The New year is on the other side of a good sleep.
What will I try to accomplish in it?
I have it down to a few realistic things.
1) Self-control. I shall acquaint myself more intimitely with self-control.
2) Patience. I shall be more patient.
3) Faithfulness. I shall be less temptable.
If I live through the year in reasonable health that is enough.
Happy New Year and enjoy each moment.
That is all we have. This very moment.
What did I do well?
I took the time to be grateful and God-honouring.
I did an awesome job at work.
I remembered to take time off and refresh myself.
I am a good family member.
What did I do not so well?
I still screwed up my health and my lungs and narrowly avoided a hospital stay.
I did not manage my finances very well altho I did tithe.
I took many things very personally that were not mine to take.
I still harbour ill-will to those who have harmed those I love.
I failed with a "D" in dating. (could be worse... could have been an E)
I did not finish my renovations.
What do I aspire to do differently in the New Year?
I aspire to making one full year without having to go to the Doctor.
I aspire to actually saving some money.
I aspire to not judging every single moment of every single day as it pertains to ME ME ME.
I aspire to continuing education for myself... a little "p" by my little RN
I aspire to ....
Tonight I am going to really think about this.
Tomorrow I will post my resolve.
The blog too.
The entire site is so well thought out.
Look at that Sun, that huge orange Sun.
Does it scream majesty?
Does it reach into your psyche and instil hope and/or fear?
If not: LOOK AGAIN.
The Aztecs were suitably worshipful (but all that nasty blood sacrificing!)
www.sunshinedna.com/ got their image from Nasa with permission.
Doesn't that beast of a Sun look imposing?
The photography on this site is beautiful.
Of course they are professionals----
Go appreciate it.
---BACK TO THE PALLIATIVE NEWS---
What is it with humanity that we can be around the same orb so very many generations and learn little to nothing about avoiding skin cancers.
It's not like the Sun is some new-fangled invention.
I lost a dear client this month far before his true expiry date.
He was a cyclist and golfer and loved the outdoors.
He wore sunscreen but not enough.
He was a man in his 40s.
"I never had a clue" he said. He was spared a long horrid demise.
He only found out his condition a few months ago. 2.
I have a client in his 90s.
He was a hard-worker, logger and maintenance-type stuff.
He never wore sunscreen and rarely wore a hat.
"I never knew nothing about it," he said.
He has had multiple carcinomas removed. About 23.
My time is coming.
We slathered ourselves in oil and lay by the pool.
When I was told I had fair skin I took it as a challenge and tried harder.
Sun stroked out a few times.
At least I stopped around 27 years old.
New trick on this olde doggie.
Research is showing that we here in my area are popping off from cancer most of all diseases. Lung Cancer is still the big one, but skin cancer is beginning to up it's numbers. Do not tan. Do not believe the stupid hype that says you are in need of drastic modification. Spray yourself brown if you must but stay out of the sun. Protect yourself.
Shame on those people who bootleg things that are readily available from the GUYS...
at the very least PAY THEM FOR THE PLEASURE.
There is even someone on EBay already selling the poster for the Brit gig in 2006.
Here-- print this:
Interesting my ethics on this. Even to myself it seems skewered.
But I am NOT SELLING IT nor promoting selling it.
I think if you can listen to a clip on BBC6 which you can and hopefully are, on the very excellent Tom Robinson's show which naturally being cool you likely would be anyway, yes?--- you will buy your music nicely nicely.
I want you to buy from the allsparks.com site. They have their own mart.
I am better informed now and along the way I lifted this nice banner too!
Colour me advertising for the boy-os.
Want to hear them?
This is what the NEWS says:
"BBC6 - played songs from the album NewsTom Robinson of BBC's 6 Music played Perfume on Tuesday and Dick Around today (Thursday)
click here to listen again
For Perfume fast forward to 1 hr 25 min on Tuesday's show
For Dick Around fast forward to 1hr 21 min on Thursday'show. Please note that this is the radio edit which is significantly shorter than, and different to, the album version.
Happy listening " (You COULD have read that on THEIR site)
Find yourself on the Sparks News bits.
Go have a look.
PROG-rock isn't that what they used to call it?
I PROG-ged that all right.
BBC6 only keeps the show one week linked.
You'll be listening to T-Rex on the tuesday show. Still cool.
What a hoot.
Check this out.
Enter the site and listen to the MOOD muzak.
Oh my. What an array of things to buy to soothe my soul and lighten my purse.
How can you resist such a pitch as this?
PHOTOREAD - Learn to READ at 25,000 words per minute!
(Yes. 25 thousand. Note it does not say anything about retaining that knowledge.)
There are some good things on that site but I can't get past the silly ones.
My chakras are stuck.
"I define emotional intelligence as follows:
Emotional intelligence is the innate potential to feel, use, communicate, recognize, remember, learn from, manage and understand emotions. "
This is a very interesting site indeed.
This person has spent alot of time setting up this page.
This person wants to be heard.
Now when you go there, there is a little link that says:
For those interested in "Credentials"
..... and it contains a long verbiose blogworthy siloloquy about being HEARD in important places.
Even if it is from a very well-intended and educated place.
Hey I understand COMPLETELY!
...400 and something posts. You bet I understand ;)
Oh how I love those Mael brothers.
After 30 years they are still the coolest.
And what about that flash?
Who says Art-Rock is dead?
Not on planet Sparks.
This town aint big enough for both of us,.....
AND IT AINT THEM WHOSE GONNA LEAVE
Oh I love you guys.
Frank Black must be your bastard child.
Only Sparks can explain the Pixies.
Noone else has vision sufficient.
It is wonderful to see people in their 80s and 90s full of hope for a bright future.
Looking around in a person's home you glimpse their dreams. If acquisitive family members have not depleted every ounce of personality from them in the possessions department, you see what is important, and what no longer matters through their inclusion or omissions in the artifacts. It makes me happy to see something religious or spiritual. Today it was a book.
We talked about the belated Pope John Paul II, and his mission as we perceived it to be. Although we are separated by decades we see the man in the same manner. One whom God chose but who also chose God. I have a deep and abiding respect for the late Pope. It will take me some years to get used to the new one.
"The family" came by and were astounded that this person was not dressed.
We were in the middle of a footrub actually.
"Isn't this wonderful service" said the client.
"But you are not dressed!" said the family.
"I am not getting dressed today."
"Yes you have to. People are coming in just a moment."
I whispered in the client's ear that me and the Pope would await the dressing ritual in the bedroom and perhaps we should BOTH go.
Me and the Pope washed and dressed the client.
If not for the Pope I do not believe that would have happened.
God bless John Paul II as he stands in eternity.
Feeling like you are a slave to the grind?
Come on with me and live it up at the Castle.
No, not Cinderellas or anything to do with Mr.Disney. This is a real story about a real prince of a man who built a beautiful home for his Princess.
If you are not a Castle person there are tons of other things to do for fun around here. Check it out. Weather and dates permitting.
Coal baron Robert Dunsmuir was the wealthiest and most influential man of his time in British Columbia. He died in 1889, just months before his majestic Craigdarroch Castle was completed. He left the entire estate, including all of his business holdings, to his wife Joan, who resided at Craigdarroch until her death in 1908.
After Robert Dunsmuir died in 1889--never having lived in the castle on his 28-acre property overlooking Victoria--his sons James and Alex, found they had inherited nothing from the man they had worked for nothing over 20 years on the promise that one day, the business would be theirs.
