While looking through family photos, I came across this photo of us in the exact same pose.
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| Photo circa 1991. Who's Who? |
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Like Mother, Like Daughter
People have always commented on how much I look like my mom. When I was younger, I never could see the resemblance, but now sometimes when I look in the mirror, I see my mom's reflection staring back at me. Kind of creepy actually.
While looking through family photos, I came across this photo of us in the exact same pose.
While looking through family photos, I came across this photo of us in the exact same pose.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Safety Quiz
Below is just a glimpse into the brain of the kinds of kids I work with. This particular patient was given the assignment from his school to complete a Safety Quiz for a few common household objects. You or I would have much different responses. A full commentary is not necessary for the quiz speaks for itself.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Blessed
Merry Christmas! I mean that sincerely this year. Most years when I am scheduled to work, the phrase becomes, "Merry Fucking Christmas", but this year it sincerely is a Merry one.
Even though I was scheduled to work the entire Christmas holiday from the two days prior, the days of, and three days post, I had a very enjoyable and fulfilling holiday. We only have two kids at work on Christmas, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. Two kids is better than ten meaning that most kids were home with their families where they belong. Two kids could also lead to the dreaded floating to other floors or the blessed getting a no-pay-day. Neither of which happened for me which meant I got to remain on the unit, with the kids I know so well, and with coworkers who are my second family.
My personal family celebrations went fine and dandy. Some usual family drama, but a generally uneventful gathering. For me, this year, my favorite time was spent at work and watching the two kids open up their gifts with sincere excitement and appreciation was so....fulfilling.
One little girl is 7 years old, wears the badge of abuse on her forehead by the hands of her own mother, and is in the process of being removed from her family. The other patient is a 17 year old boy who still believes in Santa Claus and will not be returning home to his alcoholic mother after discharge. Both opened up their meager gifts with such gusto and innocence. As the little girl was putting on her costume jewelry and tiara, she looked up to the empty air and said, "Merry Christmas, Mama". The three of us staff who witnessed this scene exchanged sympathetic glances at one another and quietly wiped the tears forming in our eyes.
Yes, this year I felt very fortunate to be at work. Very fortunate to be a part of what was an otherwise unfortunate Christmas for those kids. Very fortunate I could help make it a little more special and memorable for them. Very fortunate indeed.
Even though I was scheduled to work the entire Christmas holiday from the two days prior, the days of, and three days post, I had a very enjoyable and fulfilling holiday. We only have two kids at work on Christmas, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. Two kids is better than ten meaning that most kids were home with their families where they belong. Two kids could also lead to the dreaded floating to other floors or the blessed getting a no-pay-day. Neither of which happened for me which meant I got to remain on the unit, with the kids I know so well, and with coworkers who are my second family.
My personal family celebrations went fine and dandy. Some usual family drama, but a generally uneventful gathering. For me, this year, my favorite time was spent at work and watching the two kids open up their gifts with sincere excitement and appreciation was so....fulfilling.
One little girl is 7 years old, wears the badge of abuse on her forehead by the hands of her own mother, and is in the process of being removed from her family. The other patient is a 17 year old boy who still believes in Santa Claus and will not be returning home to his alcoholic mother after discharge. Both opened up their meager gifts with such gusto and innocence. As the little girl was putting on her costume jewelry and tiara, she looked up to the empty air and said, "Merry Christmas, Mama". The three of us staff who witnessed this scene exchanged sympathetic glances at one another and quietly wiped the tears forming in our eyes.
Yes, this year I felt very fortunate to be at work. Very fortunate to be a part of what was an otherwise unfortunate Christmas for those kids. Very fortunate I could help make it a little more special and memorable for them. Very fortunate indeed.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Devil or Angel?
Another snowfall, another night time winter wonderland walk for me. Walking around the neighborhood, at night, after a snowfall is breathtaking. Its hard not to be mesmerized by the light of the ambien glow and from the glow of the Christmas lights. Except for the hum of distant snowblowers and the occasional brave car, there is just a peaceful blanket of quiet in the air. Straight from a scene out of "Its a Wonderful Life" (well, without the contemplative suicide).
The whole neighborhood is outside for the common purpose of digging out from underneath the paralyzing snow. If you are lucky, you have what I call a "neighborhood snow angel" and I don't mean the kind you make while laying down in the snow. Its the neighbor with the snowblower who decides to go above and beyond by blowing out the entire block.
My neighbor is wearing only half a halo and half of his wings. He decided to blow out himself and only half of the block. My house sits in the middle of the block, and wouldn't ya know it, he stopped right before my portion of the block. I shouldn't complain too much as I AM able bodied and my immediate next door neighbor happens to be a very old single lady. She deserves to be assisted, but dang, that's like losing the championship game by one lousy point.
Sigh.
The whole neighborhood is outside for the common purpose of digging out from underneath the paralyzing snow. If you are lucky, you have what I call a "neighborhood snow angel" and I don't mean the kind you make while laying down in the snow. Its the neighbor with the snowblower who decides to go above and beyond by blowing out the entire block.
My neighbor is wearing only half a halo and half of his wings. He decided to blow out himself and only half of the block. My house sits in the middle of the block, and wouldn't ya know it, he stopped right before my portion of the block. I shouldn't complain too much as I AM able bodied and my immediate next door neighbor happens to be a very old single lady. She deserves to be assisted, but dang, that's like losing the championship game by one lousy point.
Sigh.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Bitchin' Immunity
Is it so wrong for me to be jealous of my friend's who are home sick? (And by that I mean those who are home from work sick, not those who are missing their home.) I want to be sick too, dammit! Only, I want to be sick on My Terms. Translated, that means, "sick on my days to go to work". That way I can call in legitimately ill, lay on the couch (or bed) all day, and rest. Oh, yeah, and get paid for it. Since my sick hours are once again maxed out, I am not earning any more sick time.
Friday I spent almost 12 hours with a now-sick-friend. Most of which were spent in a tightly enclosed space; my car. We shared the same air almost all day long and sucked on the same beverage straw. After she informed me she was getting ill, I secretly hoped I would get ill too. It just doesn't happen.
Kind of like when I was a kid and my mom exposed me to all the neighborhood kids who acquired chicken pox. I never caught them, and have yet to experience the chicken pox. Thankfully I have the vaccine now, because adult chicken pox could be deadly.
I better be careful what I wish for. I could end up with adult chicken pox on my days off. That would totally suck. Instead, I'll settle for a stuffy nose on a work day, thank you very much.
Friday I spent almost 12 hours with a now-sick-friend. Most of which were spent in a tightly enclosed space; my car. We shared the same air almost all day long and sucked on the same beverage straw. After she informed me she was getting ill, I secretly hoped I would get ill too. It just doesn't happen.
Kind of like when I was a kid and my mom exposed me to all the neighborhood kids who acquired chicken pox. I never caught them, and have yet to experience the chicken pox. Thankfully I have the vaccine now, because adult chicken pox could be deadly.
I better be careful what I wish for. I could end up with adult chicken pox on my days off. That would totally suck. Instead, I'll settle for a stuffy nose on a work day, thank you very much.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Elf-Stravaganza!
Tomorrow I am hosting my annual Elf night. It is when the Christmas season officially begins. Ever since seeing the movie Elf in the theater, my friends and I have watched it together every year. The party keeps growing and it is possibly my most anticipated night of the year. This year, I welcome a newcomer to Elf Night. Hopefully she won't be scared off by my baking talents.
Rarely do I get the opportunity to bake or cook for more than just me. Whenever opportunity knocks, I get a little bit excited....and a little bit nervous. A lot of sugary goodness is on the menu for tomorrow night, and I started my prep work tonight.
Several months ago, I had a hankering for Angel Food Cake and picked up a cake mix only to come home to find I didn't have the appropriate pan but rather I had a bundt cake pan. Years ago I did attempt to defy all odds and create the perfect Angel Food cake in a bundt cake pan which only resulted in an overflowing mess in my oven. Lesson Learned. So I shelved that box of recently purchased cake mix and waited until my Birthday wish for an Angel Food Cake pan was granted.
Since Strawberry Shortcake is on the menu for tomorrow, I thought it would be a perfect time to break in my new pan and make that cake. All was going grand until it was time for the cake to come out of the oven. I didn't have the recommended glass bottle in which to place the pan upside down upon so I used a long stemmed goblet. All would have been fine had the balance not shifted resulting in the pan, and cake, fumbling to the floor. Quickly I picked up the cake, rescuing it from doom.
Once it cooled, I removed the cake from the pan only to find a very lopsided delicacy.
My friend said it perfectly when she said, "I'm pretty sure it will still taste delicious! Elf ate gum off of hand railings so a little cat hair Angel Food Cake will be just fine!"
I'm glad she thinks so since I won't be making another one, and this one will be served along with some exploded mini molten lava cakes.
These will also be served. They taste delicious! I should know, I had to eat the "mistakes" though you wouldn't know that only survivors are left. They all look like mistakes to me.
I'm hoping that the attendees of my Elf party read this blog after Elf has been watched and the horrible food consumed. One final photo illustrates the challenges of baking in a tiny kitchen with three nosy cats about. And why I really hope you read this after our party.
Rarely do I get the opportunity to bake or cook for more than just me. Whenever opportunity knocks, I get a little bit excited....and a little bit nervous. A lot of sugary goodness is on the menu for tomorrow night, and I started my prep work tonight.
Several months ago, I had a hankering for Angel Food Cake and picked up a cake mix only to come home to find I didn't have the appropriate pan but rather I had a bundt cake pan. Years ago I did attempt to defy all odds and create the perfect Angel Food cake in a bundt cake pan which only resulted in an overflowing mess in my oven. Lesson Learned. So I shelved that box of recently purchased cake mix and waited until my Birthday wish for an Angel Food Cake pan was granted.
Since Strawberry Shortcake is on the menu for tomorrow, I thought it would be a perfect time to break in my new pan and make that cake. All was going grand until it was time for the cake to come out of the oven. I didn't have the recommended glass bottle in which to place the pan upside down upon so I used a long stemmed goblet. All would have been fine had the balance not shifted resulting in the pan, and cake, fumbling to the floor. Quickly I picked up the cake, rescuing it from doom.
Once it cooled, I removed the cake from the pan only to find a very lopsided delicacy.
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| I should have my guests sign a waiver: "Not responsible for choking on cat hair". |
My friend said it perfectly when she said, "I'm pretty sure it will still taste delicious! Elf ate gum off of hand railings so a little cat hair Angel Food Cake will be just fine!"
I'm glad she thinks so since I won't be making another one, and this one will be served along with some exploded mini molten lava cakes.
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| No special effects were involved in taking this photo. |
These will also be served. They taste delicious! I should know, I had to eat the "mistakes" though you wouldn't know that only survivors are left. They all look like mistakes to me.
I'm hoping that the attendees of my Elf party read this blog after Elf has been watched and the horrible food consumed. One final photo illustrates the challenges of baking in a tiny kitchen with three nosy cats about. And why I really hope you read this after our party.
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| I promise she did NOT lick the cake. For real. |
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Wisconsin's Pit
The Armpit of Wisconsin is a phrase not-so-affectionately given to my neighboring city of Superior. While dining at a little family owned diner in Superior, the patrons eating in the booths nearby my table pretty much illustrated that phrase To. A. Tee.
Sitting in a corner booth in the direct line of my vision sat a middle aged guy all by himself. Although, he did not appear all that lonely. He sat reading the Sunday Comics laughing audibly from time to time searching the crowd's faces for some recognition of why he was laughing. As though we were all reading the same comic strip at the same time as he was. Though it was a warm day by winter in Minnesota/Wisconsin standards (in the 30's), he was wearing just a tee-shirt and shorts. We made eye contact from time to time, and he may or may not have wanted to get in my pants.
Sitting directly behind me dined a pair of women with deep smoker's voices. At various intervals throughout the meal, one of the ladies began singing "Silent Night" loud enough to be heard throughout the entire restaurant. Her deep throaty, out of tune voice serenaded all of us as we chowed down our lunches. She had to have started singing no less than 10 times during the hour I spent there.
Between the laughing Comic Strip Guy and the Smoker's Voice Singing Woman, I have concluded that people living in the Armpit of Wisconsin are at leastcrazy happy little residents.
Sitting in a corner booth in the direct line of my vision sat a middle aged guy all by himself. Although, he did not appear all that lonely. He sat reading the Sunday Comics laughing audibly from time to time searching the crowd's faces for some recognition of why he was laughing. As though we were all reading the same comic strip at the same time as he was. Though it was a warm day by winter in Minnesota/Wisconsin standards (in the 30's), he was wearing just a tee-shirt and shorts. We made eye contact from time to time, and he may or may not have wanted to get in my pants.
Sitting directly behind me dined a pair of women with deep smoker's voices. At various intervals throughout the meal, one of the ladies began singing "Silent Night" loud enough to be heard throughout the entire restaurant. Her deep throaty, out of tune voice serenaded all of us as we chowed down our lunches. She had to have started singing no less than 10 times during the hour I spent there.
Between the laughing Comic Strip Guy and the Smoker's Voice Singing Woman, I have concluded that people living in the Armpit of Wisconsin are at least
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Simply Peace
There is something about the first quiet night snowfall of the season that fires me up to take what is becoming an annual solo tradition. While it is still snowing, I have an incredible urge to walk the neighborhood to absorb the feeling that only a person living in this area can appreciate.
The night sky is uncommonly bright despite an absent moon. A comforting blanket covering an entire city. A quiet stillness. Simply peace.
The night sky is uncommonly bright despite an absent moon. A comforting blanket covering an entire city. A quiet stillness. Simply peace.
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| Though not a nighttime snowfall, these photos capture the snow covered stillness nicely. |
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Dreaming my Dreams with You.
I dream frequently, and I almost always remember them. Not for a while have I had a recurring dream, but lately, I have had the recurring theme of basements finding their way into my slumber.
Because it is so present in my dreams lately, I have been doing some searching into what the basement symbolizes. Come to find out, it symbolizes your inner core, your foundation, your subconscious. Its often associated with negative thoughts or feelings about yourself, bottled up feelings , resentment, or sensitivity. Though those descriptions do fit from time to time, I am not convinced that the basement represents that for me.
All of the dreams in my "research" features the dark and dingy basement, but my dream basements are often pleasing with flowers and bright lighting. They are always very large with maze like turns and corners. They seem to go on for an eternity. A surprise is always waiting, and usually the surprise is a pleasant one. The surprise it holds could be a room that I rediscovered as being my favorite to having an endless supply of toothpaste (hey, I have no control over it; it is a dream, after all).
Last night I had yet another basement dream, though the basement this time was an unpleasant one, complete with mice and leaking water. What does it all mean? Last night's dream could be explained by some of those negative emotions mentioned above, but what about my other dreams?
Am I that complex at my core? I'm a pretty simple girl and have always had a good sense of who I am and what I believe. I am a little preoccupied with finding the hidden meaning of these ever present basements. I'm convinced, though, that whatever it is, is positive. Not only positive, but also profound. I just have to figure it out.
If you have a suggestion, leave me a comment :)
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The Thanksgiving Miracle That Time Almost Forgot.
