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.
its like taco-time but oh so much cooler!
Anytime is templar time! I often tease my sister about those who are *sinclair-ier than thou*, especially since the Da Vinci code became a best seller. We all want to be Sinclairs now.
I have clients who are very much into the Clans and friends who are newly so.
Personally, I never understood it but then I came from the background of a Canadian born mother of British maternal descent and Scottish paternal... who thought of herself as exclusively Scottish and 100% Sinclair. It meant nothing to me -until-
*Wham* templar time.
it is strangely fascinating to read all these theories about who is guarding what and why.
Do you really think Jesus was the historical figure crucified or did he live his days out in Scotland with Mary Magdalene? I mean really! Does the world turn on these notions?
Apparantly for some, it does.
I just browsed a dot org site devoted to looking out for freemasonry. Looking out as in guarding against. What alot of energy invested there. And images. Lots and lots of images.
It seems to draw links to everyone and everything whilst casting suspicion on all.
It's more fun to read Ecco and try to pretend you understand it.
There is swarmy stealth and there is discretion stealth.
I am not swarmy.
I have two clients who like to drink a little too much a little too often.
It should not be any of my business, but alas, people talk.
In my heart I believe that if these were male clients, noone would say anything.
As they are female it gets bandied about, and discussed to death.
Sometimes, a trip to the liquor store and a shot of vodka sitting on the counter get documented by people who really should mind their own business.
Someone made the mistake this last week of asking me about a client's drinking habits.
I do not know any of my clients well enough to comment.
They tell me their secrets and hopes and dreams, but still, I only see them a tiny sliver of time and in a very intimate way. People all cope with forced intimacy differently. I begrudge noone their dignity.
Somehow, I do not believe I will be asked that particular question in that turn of phrase ever again by that person.
Bedridden client. Deemed *imminently palliative* almost 4 years ago now.
Maximum service in place.
Client very manipulative and attention seeking.
Hours in place for personal care, bathing and serving pre-made meals.
Client high-jacked the system early on, and has the workers doing elaborate and ritualistic food prep. Client refuses care unless *ready*. Client has been successful in maintaining service at an outrageous rate for an extended period of time. Client is an inappropriate placement and does not meet the criteria for our service in home.
Upon my arrival, client refused to open eyes. Client had vomit on her shirt. Client had slurred speech. Client refused to assist workers. Ambulance called. Client taken to emergency against client's wishes as paramedics also thought client was unwell.
Client assessed with a urinary tract infection but otherwise fine. Client brought home same day. Client miraculously now speaking clearly, no longer vomiting food, and helping workers perfectly.
It was a game.
I hate games like that.
Some things we can change. Some things we have to live with.
Some things we refuse.
The height of cleverness is to be able to conceal it. (Francois Duc de La Rochefoucauld.)
I know that!
These last few days, I have been struggling to keep it concealed.
The client is a tough assignment but not always. The gf of the client is not supposed to be in the room with us while we attend to her partner. She hovers. She makes redundant suggestions. She *trains* us in critical tone. She knows everything of course.
And who is she anyway?
She is an angry bitter woman who hooked up with her dead friends' husband.
Too bad that just a year or so into this new playtime, he had a devastating illness.
He has the cash, so she does the care. She would not phrase it that way. It is the truth though.
She puts on the Lady Bountiful face and volunteers here, there, and everywhere.
She rarely mentions her rage and frustration outside the home.
It builds up and she blows. She blows and then he blows. And we get the crossfire.
She is always angry with something or someone and has endless stories about this business or that person. The moral high ground is hers. Of course.
I would really rather not be involved in that situtation but I am there. It is a small thing to ask she not be involved with our care. Too big for her though. She is a righteous pain in the ass.
I was looking at my schedule and saw the name a few too many times. It just left me flat.
I knew I had to change my attitude so I wrote in permanent marker on my workbook:
"Never believe that a few caring people cannot change the world, for indeed, that is all who ever have." I vowed to look at it a few times a day so I would forget what a pain she is.
While at that assignment my co-worker asked me what my book said so I told him to read it.
I mentioned it was one of my favourite quotes. She picked up my book and made a show of straining her eyes at it.