It took the brothers ten years to get their mother to go along with their desire to manage aspects of their fathers holdings. Once that was accomplished, Alex Dunsmuir finally married against his mothers wishes, his live-in companion for 20 years, Josephine Wallace. He died on their honeymoon in New York in 1900.
Brother James took control, at a time when James Dunsmuir was also Premier of British Columbia. Alex Dunsmuir's mother and Edna Hopper, daughter of John Wallace, sued to gain shares of the Alex Dunsmuir estate. The rift between James Dunsmuir and his mother lasted until her death in 1908. He cried at her burial. A quarrel taken to the grave. A tragedy. Mr. James went on to build his own castle but we wont be visiting it this weekend.
Joan Dunsmuir left her Estate, including Craigdarroch Castle, to her five surviving daughters, one son-in-law and three of her grandchildren. The contents of the Castle were sold during a three-day auction. Can you imagine? I wish I had been there. Shiny things galore.
The Castle briefly served as a military hospital after World War One, then became home for Victoria College from 1921 to 1946 by which time enrollment reached 600. Purchasers of the property back in 1929, the Victoria School Board took over use of the over-crowded facilities until 1968. Formed by James K. Nesbitt in the late 1959s, the Society for the Preservation & Maintenance of Craigdarroch Castle joined with the Victoria Conservatory of Music, formed in 1964, co-lease the Castle until 1979.
The City of Victoria and the renamed Craigdarroch Castle Historical Museum Society have since converted the facility in a museum to appear the way it was when Joan Dunsmuir took up residence in 1890. Its a designated National Heritage Site.
I love this Castle.
I love standing on the stairways and gazing through stained glass windows.
I love to think of what it would be like to live in such style.
The woodwork! The finishings! The lavishly appointed rooms and volumnious Victorian Furniture.
It is 87 stairs to the top of the tower for the best views of Victoria. of the SAn Juans and the Mountains.
OH I am a woman out of time. And circumstance.
There is a grande event at the castle this weekend.
See you there.
Leave the Carelane to it's own ministrations.
It will still be there on Monday!
1050 Joan Crescent
Victoria, British Columbia
Phone: (250) 592-5323
Fax: (250) 592-1099
Once upon a time there was a lately trained Nurse working in the field.
She was in her first week on the job, and was having trouble orienting to being on the run ten hours a day every day. Her new employer helpfully provided some direction but rarely of the sort that made sense to her.
Oh yes it is me of course it is me who else would it be?
I could not complete my last course due to financial constraints and so I had to work before my License was stamped. I was working in a lesser scope than I had hoped but I was working and that was the main thing. I loved the people and the care and the rest was just bs to me. Still, this first week was a doozy.
On my third day I was sent to a woman who was dying of breast cancer.
She lived in a very very nice neighbourhood and had a very locally well-known name.
I was told she had been one of the very first Nurses to work with us.
Great! No pressure.
When I walked in she told me in no uncertain terms she did not want any assistance of any sort at all and my job was to dust.
The duster was in the closet and could I please go first into the dining room and dust the buffet where the crystal decanter was.
This lady was teetering to and fro and I could see a fall coming but no: please just go dust. The Buffet. Where the decanter was.
Did I tell you this story already?
Probably huh. It was a hellish moment. A flame-licker.
I caved and went and got the duster and went into the dining room and over to the buffet. Everything was beautiful. I started to dust, YES I KNOW BUT I DID IT, and placing my hand on the decanter bottom, moved it slightly to get the dust around it.
The stopper toppled over into my hand. I played ball you know. Nothing much gets by me. It was just reflex and God that day. Mostly God.
Looking at the stopper I realise it did not come off cleanly in the conventional sense of the word. It was accompanied by about 1/2 inch of glass, beautifully jaggedly broken. I looked at the decanter. Also broken. Perfectly so. Not a chip or sliver of broken glass anywhere. A perfect clean break. There IS no such thing. Someone had been there before me, broken it, cleaned up, and put the top back on matching all the jigs and jags brilliantly. Perhaps it was even the Lady who send me a-dusting. Perhaps she had insurance to cover such things.
Examining the ring around the top, I read the sterling mark.
Naturally I would do that would you expect anything less?
It is a 200 year old Hallmark. Buggery bollocks yeah of course.
I carefully placed it back on the decanter exactly as I found it.
I put the duster away. I checked on the Lady. I left her and went outside and promptly called the Office and confessed everything. (never could lie well)
The Nurse Leader on duty said:
"Yes but I didnt break this 200 yr old decanter. I just touched it and it fell off. I feel like I have been set up. I just was not going to tell that woman about it.... but I..."
she mercifully shut me up.
"K we do not spend HealthCare dollars on dusting. That was very inappropriate of her to ask that of you don't even worry about it."
And that, was that.
I remember this so well as the woman collected one of the same things I do.
She had a display box very similar to my own with little sterling boxes in it.
Some of them were over 300 years old. I was amazed. She saw me looking and I said to her: :Oh we have similar taste. I also collect Georgian boxes and other sterling pieces."
"Sure you do dear. GO dust now."
We at the Government, in the Health Care division have so many dollars at our disposal we can buy and sell properties in this, the most desirable Canadian destination with our eyes closed. Oh yeah. Believe it.
We now have two clients with this delusion.
I wonder if some unthinking HealthCare worker, Nurse or Physician repeated a story in this person's hearing range and she took it up as her own. It just seems so unbelievable that there could be two very elderly people in questionable
states of cognition, both believing that we the WE of above, have so elaboratly and cleverly moved them into homes identical to their own right down to the paint chips and views. One of these people no longer sleeps in her bed as she believes it to be "OURS" and the other, trainee delusional residential obscuritis, won't eat from the fridge or drink the water from the taps even if you boil it.
All part of the program. First we abduct you, beguile you, and send people to coherce, distract and medicate you and then, MWHAHAHAHA the experiments begin.
What am I cast as? I asked one of them today. So what is my role in all this?
"You are the narrator. We are supposed to believe you are impartial."
What are Roche, Abbot, Merck and Pfizer and all those other huge drug companies putting in their stuff these days? This is just too weird.
At least I am not the main villain. Not yet, anyway.
Man am I stuffed!
If not for Barb the sparkly and her daughter Penny the beautiful and talented, I would not have had the pleasure of a holiday dinner eaten in great company.
I even got to take a fruitcake home.
Noone else wanted it Barb claimed.
I am so happy. So stuffed. And so grateful.
Charlie Brown sure knew his stuff. The whole Peanuts gang sang that little ditty almost 30 years ago for the first time. (hmm 2005 minus 30 = 1975...perhaps MORE than 30 years ago)
Last night I fell asleep after opening my stocking. It was stuffed full of excellent chocolate and vanilla candles. Oh it were loverly. I woke up about 5 times in the night and ate some little bit of Almond Bark White Chocolate each time.
As I was winding down, prior to the Stocking mischief, "A Child's Christmas in Wales" as read by Dylan Thomas came through the ether to settle on my happy ears. What a lovely story indeed.
Tonight it is all Carols on my God-bless-the-CBC. It isn't annoying me the way it usually does, no doubt due to avoiding malls and other tinned music sites. I drove around my route today listening to Joy Division to balance out. Every time the CD starts I can hear my sister, the one who does not think beyond the mirror, in her 80's self glaring at my 80's self before she broke my very first Joy Division tape by snapping the case in half saying: "This is music to commit suicide by."