About a week ago, I lost my watch. Its just a cheapie Timex watch so not a big loss, but because I live my life almost to the exact minute, it felt as though I lost a one of a kind Rolex. I figured one of the cats must have stolen my watch so I looked in all the usual cat hiding places: Under the Fridge, Behind the Couch, and Under my Dresser. All came up empty. Well, empty of the watch. However, I did find a pair of scissors, a bracelet and several dust bunnies.
All of my spare watches had dead batteries so I had to suffer for an entire week without a watch. I felt naked. I even survived work without having a miniature clock on my wrist to dictate my every move. Honestly, I did not think I would make it though the weekend, but I managed. Though not without looking at my bare naked wrist about four dozen times each day.
Because I often go hiking or skiing after work, I carry along a prepacked bag of winter gear to save on time and maximize the use of the limited after work daylight. A bag I refer to as my "diaper bag". When I come in the house, I will find a convenient spot on the floor for my diaper bag, and a few days ago I placed it on my kitchen floor where it sat idle for a few days before I moved it to my bedroom floor....where it sat idle for a few more days.
Today I awoke to freshly fallen snow that begged to be shoveled. As I dug into the diaper bag full of winter gear, I found my watch! The cats batted it off the kitchen counter into the bag.
I was so delighted. I lovingly held my watch as I participated in the happiest of happy dances, kissed its glorious face, and welcomed it home where it belonged. Right on my pasty white pale winter wrist.
Its a True Thanksgiving Miracle.
All of my spare watches had dead batteries so I had to suffer for an entire week without a watch. I felt naked. I even survived work without having a miniature clock on my wrist to dictate my every move. Honestly, I did not think I would make it though the weekend, but I managed. Though not without looking at my bare naked wrist about four dozen times each day.
Because I often go hiking or skiing after work, I carry along a prepacked bag of winter gear to save on time and maximize the use of the limited after work daylight. A bag I refer to as my "diaper bag". When I come in the house, I will find a convenient spot on the floor for my diaper bag, and a few days ago I placed it on my kitchen floor where it sat idle for a few days before I moved it to my bedroom floor....where it sat idle for a few more days.
Today I awoke to freshly fallen snow that begged to be shoveled. As I dug into the diaper bag full of winter gear, I found my watch! The cats batted it off the kitchen counter into the bag.
I was so delighted. I lovingly held my watch as I participated in the happiest of happy dances, kissed its glorious face, and welcomed it home where it belonged. Right on my pasty white pale winter wrist.
Its a True Thanksgiving Miracle.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Gifts that Keep on Giving
The holiday season is upon us. More than that, my Birthday season is upon us as well. In two short months, I get bombarded with unwanted gifts that have no meaning, do not fit in the decor of my house, or do not appeal to me.
To make that point, let me disclose to you what I encountered in a prematurely opened Birthday gift lovingly given to me by a coworker: A set of Thanksgiving kitchen towels likely bought from last year's clearance bin. A dollar store frame outlined with the words "meow". And a cat pin that says, "cats are angels without wings." OK, not a horrible gift to open had I not opened that exact gift one year prior. I have received the exact same contents from the exact same person last year for my Birthday.
Hidden in the depths of my closet sits a bin full of such gifts. A piece of masking tape written with the name of the gift giver sticks to the bottom of each untreasured trinket. The tape reminds me who gave me the present so that I don't end up regifting that gift back to the original purchaser.
There have been Christmases where I have accomplished my entire shopping from that bin in my closet. Since I have made a "no present" pact with most of my friends, my bin is growing sparse. At least sparse of meaningful regiftable gifts; I'm not quite sure who would appreciate a cat frame. More than one resides in that special bin.
The act of regifting is a skilled talent not for the disorganized. I got in trouble twice by my lack of organizational ability when I gave a friend a regifted candle with the name of the giver still attached to the bottom. Oops. Another faux pas was made when I regifted a "New Home" Hallmark Ornament to a friend with the previous year's date on it. Sure, it makes for a fun memory, but really, it just made me amp up my organizational regifting skillz. Yo.
There are rules for regifting. The number one rule is that you must never regift to the person who gave you the gift in the first place. Unless its your Grandma who has dementia. Then it might be acceptable.
You must also never regift to people in the same circle of friends. Say Friend A gave you a present that you in turn gave to Friend B. Friend A and Friend B are also friends. When Friend A visits Friend B and sees the regifted present, you are busted.
Do regift within the same year so you don't have my expired gift faux pax experience.
Most importantly, give the gift to someone who would appreciate it.
My problem this year is that I have an over abundance of cat frames, Thanksgiving kitchen towels, and cat pins. Nobody else would appreciate them. Guess I am stuck with them.
Don't get me wrong, I don't mind receiving gifts; however, I don't enjoy getting gifts simply for the sake of getting gifts. If they have meaning, great! But a person can only have so many cat frames laying around.
The gift of time is much more cherished and valuable.
To make that point, let me disclose to you what I encountered in a prematurely opened Birthday gift lovingly given to me by a coworker: A set of Thanksgiving kitchen towels likely bought from last year's clearance bin. A dollar store frame outlined with the words "meow". And a cat pin that says, "cats are angels without wings." OK, not a horrible gift to open had I not opened that exact gift one year prior. I have received the exact same contents from the exact same person last year for my Birthday.
Hidden in the depths of my closet sits a bin full of such gifts. A piece of masking tape written with the name of the gift giver sticks to the bottom of each untreasured trinket. The tape reminds me who gave me the present so that I don't end up regifting that gift back to the original purchaser.
There have been Christmases where I have accomplished my entire shopping from that bin in my closet. Since I have made a "no present" pact with most of my friends, my bin is growing sparse. At least sparse of meaningful regiftable gifts; I'm not quite sure who would appreciate a cat frame. More than one resides in that special bin.
The act of regifting is a skilled talent not for the disorganized. I got in trouble twice by my lack of organizational ability when I gave a friend a regifted candle with the name of the giver still attached to the bottom. Oops. Another faux pas was made when I regifted a "New Home" Hallmark Ornament to a friend with the previous year's date on it. Sure, it makes for a fun memory, but really, it just made me amp up my organizational regifting skillz. Yo.
There are rules for regifting. The number one rule is that you must never regift to the person who gave you the gift in the first place. Unless its your Grandma who has dementia. Then it might be acceptable.
You must also never regift to people in the same circle of friends. Say Friend A gave you a present that you in turn gave to Friend B. Friend A and Friend B are also friends. When Friend A visits Friend B and sees the regifted present, you are busted.
Do regift within the same year so you don't have my expired gift faux pax experience.
Most importantly, give the gift to someone who would appreciate it.
My problem this year is that I have an over abundance of cat frames, Thanksgiving kitchen towels, and cat pins. Nobody else would appreciate them. Guess I am stuck with them.
Don't get me wrong, I don't mind receiving gifts; however, I don't enjoy getting gifts simply for the sake of getting gifts. If they have meaning, great! But a person can only have so many cat frames laying around.
The gift of time is much more cherished and valuable.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Ugh-A-Mugh-A
About twice or thrice a year, I need an emotional cleansing. I probably need it more than that, but that is about how frequently they arrive.
Tonight is the tip of an emotional breakdown. It hasn't reached its full potential, and I'm hoping to catch it and release it before it reaches the uncontrollable stage. Sometimes the emotional release is helpful, cleansing, and a good release; however, it isn't very productive so I thought I'd try blogging. Not sure how productive this is either, but at least it keeps my hands busy and my mind thinking about something other than what is.
The catalyst happens to be, and always is, work related. Frustrated, burnt out, frayed, and did I mention frustrated? Its a rough bunch of kiddos right now. Kiddos who are pushing all my buttons and testing all my limits. Coworkers who have checked out leaving me to do the brunt of it all. Suggestions being unheard. Overworked bosses not able to listen. Solutions going by the wayside.
The kicker is that I don't even have to be working right now. These are my fucking days off. I happen to have picked up (in advance) extra shifts for my coworker who is in paradise. While she basks in the warmth and sun of Puerto Rico, I burn in the heat and flames of Hell. Tomorrow I get Hell times two. A pre-scheduled double. Lucky me. Not sure if I can emotionally do it, but like the little engine that could, I tell myself, "I think I can; I think I can; I think I can". And I will.
Underneath the tears that flow tonight is more than just work. Its the emotion I feel for Missy. Poor Missy. Earlier this month, she tore her ACL ligament in her knee resulting in a 3 legged dog. She is unable to go for walks and looks at me pleadingly when I take Tiki for her walks. She doesn't understand, but somehow I think she does. She gets it. She's in pain and needs to rest her injured leg. Hopefully it will stabilize itself within 6 weeks leaving her to suffer with an arthritic knee for the remainder of her life. The other option is surgery. Expensive surgery: $2500. For now, its just wait and see....and pray. My heart is heavy.
Couple that with finding an ambulance and firetruck at my Aunt's house this afternoon. She is fine and will be fine. Just some extreme abdominal pain that she described worse than childbirth. Thankfully it was without incident. This time. But the time is coming.
Hence an emotional night.
On a positive note, I got an electric mattress pad. It makes crawling into bed quite inviting and enjoyable. Can't wait to snuggle in tonight with thoughts of a peaceful 16 hour day tomorrow, a healed puppy, and a healthy family.
Tonight is the tip of an emotional breakdown. It hasn't reached its full potential, and I'm hoping to catch it and release it before it reaches the uncontrollable stage. Sometimes the emotional release is helpful, cleansing, and a good release; however, it isn't very productive so I thought I'd try blogging. Not sure how productive this is either, but at least it keeps my hands busy and my mind thinking about something other than what is.
The catalyst happens to be, and always is, work related. Frustrated, burnt out, frayed, and did I mention frustrated? Its a rough bunch of kiddos right now. Kiddos who are pushing all my buttons and testing all my limits. Coworkers who have checked out leaving me to do the brunt of it all. Suggestions being unheard. Overworked bosses not able to listen. Solutions going by the wayside.
The kicker is that I don't even have to be working right now. These are my fucking days off. I happen to have picked up (in advance) extra shifts for my coworker who is in paradise. While she basks in the warmth and sun of Puerto Rico, I burn in the heat and flames of Hell. Tomorrow I get Hell times two. A pre-scheduled double. Lucky me. Not sure if I can emotionally do it, but like the little engine that could, I tell myself, "I think I can; I think I can; I think I can". And I will.
Underneath the tears that flow tonight is more than just work. Its the emotion I feel for Missy. Poor Missy. Earlier this month, she tore her ACL ligament in her knee resulting in a 3 legged dog. She is unable to go for walks and looks at me pleadingly when I take Tiki for her walks. She doesn't understand, but somehow I think she does. She gets it. She's in pain and needs to rest her injured leg. Hopefully it will stabilize itself within 6 weeks leaving her to suffer with an arthritic knee for the remainder of her life. The other option is surgery. Expensive surgery: $2500. For now, its just wait and see....and pray. My heart is heavy.
Couple that with finding an ambulance and firetruck at my Aunt's house this afternoon. She is fine and will be fine. Just some extreme abdominal pain that she described worse than childbirth. Thankfully it was without incident. This time. But the time is coming.
Hence an emotional night.
On a positive note, I got an electric mattress pad. It makes crawling into bed quite inviting and enjoyable. Can't wait to snuggle in tonight with thoughts of a peaceful 16 hour day tomorrow, a healed puppy, and a healthy family.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Snap, Crackle, Pop
Yesterday I went to get "de-clicked". My hip has been clicking something awful. No pain, just a continuous "click, click, click" when I walk. Its so annoying and also a reminder that I am aging. Along with a clicky hip, I also have a clicky jaw. TMJ. Its been getting worse to the point that it clicks when I yawn, eat, and even talk. Also super annoying.
I figured a chiropractor could help me de click both my hip and my jaw. Initially I was very skeptical of the credentials of a chiropractor, but after he cured my aching back 2 years ago, I have complete faith. If you have never been to one before, the positions and popping noises may look and sound like cruel and unusual punishment.
My chiro stands well over 6 feet tall and has the strongest hands I have ever felt. Allowing such a giant to wrap his strong hands around my neck and basically snap it, creating that dreadful popping noise, is an act of great trust. Especially since upon entering the office, you have to sign a waiver stating he is not responsible for accidentally snapping your entire head off your shoulders.
Thankfully that didn't happen.
In due time, I hope to be able to once again enjoy a full yawn, once again walk with silent steps, once again experience an entire day without a headache.
My giant cured me once; I know he'll cure me again.
I figured a chiropractor could help me de click both my hip and my jaw. Initially I was very skeptical of the credentials of a chiropractor, but after he cured my aching back 2 years ago, I have complete faith. If you have never been to one before, the positions and popping noises may look and sound like cruel and unusual punishment.
My chiro stands well over 6 feet tall and has the strongest hands I have ever felt. Allowing such a giant to wrap his strong hands around my neck and basically snap it, creating that dreadful popping noise, is an act of great trust. Especially since upon entering the office, you have to sign a waiver stating he is not responsible for accidentally snapping your entire head off your shoulders.
Thankfully that didn't happen.
In due time, I hope to be able to once again enjoy a full yawn, once again walk with silent steps, once again experience an entire day without a headache.
My giant cured me once; I know he'll cure me again.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Autumn Day
On this blustery Autumn day, I am reminded of another Autumn Day that pops up in my mind from time to time. Last night I had a dream about that specific Autumn Day and I thought I'd take a moment and reflect on a day I will never forget.
Smaller details are blurred, but the biggest details remain. I believe I was in high school at the time. On this particular day I was shopping for some unknown reason at the Mariner Mall in Superior. Like any girl with a small bladder, I used the restroom, did my business, and went on my merry way eventually returning home.
Later that evening, there was a breaking news story about a little baby who was found in the Mariner Mall in the Women's Bathroom. Apparently the mother of this baby just abandoned her in the bathroom. Luckily, someone found this baby and hopefully she got the care and love every baby deserves.
What strikes me about this story is that my whole life, I have always wanted to be a rescuer. To find and rescue an unloved puppy or kitty brings such a sense of fulfillment and makes the heart grow. Ever since I was a young girl, I loved babies and children. As much as I wanted to find that box of thrown away puppies on the highway, I also fantasized about finding an unwanted baby. A baby I could keep for myself to raise, cherish, and love. Never mind all the legal mumbo jumbo.
In my false memory, I believe I even recall the sound of a crying baby. Certainly something gave me a feeling of uncertainty that I could not quite put my finger on until I heard the news story. That day I was hours, perhaps even minutes away from finding that unwanted baby in the bathroom. To this day, I wonder what her life is like. Where she is. How she is. How old she is now. What it would have been like to raise her. Dream about her.
Since she was found on a Fall afternoon, the "authorities" named her Autumn Day. Somewhere out there, I have a baby girl. And her name is Autumn Day.
Smaller details are blurred, but the biggest details remain. I believe I was in high school at the time. On this particular day I was shopping for some unknown reason at the Mariner Mall in Superior. Like any girl with a small bladder, I used the restroom, did my business, and went on my merry way eventually returning home.
Later that evening, there was a breaking news story about a little baby who was found in the Mariner Mall in the Women's Bathroom. Apparently the mother of this baby just abandoned her in the bathroom. Luckily, someone found this baby and hopefully she got the care and love every baby deserves.