"What does that third from the last word say? I cannot read it! Look at it! What letter is THAT supposed to be? When I went to school we had to learn how to write properly...."
and on she went blah blah rant blah blah
Talk about missing the point.
Obviously it was far more important to her to ridicule my writing than to ponder the meaning of a quote meant to uplift.
When I left today, she was sitting at her kitchen table telling my co-worker about a cruise she and her daughter are planning to go on. Her partner is sitting at the other end listening.
I do not believe he is invited. Oh, that's a caring companion. And so very classy.
She really believes we are much less competant than she is. In every way.
She truly thinks of herself as a nuturer.
Many eventful things have transpired this week. Many of those things are interesting.
They are still rather fresh so I must put them aside for now.
Many changes in the wind have blown much closer.
I am unsure how many weathervanes see what I see, feel what I feel.
For now, I shall hold my peace.
It is fortunate indeed, that you are not reading my obituary.
A rather flukey car problem almost killed me this week.
God was looking out for me.
I think it must be the prayers of those who love me.
Bless you all.
Oh dear, oh dear. It is getting more complicated for my lovely confused lady.
She was sleeping on the couch this morning. She had not gone to bed.
"Why would I go to bed here? None of the other girls were here!"
"Where should you be?"
"At home. Or at least at that other place that is LIKE my home."
"So are you saying this is house #3 that looks identical?"
She laughed. And then she said: "Yes. I guess I am. That is very puzzling to me."
"I just can't figure it out! How do they get my furniture around without me knowing?"
All right all right here are the real ones.
This one is for (you know who you are) and yes its my true ethical code.
Immortalised via blog.
Although this may seem a redundant post, (aren't they all?), this post has a purpose.
Long ago I decided that I was sane and it was the world that had gone mad.
I governed myself accordingly. Since the rules of society make no sense to me, I scrambled and cobbled a few of my own and engraved them on my heart.
(this predisposes you are walking with your God)
A life of routine is soothing. There is peace and tranquility in the ritual of daily tasks to be done. The mornings are for work, the afternoons for cooking and cleaning and the evenings for family and leisure. Nighttime is for sleeping. Simple.
#2. Ruthless Friendship
Screw that nicey nice stuff. Do not tolerate people in your personal space who make you feel anything but good. Interesting is not a good enough reason to make friends of strangers. You have to be ruthless these days. Acquaintences do not need rules. Just close friends. Aspire for friends that uplift you and bring out your best qualities and the rest can be downgraded to the ACQ category.
#3. Speak your mind clearly and kindly.
Don't hold back from expressing yourself. If others do not wish to listen they can choose to not interact with you. Your truth is who you are. If people do not like it, they are in the wrong sphere of influence with you.
#4. Always be a little kinder than necessary.
Sadly, there are alot of mean people out there. Alot of mean people are just plain ignorant.
You do not need to swell their ranks. If confronted with rudeness, kill it with kindness.
Rude people may be just idiots or they may be in pain. Let God sort em out.
#5. Want what you have, have what you need.
Do not fall into the disposable society trap. If you want something, buy it but pay cash.
Credit is evil. Covetness is a disease. Love yourself enough to say no.
#6. Treat your Earth with respect.
Buy environmentally safe products. Reduce waste. Do not buy single use products. Recycle.
#7. Drink lots of water.
Water is the nectar God provided for humanity.
#8. Forgive yourself and others.
Life is not all that long. do not waste your energies on grudges.
#9. Live til you die.
It is a precious thing this life. Live it.
okay... thats my truth.
Step the first: 1. Admit that you have the Power over any feeling you possess or project.
Your life IS manageable if you so desire.
Step the second: 2. Restoration to sanity is optional. Sanity is relative. A higher power could be the toilet brush, if that is what you are into.
Step the third: 3. "Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him." Okay this is the AA step 3 verbatim. I am down with it.
Step the fourth: 4. Forgive yourself and start anew.
"Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourself. " is the AA version. I support you if you want to do that but personally I believe it is just another way of focusing on the inward.
Step the fifth: 5. Admit your shit. I do not buy into telling another living person unless you are Catholic and trust your Priest. Tell God.
Step the sixth: 6. Ask God to forgive you. Asking him to remove all your defects of character kind of eliminates the free-will thing. This is not Stepford. You really are alive. You really can change if you so choose. Yes, you can. Never believe otherwise.