--yup Sometimes it is good to be embraced by terrible beauty. It keeps things in perspective. I like Art of Noise but nothing will ever match Joy Division.
Last night on satellite or HDTV or whatever it is Dad has that brings in all those US channels, we watched the only non-catholic service we could find on the tube.
(The tube-less tube) It was out of Atlanta I believe, and was from an Episcopalian church.
What an uplifting message. If not for my Dad's constant "THAT MAN IS A DEMOCRAT" blurts, we would have amen'ed ourselves to the end. It was a great thing that church did. They had 100 families they donated $500 to making a merrier Christmas.
These 100 families were all survivors of the Hurricanes that have ravaged the US this year. The Bishops message was excellent.
God is still God. God can use ANYTHING and ANYONE in ANY CIRCUMSTANCE to do good.
Well done, Christians!!
It was a GREAT message, in a time when alot of people are struggling with their beliefs. Struggling with their non-beliefs. Struggling.
I bow to you. The inclusion of dance, and choral was impressive, especially seeing young men and women proudly sending that positive message out. Well done indeed!!
and AMEN BROTHER!
If you are 50 or older, chances are you have adopted more than a few of the beliefs of the Religion of Chronological Age. You’ve never heard of this religion? Believe me, it exists. Without clergy, hierarchy, buildings or budget, it insidiously controls the thinking and behavior of countless older people who are totally unaware they are believers and practitioners.
Barbara Morris, R.Ph.
In this case used as a Verb:
1. To travel or pass across, over, or through.
2. To move to and fro over; cross and recross.
3. To go up, down, or across (a slope) diagonally, as in skiing.
4. To cause to move laterally on a pivot; swivel: traverse an artillery piece.
5. To extend across; cross: a bridge that traverses a river.
6. To look over carefully; examine.
7. To go counter to; thwart.
a) To deny formally (an allegation of fact by the opposing party) in a suit. See Synonyms at deny.
b) To join issue upon (an indictment).
c) To survey by traverse.
Nautical. To brace (a yard) fore and aft.
I will take meaning 1 thank you.
My Christmas gift was that I worked today.
They, the notorious they, tell me that *everyone* wants to work on Christmas Day as you get paid time and a half or double time or whatever...
So where IS everyone? They all seem to have gone away.
I got a few giftees myself. Wine and cookies and toffees.
Bless my lovely clients.
One little client did not even know it was Christmas.
I am guessing she will be in an extended care bed this time next month as she meets every criteria for placement.
Another client has the caregiver burnout thing happening, oh wait make that two clients. They also will both be placed very soon.
The lovely lady I have been missing these last weeks is failing as well.
One leg can no longer weight-bear. She told me today her great fear is that her pacemaker will stop her from dying when her time comes. She is ready to go now.
It is not a sad thing, as she has lived a good life on her own terms.
What a day I had in the Holiday Carelane!
First off, I ABSCONDED with someone's keys yesterday.
Someone with the initial *N*.
I finished my Christmas snacking at my parents home around the dinner hour.
The family all celebrated their big meal at a resort destination restaurant while I was working. I had put together some snackies for them in the afternoon and snack they did. My brother in law brought home baking. It was delicious. I had no idea he could even cook but then those Navy boys can do anything. The Navy Baker and his wife left, my somblulescent brother left and then I too decided to depart. Putting my hand in my jacket pocket, I chanced upon a keychain with an animal on it-- not even remotely alike my utilitarian own. Quelle Bizarre.
It was a strange thing inded to see on my list not one not two but four people with N as either their first or last initial. A crapshoot. Luckily I found the person first try today. Even more luckily they asked me before I had to ask them. It was suitably mortifying. (egad egad)
I seem to get more eccentric every year.
Truthfully though, when I smoked I tended to collect lighters in my purse bottom, and now that I require much filling out of forms, pens appear as if by magic, and disappear in the same manner.
Keys are a new twist.
All I can surmise is that I had a moment of distractability. (egad egad)
My eleven o'clock client decided that I would be late and did her own adls and just wanted to have tea and cookies. The cookies were a gift from her son. She called them "Snackadoodles" and said they were among the first thing kids used to learn how to bake in cooking class. They were pretty darned good. So here is the recipe.
oops they are called Snickerdoodles. (See what I mean? Just slightly off today)
1 cup margarine
1 1/2 cups sugar
mix together then add:
2 3/4 cups flour
2 tsp cream of tartar
1 tsb baking soda
once blended roll dough into walnut sized balls. Dip balls into a mix of 2 tsp sugar mixed with 2 tspns cinammon. Bake on an ungreased sheet at 400 degrees for 8 to 10 minutes.
Enjoy and thank dear Alice.
We were using my computer as I have the fastest connection and the best screen.
We were taking those silly online tests. Some of us have not yet done them.
I told my friend I was not going to take any stupid test and voila! There was indeed a stupity test.
They told me: " I will take the Stupid test if you take the other ones with me."
"Oh come on, you know you will get the highest score on the stupid test because you're so smart."
Now who can argue with that logic?
And so it was I was clicking little radio boxes until the wee hours.
To the merriment of all I got a little flashing box that told me at the end of the Loser test that I should just forget about it: I am a COMPLETE AND TOTAL LOSER.
96% of the people who took that test scored less loserish than I did. On a friends advice I did it again and changed one answer. Then I was a mere 90% loser.
I am 94% Geek.
My IT friends were all amazed. I think my bedtime hours got me the high score. For some reason it rated early to bed folk as geeks. This is silly as every true Geek I know is a night owl. Honest.
The death test said I am going to die at 80. Acceptable.
I am not a LOSER.
A hoser, yeah sure I am a hoser, but no way am I a loser!
"Come on" they said, "Its supposed to be fun. It IS funny that you got the flashing LOSER message! HAHAHAHA!!"
I AM NOT A LOSER.
"I AM NOT A COMPLETE AND TOTAL LOSER!"
Then I fell asleep.
Then uhm, the chocolate pudding conversations occurred.
What a Loser!
“The winner asks, "May I help?" The loser asks, "Do you expect me to do that?"”
William Arthur Ward
Although my work hours are set, my breaks are arbitrary. Today's break was at a very odd time. Eleven in the morning is primetime in healthcare and a break at that time is unusual. I had 1.33 hours to myself and so I strolled about the town, wandering in and out of the giftshoppes, delivering Christmasy Cards to the merchants I wished to thank for their great service. Everywhere I went in Town, by foot, people were smiling and wishing me a Merry Christmas.
The man in the gas station on the corner came out from his building and called to me: "Hey Christmas Spirit lady: HAVE A GREAT CHRISTMAS!" Only then did I realise
that I was wearing red and green. Red pants, red top and a green very green Christmas green jacket. *ho ho ho*
At my first client of the day my co-worker told our client that he thought my taste was demur. Then they laughed. I looked at him puzzled and he said: "Well, you dont dress flashy do you?" (irony) (Sarcasm)
I'm clean and well-dressed and every day I feel good about what I wear but possibly I may be better dressed than most. Good taste no money. Buy cheap and wear forever, wear wherever and wear it out!
As we went outside he looked at me and said suddenly: "You know,: You are a good person!" He sounded like he had just thought of it.