What strikes me about this story is that my whole life, I have always wanted to be a rescuer. To find and rescue an unloved puppy or kitty brings such a sense of fulfillment and makes the heart grow. Ever since I was a young girl, I loved babies and children. As much as I wanted to find that box of thrown away puppies on the highway, I also fantasized about finding an unwanted baby. A baby I could keep for myself to raise, cherish, and love. Never mind all the legal mumbo jumbo.
In my false memory, I believe I even recall the sound of a crying baby. Certainly something gave me a feeling of uncertainty that I could not quite put my finger on until I heard the news story. That day I was hours, perhaps even minutes away from finding that unwanted baby in the bathroom. To this day, I wonder what her life is like. Where she is. How she is. How old she is now. What it would have been like to raise her. Dream about her.
Since she was found on a Fall afternoon, the "authorities" named her Autumn Day. Somewhere out there, I have a baby girl. And her name is Autumn Day.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Hide-n-Seek
Halloween is one of my very favorite times of year. Fond memories of sorting out my trick or treat candy into organized piles return to me each October 31st. I counted each stack of Peanut Butter Cups, Milky Ways, and Snickers with the latter two always vying for first place for having the most quantity. After sorting, counting, and eating the treats, I would have to find a seemingly safe hiding place so my brother's didn't get their dirty hands on my hard earned candy.
These days, I now have to find a seemingly safe hiding place so I don't get my dirty hands on my not so hard earned candy.
As a person who is always prepared way too far in advance, I like to have my Halloween candy purchased long before the Big Day. My problem is that all of the candy is often eaten before it even has a chance to be tossed into Elmo's pumpkin bucket.
One year I resorted to keeping the candy in the trunk of my car in hopes that "out of sight, out of mind" might take effect. That works with some things, but not with chocolate. I took many a trip out to my vehicle to retrieve the devious candy calling my name from the darkness of my trunk.
Another tactic was to buy candy I don't much care to eat. The problem I encountered with that trick was that "desperate times call for desperate measures" took effect. If there is a candy craving, I will eat whatever I can get my teeth into. Even if I don't love it. Who am I kidding, though? I like All candy.
I guess I just have to wait until closer to Halloween before buying any candy even though it is causing me a bit of anxiety not to be prepared. It just doesn't work so well when the seeker of the candy is also the hider of the candy. Especially when the seeker is ravenously addicted to chocolate.
These days, I now have to find a seemingly safe hiding place so I don't get my dirty hands on my not so hard earned candy.
As a person who is always prepared way too far in advance, I like to have my Halloween candy purchased long before the Big Day. My problem is that all of the candy is often eaten before it even has a chance to be tossed into Elmo's pumpkin bucket.
One year I resorted to keeping the candy in the trunk of my car in hopes that "out of sight, out of mind" might take effect. That works with some things, but not with chocolate. I took many a trip out to my vehicle to retrieve the devious candy calling my name from the darkness of my trunk.
Another tactic was to buy candy I don't much care to eat. The problem I encountered with that trick was that "desperate times call for desperate measures" took effect. If there is a candy craving, I will eat whatever I can get my teeth into. Even if I don't love it. Who am I kidding, though? I like All candy.
I guess I just have to wait until closer to Halloween before buying any candy even though it is causing me a bit of anxiety not to be prepared. It just doesn't work so well when the seeker of the candy is also the hider of the candy. Especially when the seeker is ravenously addicted to chocolate.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Doggone it! I Am Not Crazy!
Interesting how the word "crazy" does not seem to describe folks with 3, 4, or 5 dogs. Nor does "crazy" become synonymous with a single man who may have 6 cats. But, God Forbid, a single lady have 3 cats, and all of a sudden she is a "crazy cat lady". My single male coworker has 6 cats, and nobody seems to refer to him as the Crazy Cat Man. How is it that "crazy" and "cat lady" became bound tighter than a spool of yarn?
There is no such thing as a crazy dog person. If you ask me, which you didn't, but if you did, I would say that those humans who dress their cute little doggie up in some fairy outfit is beyond insane. It is not embarrassing to admit to loving your canine companions, but for some reason admitting that you share your home with more than one feline is rather shaming, a secret, something to keep hidden. You might as well sprout whiskers and a cat tail yourself!
Also interesting is that the vast majority of cat people are also dog people. That is, if someone has a fondness for cats, they are pretty likely to also hold a fondness for dogs. However, dog people are far less likely to also be cat people. Dog folks are loyal to their dog, and usually to their preferred dog breed. Just as dogs represent loyalty to their humans.
Cats represent independence. Cats don't have other cat friends; they don't go to the Park to socialize with their buddies. They represent the profound danger of growing so independent that it is not merely that you don't need anyone.....it's that you don't know how to need anyone.
It isn't that I am crazy. It's just that I am crazy about mykids cats. I tell Tino everyday that he is my best friend. And he is.
There is no such thing as a crazy dog person. If you ask me, which you didn't, but if you did, I would say that those humans who dress their cute little doggie up in some fairy outfit is beyond insane. It is not embarrassing to admit to loving your canine companions, but for some reason admitting that you share your home with more than one feline is rather shaming, a secret, something to keep hidden. You might as well sprout whiskers and a cat tail yourself!
Also interesting is that the vast majority of cat people are also dog people. That is, if someone has a fondness for cats, they are pretty likely to also hold a fondness for dogs. However, dog people are far less likely to also be cat people. Dog folks are loyal to their dog, and usually to their preferred dog breed. Just as dogs represent loyalty to their humans.
Cats represent independence. Cats don't have other cat friends; they don't go to the Park to socialize with their buddies. They represent the profound danger of growing so independent that it is not merely that you don't need anyone.....it's that you don't know how to need anyone.
It isn't that I am crazy. It's just that I am crazy about my
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Boil, Boil, Toil and Trouble.
As I was sitting on the toilet the other day, I noticed a sensitive spot on my rear end area. I took a peek. Who wouldn't? You totally would, and you know it. Anyway, I peeked. I was aghast to see a swollen reddened area. Naturally, I consulted my doctor of choice: Google. From the photos I found online, I deduced that I had meself a boil. A boil! Gross. From that deduction, I made a further conclusion that I am indeed old. Not only old, but also fat since only old, fat people get boils.
Following the advice ofmy doctor Google, I sat myself on a heating pad, soaked in the hot tub, and kept an eye on it as best I could.
Within about 2 days, my "boil" was black. Either I had gangrene or I didn't have a boil. Then I remembered a scooter mishap I had at work earlier that week. I was helping one of the little kids put away one of the scooters when I tripped over that son-of-a-bitch. The scooter, not the kid. The result was a handle bar to the ass. Problem solved! My boil was a bruise.
Since I did not have a boil, that could only meanone thing two things:
1). I am not old
2). I am not fat.
Whew! I was worried for a moment. Though both of those things are debatable.
Following the advice of
Within about 2 days, my "boil" was black. Either I had gangrene or I didn't have a boil. Then I remembered a scooter mishap I had at work earlier that week. I was helping one of the little kids put away one of the scooters when I tripped over that son-of-a-bitch. The scooter, not the kid. The result was a handle bar to the ass. Problem solved! My boil was a bruise.
Since I did not have a boil, that could only mean
1). I am not old
2). I am not fat.
Whew! I was worried for a moment. Though both of those things are debatable.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Winning the Battle (But Losing the War).
Have you ever tried weaning a baby off the boob or bottle? You know how at first they cry and whine incessantly enough to drive the mom to pull her own hair out, throw up her arms in defeat, and just give that darn bottle or boob back to the sobbing child making him/her shut up for just a little while? Well, I have no idea what that is like. But, I do know what it is like to wean a cat off canned cat food. I imagine its quite similar if not identical.
Ever since Punky died, I have been trying to wean Tino off of his dependence on moist cat food. He eats the dry stuff, but would sneak bites of Punkin's delicacy from time to time. Tino has turned into a chattering, pestering...pest. So I caved. He now gets a little morsel of a treat sometime in the afternoon. Every day.
The genius in me refuses to give him a snack in the morning because Tino is wise to that, and will go through any and all measures to wake me up causing me to exit my warm bed to feed his sorry ass. In another stroke of genius, I refuse to feed him upon immediately entering my house from wherever I have just been, making his snack time generally unpredictable. Not so genius.
Instead of pestering me just around a certain snack time, Tino pesters me All. Day. Long. Following me around, rolling around all cute on his back, chattering away, running to his dish. UGH! I will not cave though. He may have won the war, but I will win every small battle. Only because he is so freaking adorable even when he is a big pest. Little does he know that when he is trying to "bother" me, he is actually entertaining me, bringing laughter and smiles to my face All. Day. Long.
Ever since Punky died, I have been trying to wean Tino off of his dependence on moist cat food. He eats the dry stuff, but would sneak bites of Punkin's delicacy from time to time. Tino has turned into a chattering, pestering...pest. So I caved. He now gets a little morsel of a treat sometime in the afternoon. Every day.
The genius in me refuses to give him a snack in the morning because Tino is wise to that, and will go through any and all measures to wake me up causing me to exit my warm bed to feed his sorry ass. In another stroke of genius, I refuse to feed him upon immediately entering my house from wherever I have just been, making his snack time generally unpredictable. Not so genius.
Instead of pestering me just around a certain snack time, Tino pesters me All. Day. Long. Following me around, rolling around all cute on his back, chattering away, running to his dish. UGH! I will not cave though. He may have won the war, but I will win every small battle. Only because he is so freaking adorable even when he is a big pest. Little does he know that when he is trying to "bother" me, he is actually entertaining me, bringing laughter and smiles to my face All. Day. Long.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Essentials of Fall
Tis a beautiful time of year. Fall is quite possibly the most perfect time of year especially when the weather has been as wonderful as it has been the past few days. I took a little video, and though it doesn't show the beauty that surrounds us for about one month each year, it does capture the magnificent sound of crunching leaves. Enjoy!
Ode To Big Hill
There was a special place that barely exists anymore. A place I hold fondly in my heart as do most of the people who grew up in my neighborhood. Big Hill was, well, a big hill. We were kids, and perhaps not very creative, but the name described it perfectly. Some years ago, I wrote a poem about the significance of Big Hill. It Describes that special place better than I can even attempt to write about in a blog, and it actually brought tears to many who loved Big Hill as I did. So Without Further Ado, here is the poem.....
Big Hill
Big Hill.
A place where children could capture
butterflies, fireflies,
and incense.
A place for imagination, wonder,
and fantasy.
A climb to the top of Big Hill was a feat
like that of a mountain climber.
Summer time picnics,
winter time sledding.
Neighborhood friends playing
Capture the Flag and King of the Hill.
A place where we really were
on top of the world.
A peaceful place where catching a glimpse
of an occasional deer was
not uncommon.
A time when our only worry was
making it home for dinner on time.
The sounds of our youthful laughter
still audible even today.
A place where innocence was found
and also lost.
Big Hill.
As we grew taller,
Big Hill grew smaller.
Today, barely visible only
to those of us who knew of its existence.
A minuscule mound covered with trees
and memories.
Big Hill.
The symbol of my childhood.
Vanishing more and more
every year.
Eventually, not existing
at all.
9/8/03
Big Hill.
A place where children could capture
butterflies, fireflies,
and incense.
A place for imagination, wonder,
and fantasy.
A climb to the top of Big Hill was a feat
like that of a mountain climber.
Summer time picnics,
winter time sledding.
Neighborhood friends playing
Capture the Flag and King of the Hill.
A place where we really were
on top of the world.
A peaceful place where catching a glimpse
of an occasional deer was
not uncommon.
A time when our only worry was
making it home for dinner on time.
The sounds of our youthful laughter
still audible even today.
A place where innocence was found
and also lost.
Big Hill.
As we grew taller,
Big Hill grew smaller.
Today, barely visible only
to those of us who knew of its existence.
A minuscule mound covered with trees
and memories.
Big Hill.
The symbol of my childhood.
Vanishing more and more
every year.
Eventually, not existing
at all.
9/8/03
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Birthday Blahs
Every year I Hate it more and more. And I just don't hate it, I Hate it. With a Capital H. Hate. Its still a bit more than a month away, but I am already dreading my Birthday.
I am trying to remember when it all started, when this sour taste entered my mouth when I uttered the words "my Birthday". I can't quite put my finger on it, but am thinking it was probably when I turned 26.
Age 25 is the final exciting Birthday. Its the Birthday when, in my opinion (and the opinion of a Bingo fanatic coworker), a person reaches full adulthood. Coincidentally, it is also the Birthday that your car insurance decreases provided you don't have preexisting DUIs, speeding tickets and the like. So after 25, there is nothing more to look forward to. What good comes from the other "milestone" Birthdays other than to say you have been alive that long?
This year, like most people on their Birthday, I will be turning another year older. No Milestone to reach, no excitement, just....older.
For me, my Birthday not only signifies me getting older, but it is also a reminder that those around me are also aging. And that scares the hell out of me which is why I hate my Birthday. Each year I try to remind myself to be thankful that I am fortunate enough to actually experience another Birthday, and I do. I really do. But in the back of my head, a voice lingers. A voice of impending doom.
Most people who have children, look to the future and see mostly happy occasions and good times. They can imagine their child's graduation, marriage, grand babies, you name it. Not that children are the be-all-and-end-all of happiness (In fact, I don't think they are at all), but when I look to my future, I see mostly hardship. Death is part of life, and it is going to be a large part of my future. Only I won't have the positive, exciting experiences to offset those hard times.
After turning 26, I came up with a grand plan. When I reached the magical age of 29, I would start aging backwards...sort of like Benjamin Button. In a weird twist of fate, I would not be able to age below 25. For eternity I will be between the ages of 25-29. Too bad the whole world can't age that same way.
So next month, by my magical calculations, I will be turning 28. The only flaw in this whole scheme is that I will never look good for my age.
I am trying to remember when it all started, when this sour taste entered my mouth when I uttered the words "my Birthday". I can't quite put my finger on it, but am thinking it was probably when I turned 26.
Age 25 is the final exciting Birthday. Its the Birthday when, in my opinion (and the opinion of a Bingo fanatic coworker), a person reaches full adulthood. Coincidentally, it is also the Birthday that your car insurance decreases provided you don't have preexisting DUIs, speeding tickets and the like. So after 25, there is nothing more to look forward to. What good comes from the other "milestone" Birthdays other than to say you have been alive that long?
This year, like most people on their Birthday, I will be turning another year older. No Milestone to reach, no excitement, just....older.
For me, my Birthday not only signifies me getting older, but it is also a reminder that those around me are also aging. And that scares the hell out of me which is why I hate my Birthday. Each year I try to remind myself to be thankful that I am fortunate enough to actually experience another Birthday, and I do. I really do. But in the back of my head, a voice lingers. A voice of impending doom.
Most people who have children, look to the future and see mostly happy occasions and good times. They can imagine their child's graduation, marriage, grand babies, you name it. Not that children are the be-all-and-end-all of happiness (In fact, I don't think they are at all), but when I look to my future, I see mostly hardship. Death is part of life, and it is going to be a large part of my future. Only I won't have the positive, exciting experiences to offset those hard times.
After turning 26, I came up with a grand plan. When I reached the magical age of 29, I would start aging backwards...sort of like Benjamin Button. In a weird twist of fate, I would not be able to age below 25. For eternity I will be between the ages of 25-29. Too bad the whole world can't age that same way.
So next month, by my magical calculations, I will be turning 28. The only flaw in this whole scheme is that I will never look good for my age.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
All Good Things....