Step the seventh: 7. Humbly ask God to help you change. Help you strengthen your will towards what His will is. The AA version again seems to eliminate your will and puts it all on God. God can do anything at all. But God wants *you* to meet him. Reach up. He is right there.
Step the eighth: 8. Make amends to all you have wronged by living simply, acting humbly and walking with your God. I do not, absolutely do not believe it is necessary to list off every single person you have harmed. If you believe that, you need to just quit your job and stay home writing. Every action you take harms someone. What you buy. What you eat. What you drive. All those people dying of lung cancer from toxic air. Yes you harmed them in ways far more important than some squabble in the past. Live now, and live well.
Step the ninth: 9. Convince a friend to do likewise. Now two of you have a healthier perspective.
Step the tenth: 10. Continue to take personal inventory and when you are wrong promptly admit it. You should be doing this anyway. AA or no AA. It is not very hard. Not after the first time.
Step the eleventh: 11. This is the spiritual one. It is very helpful to draw a circle and divide it like a pie in equal portions. Label the pieces: Physical. Emotional. Mental. Spiritual.
Now list ten ways in each quadrant in which you ensure that aspect of you stays healthy. Like it or not we are spiritual beings.
Step the twelvth: 12. Live live live. Stop thinking about living and live. Surround yourself with people who are like minded. Onwards and upwards.
It works for me but I do not talk it through anymore.
I truly believe that the odds are, the person you most wrong is yourself.
Forgive yourself, embrace others and move on.
It really doesnt need to be hard.
of course you want to make it your lifes work.
Acknowledge you are your own Higher Power. You are not helpless. You have the freedom to make choices.
One of my favourite poems. "In Flanders Fields."
I am proud to say it was written by a Canadian.
My poppy is on. I remember. I am grateful. Thank you my Soldiers.
In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae, May 1915
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead.
Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
On 2 May, 1915, in the second week of fighting during the Second Battle of Ypres Lieutenant Alexis Helmer was killed by a German artillery shell. He was a friend of the Canadian military doctor Major John McCrae. It is believed that John began the draft for his famous poem 'In Flanders Fields' that evening.
Another new- to- me name, another client I have never met before, waiting for someone to show up so he can start his days. This day is rather important as he has an appointment at ten-thirty. Someone is coming to visit him in the home, to assist he and his family in setting up the correct amount of support they require to keep him at home. His condition has just been deemed palliative. And what time is it? Why, ten-twenty of course.
I have let myself in as noone came to the door. It is a very large house.
I look about the basement for signs of my client.
My notes say there is a wife in the home and a daughter who has come home to help her parents through this transition. Noone is downstairs. Nice house though!
I go upstairs through the rooms. The master bedroom at the end of the hall is my last hope.
AHA! I hear them. In the en suite. The wife is assisting the husband to shave.
"We gave up on you. Well not you, but anyone coming today."
I am completely in sympathy. Sucks for my clients too who will not be getting the familiar me but someone else entirely today, likely at a time inconsistent with their usual habits.
The wife is extremely capable and begins by telling me that she has to go greet her guest when they arrive and perhaps we should just forget it for today. She gives me the once-over and I pass the first impression test so she softens that to perhaps I could just shave him.
I manage to cajole her out of the room but not before she tells me that he requires peri-care and that is extremely important. (yes, Absolutely so)
She leaves the room 3 times before she is really gone. Each time she comes back in to tell me something important. They are all completely redundant remarks and I am hoping this is her need to care for her husband and not her having experience with people of dubious competancy.
She glides back in and announces that she better stay because he is very shy.
I smile sweetly and tell her in the same announcer voice:
"Oh nonsense, you need a break too. And you have a guest coming. We are fine. Aren't we Sir?"
He smiles and nods.
I had a very good time with this gentleman and we had alot in common.
He has lost his voice due to radiation. He has not lost his will to live nor his ability to communicate. We laughed over my shaving skills but I did warn him that I did not take the shaving course nor attend boy school. I am sure there is a secret technique that is taught to men.
When I left he waved out the window at me.
He is not shy. He is just discerning. There is a difference.