I looked at him and said: "Yes, Yes I am! Yay me!" and got in my car wondering what he had thought before. Scary Me? Stupidhead Me? Bossy Me?
THe harmonic trinity of me.
We are all good and all necessary.
And so we come to the end of the day where I run into a friend or five and they ask me about basic human rights. Then they all giggle. I missed something I guess.
They segue to chocolate pudding and then look at me again and giggle.
"All right all right, what's going on? I know you are mocking me but I am not sure about what? Who is telling pudding stories on me?"
Sometimes when I am asleep I am still interactive. Rarely I converse and when I do it is almost always nonsense. (or shouting) But OF COURSE the one time I launch a grande conversation there are witnesses.
"Every human being should have the right to chocolate."
"A good esthetician would spoon feed you chocolate and I bet that service would sell very well too!"
"Oh come on please just one... just spoonfeed me one little mouthful and I will never ask again please!"
There was chocolate pudding cups at the head of my bed.
There were people in my room watching a movie on my computer with me and I fell asleep.
There are just way too many people who know this story and its not yet 24 hours old.
Oh those pesky witnesses.
NO more company after 8pm.
It's too risky!
Yup sometimes these cutesie little thingies don't quite work out the way you expect.
According to these silly tests not only am I a complete and total loser but also a geek through and through AND a nerd.
Personally, I think they are just jealous.
It is a rare gift to be me.
Unique in fact.
I was duly warned to take my cues from her and to go slow. Apparantly we are in there against her wishes. As she is in an Assisted Living apartment where her cleaning is done twice weekly and her dinner is prepared every day, it can't be that bad.
I walked in greeting her cheerily. I apologised for not knowing her routine and offered my services full capacity. She allowed as how I could vacuum.
(hahah that's uhm not in my scope of practise)
I did make her bed and do her dishes and pour her meds. Then I sat at her feet and asked her some questions. What a hoot we had. She even put her hearing aide in for me. ;)
How I enjoy archaic words. Using them correctly is something else again, but you know, who is going to disbute you when you throw a "yvele apayd" or a " auctoritee"into your speech?
Okay, possibly my sister CL but she can't be everywhere, can she?
I found this most excellent link while *helping* one of my gamer friends do his essay on Chaucer. The next hour was spent joyously reading the side by side Tales.
This is *my* heritage.
and now: for my desport:
So tomorrow, eft soone, I AM apayed to be back to work, back to the things I do impeccably, my dressings and abluciouns. Back to my elvysshe times of happiness and joy.
Forsaking my enditynges and getting my coin from travaillynge..
Perhaps it is avauntyng to say so, but say so I do.
I love my job. I do it well. There is no room for accidie.
I wish everyone has a job, a day, a life like mine. Unless there is entremetteth, it will be good.
Be not adrad. I affiance and, oooo I know that something good is going to happen.
Alderbest, this is MY life. How deyntevous .
Amor vincit omnia
I feel so welcome when I enter this home.
It is not hard to feel happy there, as the water laps right outside the front windows.
The ocean and I have a stange affinity. It knows me, and welcomes me too.
I can stand in the entry hall and watch the tides winking at me. I love it.
There are many homes on my call-list with magnificent views: after all we live in a resort town; an extremely desirable retirement destination. This home is different.
It is the home of a 90 year old character actress. Life is her stage.
"I had thought they took you away from me. Every day I keep hoping it's you and it never is."
It is, once a week, but last week I was switched around from her.
"People come in here and they don't see anything but the water. You are a kindred spirit. You see me."
How could you not see her? She is a highlight not a lowlight.
Today we discuessed John Saul Rolston. Another brilliant mind.
"You are my gift from God. That's what I tell him."
"Oh come on. God of course! You don't have to wait until it's time to come here you know. You can pop over any time at all."
--if only life were so simple.
I was working in a pair with a much younger person today who is so by the book she almost breathes regulations. I keep checking her lips to see if a font or two slip out. The amusing thing for me is that I am sure she views me as slightly deranged and more than a little confused. Alas she also attributes low common sense and intellect to me. Somewhat endearing, actually. I get a little lift in spirit from all her *reminders* and *advice*. She is not a bad person nor a bad worker but she has not yet discovered the possibility that she may not know everything. It is touching to see such confidence in the face of utter blindness.
Today I saw my old neighbour for the last time before Christmas.
She is such a "swell." (As in "Thou Swell".)
Her clothes are mostly all hand tailored and today she was sorting gloves. I dressed up than is usual for work today, as I was so comfortable in this gorgeous outfit yesterday. It seemed reasonable to wear it to work. Purple velvet pants and a lovely deep muted purple top and matching long sleeved vest. So very beautiful this is. I managed to do the impossible: Impress Wyndolin.
"You look very good today." I stand a little taller with that one. (Five eight maybe)
The grande Miss of the half-moon is not doing very well today.
She informed me she had slept at her hairdressers.
I worked with her "hairdresser" today so I know that she was confused in the morning too. I think she had a UTI happening. Lord I hope so. Why is it so hard to get higher level administration to see problems as solvable with a little input from the front line. This little lady has medication problems. She is overmedicated, inappropriatly medicated and NOONE seems to think it can be modulated in the Home environment, but still the adjustments are done, the drugs started and stopped, and her confusion rages.
Why do they not consider putting her in facility for a RESPITE visit to get her pain under control? Why do they not see that only under a carefully monitored 24/7 environment the whole picture will emerge? Then, and only then, should she be returned to her home. Think home, stay home. Isn't that the new motto?
She is thinking home.
I don't think that's what anyone else but me is thinking.
It is very frustrating. And now you know why I have a pressing need to blog.
Things I cannot change. What WILL wind up happening, and you can bet the farm on this one, is that she will be declared incompetant and she will end up living in a lousy facility. THEN she will get the pain managed. THEN she will be competant. THEN she will be stuck. Her beautiful home will be sold, (for the big huge bux) or passed on and she will either live on in subdued horror, or she will die from humiliation.
This is just the reality of the situation.
I can only report. I cannot change it.
I am the hands. The brain doesn't listen to the hands.
More's the pity.
Oh it is a beautiful chilly night.
The moon is waning but still looks pretty darned round. Like me!
I wanted to stay at my parents and watch some good movies but I realised I was very tired as I could not remember where I left a few things. A few IMPORTANT things that are not wise to misplace. I expended alot of energies yesterday making a party beautiful and taking the time to acknowledge as many people as I could. It is never the work that tires me. It is the personal interactions. I was in that toxic building from 10 til 4 on my day off.
Isn't it ironic that the health authorities in this Province can be housed in such toxic workspaces? The building is a sick building. The windows do not open. One room will be freezing cold and another sweatbox hot and around and around goes the air, the same air, the toxic air. The Administrative Staff and nurses are always sick. Always sneezing. Always something.
It was a lovely party and the room looked MARVELLOUS if I do say so myself.
Guess who decorated it?
So: I drive slowly home on the icey roads, and come into the house where even the floors upstairs are freezing. I look around for my Schedule as I cannot remember who my first client tomorrow is. I look at my Schedule and laugh.
I am so completely silly.
I do not work tomorrow!
God bless the CBC rebroadcast a segment on Noah Kasper this morning.
Noah has a website which you should visit immediatly.
The Central bar and grill is holding Noah's CD release party this sunday.
If you are in the Capital region you should go by there.