All Good Things must come to an end, and mine comes to an abrupt halt on Friday. One more day of pure bliss and relaxation before I head back to work after nearly a month's hiatus. It has been wonderful.
During my break, I said hello to friends I hadn't seen in forever while also saying goodbye to an old friend. I spent time with family and got my house in the best shape it has been in since probably before I moved in. (Oh, there was also plenty of time for blogging and bejeweled too.)
Though it was relaxing and fun, I kept busy reconnecting with the now colorful hiking trails with friends and pups. That is something that I neglected for quite some time before my vacation. The impact that connecting with nature has on my sanity has never been more apparent, and it is something I must remember when cross country skiing season approaches. The past few years I have found myself skiing less and less.
For the first time in several years, I did not get the "August Blahs". Perhaps it was because I was in Vegas and anticipating a second stay-cation just weeks later. For years, when August presents itself, my mood plummets. Last year the "blah-ness" was better than in years past, but this year I can say it was totally absent (minus the acceptable sads for the loss of Punky).
This month has been my mental health month which I desperately needed, in part for some unexpected losses, but mostly just to rejuvenate and reenergize. It felt good. I feel good. And I think I'm even ready to return to work. After tomorrow.
During my break, I said hello to friends I hadn't seen in forever while also saying goodbye to an old friend. I spent time with family and got my house in the best shape it has been in since probably before I moved in. (Oh, there was also plenty of time for blogging and bejeweled too.)
Though it was relaxing and fun, I kept busy reconnecting with the now colorful hiking trails with friends and pups. That is something that I neglected for quite some time before my vacation. The impact that connecting with nature has on my sanity has never been more apparent, and it is something I must remember when cross country skiing season approaches. The past few years I have found myself skiing less and less.
For the first time in several years, I did not get the "August Blahs". Perhaps it was because I was in Vegas and anticipating a second stay-cation just weeks later. For years, when August presents itself, my mood plummets. Last year the "blah-ness" was better than in years past, but this year I can say it was totally absent (minus the acceptable sads for the loss of Punky).
This month has been my mental health month which I desperately needed, in part for some unexpected losses, but mostly just to rejuvenate and reenergize. It felt good. I feel good. And I think I'm even ready to return to work. After tomorrow.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Joining 'em
I've had it. I've tried everything. Squirt bottles, spankings, sticky tape, and even upside down car Mats. All of those are attempts to protect my furniture from the savage beast that is Muffin (and partly Tino too). Muffy is relentless. Relentless I tell you! Despite all my protective gear, she has broken through causing visible beginning stage Shredded Couch Syndrome. Its her work of art; her Picasso. Today I beefed up security and nailed kitchen size rugs onto my couch. They match pretty well and actually look better than all my other feeble attempts.
My hesitation with that is this: Putting carpet on my couch is going to encourage her scratching. My answer to that is this: She is doing damage despite all other discouragements. At least the rugs will protect the couch a while longer.
For five years I have tried to beat her. Not physically beat her. Just beat her at her game. She won this time. So, what is that old saying, "If you can't beat 'em, put rugs on your couch"?
My hesitation with that is this: Putting carpet on my couch is going to encourage her scratching. My answer to that is this: She is doing damage despite all other discouragements. At least the rugs will protect the couch a while longer.
For five years I have tried to beat her. Not physically beat her. Just beat her at her game. She won this time. So, what is that old saying, "If you can't beat 'em, put rugs on your couch"?
Theraputic Purging
Now that Punky is gone, I have kind of been in a purging phase. Purging you ask? Like throwing up my food? No sir. I would never throw up my food intentionally. I love it too much. I'm purging stuff. And it feels gooooood.
It all started when I decided to get new carpet since the old gal is gone therefore not throwing up on the new stuff. Plus the old stuff was beyond ready to be purged since it had one too many barf-o-rama stains on it.
To prepare for the carpet install, I needed to remove all my furniture which led to furniture rearrangement. My house is tiny, and my living room is very oddly shaped with door frames and entry points breaking up the flow. As a result, I am stuck as far as practical furniture placement is concerned, but I am determined to have a different look in my living room when all is said and done. By George, I think I have succeeded. Simply by removing one item and moving locations of another, I think I'm satisfied.
All of that led to cleaning out of various filing cabinets, drawers, and to-be-decided piles. Things I haven't touched in months or years are being given away, donated or up for sale with my good buddy, Craig. As in Craig's List.
It feels good to get rid of Stuff and for some reason it has provided me with a good distraction and some excitement which has been helpful these days following Punky's departure. I feel lighter and freer and love getting rid of stuff.
It all started when I decided to get new carpet since the old gal is gone therefore not throwing up on the new stuff. Plus the old stuff was beyond ready to be purged since it had one too many barf-o-rama stains on it.
To prepare for the carpet install, I needed to remove all my furniture which led to furniture rearrangement. My house is tiny, and my living room is very oddly shaped with door frames and entry points breaking up the flow. As a result, I am stuck as far as practical furniture placement is concerned, but I am determined to have a different look in my living room when all is said and done. By George, I think I have succeeded. Simply by removing one item and moving locations of another, I think I'm satisfied.
All of that led to cleaning out of various filing cabinets, drawers, and to-be-decided piles. Things I haven't touched in months or years are being given away, donated or up for sale with my good buddy, Craig. As in Craig's List.
It feels good to get rid of Stuff and for some reason it has provided me with a good distraction and some excitement which has been helpful these days following Punky's departure. I feel lighter and freer and love getting rid of stuff.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
In a World of Chuckies
Growing up, I loved dolls. Once I grew up, I continued to love dolls and even had my own porcelain doll collection. Nearly thirty porcelain dolls watched me sleep in my bedroom when I was in young adulthood. Each had their own name and I had assigned each with their own personality. Never were any of those dolls "creepy".
This weekend I have a Birthday party to attend for a 2 year old girl who loves baby dolls so I went shopping for the perfect doll for her. They all creeped me out! I couldn't bring myself to purchase any of the dolls, animated or otherwise. Their staring eyeballs. Their startling movements. Their robotic "voices". CREEPY I tell you. Creepy.
Now I realize why my niece hid a doll that was given to her for Christmas in her closet. This doll could "hear". It moved its head towards the sound of your voice. If you spoke to the left of the doll, she would move her head towards the left. Same as the right. It freaked my niece out so she hid it in the depths of her closet. I understand that now. Dolls are freaky.
Anybody want any porcelain dolls?
This weekend I have a Birthday party to attend for a 2 year old girl who loves baby dolls so I went shopping for the perfect doll for her. They all creeped me out! I couldn't bring myself to purchase any of the dolls, animated or otherwise. Their staring eyeballs. Their startling movements. Their robotic "voices". CREEPY I tell you. Creepy.
Now I realize why my niece hid a doll that was given to her for Christmas in her closet. This doll could "hear". It moved its head towards the sound of your voice. If you spoke to the left of the doll, she would move her head towards the left. Same as the right. It freaked my niece out so she hid it in the depths of her closet. I understand that now. Dolls are freaky.
Anybody want any porcelain dolls?
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Vacation!
For one week I have been on vacation and I will continue to be on vacation for another whole week. Each day has proven to be busy and enjoyable. If it was financially feasible, I would totally retire. I'm not one of these people who will be working past retirement age simply to feel important or needed. Definitely not.
Much to my delight, I have taken a complete break from my job. Meaning I have not given thought to work very much (I'd be lying if I said not at all. I'm blogging about it after all). More than that, though, I don't really care. What I hear about work, I brush off my shoulder and think, "huh, I'm on vacation. Oh well." Its nice. Only one dream have I had regarding work.
Once again, I am reminded how blessed my life is with good friends. I have been unusually social during my hiatus, and each day I find myself making plans with yet another friend, acquaintance, cohort. Its amazing.
The one friend I wanted to be sure to touch base with during this time is my best friend, Mindy. We haven't seen each other since she had her second child 4-5 months ago. I called her. She hasn't called me back. Unaware of Vegas. Unaware of Punkin. Unaware in general. We're best friends by default, but really neither one of us know each other anymore. We've been friends since 1st grade, I was her maid of honor, and we still refer to each other as "bestest friends", but are we really?
Best friends are those that are there when you need them; when you're hurting; when you're happy; when you're bored. I have many best friends, but miss my bestest friend.
OK, so this took a complete deviation from vacation to best friends. Ahem. I'm free writing tonight.
Back to vacation! I am looking forward to my busy next week off and am going to try not to count down the days until I return to work. It'll be hard to return to "the unit" after my break, but I also know it'll feel good in a weird way too.
Much to my delight, I have taken a complete break from my job. Meaning I have not given thought to work very much (I'd be lying if I said not at all. I'm blogging about it after all). More than that, though, I don't really care. What I hear about work, I brush off my shoulder and think, "huh, I'm on vacation. Oh well." Its nice. Only one dream have I had regarding work.
Once again, I am reminded how blessed my life is with good friends. I have been unusually social during my hiatus, and each day I find myself making plans with yet another friend, acquaintance, cohort. Its amazing.
The one friend I wanted to be sure to touch base with during this time is my best friend, Mindy. We haven't seen each other since she had her second child 4-5 months ago. I called her. She hasn't called me back. Unaware of Vegas. Unaware of Punkin. Unaware in general. We're best friends by default, but really neither one of us know each other anymore. We've been friends since 1st grade, I was her maid of honor, and we still refer to each other as "bestest friends", but are we really?
Best friends are those that are there when you need them; when you're hurting; when you're happy; when you're bored. I have many best friends, but miss my bestest friend.
OK, so this took a complete deviation from vacation to best friends. Ahem. I'm free writing tonight.
Back to vacation! I am looking forward to my busy next week off and am going to try not to count down the days until I return to work. It'll be hard to return to "the unit" after my break, but I also know it'll feel good in a weird way too.
Sun Beams Through Clouds
This is my first morning waking up to not have Punkin staring me in the face waiting for her food. Today is the beginning of a new morning routine for me. Though Punkin wasn't there, Tino, Milo, and Muffy all were there greeting me with their own unique smiles and purrs.
For the very first time in 18 years, I did not open a can of cat food in the morning. Only Punkin ate the canned food; all others eat dry stuff. Except Tino is waking up to a new routine as well because he would have a small snack of canned food each morning. Not anymore, Tino. You could stand to lose a few pounds anyway.
A huge sigh of relieve overcame me this morning when I went downstairs to the litter boxes and didn't find an overwhelming mess just outside of the boxes. Fear and guilt overcame me last night when I thought perhaps maybe, just maybe, it was one of the other cats messing, and not Punkin afterall. Who is to really know when 4 cats use the same boxes? But what I thought to be true, was. No urine messes to clean up today! Oh, and I didn't wake up this morning to the sound of Punkin hacking up a pile of puke! No more trips to Walmart to fill my shopping cart up with boxes of canned cat food! For 18 years, I have been buying loads of cat food. It gets expensive at 44-48 cents a can. During the past year or more of her life, Punkin was eating 2-3 cans of cat food a DAY! That is about a $1 a day or more. Now I will have more money to buy myself some ice cream :)
Don't get me wrong; I miss her. Terribly. And still hear her walking across the floor from time to time. Since her hips were bad, she had a little "shuffle" about her that was very distinctive. However, today I am looking at the silver lining, and though I miss kissing and cuddling her, I won't miss certain aspects of caring for her.
For those of you who may feel sorry for me for not having to clean up cat vomit anymore (are there any out there?), don't worry. With 3 other cats, they are sure to keep me busy cleaning up their own piles of whatever they decide to force up their espophogas and through their mouths (though dry cat food barf and canned cat food barf are in two different classes of barf....way easier to pick up and clean).
And as an aside: If all of my cats live as long as Punkin did, I will get to enjoy them and love them for another 13 years! That is a long time. However, if I do decide to get another fourth cat, which I definitely don't want to do, but IF I ever do, his name is going to be Francisco. Cisco for short. Its from the movie "Elf" when Buddy the Elf hears a guy's name is Francisco and repeats it saying "that is fun to say!" Indeed, Francisco IS fun to say and will be the name of my next kitty. A LONG LONG LONG time from now ;)
Plus, saying I have 3 cats sounds so much less "crazy cat lady" than having 4 cats. Dontcha think?
For the very first time in 18 years, I did not open a can of cat food in the morning. Only Punkin ate the canned food; all others eat dry stuff. Except Tino is waking up to a new routine as well because he would have a small snack of canned food each morning. Not anymore, Tino. You could stand to lose a few pounds anyway.
A huge sigh of relieve overcame me this morning when I went downstairs to the litter boxes and didn't find an overwhelming mess just outside of the boxes. Fear and guilt overcame me last night when I thought perhaps maybe, just maybe, it was one of the other cats messing, and not Punkin afterall. Who is to really know when 4 cats use the same boxes? But what I thought to be true, was. No urine messes to clean up today! Oh, and I didn't wake up this morning to the sound of Punkin hacking up a pile of puke! No more trips to Walmart to fill my shopping cart up with boxes of canned cat food! For 18 years, I have been buying loads of cat food. It gets expensive at 44-48 cents a can. During the past year or more of her life, Punkin was eating 2-3 cans of cat food a DAY! That is about a $1 a day or more. Now I will have more money to buy myself some ice cream :)
Don't get me wrong; I miss her. Terribly. And still hear her walking across the floor from time to time. Since her hips were bad, she had a little "shuffle" about her that was very distinctive. However, today I am looking at the silver lining, and though I miss kissing and cuddling her, I won't miss certain aspects of caring for her.
For those of you who may feel sorry for me for not having to clean up cat vomit anymore (are there any out there?), don't worry. With 3 other cats, they are sure to keep me busy cleaning up their own piles of whatever they decide to force up their espophogas and through their mouths (though dry cat food barf and canned cat food barf are in two different classes of barf....way easier to pick up and clean).
And as an aside: If all of my cats live as long as Punkin did, I will get to enjoy them and love them for another 13 years! That is a long time. However, if I do decide to get another fourth cat, which I definitely don't want to do, but IF I ever do, his name is going to be Francisco. Cisco for short. Its from the movie "Elf" when Buddy the Elf hears a guy's name is Francisco and repeats it saying "that is fun to say!" Indeed, Francisco IS fun to say and will be the name of my next kitty. A LONG LONG LONG time from now ;)
Plus, saying I have 3 cats sounds so much less "crazy cat lady" than having 4 cats. Dontcha think?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
. . . .And Then There Were Three
She wasn't even gone yet, and already I was acting as though she was. Last night on this blog, I deleted her picture and changed some headings to reflect "3" instead of "4". It will be weird to answer "Three" to the question "how many cats do you have?" Punkin has been with me for exactly 18 years. Her entire life; half of my entire life. She is the longest relationship I have ever had aside from my immediate family.
The decision to put an animal to sleep is heart wrenching and guilt provoking. How do you know when the time is right? The answer to that is: You just know. The difficult factor with Punkin is that she wasn't in pain. Or at least she didn't seem to be in pain. But she was sick. Sick with a hyperthyroid which medication did not seem to help. And she was messing in the house. Vomit, urine, and more vomit. One day, there were 7 different piles. And her back legs were about giving in. And she was deaf. But she was happy. Just last night she sat on my lap purring away while I silently said goodbye with several kisses. Goodbye. The most difficult word in the English language for me to say.
