division commented to me that their clients had simply fallen in love with me during the day of block making. I guess several of the clients had told their family members about me and the families had called the office to relay this information to the administrative staff, as to how appreciative they were that one of the nurses from another part of the company would come and take the time to do this type of activity. As I told Becky, I enjoyed making the new friends that I had made that day.

For me, being able to put this quilt together is an honor and a privilege. It took the office staff of the other division a couple of days to realize that. They had initially felt that in asking me to have to do this for them that I was being “put upon.” I am really glad to see that they have realized that is not the case.

Yesterday was May 6^th, the one-year anniversary of my dad’s death. As I was running home at lunch time to grab a couple of more handy widgets from my sewing box in order to better work on some of these quilt blocks, I thought I should give my mom and my sister a call at the ice cream shop. Realizing the time, I figured I would wait until the lunch rush was over.

Just as I was pulling back into the parking lot at the corporate office, my phone rang. It was my baby sister. I told her I had thought about ringing her up but had decided to wait a bit. She asked if I was working. I told her I was at the corporate office working on the quilt. “I know you’re loving that,” she replied.

Everyone was meeting for dinner at 5:30. I told her that I had to pick Amanda up from work at 5:15 and wouldn’t be able to make it to dinner. She told me that they had set Dad’s headstone on the grave this last weekend.

His headstone, it would seem, is the only one in the entire cemetery that is truly facing the “right” direction. The cemetery borders a river. Everyone is buried with their feet towards the river. Therefore, all of the headstones are placed at everyone’s feet. You gotta love my mom…. Dad’s headstone is at the head of the grave with the information facing towards the river, towards his body…. Completely backwards from every other headstone in the graveyard! LMAO only my family!!

That’s what my Dad gets for wanting that plot right up by the road and having to have us drive by and see him every time we head to the house! Yes, I still think he’s an asshole for having done that to us intentionally. That’s OK; I wouldn’t want him to be any other way. As I drive by, I wave and say hi to him and cuss him for being such an asshole for doing that.

I made it through most of yesterday OK. It was the quilt that kept me busy and focused. At some point, I realized that the shirt I had grabbed from the top of the laundry basket and put on was my “ICU sweater” that I had crocheted last year when dad was in the hospital. I even managed to maintain after that realization.

The drive to pick Amanda up from work yesterday was longer than expected. Traffic on the interstate was at a dead stand still due to an accident. I had picked up the kids from the sitter’s, stopped by the house and told them to get something to occupy themselves with for the drive. By the time we piled back into the van, it was reported that there had been traffic accidents at BOTH of the alternative routes that I could have used. Just figures.

Off we went. It took 50 minutes to make what is normally a 12-minute drive. Getting home was nearly as nightmarish. We had left the house at 4:40pm and finally arrived back home around 6:15pm.

Things, being how things generally seem to go in my life, continued as “normal.” I think both of my cell phones may be ruined from being drenched by a single coffee spill. I have more paperwork and forms to update for work than I care to think about. My house seriously needs cleaned.

And, just to give you an idea of how bad things really are… I’m choosing the “cleaning house” option.

Ciao!

Weekend Recovery

The meaning of the title is two-fold… I would much rather be detailing how the events of the weekend provided some much needed recovery. However, the events and the occurrences of the weekend from which I need to recover predominate my thoughts and occupy waaaaaay too much of my time and energy at this moment and also will necessitate a repetition of the same pattern for several days to come…

I would love to elaborate and give the details of my co-workers’ exploits and actions that are the reason I need recovery, but it simply pisses me off too fucking much to even begin the thought processes necessary to merge the actions of the three nurses who created this cluster-fuck on Saturday night into a single time-line. Let me sum it up by saying two things, when I even begin to think about it, the screaming headache returns in an instant. No, that is not exaggeration for the sake of literary license. That is a fact of truth. The second thing, I am awaiting the written report from the on duty physician and charge nurse from the local hospital’s Emergency Department that is being sent to the investigative unit of the county board of mental retardation in which they label my staff as “incompetent.”

Finally, it will be documented correctly on paper for everyone to see. Hallelujah!! Amen!! Thank you Jesus!!

As I have been prohibited by my superiors from using the “i” word in any of my written reports, corrective actions, retraining documents, I am overjoyed at the impending prospect of being able to see it in black and white and out there in plain sight for the people who need to see it to see it. This is a banner day in my quest to be able to finally make a sweeping change in who works on my shift, and more importantly, who is charged with taking care of my clients. More accurately phrased in my reality, who is entitled to be able to take care of my clients.

The other part of the title refers to how I spent my Saturday. All day Saturday after working all night on Friday. I had seen a memo posted that for the 25^th Anniversary Open House next month, the clients from our supported living division had decided to make a quilt to celebrate. Implements of construction, fabric, embellishments in hand, I headed to the corporate office for a day of block-making.

By the time 3pm rolled around, I was exhausted, fulfilled, and amazed. I had made several new friends, had finally gotten to put faces to names with some of our supported living staff, and was in awe of the creations that the clients had made. It was such a very cool thing to me to be able to see how they had incorporated the various “bits of stuff” into expressing their vision. It was truly the stuff that art is made of.

For now…. I’m off to re-write policy & procedure…..