It does not matter in a facility or hospital who wants in your room door really. as there are all kind of back-up staff available at the touch of a button. You can suffer through much knowing that it is temporary and likely not to occur again. In the home, you really do not want to be bothered with people who you do not trust or like. Sometimes there is no good reason for you not to like or trust them, but we can't all like everyone nor be liked by everyone.
My supervisor once told me: "They all say the same thing... they LIKE you. You have a very winning personality."
I don't really. I am rather fond of myself but I do not have a cult around me.
What it is she sees is my desire for my client to be able to enjoy my visits.
And they do. Much of what I do is not really enjoyable for the client at all and still they do.
The first two minutes are what makes the difference.
I am good at that. I think most entrepeneurs in trades where they work in people's homes are the same. They have developed their skills in interpersonal communication.
I know what it is like to be sick.
I know what it is like to lose hope.
I remember the people who made a difference.
My true Nursing instructors were mostly not nurses.
I used the same skills in my business before I took this path.
It made me very successful at what I did.
This what I do now is more personally meaningful.
The experiences of my richly woven life have made me quirky.
I have trouble valueing the pursuit of money.
Trivialities amuse me but I do not wish to inanely chatter about them. (think retail sales... waiters... )
It is WHO people are and HOW they became that, which holds my interest.
What do they believe of value, what did they experience that they think imperitive to share and pass on, what lesson did they learn that they want to teach? It is their humanity.
The more people I meet, the more I realise that I genuinely love the human race.
Sometimes when I really annoy the management with my bold statements and big concepts I remind them that to love me for who I am it seems you must be aware of your imminent demise. Dying people rarely jack you over. I skipped the dying part .... at least for now but I too don't bother with the pretending game unless it is critical.
The gentleman sits on the edge of his bed.
YOUR AGE BY CHOCOLATE MATH
This is pretty neat.
DON'T CHEAT BY SCROLLING DOWN FIRST!
It takes less than a minute .
Work this out as you read ...Be sure you don't read the bottom until you've worked it out!
This is not one of those waste of time things, it's fun.
1. First of all, pick the number of times a week that you would like to have chocolate (more than once but less than 10)
2. Multiply this number by 2 (just to be bold)
3. Add 5
4. Multiply it by 50 -- I'll wait while you get the calculator
5. If you have already had your birthday this year add 1755 ....
If you haven't, add 1754.
6. Now subtract the four digit year that you were born.
You should have a three digit number
The first digit of this was your original number (i.e., how many times you want to have chocolate each week).
The next two numbers are YOUR AGE! (Oh YES, it is!!!!!)
THIS IS THE ONLY YEAR (2005) IT WILL EVER WORK,
SO SPREAD IT AROUND WHILE IT LASTS.
Today at 07:20, as I unlatched the back gate and took a slow look at the water with a sigh, remembering only 3 years ago when I lived in that very neighbourhood, I was hoping quietly that my dear client would be awake. No need to worry. The blinds on the back door were moving. She was up and peeking out at me.
Now as you know, Nurses of all levels do NOT take pets out. Nor do we cook. Nor do we clean. And we certainly do not eat breakfast with our clients. After I brought the dog back inside, I served myself tea and my client pancakes and a poached egg on toast. I was looking over the comments in her book.... the book left for staff to communicate with one another...
and it was a two cup visit.
Her little bag was packed again, and her coat draped over the living room couch.
Yesterdays girls had both notated her confusion and frustration over being in the wrong house. She tells this story when she gets a little *off* and it is really sad. I can see how annoyed she gets and how completely assinine she believes the rest of the world is when clearly she is not in the right home.
It was an issue a few months back, and we thought we had her back on track again.
Sadly no. She has just been biding her time trying to figure it out.
"You know dear, I had a little trouble last night with my nephew. He was acting like he did not know where I lived."
"All I want to do is go home. You know the other house. The one like this one. In fact it is exactly like this one. But this is not my house."
I know better than to debate it. I went with the "It must be very irritating to you when people do not listen to what you are saying" route. It enlivened her and off she went on the whole story. She is mostly very happy and can remember the long ago to perfection, and the just passed pretty well too, BUT she is profoundly deaf and guesses at things. It makes her seem a tad demented but I do not believe she is. I believe she is grossly over-medicated however I am not her Doctor so it is not my call.