All day long, I held it together pretty good. I arranged for a dear friend to take Punky in for me. I couldn't do it myself, and I figured her loss would be torture enough. Why torture myself further. Another dear friend distracted me with a trip to Gooseberry Falls which is where I will now think of Punky's resting place since I declined to have any other reminders or keepsakes other than my own photos and memories.
Leaving my house to go to Gooseberry was difficult for I knew that once I left my house, I would not see her ever again. I left without saying the "G" word. Without anything. I said what I needed to say last night and throughout her entire life. I fed her her last meal which was Super Supper 9 Lives. I hope she was happy with that choice. So I left. I waited in the car while Kara came in to say her goodbyes and we went on our merry way.
She was on my mind all day, but Gooseberry was a lovely distraction. A purrfect distraction you might say. Beautiful and Gorgeous. Perfect in all other sense of the word.
I kept it together quite well. Came home. Called my mom and informed her. Pulled myself together and took the dogs for a hike. Now that I am home, not having to put on a front, reality is setting in. Nobody to see the rest of the day so tears are flowing freely as I clean out her food dishes, rinse out her litter box, and blog. But blog I must for I need to release it somehow.
Few people know because it hurts too much to tell anyone. Sympathetic How Are Yous or I'm Sorries will put me into uncontrollable sobs at this point so people must not know quite yet. Not until I can tell them without bursting into an ugly cry. For all 3 of you who may or may not read this, please respect that for me at this time. I don't need hugs or how are yous or cards or anything nor do I want them. Life as usual. I know you all care; I know what you want to say; I know you are sorry. And thank you for all of that. I feel your love and your sympathy.
Whenever I see a warm patch of sunlight, I will be reminded of Punky's love shining down on me and she will remain in a corner of my heart forever. I love you and miss you deeply.
The decision to put an animal to sleep is heart wrenching and guilt provoking. How do you know when the time is right? The answer to that is: You just know. The difficult factor with Punkin is that she wasn't in pain. Or at least she didn't seem to be in pain. But she was sick. Sick with a hyperthyroid which medication did not seem to help. And she was messing in the house. Vomit, urine, and more vomit. One day, there were 7 different piles. And her back legs were about giving in. And she was deaf. But she was happy. Just last night she sat on my lap purring away while I silently said goodbye with several kisses. Goodbye. The most difficult word in the English language for me to say.
All day long, I held it together pretty good. I arranged for a dear friend to take Punky in for me. I couldn't do it myself, and I figured her loss would be torture enough. Why torture myself further. Another dear friend distracted me with a trip to Gooseberry Falls which is where I will now think of Punky's resting place since I declined to have any other reminders or keepsakes other than my own photos and memories.
Leaving my house to go to Gooseberry was difficult for I knew that once I left my house, I would not see her ever again. I left without saying the "G" word. Without anything. I said what I needed to say last night and throughout her entire life. I fed her her last meal which was Super Supper 9 Lives. I hope she was happy with that choice. So I left. I waited in the car while Kara came in to say her goodbyes and we went on our merry way.
She was on my mind all day, but Gooseberry was a lovely distraction. A purrfect distraction you might say. Beautiful and Gorgeous. Perfect in all other sense of the word.
I kept it together quite well. Came home. Called my mom and informed her. Pulled myself together and took the dogs for a hike. Now that I am home, not having to put on a front, reality is setting in. Nobody to see the rest of the day so tears are flowing freely as I clean out her food dishes, rinse out her litter box, and blog. But blog I must for I need to release it somehow.
Few people know because it hurts too much to tell anyone. Sympathetic How Are Yous or I'm Sorries will put me into uncontrollable sobs at this point so people must not know quite yet. Not until I can tell them without bursting into an ugly cry. For all 3 of you who may or may not read this, please respect that for me at this time. I don't need hugs or how are yous or cards or anything nor do I want them. Life as usual. I know you all care; I know what you want to say; I know you are sorry. And thank you for all of that. I feel your love and your sympathy.
Whenever I see a warm patch of sunlight, I will be reminded of Punky's love shining down on me and she will remain in a corner of my heart forever. I love you and miss you deeply.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Cherrio Faces and Fake Martinis
I just returned from a most fabulous vacation to Las Vegas! Ever since I came home, all I can think about is returning. We had such a grand time. Not since my trip to New Orleans several years ago have I been this excited about a trip. We are a pretty tame bunch of folks so there aren't wild and crazy stories to share. Aside from the wedding I attended, Cirque Du Soleil's "O", Blue Man Group, and Penn and Teller, the highlight of my trip can be summarized by M & M's, Cheerios and a Martini.
Let me explain. In reverse order.
The Martini. This was not my drink, though I pretended it was. My friend and I were sitting on a balcony watching a free water show at the Wynn. We technically should have bought a drink, but we were too cheap to splurge on a beverage at the Wynn being they are all hoity toity. So this lady and her husband got up from a table and we swooped our way in, took hold of their beverage glasses, and pretended they were ours. When we changed tables to get a better view, we made sure to grab "our" empty drink glasses. Your average Vegas goer would have ordered a drink from the bartender, but we are not your average Vegas goers. Made for a good laugh and lasting memory.
The Cheerio Face. I fell in love with a Cheerio face. We were eating Honey Nut Cheerios one morning and some fell to the floor in a random pattern that resembles a happy face. No special effects. Just a random face. I loved the little guy. I would have married him had it been legal to wed a Cheerio face in Vegas. The picture of my Cheerio Man is my favorite picture of my entire trip. I even took a video clip of the little fella.
M&Ms. There is a create your own M&M machine at M&M world in Las Vegas. You know, the kind where you can put your own sayings and logos on the tiny piece of candy coated deliciousness? Well, I wanted to get a gift for my cat sitter so I thought that would be perfect. So as I am creating my message, this guy asks if he can video tape me. For what? I ask. He tells me I am the very first customer to use the create your own message machine and he wants to video tape it so I let him. Nevermind I had forgotten to put deodorant on, had wet hair, and didn't put any make up on that morning. He informs me that the video will be used inside the store and will also be sent to Disney World (Or Land. Or Both.) for use there as well. Super cool! Then he had me write down my name, address, and phone number so that he could send me a care package. Neato!
Sooooo, next time you are in Vegas or Disney and see a video of some deodorantless girl with wet hair, an empty martini glass and married to a Cheerio Face, you'll know its me.
Let me explain. In reverse order.
The Martini. This was not my drink, though I pretended it was. My friend and I were sitting on a balcony watching a free water show at the Wynn. We technically should have bought a drink, but we were too cheap to splurge on a beverage at the Wynn being they are all hoity toity. So this lady and her husband got up from a table and we swooped our way in, took hold of their beverage glasses, and pretended they were ours. When we changed tables to get a better view, we made sure to grab "our" empty drink glasses. Your average Vegas goer would have ordered a drink from the bartender, but we are not your average Vegas goers. Made for a good laugh and lasting memory.
The Cheerio Face. I fell in love with a Cheerio face. We were eating Honey Nut Cheerios one morning and some fell to the floor in a random pattern that resembles a happy face. No special effects. Just a random face. I loved the little guy. I would have married him had it been legal to wed a Cheerio face in Vegas. The picture of my Cheerio Man is my favorite picture of my entire trip. I even took a video clip of the little fella.
M&Ms. There is a create your own M&M machine at M&M world in Las Vegas. You know, the kind where you can put your own sayings and logos on the tiny piece of candy coated deliciousness? Well, I wanted to get a gift for my cat sitter so I thought that would be perfect. So as I am creating my message, this guy asks if he can video tape me. For what? I ask. He tells me I am the very first customer to use the create your own message machine and he wants to video tape it so I let him. Nevermind I had forgotten to put deodorant on, had wet hair, and didn't put any make up on that morning. He informs me that the video will be used inside the store and will also be sent to Disney World (Or Land. Or Both.) for use there as well. Super cool! Then he had me write down my name, address, and phone number so that he could send me a care package. Neato!
Sooooo, next time you are in Vegas or Disney and see a video of some deodorantless girl with wet hair, an empty martini glass and married to a Cheerio Face, you'll know its me.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Prettyful Piggies
I admit I was warned, but I didn't believe it.
"You'll get addicted", they said.
"No, I won't. It can't be that spectacular", was my reply.
"Just wait, you'll see", was their reply.
They won. I lost. I had my first pedicure today and I loved it. After initially getting past the overwhelming fumes of nail polish and nail polish remover, I was hooked. On second thought, maybe I was hooked BECAUSE of the overwhelming fumes. Hmmmm. Anyway, I loved it fumes or not. Here are some photos to help commemorate the experience.
This is the obligatory "before" shot. Yes, my feet are bony and perhaps there is some hair visible. I don't care.
And they are rather "vein-y" too. I still don't care. This is during the relaxing experience that is a pedicure.
Naturally, the after shot. The color was not really my numero uno choice, but it matches a dress I intend on wearing to my friend's wedding. In Vegas. Which is the reason for this, my first but definitely not last, pedicure.
My only regret is that I didn't splurge on a manicure as well. It was only $10 more, but I declined. Just the other day I cut all my finger nails short. Plus I hate my hands, and having them painted all pretty just draws unwanted attention to them. So I'll settle for pretty toe toes and call it good.
Better get busy. I have a lot to get done before heading to Sin City.
"You'll get addicted", they said.
"No, I won't. It can't be that spectacular", was my reply.
"Just wait, you'll see", was their reply.
They won. I lost. I had my first pedicure today and I loved it. After initially getting past the overwhelming fumes of nail polish and nail polish remover, I was hooked. On second thought, maybe I was hooked BECAUSE of the overwhelming fumes. Hmmmm. Anyway, I loved it fumes or not. Here are some photos to help commemorate the experience.
This is the obligatory "before" shot. Yes, my feet are bony and perhaps there is some hair visible. I don't care.
And they are rather "vein-y" too. I still don't care. This is during the relaxing experience that is a pedicure.
Naturally, the after shot. The color was not really my numero uno choice, but it matches a dress I intend on wearing to my friend's wedding. In Vegas. Which is the reason for this, my first but definitely not last, pedicure.
My only regret is that I didn't splurge on a manicure as well. It was only $10 more, but I declined. Just the other day I cut all my finger nails short. Plus I hate my hands, and having them painted all pretty just draws unwanted attention to them. So I'll settle for pretty toe toes and call it good.
Better get busy. I have a lot to get done before heading to Sin City.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Minnesota Lawn Mower Massacre
Generally I enjoy mowing the lawn. In fact, I mow my own lawn, plus I mow my parents' lawn just for the fun of it. This time of year, mowing the grass leaves me feeling very guilty.
At my parents' house in particular, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of little crickets hopping around the backyard. When I mow the lawn, they are bouncing all over the place. I hate mowing over those little critters, but it really is unavoidable. I did hesitate when I encountered a little frog and a mature grasshopper. They barely escaped with their lives and they probably would not have been so lucky if another person was behind that scary machine.
When I see those little crickets frantically hopping to save their precious lives, I try to send them telepathic messages to hop on over to the newly mowed portion. Since that part of the lawn was just cut, it's a safe bet that the lawn mower will not pass that way again. Alas, they don't seem to get it and continue jumping into the longer unmowed sections; the sections I am about to cut with the twirling blade of terror. If I happen to spot one or two hopping to the already mowed areas, I will pause and let them hop on over, but most go for the longer blades of grass.
When all is said and done, I have visions of the crickets settling down to dinner around their cricket TVs watching their cricket evening news with the devastating bulletin about the deaths of so many of their kind from this not-so-natural disaster. Forgive me crickets of the world. I really am sorry.
At my parents' house in particular, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of little crickets hopping around the backyard. When I mow the lawn, they are bouncing all over the place. I hate mowing over those little critters, but it really is unavoidable. I did hesitate when I encountered a little frog and a mature grasshopper. They barely escaped with their lives and they probably would not have been so lucky if another person was behind that scary machine.
When I see those little crickets frantically hopping to save their precious lives, I try to send them telepathic messages to hop on over to the newly mowed portion. Since that part of the lawn was just cut, it's a safe bet that the lawn mower will not pass that way again. Alas, they don't seem to get it and continue jumping into the longer unmowed sections; the sections I am about to cut with the twirling blade of terror. If I happen to spot one or two hopping to the already mowed areas, I will pause and let them hop on over, but most go for the longer blades of grass.
When all is said and done, I have visions of the crickets settling down to dinner around their cricket TVs watching their cricket evening news with the devastating bulletin about the deaths of so many of their kind from this not-so-natural disaster. Forgive me crickets of the world. I really am sorry.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Butt Cracks and ECTs.
I kept a guy alive today. For real. It was a very bizarre feeling to say the least. Here is how it happened (be prepared for work lingo).
I floated to 4th floor today. On a 1:1 who goes for ECT treatments each morning. Since he was on a 1:1, I got to accompany him for his treatment. I have worked at my job for more than 12 years and have never seen an ECT treatment so I was a little nervous. They prepped him and began the treatment. The staff were amazingly nice, patient, and explained everything they were doing to me which was more than I anticipated. The RN who was handling the case explained the use of muscle relaxers which in turn paralyzes the patient for about 5 minutes. During this time, their lungs also become paralyzed so they lose the ability to breath. During the ECT process, the nurse has to breath for the patient by way of an "ambu bag". The RN summoned me to the head of this patient, and I got to breath for him. The importance of this did not register until the RN says:
"Ever kept someone alive before?"
ME: "No".
RN: "Well, you are now."
Wow! I had the power. I was God for one small moment. Well, not really, since if I did screw up in any way, there were several people around to make it right again. Sort of like Back Up Gods. Or maybe I was the Back Up God. Either way, it was awesome.....and scary. I believe I said at one point, "I don't think I should be doing this".
I was very afraid that I would pass out during the ECT procedure with visions of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" in my head, which is actually quite similar to what I witnessed. But it wasn't as horrific as my imagination. Its amazing how quickly the patient recovers and experiences only temporary confusion. The doctor in this case seemed a little too eager to press the ZAP button perhaps achieving a maniacal thrill from inflicting a seizure inducing electric shock to a trouble causing patient.
Not more than 20 minutes later, I was back in 1:1 land with this man with whom I shared an unforgettable experience. In between moments of me telling him to pull up his pants to cover his over sized hairy butt crack, I was thinking about how I had saved his life. Actually I didn't save it; I just sustained it. Just another day at work for so many people, but it was an experience I'll never forget. The ECT treatmet that is; I'm hoping to forget the hairy butt crack before too long.
I floated to 4th floor today. On a 1:1 who goes for ECT treatments each morning. Since he was on a 1:1, I got to accompany him for his treatment. I have worked at my job for more than 12 years and have never seen an ECT treatment so I was a little nervous. They prepped him and began the treatment. The staff were amazingly nice, patient, and explained everything they were doing to me which was more than I anticipated. The RN who was handling the case explained the use of muscle relaxers which in turn paralyzes the patient for about 5 minutes. During this time, their lungs also become paralyzed so they lose the ability to breath. During the ECT process, the nurse has to breath for the patient by way of an "ambu bag". The RN summoned me to the head of this patient, and I got to breath for him. The importance of this did not register until the RN says:
"Ever kept someone alive before?"
ME: "No".
RN: "Well, you are now."