For information or CD orders outside the Victoria ,BC Area please contact Bobbie Blue@ email@example.com
#305 1650A Comox Avenue, Comox, BC V9M 3N2
Please mail a cheque or money order ($20) and she'll send you the CD ("If the liver fits, wear it")
Noah is still a visible presence to many people.
He used the medium to present his reality in an incredible way.
The very fine Central bar and Grill is here.
I am going to lift their words from their website because you might be too lazy to click here.
"Noah Kasper (multiple transplant recipient) was a young Victoria musician,
who dreamed of releasing a CD of his original tunes. He was a good guitar player,
saxophone player and vocalist but he was an exceptional songwriter.
After Noah became ill at the age of twenty he still dreamed of making a CD of his original work. In spite of his long hospitial stays and his many surgeries he continued working on his CD project. He died in March 2004 after almost five years of illness and suffering, just before his 25th birthday. But throughout his illness Noah continued to work with Lonny Koch of Trinity Sound in Victoria. Noah was able to record some of his material and communicate to Lonny his vision for the CD.
Noah was very concerned that his music be heard.
He felt that he had important things to say.
Since Noah spent so much of his life in great pain and suffering,
this CD does not have a happy focus but he has shared with us the lessons that he has learned.
About his CD project Noah said,
" The CD is an eclectic mix of rock, blues, funk and pop.
Kind of one part Big Sugar and one part Wide Mouth Mason with a couple of dashes each of Matthew Good and Dave Mathews. The music is emotional and raw yet has a bit of pop refinement. It is created out of light and shade, being both heavy and soft, giving a dynamic, lively groove. The songs on the album represent material from both post and pre transplant times. The songs generally have a sense of hopefulness through the angst. Dreams of better days to come, love and acceptance of the moment. Also, they reflect the beauty seen in the bleakest of moments."
"The beauty seen in the bleakest of moments."
If I had to sum up the reason I blog, the reason I love my job, the reason I think so many stories are so important to share that would do nicely.
Noah Kasper was a person who other said of him that their eyes were telling them one thing and their minds another. He was present. He left you with no sense that he was not coming back. He was alive aboslutely alive until he died.
Go to that party if you can.
Celebrate a life that is still making a difference.
Tonight I was sitting in my Dad's recliner watching his bigass LCD flatscreen television when my sister arrived. I did not get up, lazy person that I am but the doggie did.
He met and greeted her with so much enthusiasm she felt she should take him outside.
Five or so minutes later she came back in with a look of awe.
While waiting for the dog to finish his business she heard what she thought was a very low-flying plane. She looked up to see a large slow streak crossing the sky.
"I was going to call you but it was gone too quickly. "
"What was? I asked from the chair.
"A meteor I think."
I told her to email me when she found out what it really was and lo: here it is.
Wish I had seen it.
Full moon and clear crisp sky tonight. The stars are beautiful.
Just when you think you have heard it all, along comes a new contender for moron of the year.
Elementary school is tough.
Middle School is tougher.
High School is the grand-daddy on the mean streets.
A nice small class in our Christian School had a secret Santa program.
The class drew names and bought each other gifts from their *Secret Santa* with a limit of $15.
Most of the children got very nice gifts and most gave the same.
Thoughtful and interesting gifts.
One girl in the class babysat for the money to buy her classmate something nice.
She wrapped it up with care and was delighted when it was received joyfully.
She opened her gift and was happy to see something nice too.
Someone in the class alerted everyone to watch as one boy opened his gift.
She watched too to see what the big deal was.
The boy unwrapped a framed picture of HER with duct tape stuck on her mouth.
The parents of this gift-giver said they thought it was just a light joke. A little fun.
The poor kid that got it was mortified.
The Principal asked the girl if she was all right with it and she said no.
The girl asked him not to say anything.
The Parents of the gift-giver apologised to the girl and had their child do the same but ONLY after they were advised how inappropriate that gift was.
What are these people on anyway?
I am not a big fan of gift exchanges.
I do not celebrate Christmas in the same manner as most.
This story touched my heart. Can people BE any stupider at Christmastime?
Oh dear oh dear.
This morning I awakened at 07:30.
I start WORK at 07:30 (normally on this day)
You never saw anyone get washed dressed and out the door so quickly!
I arrived at my first client's a mere 12 minutes late. I made the time up at the next place as I did not require my traveltime. HURRAH HURRAH!
It was the chocolate cake that did it to me.
I got a present of chocolates, really really good chocolates from a family member, *and* had my dinner made for me. Just what I wanted. The dessert was chocolate cake with chocolate icing.
It was decadently delicious and I was completely stuffed when at last I went to bed. Stuffed by sadly, not at all tired. Do you know how much caffiene there was in that cake? Off the charts!
What a wonderful thing it is to have dinner made and a fine so fine box of chocolates all to yourself. Be sure to take the morning off afterwards though.
Bless me Father for I have sinned.
I have committed the sin of gluttony.
Reveling in chocolatieness is one thing, laying abed awake listening to my stomach groan and grumble, in hours I should be long since slumbering in, another. My stomach is telling me something. Perhaps it is asking me to take another 2 Tums for the Tummy.
Perhaps it is reminding me that Size 14 fits me just barely at the moment, and if I am planning to wear a size 16 or 18 I should have another helping of dessert.
Perhaps it is wondering if I would like a new maternal pouch.
Perhaps my stomach has a hidden message if I record the ominous sounds it is emitting and play them backwards.
I think I know what those words would be.
Something along the lines of:
"oink oink little piggie!"
(pass the truffles, no wait, I will go sniff them out for myself)
After a week of bleak grey, the sun was more than usually welcome.
I was pleasantly oriented, or is it orientated? I never quite know the correct useage of those two words. Feeling most wonderful due in part to chocolate for breakfast, I began my day.
My first client had just fallen perhaps an hour before I arrived.
She was very sore but ambulatory and off to get X-rays today. I hope she did not break anything. I find her so lively and inspirational. Alot of people describe her as severely demented but I am not convinced it is so. She is making sense of the irrational in the best way she knows how.
My second client was pissed at me. I was not sure why until she mentioned she was calling in the clockmaker *again*. "Remember you wound my clock for me? Well I told you it had to be done a certain way and
All right I am not the rhinocerous-skinned I once was but in this case I tuned her completely out. Don't be asking me to wind your clocks lady. And by the way, I have 120 clocks and more than a few are antique. And yeah, I am a horologist and a ... wait a minute! I don't care to justify myself to you. I said nothing at all. Pay the Clockmaker honey. She thinks I am a moron so I can be her moron.
My third client really is demented but in a lovely elegant way. I enjoy her company and she enjoys mine and we discuss fashion, customer service and religion. None of that pesky healthcare stuff ;)
My next client has severe jaw pain this week. She in sure it is a heart symptom and therefor refuses to see her Doctor as she thinks they will shove her into hospital again. It scares her though. She has a very bad back with collapsed disks and a serious heart condition. She is so vibrant and engaged in life even though she cannot walk to her washroom without getting out of breath. I think she should be on oxygen but then I am not her Doctor. I told her about the new drug my parent is on. It has made a huge difference in his life. Or rather, it has enabled a difference in his life to occur.
This drug has been available in Canada for about 14 weeks now.
It is prescribed for moderate to severe pain. Tramacet is similar to another opioid: morphine.