This very bright independant lady has been trying to figure out why all these girls show up in the morning lunch and dinner and yes, even bedtime. She has concluded that we have constructed a house for her to jollify the change. She believes we own that house. We being the entire staff of our District Health Unit, and she is sick and tired of it. It bothers her that we could have moved her precious things, right down to her mothers books and put them exactly where there were in the *other house* and worse yet, somehow got her own family to go along with it. She wants to go home. She really really wants to go home.
She believes we are all lodged in a room upstairs. All of us.
If I was 4 foot 11 and 90 pds, I do not think I could tolerate dosages of her pain meds either.
In fact my father who is a foot taller and one hundred pounds heavier can't.
But: it is none of my business.
Doesn't healthcare stink?
Everyone just is trying to get through the day.
They trust implicitly in certain institutions.
This is not an unusual story.
It is just today's story.
I hope that a bright *manager* clues into the fact that she is NOT demented.
I hope that she can get her pain under control in a way that keeps her cognitive function high.
And in the meantime, bless her heart for solving that mystery.
It does make sense. Completely wrong, but makes sense.
We all take comfort in the rational.
I must acquaint myself better with control-s.
This post was almost completed and a stray pop-up occurred. My quick typo-ing fingers had radio boxed okay before I even knew it was there and naturally, I navigated away from the page I was posting on. Hard to restore an un-bloodybuggery-saved post. (mutter)
OK that was not the brightest idea.... control-s posts.
I knew that. *cough*
I cannot even remember what I was posting about.
It was something to do with loving my job and having a great day despite changes and new clients who were expecting *someone* hours before I showed up. Hours!
It was very nice to see people happily living til they die. Very nice.
I will try to make more sense tomorrow.
It really was a great day. Fabulous.
Oh except for the part where, like most days, I go visit my parent who all week has been laying about drowsy-druggy and cranky. Fine and good for him should he so choose, but he does have a young active dog relying on his master. Three days, three med errors. Three days, same clothes. Three days, absolutely no conversation. I hope the aliens return his brain soon.
Remembrance day tomorrow.
Lest we forget.
Thank you Veterans.
It was the Hotel, the 33rd floor and I had refused to take the stairs.
I was with this mad woman of indeterminate motivem and I was pretty sure the room was gratis. I had a drink; an alcoholic beverage(!) and sat annoyed as she danced with G.
What he was doing in this, I do not know.
On my way to the dining room/lounge, I was waltzing along a corridor and noticing that the floors seemed to be moving. I assumed it was the motion of the building on floor 33.
My car was down in the area. I was further annoyed that the car I wanted, my beautiful white MGB was parked somewhere in the area, but I could not remember where. Car NO. 2 was drab.
This whole hotel scenario went on for a tedious amount of time and naturally there was a scene where I yelled about being ignored while they danced or some other minutae.
Back to a room. I am unhappy. There is something sordid going on.
Now I wake up somewhat. At least I think I am awake.
I hear a voice in my head.
"What is the significance of the number of the floor?"
"What does the car mean?"
okay...cl? is that you in my dreams now prompting me to analyse them?
It was very odd and wakened me fully at 3:55 am.
What WAS the significance of the floor?
I had my schedule changed. (There's a surprise.)
Instead of galavanting about the entire District I was to the same house for 6 hours.
Normally I decline these sorts of things but I happened to know that there was (yet another)critical shortage of staff. Flu season you know.
I had traded my regular heavy-care day, here, there and everywhere, for one little care task, and was companioning, (bfd). The hardest part of the day was staying awake whilst my client watched that square box that broadcasts garbage 24/7.
Returning home, I was muttering about how cold I was.
Everyone who knows me is aware that when I mutter about being cold, --
it means I am about to fall aszzzzzleep.
The last person to know it is always me.
Despite being layered in fleece, and coming upstairs to my warm room,;
despite blankets and yes, towels, strangely adorning my shivering body, I bravely decided to update my blog.
Possibly 45 seconds later I was under my down, snoring.
I am living proof television is mind-numbing.
The less you do the less you want to do.
Give me the heavy care any day.