Wow! I had the power. I was God for one small moment. Well, not really, since if I did screw up in any way, there were several people around to make it right again. Sort of like Back Up Gods. Or maybe I was the Back Up God. Either way, it was awesome.....and scary. I believe I said at one point, "I don't think I should be doing this".
I was very afraid that I would pass out during the ECT procedure with visions of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" in my head, which is actually quite similar to what I witnessed. But it wasn't as horrific as my imagination. Its amazing how quickly the patient recovers and experiences only temporary confusion. The doctor in this case seemed a little too eager to press the ZAP button perhaps achieving a maniacal thrill from inflicting a seizure inducing electric shock to a trouble causing patient.
Not more than 20 minutes later, I was back in 1:1 land with this man with whom I shared an unforgettable experience. In between moments of me telling him to pull up his pants to cover his over sized hairy butt crack, I was thinking about how I had saved his life. Actually I didn't save it; I just sustained it. Just another day at work for so many people, but it was an experience I'll never forget. The ECT treatmet that is; I'm hoping to forget the hairy butt crack before too long.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Mouth Orgasm
Today I called in sick to work. Not because I'm sick; Just because I'm sick of work. Its a beautiful day outside and I thought I'd make some effort to do something productive today that I wouldn't do otherwise. So I went grocery shopping. . .(and apparentely blogging) for the essentials. You know, cereal, milk and fruit. Lots of fruit. Cereal and fruit are my two main food staples.
While walking down the cereal aisle, I noticed really good prices on my two favorite, though banned, cereals. They are banned because, if allowed in my home, their entire contents would be devoured in one very short day. Since I eat a lot of cereal, I try to make those healthier alternatives and attempt to get some nutrition out of my bowl of deliciousness. Very seldom do I get the sugary, "kid" cereals.
As I stared at the $1.99 Lucky Charms and the $2.88 Cinnamon Toast Crunch staring back at me, I crumbled. Weakness overcame my body. My hand reached for that box of Lucky Charms only to be interrupted by my brain resulting in immediate recoil. My eyes darted from Lucky Charms to Cinnamon Toast Crunch and back to Lucky Charms again. My heart was palpitating and I felt like Meryl Streep in Sophie's Choice because I refused to purchase BOTH boxes of cereal. I have never seen Sophie's Choice, but from what I have heard, that is how I felt. Only ONE box of cereal would be allowed.
Since I can sample (uh, steal) Lucky Charms at work from time to time and since there was a red blinking thing-a-ma-bob in store coupon on Cinnamon Toast Crunch, my hand went for the swirly box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It helped that the provided coupon stated it was for .75 off (hey, there is no "cents" key on the keyboard! WTF!) on the purchase of Cinnamon Toast Crunch AND a Fiber One cereal. That way, buying the Fiber One Cereal totally offset the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. A healthy cereal for a sugary one. Perfect.
Now that I am home, I must set some ground rules for having a banned cereal reside in my cupboard. I cannot eat it for breakfast, but rather only for an evening snack. Same as having a cookie. I cannot eat more than one bowl at a time....or in a day. Sadly that rule is already broken and the box has not even been in my house for more than an hour. Its a sad state of affairs.
Eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch results in one serious mouth orgasm. How can a person resist that?
While walking down the cereal aisle, I noticed really good prices on my two favorite, though banned, cereals. They are banned because, if allowed in my home, their entire contents would be devoured in one very short day. Since I eat a lot of cereal, I try to make those healthier alternatives and attempt to get some nutrition out of my bowl of deliciousness. Very seldom do I get the sugary, "kid" cereals.
As I stared at the $1.99 Lucky Charms and the $2.88 Cinnamon Toast Crunch staring back at me, I crumbled. Weakness overcame my body. My hand reached for that box of Lucky Charms only to be interrupted by my brain resulting in immediate recoil. My eyes darted from Lucky Charms to Cinnamon Toast Crunch and back to Lucky Charms again. My heart was palpitating and I felt like Meryl Streep in Sophie's Choice because I refused to purchase BOTH boxes of cereal. I have never seen Sophie's Choice, but from what I have heard, that is how I felt. Only ONE box of cereal would be allowed.
Since I can sample (uh, steal) Lucky Charms at work from time to time and since there was a red blinking thing-a-ma-bob in store coupon on Cinnamon Toast Crunch, my hand went for the swirly box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It helped that the provided coupon stated it was for .75 off (hey, there is no "cents" key on the keyboard! WTF!) on the purchase of Cinnamon Toast Crunch AND a Fiber One cereal. That way, buying the Fiber One Cereal totally offset the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. A healthy cereal for a sugary one. Perfect.
Now that I am home, I must set some ground rules for having a banned cereal reside in my cupboard. I cannot eat it for breakfast, but rather only for an evening snack. Same as having a cookie. I cannot eat more than one bowl at a time....or in a day. Sadly that rule is already broken and the box has not even been in my house for more than an hour. Its a sad state of affairs.
Eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch results in one serious mouth orgasm. How can a person resist that?
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Hot Diggety Dog
Because I work in the field of Mental Health, I find myself assigning a diagnosis or 2 to family members, friends, and characters in books or on the screen. This practice of mine has now spread like an infection to giving a clinical diagnosis to the animals in my life.
Take Polly, for example. She does not belong to me, per se, but she joins us on many a walk. Spend just one minute with her and, you too, will soon discover that this dog is one big case of ADHD. Hop this canine up on some Mt. Dew and she would expend more energy than the Earth spinning on it axis much like Hammy, the nutty chipmunk, in Over the Hedge.
Polly has a human counterpart in Robin Williams as well.
Both have annoyingly spastic energy with a douse of comedic timing. We refer to Polly as a little comedian as she constantly makes us laugh.
One would wrongly assume a lengthy walk would tire Polly out. Instead, it revs her up. She bounds in the house ready to play some more. Like the Energizer Bunny, she keeps going and going and going and . . . .
Polly's diagnosis: ADHD (with an emphasis on the H)
Mania (or excessive happiness a la Robin Williams
in Patch Adams)
Rule out Psychosis
Then we have Tiki. Her human recipe is one gallon Marcia Brady, add one Tablespoon of Cindy Brady, plus a Splash of Gladys Kravitz from Bewitched. Blend well.
PLUS 
PLUS
EQUALS
Tiki is cute, adorable and innocent. Think of Cindy Brady asking "Thanta" Clause to help her mommy get her voice back so she can "thing" at "Christhmuth". How cute was that?
Much like Gladys Kravitz, Tiki sticks her nose in business that isn't hers resulting in a histrionic drama of epic proportions. Tiki's shrill yap is quite reminiscent of Gladys' equally shrill "ABNER!"
Marcia Brady's narcissism is evident in Tiki's doggie persona (Marcia also had a hint of histrionics as well). Tiki demands attention and covertly budges her way in to get the accolades she so deserves. She is beautiful and she knows it. Tiki takes serious ownership of her belongings just like Marcia treasured her prized trophies. Marcia wouldn't share with Jan, and Tiki makes it known she will not share her trophies either. Missy is probably secretly saying "Tiki, Tiki, Tiki!" You know, like Jan says, "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia".
Tiki's diagnosis: Narcissistic Personality Disorder
Histrionic Personality Disorder
Little Dog Syndrome
Oh, poor Missy is a clinical nightmare. She has all of the initials used in diagnostic labeling. Where do I start with this poor girl.
Her humanish counterparts are Eeyore, Droopy and Corky from Life Goes On. Obla Di, Obla Da.
I have heard it said that dogs are not stubborn. The quality of being stubborn suggests there is a willful deceit which dogs are supposedly incapable of. But Missy is the epitome of stubborn, or shall we say oppositional and defiant.
If Missy does not want to go for a walk, there is no way to force her. At times, she will refuse to even begin walking when we approach the trail head. She says to me with her doggie eyes:
"No, I don't want to go and you can't make me".
The more I insist, the more she resists.
"No, really. Go ahead without me. You don't really want me to join you. I'll just sit in the car. You'll have more fun without me anyway."
She is attention seeking in such a way that is self defeating. She enjoys hearing:
"Missy, we missed you on our walk. We wish you would have joined us."Her tail wags happily upon hearing this.
A friend recently described Missy as a "Bumbling kid with Down Syndrome". Rather, I see Missy as having qualities of autism. She has poor social skills and lacks the necessary tools to make canine friends. Choosing to be off doing her own thing instead of mingling with her buddies.
She also has incredible social anxiety. New people and new situations are hard for her, but once you win her heart, you'll have it forever.
Missy's diagnosis (in no particular order):
Chronic Depression
Boderline Personality Disorder
Oppositional Defiant Disorder
Social Anxiety Disorder
Reactive Attachment Disorder
Down Syndrome
Autism Spectrum Disorder
Rule out Prader Willie Syndrome
Whew! What Disorders affect your furry friends?
Take Polly, for example. She does not belong to me, per se, but she joins us on many a walk. Spend just one minute with her and, you too, will soon discover that this dog is one big case of ADHD. Hop this canine up on some Mt. Dew and she would expend more energy than the Earth spinning on it axis much like Hammy, the nutty chipmunk, in Over the Hedge.
Polly has a human counterpart in Robin Williams as well.
Both have annoyingly spastic energy with a douse of comedic timing. We refer to Polly as a little comedian as she constantly makes us laugh.
One would wrongly assume a lengthy walk would tire Polly out. Instead, it revs her up. She bounds in the house ready to play some more. Like the Energizer Bunny, she keeps going and going and going and . . . .
Polly's diagnosis: ADHD (with an emphasis on the H)
Mania (or excessive happiness a la Robin Williams
in Patch Adams)
Rule out Psychosis
Then we have Tiki. Her human recipe is one gallon Marcia Brady, add one Tablespoon of Cindy Brady, plus a Splash of Gladys Kravitz from Bewitched. Blend well.
PLUS 
PLUS
EQUALS
Tiki is cute, adorable and innocent. Think of Cindy Brady asking "Thanta" Clause to help her mommy get her voice back so she can "thing" at "Christhmuth". How cute was that?
Much like Gladys Kravitz, Tiki sticks her nose in business that isn't hers resulting in a histrionic drama of epic proportions. Tiki's shrill yap is quite reminiscent of Gladys' equally shrill "ABNER!"
Marcia Brady's narcissism is evident in Tiki's doggie persona (Marcia also had a hint of histrionics as well). Tiki demands attention and covertly budges her way in to get the accolades she so deserves. She is beautiful and she knows it. Tiki takes serious ownership of her belongings just like Marcia treasured her prized trophies. Marcia wouldn't share with Jan, and Tiki makes it known she will not share her trophies either. Missy is probably secretly saying "Tiki, Tiki, Tiki!" You know, like Jan says, "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia".
Tiki's diagnosis: Narcissistic Personality Disorder
Histrionic Personality Disorder
Little Dog Syndrome
Oh, poor Missy is a clinical nightmare. She has all of the initials used in diagnostic labeling. Where do I start with this poor girl.
Her humanish counterparts are Eeyore, Droopy and Corky from Life Goes On. Obla Di, Obla Da.
I have heard it said that dogs are not stubborn. The quality of being stubborn suggests there is a willful deceit which dogs are supposedly incapable of. But Missy is the epitome of stubborn, or shall we say oppositional and defiant.
If Missy does not want to go for a walk, there is no way to force her. At times, she will refuse to even begin walking when we approach the trail head. She says to me with her doggie eyes:
"No, I don't want to go and you can't make me".
The more I insist, the more she resists.
"No, really. Go ahead without me. You don't really want me to join you. I'll just sit in the car. You'll have more fun without me anyway."
She is attention seeking in such a way that is self defeating. She enjoys hearing:
"Missy, we missed you on our walk. We wish you would have joined us."Her tail wags happily upon hearing this.
A friend recently described Missy as a "Bumbling kid with Down Syndrome". Rather, I see Missy as having qualities of autism. She has poor social skills and lacks the necessary tools to make canine friends. Choosing to be off doing her own thing instead of mingling with her buddies.
She also has incredible social anxiety. New people and new situations are hard for her, but once you win her heart, you'll have it forever.
Missy's diagnosis (in no particular order):
Chronic Depression
Boderline Personality Disorder
Oppositional Defiant Disorder
Social Anxiety Disorder
Reactive Attachment Disorder
Down Syndrome
Autism Spectrum Disorder
Rule out Prader Willie Syndrome
Whew! What Disorders affect your furry friends?
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Friends of all Ages
Growing up, I have always had many friends who were in a variety of age groups. When I was in Jr. high school, you could easily find me playing with kids who were still in elementary school or chilling with the high school gang. On top of the kids roughly my own age, I also had friends who were adults. It may sound weird, but true. An average day consisted of me playing dollies with the neighbor girls in the morning, having afternoon tea with the elderly lady down the street, and finishing up providing "adult" conversation for the single mother a little further down the street.
I was the neighborhood social butterfly and reaped my rewards by getting complimentary wheelbarrow rides from anybody willing to give them. When my mom's friends called to speak with her, and I happened to answer the phone, it was not uncommon for them to spend 10 minutes or so talking to me first. They weren't fake phone conversations like those moms who put their children on the phone to talk to the caller on the other end; they were true phone conversations because they were interested in hearing what I had to say.
Happily, it remains that way today. One of my dearest buddies is in her 20's and another best bud in her 40's. I have travelled to Florida with a lady old enough to be my mom, and I used to take nightly walks with one of my mom's closest friends, Sue. Just Sue and me.
Life has several different social stages. First, there is the Birthday scene when you are a child. Going to all your friends Birthday parties and having some of your own. Then come the graduation parties followed by college benders. Soon the mailbox becomes full with invitations for bridal showers and wedding announcements. (If you're lucky, you don't get asked to be a bridesmaid.) Baby showers and birth announcements make their appearance next. Celebrations continue with Anniversary parties and Retirement galas. Lastly, you enter that stage where you are sadly attending the Funerals.
With having a gamut of friends in all age groups, I belong to all of those different stages. Currently, I find myself attending fewer and fewer weddings, but more and more baby showers. And, yes, my funeral attending stage is approaching all too quickly. Just last year I lost my tea drinking partner. I still think of her each time I mow the lawn...long story.
Which brings me to the news I heard today. Sue, my aforementioned 63 year old walking buddy has suffered a stroke. This news, is of course, devastating and scary. Just a few days ago, I saw her. A seemingly healthy woman who was full of life. Smiling, happy, and vibrant. Ironically, she quit smoking 4 months ago, began to eat healthy and restarted her walking regime. Proof, my mom says, why she is never going to quit smoking herself. Whatever.
Naturally, my mind is preoccupied with healing thoughts for Sue and once again I am reminded of my own good fortune for the good health of my parents. Something I never take for granted.
I cannot wait to walk once again with Sue once she recovers. How is that for positive thinking?
I was the neighborhood social butterfly and reaped my rewards by getting complimentary wheelbarrow rides from anybody willing to give them. When my mom's friends called to speak with her, and I happened to answer the phone, it was not uncommon for them to spend 10 minutes or so talking to me first. They weren't fake phone conversations like those moms who put their children on the phone to talk to the caller on the other end; they were true phone conversations because they were interested in hearing what I had to say.
Happily, it remains that way today. One of my dearest buddies is in her 20's and another best bud in her 40's. I have travelled to Florida with a lady old enough to be my mom, and I used to take nightly walks with one of my mom's closest friends, Sue. Just Sue and me.