My parent already takes Gabapentin for long-term pain management. That was a difficult adjustment for him physically and once in his system for a few weeks, it was clear that Gabapentin + Tylenol 3 was not effective nor efficient pain management for him.
The first three weeks were awful as his body adjusted to the medication.
Thanks to an involved pharmacist and me being proactive, his dosage was more than halved and he went from being zombieman laying on the couch 24/7 to walking about with his cane only. Happily. Joyfully. He is slowly resuming his life. It is very good.
I understand that the pain is still present under that substantial layer of medical buffering.
It is still a good feeling to see a man who was bowed regain his footing.
Hurrah for Tramacet.
Finishing my day with a pedicure and a facial at my favourite Day Spa, I returned to my parents home for a delicious dinner culminating in, yes CHOCOLATE!!
What if I was not so involved? Would he be lying in an extended care hospital now stoned to death? Perhaps. What if the Pharmacist was not every bit as involved as I am and equally curious on the effects of a drug new to market now 3 months only? What if the Doctor did his usual "Oh well: he is after all 81 years old with many serious medical conditions" ?
People have to be their own best Doctor or have someone willing to educate themselves on their conditions if they want a good quality of life in their senior years. It is only one in ten million that gets the olde age + the incredible vigour. The rest of us have to learn it as we go.
Other folk celebrate Christmas and Hannukah in December. George's family on Seinfeld celebrated Festivus. I celebrate my b-y. It is either pre-b-y week, b-y week, or Christmas. All in all a good month, December is.
*THIS* is b-y week.
Alas, due to being a lazy fartette and not working ANY extra shifts at all, the celebrations are mild to moderate this year. More mild than moderate. It is all a state of mind and mine is excited. What's so great about aging? I LIKE IT!
Being olde is cool.
It is great to get up and look in the mirror at my olde friend there.
I want a gooey cake with tasty icing and roses.
I want to hear the happy happy song ad nauseum.
And it is mere days away.
Can you imagine how my clients feel?
They get the pleasure of my gleeful joy each and every day.
==== It is good to be me ====
Long ago times, living at home in the basement, listening to J.B. Shayne, Captain Midnite on CKLG FM radio, on my very own transitor radio. I loved my latenight FM radio, and thanks to the impeccable taste of JB and his ilk, ( Daryl B, John Tanner, Tim Burge, Bill Reiter ) I too developed great taste in music. Thanks guys.
It was Jessie Colin Young singing: " Darkness Darkness, be my pillow,
Take my head and let me sleep
In the coolness of your shadow, In the silence of your deep
Darkness, darkness, hide my yearning,
For the things I cannot see
Keep my mind from constant turning,
To the things I cannot be..."
I can hear that song still: "things I cannot see...."
I was hearing it in my mind as I tended to a Scotsman of stout heart who is fighting for his life when really, there is nothing ahead for him but pain.
"I cannot see anymore, but I know how you look."
He never met me prior to blindness.
"Tell me, what do you see ?"
"I dont quite understand Sir, what do you want me to describe?"
"This is no time for games. What do you see? What DO YOU SEE?"
I know what he means. The answer is in the song.
"Things that cannot be."
He took it like a man,
That is exactly what he meant.
Darkness, darkness, long and lonesome,
Is the day that brings me here
I have felt the edge of sadness, I have known the depths of fear
Darkness, darkness, be my blanket,
Cover me with the endless night
Take away this pain of knowing,
Fill this emptiness with light now
Emptiness with light now
(Jessie Colin Young)
Today I was not in my usual realm of clients but in a neighbouring area.
I had my regular early morning woman, and my second challenging client who was NOT expecting us at that hour. And then it was off to the otherworlds.
What an interesting people we are.
It is so fascinating to see people distilled down to a purer form of who they were.
Yes, I am talking about dementias. I had two clients who were in assisted living quarters, receiving minimal service, who had severe memory loss. SEVERE. a-n-d- they are doing very well thank you, thriving in the warm and caring atmosphere provided by their *House mother* so's to speak. Some of those women are a joy and a gift. Not all mind you, not all.
The trouble with what we do is that unless you know the client well, a 15 minute visit tends to be just a check-in: no frills nor extras. I was puzzled why we were in one of the homes until I found a small note from a daughter. Bless her heart.
On weekends in these sorts of places, there is no service provided by the House Mom as her job is Monday to Friday. That's when they reach out to the Community.
Of course we no longer do meal prep but naturally that is what was required.
I had a most interesting conversation with another man of my new acquaintence who took fully 45 minutes to decide if he was going to let me prepare his food. The conversation went something like this:
"I threw my food out the second she left. She did not wash her hands. And the other one last night she would not even shake my hand because she has warts. She said she was putting her gloves on when she made my bed but I took the sheets off and washed them. And the other guy: I don't know where the hell they got him but he stood there like a potato."
I just don't know what to say.
Some things leave you speechless.
Of course I saw something myself this week that was amazing.
Our of the most HIGHLY educated Nurse Practitioners crossed paths with me and was changing a dressing. She did NOT wash her hands. She did glove up but still: yuk.
Never too smart to be stupid, I suppose.
And there were days off.
And it was good.
And the evening and the morning were the first day.
I parted with one of my Holy Water fonts this week.
I gave it to my highly religious client. She was so pleased.
The rosewood rosary I picked up 12 years ago at a thrift store (yes) was something I had told her about for years. She is very Catholic and not a little forgetful so the story is always *fresh*.
It was gratifying to see someone look at the outsize rosary (it's about 8 feet long) and be able to visualise it as something from her past. She has seen similar things.
I really have to get the digicam working with this comp so I can show you.
Spirituality and religion are hot topics. It is verboten on the job.
I lead the client in whatever topic he or she is comfortable with.
I do not evangelise or recruit.
We could do with alot more of that on the job ANY job especially my type of job.
Those who listen.
I am not cured.
There was a Toblerone wrapper in my bed.
I love Chocolate.
Even in my sleeps
I love Fridays.
Tomorrow we have the HOLIDAY WEEKEND!
I shall drink red wine, mulled preferably, chat with a dear friend and avoid retail shopping at all costs.
With any luck at all I can spend the entire weekend at home.
Wednesday just don't go
Thursday goes too slow
I've got Friday on my mind (Bowie((pin-ups))
A few actors used to sit around debating which genre was most challenging.
They agreed that life is easy; comedy is hard.
Therein lie our basic differences.
I believed life was hard and comedy easy.
Now I think life IS comedy.
Take it easy.
Noone here in my personal sphere reads my BLOG so I can tell you, oh faithful reader what I really really want for Christmas. I do not really find gift-giving in keeping with my personal religious beliefs. I like the Stocking hung by the doorknob with care though. Fill my stocking and I am happy.
The new P4 computer with DVD/r or even /rw won't fit so you get off the hook on that one.
(but I really really want one)
The Vanilla from the Body Shop will fit in my stocking. Any size at all.
That is what I want. And some really really good chocolate.
It would be wonderful to wake up to a clean house that had the gorgeous aroma of French Toast cooking on the grill and sausages. And coffee... really good coffee. It would be wonderful to look outside and see my car handwashed and detailed. Wrong season, right sentiment. I would be so pleased if noone called me for a week and I could sit home in silent luxury merely eating and bathing long hot baths in lavender scented waters.