There was a wooded area around the river's edge in the middle of the District which until very recently was not developed. A handful of people had homes along the waterfront and accessed them via a poorly serviced road. Perhaps 20 years ago a development adjacent to them was put in alongside the Highway. Still, the rickety road was not upgraded and the waterfront remained mostly virginal.
3 years ago the parcel must have changed hands and suddenly the little road was paved and widened. One by one along the waterfront, big homes went in; big and bigger. Now that area is one of the very elite among this area of nothing-these-days BUT-eliteness, and every house is over $750,000 with many way over 1.5 million. There are no empty lots left on the waterfront and even in the estuary, right to the river's banks, whole streets are being put in to maximise the big bux housing area. After all, the beachfront there is *private*.
On either end of the waterfront there are 33 foot frontages for public access to the beach. Most of the (now) pricey homes have constructed breakwaters and other strange landscaping devices designed to keep the great unwashed public away from *their* beach.
Guess what I think about that!
One of my new clients is down on this street.
Hers was the very first house in that area on the waterfront. *THE* first.
She and her husband built it 39 years ago and enjoyed all the wildlife.
She told me how her husband was a boat builder but refused to so much as make her a canoe or rowboat. She borrowed one for herself, and went out to merrily row along the seascape.
She wanted to look at areas she could not get to by foot.
"I never did it twice. Do you KNOW how hard it is to row a damned boat?"
yup, I do.
And yup, I don't much go in for rowing.
We sat and watched for herons after a good big chat.
I was a little worried about her.
She has been on her own for rather too long and is just plain vunerable.
I believe she would welcome anyone at all into her house, which would be fine,
except she is no longer capable of discerning intent. After all, I walked in after knocking,
and not knowing me from a hole in the ground nor why I was there, she showed me
the whole house including awesome stashs of things I too collect.
I loved her for it, and certainly I am considerably more gifted at first visits than most,and of course there is always that "people tell YOU everything" bit, but even so, this was rather special. I enjoyed it, but took pains to gently advise her against leaving the doors open and/or giving tours of certain things/areas.
I hate it when I must do that!
Perhaps in a few years it will be me giving tours of my tiny condo here.
Perhaps my family will be frowning in as I show off my bits and baubles and give the impression that I am rolling in BIG CASH MONEY because of all the shiny things I possess.
Magpies just collect shiny things.
Paper money aint shiny.
I am destined to be *just making it* and never rich in cash.
Magpies never sell their shinies for big huge cash money no matter what! (awww)
Our little town is growning at a rate unsustainable and with every new family come possibilities good and bad. Crime is going up and we have a problem with crystal meth.
The street kids are more than just summertime slackers. They are addicts.
Like other paradises, everyone wants to live here.
Who am I to say what "undesirable" really means.
I would rather have ten homeless persons enjoying that waterfront than ten more million dollar palaces. Funny how the newly rich want to fence out everyone else.
My new client is not like that.
She does, however, need to find a middle ground.
My eldest sister tells me that when you dream repeatedly of the same things, you should be able to get past the dream by a concentrated effort of will and your efforts will change the dream's outcome until soon, you will no longer *need* to dream it.
It has been decades since the concept of lucid dreaming was introduced to me. I am very successful at it and enjoy most of my dreams. I find them interesting little clues to what my soul/spirit/psyche REALLY thinks. I find that mostly I am a rather mundane being, prone to self-inflating fantasies. Odds are that you are too! Do not worry! I won't tell anyone.
I was trying to explain to my sister that the dreams which trouble me are the ones where there is no time, no space, nothing at all but my consciousness. At some point in the dream I contemplate unceasing aloneness and in those perceptions I am overwhelmingly sad.Awake, I can just taste along the periphery of memory that huge feeling. I remember remembering that time is just an illusion and that I have always been there and will always be there and it is just me and nothing else. A poor articulation of a massive idea.
Recently, someone asked me to consider that perhaps I was dreaming of the womb.An interesting concept. I do not believe it to me so as there is no comforting sound, no feeling of connection to something else and the main theme of the dream is my complete and utter solititude.Forgive me if this is all a repeat of other postings.I find this dream interesting. As interesting this morning as it was 15 years ago.