Life has several different social stages. First, there is the Birthday scene when you are a child. Going to all your friends Birthday parties and having some of your own. Then come the graduation parties followed by college benders. Soon the mailbox becomes full with invitations for bridal showers and wedding announcements. (If you're lucky, you don't get asked to be a bridesmaid.) Baby showers and birth announcements make their appearance next. Celebrations continue with Anniversary parties and Retirement galas. Lastly, you enter that stage where you are sadly attending the Funerals.
With having a gamut of friends in all age groups, I belong to all of those different stages. Currently, I find myself attending fewer and fewer weddings, but more and more baby showers. And, yes, my funeral attending stage is approaching all too quickly. Just last year I lost my tea drinking partner. I still think of her each time I mow the lawn...long story.
Which brings me to the news I heard today. Sue, my aforementioned 63 year old walking buddy has suffered a stroke. This news, is of course, devastating and scary. Just a few days ago, I saw her. A seemingly healthy woman who was full of life. Smiling, happy, and vibrant. Ironically, she quit smoking 4 months ago, began to eat healthy and restarted her walking regime. Proof, my mom says, why she is never going to quit smoking herself. Whatever.
Naturally, my mind is preoccupied with healing thoughts for Sue and once again I am reminded of my own good fortune for the good health of my parents. Something I never take for granted.
I cannot wait to walk once again with Sue once she recovers. How is that for positive thinking?
Friday, June 18, 2010
Waiting for a Ring
All day long I have been ruminating about not wanting to go to work this weekend. For starters, the weather has finally decided to get nice. After a week of fog, rain, and wind complete with tornado warnings, this weekend is supposed to be fairly nice. Sunny and warm. Nice weather, particularly on the weekend, makes going in to work that much more difficult.
Secondly, work is a little dicey with more than one acting out kid, and I hear we have been working short handed quite a bit lately. So my anxiety is sky high tonight mostly because it has been a few days since I have been "on the unit". Entering into the "unknown" always causes me to bite my nails and raid the fridge a little more than normal. Like going to the dentist, the thought and anticipation of going is far worse than actually going. Once you are there, its not all bad.
Thirdly, I have been dreading working 16 hours all weekend long as I typically do doubles throughout the weekend. Then it occurs to me: I do not have to do doubles; I can go in just for my scheduled shift, and then go home. Sometimes I forget that. Truly I do. Immediately I begin to feel better about going to work tomorrow knowing it only has to be for 8 hours if I want it to be. Or I can double. The choice is mine to make which alleviates a small percentage of my anxiety.
A coworker told me the other day that I have an abusive relationship with my job. I wouldn't quite say that, but sometimes I feel like it is a marriage. I'm just waiting for my ring.
Secondly, work is a little dicey with more than one acting out kid, and I hear we have been working short handed quite a bit lately. So my anxiety is sky high tonight mostly because it has been a few days since I have been "on the unit". Entering into the "unknown" always causes me to bite my nails and raid the fridge a little more than normal. Like going to the dentist, the thought and anticipation of going is far worse than actually going. Once you are there, its not all bad.
Thirdly, I have been dreading working 16 hours all weekend long as I typically do doubles throughout the weekend. Then it occurs to me: I do not have to do doubles; I can go in just for my scheduled shift, and then go home. Sometimes I forget that. Truly I do. Immediately I begin to feel better about going to work tomorrow knowing it only has to be for 8 hours if I want it to be. Or I can double. The choice is mine to make which alleviates a small percentage of my anxiety.
A coworker told me the other day that I have an abusive relationship with my job. I wouldn't quite say that, but sometimes I feel like it is a marriage. I'm just waiting for my ring.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
My Parents are Homeless
Tomorrow I become a homeowner. Again. Exactly 5 years ago this month, I bought my first little house. And little it is. I love it. Its perfect for me and my cats, and small enough to heat and pay mortgage. Tomorrow, I will own a second house.
My home actually.
My parents are putting their house, my childhood home, in my name as preparation for the end of their lives. My Dad is in his 70's and my mom is getting close to the big 7-0 herself. They figure that it is better that I have ownership of their house in case something should happen or they end up in a nursing home. Its hard to think about so I simply won't. However, that is not going to stop me from having some fun being their landlord so to speak.
Already I have told them they are not allowed to smoke in "my house".....they just laugh and reinforce to me that I am not allowed to make new rules or kick them out.
Getting ownership of my childhood home will, obviously, be bittersweet. I am so thrilled to know that this home will forever be a part of our family, unless I decide to sell it of course. It gives me piece of mind to know that some strangers will not take up residence in the very home that holds so many memories and laughs.
Still, its a reminder of the inevitable. And in reminding me of that, it is also a reminder to appreciate each day I am fortunate enough to still spend with them.
My home actually.
My parents are putting their house, my childhood home, in my name as preparation for the end of their lives. My Dad is in his 70's and my mom is getting close to the big 7-0 herself. They figure that it is better that I have ownership of their house in case something should happen or they end up in a nursing home. Its hard to think about so I simply won't. However, that is not going to stop me from having some fun being their landlord so to speak.
Already I have told them they are not allowed to smoke in "my house".....they just laugh and reinforce to me that I am not allowed to make new rules or kick them out.
Getting ownership of my childhood home will, obviously, be bittersweet. I am so thrilled to know that this home will forever be a part of our family, unless I decide to sell it of course. It gives me piece of mind to know that some strangers will not take up residence in the very home that holds so many memories and laughs.
Still, its a reminder of the inevitable. And in reminding me of that, it is also a reminder to appreciate each day I am fortunate enough to still spend with them.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Crushed Dreams and Independence
Not to be a Debbie Downer here, but I just need to blog about my emptiness just for a moment. Its a rare vacancy these days because I have come to embrace my Childless/Single Woman Status. Most days I stand tall and proud and brag about how great I have it. However, lately I have had just a few fleeting pangs of "I want that".
For starters, I got a phone call from my good friend who just gave birth to baby number 5! Yes, five. And that is not all; her oldest child is 5. That is 5 single births in 5 years. No thank you. But to be able to hold one little bundle in my arms, and to be able to call him/her my own would be magical.
Looking at pictures or hearing about my friends who are having play dates reminds me of what I am missing out. I am often absent from this scene as I don't quite fit in anymore. We have less in common now. They talk about their kids and families. I talk about my cats and my job.
Then, the worst possible thing happens. I become the babysitter. Just another reminder that I don't quite fit in. I get to watch their kids while they go have fun with their friends. Never did I imagine I would be a 30-something babysitter.
Which is exactly what I am doing right now.
Babysitting often awakens one of two emotions in me: 1). I am so glad I can never have kids/I would never be able to do it OR 2). I am so sad I can never have kids/I want it more than anything. Tonight these little cherubs were happy, affectionate, and wonderful so the latter emotion is evoked tonight. I look around at the house filled with toys and life, and realize that my house will forever be filled with just cat hair.
But when I am able to get my uninterrupted sleep tonight, wake up and do whatever the hell I want tomorrow, and not have to answer to anyone or anything, those feelings will quickly subside. My yearnings to have children are less and less with each passing year, but once in a great while they sneak up on me and remind me of something I will never have.
For starters, I got a phone call from my good friend who just gave birth to baby number 5! Yes, five. And that is not all; her oldest child is 5. That is 5 single births in 5 years. No thank you. But to be able to hold one little bundle in my arms, and to be able to call him/her my own would be magical.
Looking at pictures or hearing about my friends who are having play dates reminds me of what I am missing out. I am often absent from this scene as I don't quite fit in anymore. We have less in common now. They talk about their kids and families. I talk about my cats and my job.
Then, the worst possible thing happens. I become the babysitter. Just another reminder that I don't quite fit in. I get to watch their kids while they go have fun with their friends. Never did I imagine I would be a 30-something babysitter.
Which is exactly what I am doing right now.
Babysitting often awakens one of two emotions in me: 1). I am so glad I can never have kids/I would never be able to do it OR 2). I am so sad I can never have kids/I want it more than anything. Tonight these little cherubs were happy, affectionate, and wonderful so the latter emotion is evoked tonight. I look around at the house filled with toys and life, and realize that my house will forever be filled with just cat hair.
But when I am able to get my uninterrupted sleep tonight, wake up and do whatever the hell I want tomorrow, and not have to answer to anyone or anything, those feelings will quickly subside. My yearnings to have children are less and less with each passing year, but once in a great while they sneak up on me and remind me of something I will never have.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Special Invitation for Sassy
This is for you, Sassy! I'm hoping you stop by my blog and take a peek. Read some of "My Favorites".....my last few posts are not that great, and none are nearly as good as yours, but I'm trying.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Utopia
In my world there exists no massive oil leak in the ocean causing devastation to the creatures that rely on the ocean for their existence. In my world, there is no water or air pollution. No hurricanes, tornadoes or tsunamis that displace thousands of unsuspecting people. There exists no war where thousands of soldiers have lost their lives and innocent civilians have perished. And the Twin Towers still stand tall and mighty. In my world there exists no child abuse or domestic abuse or animal cruelty. Only loving families who strive for only the very best. In my world, there exists no cancer or disease or death. In my world, lost children are reunited with their intact families (because divorce also does not exist). In my world, depression, autism and mental illness do not paralyze the inhabitants. Homelessness and poverty are not present. There is not even a name for rape, torture or homicide. People are happy. There is peace and beauty and harmony. Forests and lakes are vast and pure.
This is my own private Paradise that is necessary for me to create from time to time, otherwise I go crazy thinking of reality. Its a tough world in which we live, and its easy to concentrate on all the devastation. Its so important to keep a personal Utopia to retreat to once in a while. For tonight, that is where I am.
This is my own private Paradise that is necessary for me to create from time to time, otherwise I go crazy thinking of reality. Its a tough world in which we live, and its easy to concentrate on all the devastation. Its so important to keep a personal Utopia to retreat to once in a while. For tonight, that is where I am.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Matters of the Morning
Normally, I am an early riser in the mornings. A morning person through and through. When the birds start singing at 4:00 AM, I smile. Sure, I go back to sleep, but I do smile. Then I usually wake up around 7ish to start the day at full throttle. It is not uncommon for me to have laundry done, bathroom cleaned and dishes washed all before 8:00 AM. Sometimes I even manage to get in a hike or a roller blade fairly early as well. All of this accomplished sans coffee by the way.
Lately, though, getting out of bed has been a challenge. The past few days, I have stayed in bed until 8:30 or longer, and one day I was awakened by the phone at 9:20! I hate those days and feel like I have wasted a good portion of the day before it has even begun. Its been so hard to roll myself out of my comfy bed and I don't know how in the world I am going to drag my fat butt out of bed tomorrow at 5:42 for work. It will be a challenge. Going to bed early does not seem to help matters of the morning. At least now I have some milk in the house, which means I get to eat cereal tomorrow morning, which means that will be my motivation to slowly rise from my slumber.
Once I am out of my bed, its easy. The thought of emerging from the depths of my cat covered blankies is painful and energy sucking. But where there is cereal, I can, and will, prevail. Tomorrow morning, here I come!
Lately, though, getting out of bed has been a challenge. The past few days, I have stayed in bed until 8:30 or longer, and one day I was awakened by the phone at 9:20! I hate those days and feel like I have wasted a good portion of the day before it has even begun. Its been so hard to roll myself out of my comfy bed and I don't know how in the world I am going to drag my fat butt out of bed tomorrow at 5:42 for work. It will be a challenge. Going to bed early does not seem to help matters of the morning. At least now I have some milk in the house, which means I get to eat cereal tomorrow morning, which means that will be my motivation to slowly rise from my slumber.
Once I am out of my bed, its easy. The thought of emerging from the depths of my cat covered blankies is painful and energy sucking. But where there is cereal, I can, and will, prevail. Tomorrow morning, here I come!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sad State of Food
This is my fridge after working several double shifts in a row:
The truth of the matter is that my fridge looked like the even before working all those doubles. Actually, the milk is newly purchased so that wasn't even in there until I finally had a day off to run to the corner store to pick it up.
The beer and the Sierra Mist are not even mine. They belong to 2 different friends who thought I might be thirsty. Since I drink neither beer nor soda, there they sit. I figure I better have something in the fridge to keep cool or it may think it doesn't have to work anymore and conk out on me.
My goal is to get to the grocery store before returning to work at the end of the week. I hear cherries have made their entrance into our grocery stores so that may just motivate me. I hate grocery shopping more than anything else in the world.
The truth of the matter is that my fridge looked like the even before working all those doubles. Actually, the milk is newly purchased so that wasn't even in there until I finally had a day off to run to the corner store to pick it up.
The beer and the Sierra Mist are not even mine. They belong to 2 different friends who thought I might be thirsty. Since I drink neither beer nor soda, there they sit. I figure I better have something in the fridge to keep cool or it may think it doesn't have to work anymore and conk out on me.
My goal is to get to the grocery store before returning to work at the end of the week. I hear cherries have made their entrance into our grocery stores so that may just motivate me. I hate grocery shopping more than anything else in the world.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
My Three Selves
I heard a quote the other day that went something like this:
"We are all 3 people. The person You think I am. The person I think I am. And the person I really am. The closer those three people are to one another, the more successful and happy you will be."
I really liked that quote, but am a little bit embarrassed to admit that I heard it on Oprah the other day. Even more embarrassing is that Kenny Rogers said it while referring to Dolly Parton (saying her three people were very close together). So I don't often admit to the origin of that quote, but found it pretty profound.
My goal is to try to merge my three selves so they are close to one another. Honestly, I don't think my three selves are that far from one another, but know they could be more tightly knit.
I'm not quite ready to blog about the differences in my three selves, but within me, I know where the controversy exists. Who would have ever thunk that Kenny Rogers would have me reflecting on ways to improve my own happiness?
"We are all 3 people. The person You think I am. The person I think I am. And the person I really am. The closer those three people are to one another, the more successful and happy you will be."
I really liked that quote, but am a little bit embarrassed to admit that I heard it on Oprah the other day. Even more embarrassing is that Kenny Rogers said it while referring to Dolly Parton (saying her three people were very close together). So I don't often admit to the origin of that quote, but found it pretty profound.
My goal is to try to merge my three selves so they are close to one another. Honestly, I don't think my three selves are that far from one another, but know they could be more tightly knit.
I'm not quite ready to blog about the differences in my three selves, but within me, I know where the controversy exists. Who would have ever thunk that Kenny Rogers would have me reflecting on ways to improve my own happiness?
Saturday, May 29, 2010
The Man who Has Everything and Does Nothing
So, who is the asshole who decided to make Father's Day just a few days away from my Dad's Birthday? Well, maybe the "asshole" is the person who made my dad's Birthday just days away from Father's Day. But that would be calling my Grandma an asshole, and since I never met her, I don't think that is quite fair. So the creator of Father's Day gets the Asshole Award.
Not only do I have to think of ONE gift to get him, but thinking of TWO gifts is nearly impossible. Some suggest I should get him one large "Two-for-One" gift which would be just dandy if I could think of a large gift to get him. He has everything he could possible want and need AND he has no hobbies to speak of.