It would be the very best if somehow, I knew that everyone I care for was painfree for even just one day and surrounded by peace. Actually, I believe the term for that is *death* but prior to that eventuality it would please me greatly and fulfill my Christmas desires if my clientelle were all to have one day where they felt good in their bodies and happy in their minds.
when you wish upon a star....
makes no difference where you are:
anything you heart desires will come to you
If you turned 90 this year, your private schooling in the Montreal of the 1920's would be very English class-system driven indeed. I was seeing Birthday Girl #2 today listening to her reminiscing on those long-ago days.
" I was not going to make it."
"I just didn't fit in. It was a good school and my parents were paying alot of money to send me there. The local High School where I should have gone was scandalised by a *BOY* getting a *GIRL* pregnant and in those days that was a terrific mess. My father would not allow me to attend that school due to it's moral laxitude.
"My new school was populated by the Sons and Daughters of Canada's elite. At Christmas time my Mother sent me with a gift to my teacher of Irish Linen Hankerchiefs that were hand embroidered by the very best Needleworkers. The teacher opened it and said distainfully: "OH more hankerchiefs" and put them to one side. She did not notice nor care to about the quiality. Hankerchiefs just were not anything interesting. Of course she got a gold pocketwatch from the Jewish girls there so why would she get excited about my gift? No, I just didn't fit in.
"Luckily my Mother caught on before I completely vanished from the world and I was sent to The Misses Palmer's School for Girls. It was in an olde Victorian home and two sets of sisters ran it. Miss Jenny and Miss Laura Palmer were among the first women to graduate from McGill University. They had opened this School for girls who were, you know, not doing well in the regular system."
"Hmm, was it a Finishing School?" I asked.
"No dear," she said, "It was for girls who were slightly backward."
"No way!" I couldn't believe it. This woman is very well-read and clever.
"Well dear, I just was not thriving. My mother had to do something!"
She told me it was the "Westmont School for Girls."
She spent 45 minutes telling me how wonderful these women were.
So wonderful that73 years later she can describe them perfectly.
Bless those two long-gone dear souls who took a girl and made her into a woman who married well and lived a long happy life.
Well done the Misses Parker.
I am certain there are a hundred similar stories from their HomeSchool that I will never hear.
I don't need to. I see them in Violet.
Granted I worked both days but still: I am really REALLY tired.
MC is not a job that is physically demanding, but in the group I am involved with, there is alot of stress backstage due to perfecfionism scaring off people, and making it so those who do help are running on empty.
....>>>>>>>> stress stress stress. <<<<<....
It is bad enough when the show, "The Show", is during the daytime in the afternoon, but at night(!!!) when I am at my very worst physically and mentally.... *ugh*
Everyone said I did a great job so I suppose it must have been all right.
I an tuckered though.
Another day of sorrows at work.
I get very sad when my clients have changes that are unnecessary.
Very very sad.
Miss "I would rather be home dear" who changed to "I want to go home dear" yesterday was Miss "TAKE ME HOME NOW~!"
She was up and dressed and ready for her taxi at 07:15 when I arrived.
She had already called a family member to ask fir a ride home HOURS before that.
Her nighttime meds were not taken.
so sad what pain can do. :(
It is always nice to remember someone's birthday too!
Today was two of my client's birthdays. I was only to see one of them.
I was the first person to convey birthday greetings and she was very happy to receive them too with one little proviso: She wanted to know exactly why I was wishing her Happy Birthday on the 27th of November. Nothing I could say could convince her otherwise. Her family called to wish her the same while I was there and she asked them the same thing.
"First you change all the clocks around here and now it's the calendar."
She really has temporal confusion.
I wish her health and happiness and serenity in the face of irrationality.
Naturally, this makes me an excellent cook, as my stomach can silently attest. It is round and full and beautiful.
My general routine is to finish my short shift, zip through the Thrifte and then come home and cook/eat dinner. My energies start to wane around 16:00 hours. A good little tasty and delicious dinner warms my body and soothes my soul, improves my mood with well-made food.
Oh, how I enjoy my dinner.
Cooking on all four burners, while roasting something or other, it was apparant that some calamity had befell my stove. T'was the breaker and in a trice I was once again cooking. The digital display was mocking me with flashing 8888888's. I set it. I remember the time.
T'was 3:21. How can I be so certain? Let us just say it was portentious.
Finishing my meal with a smile and a satisfied sigh, I decided to read.
Two books and a bath later I noticed it was 23:00 hours. This is most unusual for me to be up on a work night, so I went to bed, still feeling incredibly good.
The realm of sleep being what it is, I was out and about in the Universe, care-free and visiting elsewhere and whens. An annoying sound seemed to be accompanying me. It was alien to the dreamscape. It troubled me so greatly I woke up. It sounded like a very muted smoke detector. Same obnoxious decibel range. Was I on fire? Was someone else in my complex? I went downstairs and awakened fully when I realised that it was coming from the area of my stove. Looking at the stove clock I noticed it was ( --da da dum-- ) 3:21 in the a.m. hours.
Apparantly in my cooking delirium, I had set the alarm and/or timer for this time. BAH.
Could I return to sleep?
Of course not.
By this time it was closer to 4 a.m.. I naturally awaken at 05:00 and I was not sleepy enough to effortlessly fall back into a sleep. The obvious solution was to go out for breakfast. Tasty bacon and eggs, toast and coffee. Yes yes, it was a fine start to the day.
Around 14:00 hours when I was pulling into my parking space, it was somewhat obvious I need my eight hours so greatly, that even getting out of my car was wearisome. Naturally I had dinner. It was delicious simmered steak and gravy with winter squash baked with brown sugar, baked potatoes, and leek and onion sautee. Yummy.
My friends came to visit around 16:00 hours and found the front door standing open, dishes all over the kitchen, my work papers scattered about the floor and me, comatose and fully clothed in my bed.
They had thought perhaps I had been burgled until the one who knows me best thought to rouse me sufficiently to answer questions, in my sleep of course. They left me a note and locked my door as they left.
Dreaming of all sorts of interesting and exciting things, I was lost in layers of nonsense when again, a strange sound awakened me. It was my radio, which had been blaring the CBC for hours. The subject matter of the programme explained immediatly why I had been dreaming I was a geisha.
What time was it? What was this note pinned to my shirt? Why did I had gravy all over my beloved books?
It was 21:00 hrs, the note was from friends and the gravy was from myself. The slumbering gourmet. I cleaned my bed up, went downstairs and ate some crackers and cheese, picked up the papers, fretted over sleeping the entire afternoon away, and then promptly reascended the stairs to my room and laid back down, still fully clothed and instantly fell back into sleep, radio still blaring.
It was 5a.m. and I awakened feeling marvellous.
Apparantly some of us absolutely MUST have our 8 -10 hour sleeps.
What day is it?
Is it still Monday?
Sitting at the beach, sipping my coffee, all around me other sunrise watchers in their cars. This is unusual for a winter sunday morning at 06:45. Perhaps it was an influx of visitors come for the huge Crafte Faires that are all over the place this weekend. They surely were not dog-walkers, nor joggers, nor other Community Nursing staff.
Delightfully, a visit to ole feisty was in order. She did not remember until almost the very end of our time together. She really is the limit.
I remember vividly the morning she called me AT HOME at 05:00---
how did she get my #? Never say clients are not resourceful. She read my schedule where my name, address and telephone # are printed across the top.