The saving grace of that dream is that as soon as I *know* I have been here before, ever and always, I am able to shrink my being down to a particle similar to light, and I scream along a parallel line back to my living body. The path takes me through other realities, other beings, other souls, but I am unable to linger; I am just looking in windows. At lightning speed. All right. I know this dream. I dream it alot. Weekly. At least.
So: Why am I still dreaming it if I am able to change it and can alter the outcome?I do not believe it is a dream in the conventional sense of the word. It is another reality.The windows I look into are never the same, the speed at which I come back to myself is always incredible and I find the sole concept that remains constant is the remembrance of eternity.
Colour me odd.
That is this week's attempt to explain my nighttime excersions.-=-
My dog was ferreting about in my bedding. Oh look! Ritz cracker crumbs!Oh look! A spoon with sticky pears on it.Oh look! Sleep-eating remains my amnesiac hobby.
It is very cold in my little room here.Outside, there was frost today. Inside there were blankets. And more blankets.And a heating pad too!
To be blogworthy, an event has to touch me in ways I feel a need to shed or share.Sharing is a wonderful thing when lives and stories are the fabric.So many great stories and so many wonderful people at the end of their lives, willing to share. Bless them all.
I have been enriched and enhanced a thousandfold by the people I meet.
In my chosen capacity as Caregiver, my true gift is listening.
People tell me things they have held back for decades.
I listen and enjoy the true contact. So real.
In my personal life I am very careful about who I let in.
Very few people have seen the inside of my home.
Very few people have seen the inside of my heart.
That will never change. I embrace my solitude.
A most excellent friend and I were speaking today. He was very distressed that I could have dated a person who does not appreciate me in the ways he believes I deserve. He was telling me I am not caring for myself if I continue to spending time, any time, with someone who has so little regard for me. An old friend is the best mirror.
We are coming up to the Sagittarian season. All the bright and beautiful souls I know born in the centaur's time celebrate!! Another year of fabulousness.
It is the best time of year!
My goodness! I heard a 6am interview on the CBC about the need for more *Home Support* workers in the capital region. When asked what the workers do, the Government minion-ette was careful in her words. She was saying in the area she represents there is a need for 200 workers but they have only 50. What she did NOT say is that those 200 will be expected to work part-time and split-shifts and disrespected and disappointed and sent into situations where they have been set-up.
Community Care is what this Government calls *home support*.Community Care-less is what the clients call it. -------> gotta cope... go here for help if needed! <-------
One by one, the best and most motivated of us leave the Nursing profession.
Hard to do a great job when there are politics involved at every level.
*Managers* who are appointed, not elected to save money and make heartless decisions.
Every action they take screams privitization, every cut and chop and reference to *hiring privately* means another job another UNION job they are trying to dispose of.
Do you think we are all stupid?
Noone does a Nursing job for the money.
Soon, if this ridiculous notion of taking the heart out of healthcare does not cease, noone at all will do the job, period. Instead we will have untrained and unskilled workers who HATE their jobs and only need the cash, prolly minimal, performing the most intimate and personal of care criteria.
So this is for the Case Managers who think that it is acceptable to ask a tax paying senior paying maximum rate to hire privately. This is for the Supervisors who say one thing and do another. This is for all you know-it-alls: God is watching.
You will have to account to the highest of all sources.
One day, your heartlessness will come back and bite you.
LTC/HSW: "Those Housekeepers think they know everything."
CHW: "We work way harder than those Facility people and for what?"
LPN: "Those Care Aids always think they know better."
RN: "Who do those uppity LPNs think they are? They are barely trained and now they are doing NURSES work."
BSC/RN: "If you took your degree like I did you would KNOW why."
DRs: "Those poor delusional Nurses, acting like they were Doctors. Really!"
Specialists: "He doesnt have a speciality! He has no right to comment on this case!"
Managers: "Overpaid Healthcare professionals at every level are taking a free ride on the public purse! It has to stop!"
ME: " I see you. Never think otherwise. And I am not the only one. "
The inmates are running the asylum; getting tenure for it; and pensions.
Outrageous benefits and bouses are going into the hands of the few for contracting out of province and trimming wages and chopping pensions.
THIS BC for sale.
oh wait: Make that SOLD.
yeah, I see you.