Seriously, my dad is the most difficult person in this entire world to buy a gift for. For real. He does nothing but drink and smoke, and since I refuse to support the two habits that are killing him by buying him booze and cigs, I am at a loss. It used to be rather easy to buy him a smallish gift that he loved. Candy and crossword puzzles. But, he now has a monthly subscription to a crossword magazine and no longer eats candy like he used to, so that idea is in the crapper.
My dad has to be the laziest human on the planet. Even if I were to get him a gift certificate to get his car washed, he would have my brother drive his car to the car wash place. Crazy, right? Sometimes I think he had kids just so that we could do things for him. No, I don't think that, I KNOW that.
When I still lived at home, it was fun to buy him gifts because I would just think of tools or gadgets that would make life easier for ME, and I would buy him those gifts. He loved them, but I got to actually use them. I remember I wanted a hose reel so the hose was not all askew in the grass when I mowed the lawn. Father's Day came and my dad got a hose reel for a gift! Perfect! I no longer live at home so that trick won't work anymore.
After 30 some odd years of buying him gifts for Christmases, Father's Days and Birthdays, I am at a complete loss. This year, He may have to settle for a card.
Not only do I have to think of ONE gift to get him, but thinking of TWO gifts is nearly impossible. Some suggest I should get him one large "Two-for-One" gift which would be just dandy if I could think of a large gift to get him. He has everything he could possible want and need AND he has no hobbies to speak of.
Seriously, my dad is the most difficult person in this entire world to buy a gift for. For real. He does nothing but drink and smoke, and since I refuse to support the two habits that are killing him by buying him booze and cigs, I am at a loss. It used to be rather easy to buy him a smallish gift that he loved. Candy and crossword puzzles. But, he now has a monthly subscription to a crossword magazine and no longer eats candy like he used to, so that idea is in the crapper.
My dad has to be the laziest human on the planet. Even if I were to get him a gift certificate to get his car washed, he would have my brother drive his car to the car wash place. Crazy, right? Sometimes I think he had kids just so that we could do things for him. No, I don't think that, I KNOW that.
When I still lived at home, it was fun to buy him gifts because I would just think of tools or gadgets that would make life easier for ME, and I would buy him those gifts. He loved them, but I got to actually use them. I remember I wanted a hose reel so the hose was not all askew in the grass when I mowed the lawn. Father's Day came and my dad got a hose reel for a gift! Perfect! I no longer live at home so that trick won't work anymore.
After 30 some odd years of buying him gifts for Christmases, Father's Days and Birthdays, I am at a complete loss. This year, He may have to settle for a card.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Adventures in Concert Attending
I should start by saying that we survived without being raped, murdered, or kidnapped.
Looking back on the night that could have been my last night alive, it is quite comical. It all started when my friend, Wendy, invited me to see a Daughtry concert in Minneapolis. I figured "why not"; I had watched Daughtry's climb to fame on American Idol, knew some of his songs, and was looking forward to some good company in the car for the 2 1/2 hour drive. So away we went.
Remember the movie "Adventures in Babysitting" starring Elizabeth Shue? Wendy and I could have been stars of that movie with our adventures in Concert Attending. Downtown Minneapolis is a foreign area for both us small town girls, but we're both capable and intelligent adults. The first foreshadowing clue that the evening ahead would be more than ordinary was when I nearly killed a lady crossing in a crosswalk. Did I mention she was in a wheelchair? In the process I almost got us killed as well.
I am driving my car and make a simple turn across a 2 lane highway. In doing so, I notice the wheelchair lady making her way across the street. Instinctively, I brake for her, but it turns out I am now stalled in the middle of the 2 lane street of approaching traffic. We hear Honk Honk from the oncoming traffic as a warning signal for us to move, but my only option would have been to knock off this seemingly nice lady. Meanwhile the wheelchair lady gives us a very concerned look on her face and she tries to make her motorized chair travel just a bit faster. We made it across unscathed. And so did she.
Scene two of our Adventure involved the questionable ramp we parked our car which clearly advertised "EVENT PARKING: $4". We pull in to this ramp that was a cross between quite fancy and uber scary, complete with a steep ramp, automatic arm lever and self serve windshield cleaning materials. We were smart and parked by a door and I even remembered to bring my parking ramp ticket "just in case". That proved rather useful later on in the evening.
We finally made our way to our venue after travelling blocks and blocks through a skyway system that led us through a bank, a restaurant, a mall, and numerous shops. It did occur to me that perhaps this skyway system could be closed after our concert let out, but it IS a skyway afterall, AND we parked in EVENT PARKING so naturally we'd be able to get back to our ramp, right? Ahem....
Both of us enjoyed the concert, and gave thanks that neither one of us got a nosebleed from the height at which we were sitting. Though I do think that we both were sending up silent prayers that we'd be able to get to the car following the concert.
Fast Forward to the climax of our very real movie. The concert has ended and we're just hoping that the doors to the skyway are not locked. They aren't. Whew, what a relief! We continue on our journey through the skyway until we approach the mall area where we encounter what we were so afraid of. No further access into the skyway! We are now in a slight panic. Do we walk outside? The only problem is we don't know where exactly we'd be walking to. I do have the parking ramp ticket with an address, but we don't know the area nor do we trust the area to be walking aimlessly lost.
While discussing our options, a very nice gentleman offers his assistance. We tell him our problem and after some discussion, he offers to drive us to our vehicle. He is wearing a Target Center shirt (clearly an employee), he introduces himself as "Brian", and point blank tells us that he is "not a creep or anything". He resembles Bill Gates and seems very sincere and gentle. But so did Ted Bundy.
We are both conflicted. Either walk Downtown Minneapolis to some unknown destination or hop in a vehicle with a strange middle age man. Wendy has her cell phone and begins texting her boyfriend our decision to accept a ride from Brian. He clearly doesn't hear the hidden message in the words of the text that indicate this could be our death sentence, and he very simply texts back "be careful".
Brian seems rather nice, makes small talk, and he even shows us the building where his sister works...for what reason, we don't know. We learn he has a wife and daughter. Using the address from the parking ramp ticket I cleverly brought along, he very harmlessly drives us to our destination where we have to alert the security guards to open the doors so we can get to the car. It all worked out very much in our favor and we are indebted to Brian for helping out two lost girls. In all the confusion and nerves, I neglected to offer a token of our appreciation to Brian, but I think he knows just how grateful we are. Both that he helped us out and that he didn't kill us.
Looking back on the night that could have been my last night alive, it is quite comical. It all started when my friend, Wendy, invited me to see a Daughtry concert in Minneapolis. I figured "why not"; I had watched Daughtry's climb to fame on American Idol, knew some of his songs, and was looking forward to some good company in the car for the 2 1/2 hour drive. So away we went.
Remember the movie "Adventures in Babysitting" starring Elizabeth Shue? Wendy and I could have been stars of that movie with our adventures in Concert Attending. Downtown Minneapolis is a foreign area for both us small town girls, but we're both capable and intelligent adults. The first foreshadowing clue that the evening ahead would be more than ordinary was when I nearly killed a lady crossing in a crosswalk. Did I mention she was in a wheelchair? In the process I almost got us killed as well.
I am driving my car and make a simple turn across a 2 lane highway. In doing so, I notice the wheelchair lady making her way across the street. Instinctively, I brake for her, but it turns out I am now stalled in the middle of the 2 lane street of approaching traffic. We hear Honk Honk from the oncoming traffic as a warning signal for us to move, but my only option would have been to knock off this seemingly nice lady. Meanwhile the wheelchair lady gives us a very concerned look on her face and she tries to make her motorized chair travel just a bit faster. We made it across unscathed. And so did she.
Scene two of our Adventure involved the questionable ramp we parked our car which clearly advertised "EVENT PARKING: $4". We pull in to this ramp that was a cross between quite fancy and uber scary, complete with a steep ramp, automatic arm lever and self serve windshield cleaning materials. We were smart and parked by a door and I even remembered to bring my parking ramp ticket "just in case". That proved rather useful later on in the evening.
We finally made our way to our venue after travelling blocks and blocks through a skyway system that led us through a bank, a restaurant, a mall, and numerous shops. It did occur to me that perhaps this skyway system could be closed after our concert let out, but it IS a skyway afterall, AND we parked in EVENT PARKING so naturally we'd be able to get back to our ramp, right? Ahem....
Both of us enjoyed the concert, and gave thanks that neither one of us got a nosebleed from the height at which we were sitting. Though I do think that we both were sending up silent prayers that we'd be able to get to the car following the concert.
Fast Forward to the climax of our very real movie. The concert has ended and we're just hoping that the doors to the skyway are not locked. They aren't. Whew, what a relief! We continue on our journey through the skyway until we approach the mall area where we encounter what we were so afraid of. No further access into the skyway! We are now in a slight panic. Do we walk outside? The only problem is we don't know where exactly we'd be walking to. I do have the parking ramp ticket with an address, but we don't know the area nor do we trust the area to be walking aimlessly lost.
While discussing our options, a very nice gentleman offers his assistance. We tell him our problem and after some discussion, he offers to drive us to our vehicle. He is wearing a Target Center shirt (clearly an employee), he introduces himself as "Brian", and point blank tells us that he is "not a creep or anything". He resembles Bill Gates and seems very sincere and gentle. But so did Ted Bundy.
We are both conflicted. Either walk Downtown Minneapolis to some unknown destination or hop in a vehicle with a strange middle age man. Wendy has her cell phone and begins texting her boyfriend our decision to accept a ride from Brian. He clearly doesn't hear the hidden message in the words of the text that indicate this could be our death sentence, and he very simply texts back "be careful".
Brian seems rather nice, makes small talk, and he even shows us the building where his sister works...for what reason, we don't know. We learn he has a wife and daughter. Using the address from the parking ramp ticket I cleverly brought along, he very harmlessly drives us to our destination where we have to alert the security guards to open the doors so we can get to the car. It all worked out very much in our favor and we are indebted to Brian for helping out two lost girls. In all the confusion and nerves, I neglected to offer a token of our appreciation to Brian, but I think he knows just how grateful we are. Both that he helped us out and that he didn't kill us.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Happy Taste Buds
Since Summer is upon us early here in the "Northland", I thought I'd take a brief moment and give pause to one of my favorite things. Ice Cream. It is also mentioned in the title of my blog so it is about time I pay homage to my title. I have already paid homage to the cats of my world, but now its time to shine some light on the greatest of God's creations (cue the Godly Aaaahhhhhhh).
It is such a chore to even know where to begin so I'll just dig right in much as I would dig in if I had a gallon of ice cream in my freezer. Ice cream is not allowed at my house because it wouldn't last but a day at most so all the commercial ice creams are exempt from this blog entry, though they very well could make an appearance at a later date.
I am not one to stray from my favorites. I stick to the tried and true. If I went out to eat at any given restaurant, I pretty much know what I am going to order before I even enter the door. So the following are my favorite "tried and true" local ice cream treats.
Folks in these here parts generally rave about a local ice cream shoppe called Portland Malt Shoppe. Though, I have sampled their ice cream, they are not my preferred place to go get an ice cream fix. What makes it very convenient is that you can go for a walk on the Lakewalk and reward yourself with an ice cream cone for the walk back.
When in need of a quick ice cream fix, I of course head to the DQ. Not by coincidence, I happen to live only a few blocks to the nearest Dairy Queen. The one by my house is kind of chintzy on their serving portions, though, and if I need to feel like I got my money's worth, I will drive a bit further. Plus my DQ is only open for the summer season. In other words, its not a "Cool Treats/Hot Eats" DQ; just simply a "Cool Treats" DQ.
At the DQ, I do venture out of my comfort zone from time to time and will order a variety of treats. One can never go wrong with a Cherry Dip Cone, but when Ice Cream is involved, I needs me some chocolate too. The Mudslide and Peanut Buster Parfait are classics, but my old standby is the Chocolate Covered Cherry Blizzard! YUMMY! Oh, and have you ever had any DQ treats with cocoa fudge? What a sensation.
One can hardly go wrong ordering at the Cold Stone Creamery. We have been lucky to get not only one, but two Cold Stones in our city. Cold Stone isn't my very favorite ice cream in the world, but it does have its place. The ice cream is very creamy, ooey, gooey, and RICH. A little bit goes a long way. I have tried almost every single creation made by Cold Stone with the exception of the coffee flavored treats. My favorite is my own creation whereby I take the Founder's Favorite creation, take out the caramel, and add in raspberries. Nothing is more decadent. Plus its fun having the option of having a waffle bowl or cone!
But when I want my entire Ice Cream hunger satisfied, I head to good ol' Bridgemans. In staying loyal to my yummy raspberry/chocolate pattern, I ALWAYS get the Hot Fudge Raspberry Torte ice cream sundae! That is to die for. Ice Cream lover's size is only $1.00 more and all the calories are completely worth it.
It would be sacrilegious to blog about all this ice cream and not go out for a sample of at least one of these sinful creations. Looking forward to having happy taste buds later on today!
It is such a chore to even know where to begin so I'll just dig right in much as I would dig in if I had a gallon of ice cream in my freezer. Ice cream is not allowed at my house because it wouldn't last but a day at most so all the commercial ice creams are exempt from this blog entry, though they very well could make an appearance at a later date.
I am not one to stray from my favorites. I stick to the tried and true. If I went out to eat at any given restaurant, I pretty much know what I am going to order before I even enter the door. So the following are my favorite "tried and true" local ice cream treats.
Folks in these here parts generally rave about a local ice cream shoppe called Portland Malt Shoppe. Though, I have sampled their ice cream, they are not my preferred place to go get an ice cream fix. What makes it very convenient is that you can go for a walk on the Lakewalk and reward yourself with an ice cream cone for the walk back.
When in need of a quick ice cream fix, I of course head to the DQ. Not by coincidence, I happen to live only a few blocks to the nearest Dairy Queen. The one by my house is kind of chintzy on their serving portions, though, and if I need to feel like I got my money's worth, I will drive a bit further. Plus my DQ is only open for the summer season. In other words, its not a "Cool Treats/Hot Eats" DQ; just simply a "Cool Treats" DQ.
At the DQ, I do venture out of my comfort zone from time to time and will order a variety of treats. One can never go wrong with a Cherry Dip Cone, but when Ice Cream is involved, I needs me some chocolate too. The Mudslide and Peanut Buster Parfait are classics, but my old standby is the Chocolate Covered Cherry Blizzard! YUMMY! Oh, and have you ever had any DQ treats with cocoa fudge? What a sensation.
One can hardly go wrong ordering at the Cold Stone Creamery. We have been lucky to get not only one, but two Cold Stones in our city. Cold Stone isn't my very favorite ice cream in the world, but it does have its place. The ice cream is very creamy, ooey, gooey, and RICH. A little bit goes a long way. I have tried almost every single creation made by Cold Stone with the exception of the coffee flavored treats. My favorite is my own creation whereby I take the Founder's Favorite creation, take out the caramel, and add in raspberries. Nothing is more decadent. Plus its fun having the option of having a waffle bowl or cone!
But when I want my entire Ice Cream hunger satisfied, I head to good ol' Bridgemans. In staying loyal to my yummy raspberry/chocolate pattern, I ALWAYS get the Hot Fudge Raspberry Torte ice cream sundae! That is to die for. Ice Cream lover's size is only $1.00 more and all the calories are completely worth it.
It would be sacrilegious to blog about all this ice cream and not go out for a sample of at least one of these sinful creations. Looking forward to having happy taste buds later on today!
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