What did she want at that ungodly hour?
Here I am. , client pimp (pharmaceutical division). Apparantly noone in the whole big wide world could get her meds but me. Like many with bi-polar depression, she was very skilled at getting what she wanted. Unlike many, once successful she did not know where to draw the line.
She just kept on going. I stopped visitations because she refused to quit smoking in my presence. Today I went because I heard she no longer smokes. She was her usual scrappy self. She tried to insult me a few dozen times but of course I actually enjoy that verbal sparring as I was weaned by the Bodaciea of vocal blood sports. Comparatively speaking, she is a lite-weight.
"Are you actually trained in Morning Care protocal?" she asked distainfully. (ooo there is a protocal?)
I smirked. Couldn't help it.
"It aint Rocket Science" I said, "but yeah. And hey: it says you direct your own care. So boss: what direction?"
"OH that stupid piece of paper. Is that what you are on about? I read them the riot act at your Office. I called them up and I blasted them. I gave them complete holy hell... well moderatly speaking that is."
I am sure she did.
She's bored and brilliant and has burned waaaaaay too many bridges.
But God bless her. I love her.
(long as I don't have to go there daily)
HAIKU!! bless you....
Beautiful winter day here in Paradise.I have paid tribute to it by taking myself out for breakfast with the codgers.Even when my parent does not accompany me, I am an honourary olde fart.
Tasty and delicious french toast and bacon. Yummy yum.
Naturally, my route took me past YE THRIFTE and, equally naturally, I went inside where a waterfall dresser at $39.99 awaited me. It is being delivered on Wednesday. (for ten bux more)
A resolution of moderation is milling about in my mind.--mill, mill, mill.
I have one more large bookshelf to build in. I have two *lazy susans* to install in my useless corner kitchen cupboards. And the big one: I have a closet to build in the second bedroom. Perhaps selling some of these lovely things will fund it. I dont think so. But perhaps.
Tonight is the Silent Auction for the local School I endorse.I am kitchen crew.woohooAnd I wont WILL NOT be spending any money.It all went on the dresser anyway.
"Oh dear, it is not real Silver. But you might be able to shine it up a little."
The Hallmark is 1840.
Its Beautiful. It took less than 5 minutes to restore it to lustre befitting it.
THE EMPRESS is in the building.
Being the Empress of Shiny thing Collectors.... bred to the bone, trained as a jeweller and appraiser from the dandled knee of my gloriously festooned Mother, I bestow my largesse upon my Empire of glitz. Also emperically, I seek new territories of sparkle, to populate with my grande self. OOooooh! Shiny shiny things!!
I was having my hair *styled* today when I saw from the window an overly large amount of customers entering the Salvation Army Thrift Store. I had promised myself to relinquish the Empress title and downgrade to Queen, my abdication meaning fewer trips to the shoppes weekly, but naturally in the face of temptation I caved. Once I completed the trek there, it was only natural and indeed correct that I complete the circuit. I came home with many many more shiny things.
Perhaps I was Catholic in a prior incarnation. It certainly seems that relics attract me. Today an ebony and silver rosary called to me. Beside it were armbands with a tag that said "antique copper armbands". They are 9kt gold. Go me! There was a little ziplok baggie of *scrap silver* that had beautiful earrings in it. About 8 beautiful earrings. And two thick chains.
As I stood in line to purchase my shiny things, a little woman came up to me and touched the rosary. "You use that to pray dear," she said solemnly, and thank she kissed the rosary. Did I mention I was wearing it? She smiled up at me and said: "But you have to believe."
It is offensive to me that religious items are in the Thrift. Spiritually I take offense. Is there noone in the clearing out process of things that would treasure a rosary? I got two more holy water fonts as well - Forty-nine cents each. It is not the item that is holy, it is the energy with which it has been embued. It is the property of a Soul connected to the Great Soul.
Books: I bought "Emotional Alchemy" by Tara Bennett-Goleman
"The Key to the Kingdom" which is an enchanted deck. They are beautifully painted.
Playing cards with poems and rhymes. Four dollars and ninety-nine cents.
My mother used to get crazy when even as a small child I was fascinated by symbols.
I wanted my own crucifix but all I got was lectures on leaving Christ on the Cross.
Apparantly as a Baptist or Brethren, you can have a simple Cross, but the moment you have a figure on it, there lies an IDOL.
My grandmother was never comfortable with playing cards, nor is my father's sister, still Brethren, in her late 80s. I do not believe she has crosses around either.
My book accompanying the Enchanted Deck has an introduction which begins:
' "The Playe of Cards is an invention of the Devil, which he found out, that he might the easier bring in ydolatrie amongst men," wrote an early commentator. ' The first decks appeared in Italy in the 13th century. Like so many inventions of that time, they were said to have arrived from the East, and were associated with magic and divination.
all righty; on go the armbands and out comes the Silver cloth to polish the sterling bookmark. Did I mention that? Seventy-nine cents.
I realise I should really go back to the Antique and Funque Junque business but alas: I spent all my ill-gotten AND all my hard-work-years-on-end gains and would require a partner. The last time I took a partner on it cost me two hundred thousand dollars and my business. I did get a child out of the bargain so it was cheap; indeed my greatest deal.
When I die I hope someone has the brains to research every single thing I have extended my domaine to encompass. I have an exceptionally good eye, much to the annoyance of the local dealers who stride the aisles in the Thrifte beside me.
I don't know why I do it. A compulsion? A calling? A talent?
I will honour this rosary. And the rest of my holdings will also prosper.
The men resent a woman getting any honour in what they consider is essentially their field. Men painters mostly despise women painters. So I have decided to stop squirming, to throw any honour in with Canada and women. Emily Carr (another great Sagittarian)
---and we complain about deer!
THIS is why we live here.
It is the best place in the world.
This is a cool winter sunset.
The birds in the water are freeloading seagulls. They are waiting for me to produce breadcrumbs or better!
I love my paradise.
Hope you get a feel of it from this.
A healthy happy Thanksgiving to all beneath the 49th parallel.
In my moaning about cars and repair bills, in my fearfulness of what MIGHT have been had I been on the Highway when my car broke, front end first, I had an excellent opportunity for a reality check.
This black car you see to the right up there belongs to the aforementioned Wid's brother and sister-in-law. It seems their two daughters, who drive small cars, were on their way out but neither had alot of gasoline in their vehicles. The obvious solution: take Mom's car.
On their way along the highway, a Honda Civic hydroplaned and ploughed into them head-on. What you see is the remains of Mom's Volvo. God bless Volvo. One daughter broke her leg, the other was battered and bruised.
The young woman driving the Honda did not survive.
Thus spake Wids.
No matter what your claim to fame, no matter who your teachers, regardless of your degrees and certifications, awards and citations, it matters NOT AT ALL.
1"Brothers and fathers, listen now to my defense." 2When they heard him speak to them in Aramaic, they became very quiet.
Then Paul said: 3"I am a Jew, born in Tarsus of Cilicia, but brought up in this city. Under Gamaliel I was thoroughly trained in the law of our fathers and was just as zealous for God as any of you are today.
Wids asked me if I had ever heard of Larry Nelson. I had not.
He is a professional golfer.
He was won many touraments including the Masters.
He taught Wids how to play golf.
Wids says despite his excellent golf teacher, he is lousy.
Who teaches us is not as important as what we do with the gift we are given.