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
Showing posts with label perspective. Show all posts
Showing posts with label perspective. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
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)...
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)...
Saturday, February 7, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
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.
"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.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
~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!
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!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
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 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."
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