Touched in the head! Adventures in Pepperland

bah

2011-01-22T22:26:00.001-08:00

I have been trying to get my pepperkinz identity back for a long time now.\
Think positive.

Birthday Weirdness

2009-12-14T17:57:00.000-08:00

Later- I cannot post about it yet.

Changes

2009-03-19T22:05:00.000-07:00

This is the end of an era.
This is my last post on this blog, until such time as I feel I have something important to say.

In every life there are seasons. My long summer is ended and I am entering the autumn of life. I have made a conscious choice to change my life in ways important to me. Part of these changes will be sharing in other ways I have not experienced in many long years.

Farewell and good luck to you all.
Life in the carelane is rarely easy. May you, like me, find something real and lasting to gentle your path.

Bless you all.

Heels

2009-02-28T17:15:00.001-08:00

Having had a lengthy recovery process from a relatively insignificant fall, I have nothing but admiration for my clients who are all decades older and less bone-dense. The former is obvious but how do I know the latter? Well-- let me elucidate.

Prevention is much more sensible than treatment and where bones are concerned, most treatments to help density take 10 years to be effective. Really! My father has osteo-arthritis and some osteoporosis. He is also elderly and reaping the negative benefits of a life of peril, turmoil, and turbulence on the high seas. Since I strongly favour my father in most things genetic, and since I have an older sister who likewise resembles him, the two of us went off to have heel scans. This is a service offered by appointment at our local Pharmasave.

I am not sure what I was expecting, other than the $50 fee. The most onerous part of a heel scan is the part where you fill out a form. The actual scan itself is almost without sensation. After the scan the technician goes through your chart which she has just printed out from the gathered statistics and then you go off to chat with a Pharmacist who has recommendations for you.

Oddly, it was during this last chat that my heel began to vibrate. I suppose my scrambled brain took just that long to recognise the sensations. My scan showed me to be 14% above the average for my age group. My sister who is nine years my elder was 40% above hers. We have good genes. Thanks Dad.

--------------- **

A cause may be inconvenient, but it's magnificent. It's like champagne or high heels, and one must be prepared to suffer for it.
Arnold Bennett

Uhm, not in Hindhi....

2009-02-26T22:44:00.001-08:00

What's in a name?

Well- when I started this blog, if I googled "Pepperkinz" the only results were me and my blogspot posts. Now- it seems pepperkinz is some sort of catch word for spam.

Go ahead - google it.
I find it very difficult to believe that there is truly another pepperkinz out there.
Really.

वहत'स इन अ नेम?

2009-02-26T22:42:00.001-08:00

oh hmm... Is it just me or did that title just become hindi?

--- must check settings....

Hard Times.

2009-02-26T20:51:00.000-08:00

This winter has been terribly difficult for alot of people on this left coast. It has been cold and dark and bleak. Winter blues are everywhere.

After my experience at a meeting where a co-worker basically blew her cool and behaved in an uncommonly hostile way, I was discussing the phenomena of anger in the workplace with some folk who work in Facilities in this area. They also had noted that the instance of employee distress was way up. One of the facilities had a fist fight between two female co-workers and another had a grievance lodged against one Nurse who had physically threatened another. Unbelievable? No, all too believable. People are hurting.

My firm and unwavering belief remains that the antidote to hostility is kindness.
Those who confuse kindness with weakness are just that - confused. More kindness and less reactionary befuddlement goes a long long way to establishing firm boundaries. The peak of my management career came when I had the realization that credentials were far less important than adaptability. Many many people who came in knowing nothing became cornerstones of the business I was in. Skills are important, but trainability trumps every time.

As the economy slows and people everywhere are being forced to downsize, anger and bitterness is exhibited everywhere. The culture of entitlement is biting itself in the behind. Yesterday, a photo montage of what life is like in the Phillipines for those who have nothing and less than nothing was shown to me. I saw what changes can be made in lives without hope for what we would consider a pittance.
Yes, we in the pampered west have had change. Yes, times are turbulent. Tell your troubles to those who have nothing. They will listen respectfully, but I doubt they will understand it.

We remain the most spoiled brats on God's green earth.

------------------ !!!

Violent peace
blah blah blah
buy it right now
blah blah blah
we are the world
we are so huge
blah blah blah
johnny can't read
blah blah blah
I' can't see
blah blah blah
tuna on white
guns all night
blah blah blah

blue jeans coolies
everything huge
petrified food
pizza killers
from napalm to nice guy
nifty fifty
hit 'em where they live

the most spoiled brats
on god's green earth

pop before the war (Iggy Pop - Blah blah blah)

My Angels

2009-02-26T11:11:00.000-08:00

The complexities of life have led to my friends being more wide and varied than most.
A goodly gaggle of artists musicians and performers exist alongside those I met through work or just along the twisted path that has been my journey. As I had a very difficult young life fraught with illness and injuries, addictions and recoveries, the one constant has been my great ability to persevere. No matter how dark, no matter how bleak, I have kept going.

When you have lived hard, it is sheer luck that determines if your number comes up. That and a guardian angel. Either you believe in angels or you do not. If you are a doubter, my words will seem babble. If you are a believer, it will affirm your faith. Nothing less than a supernatural force could possibly have kept such as me alive.

Prior to my brain injury, I did, in fact see auras and dream heavily. As a very young child I was unable to distinguish my dreams from reality. It not for this knowledge perhaps I too would attribute my dreamings to scrambled body chemistry.
Through all my turmoils and temptations, there was an awareness that what was happening to me was not me. This distinction kept me going always through, not around until I could once again discover what was me.

One of the reasons to write, blog, journal and compose, is to keep memories fresh and alive. My dearest friends know all too well that my memory is completely unreliable. I am all right for the immediate as long as I write a reminder down. I am excellent as a responder as my skills are high and automatic. But if you want an accurate account of events - hmm, no, dont ask me. It does not trouble me to admit that altho it seems correct to me, I have had demonstrated countless times that I am likely to take two, perhaps three, truths and combine them into one. Not exactly confabulation, but definitly not historical evidence. It is therefor perhaps not true that I remember seeing an angel but I cannot imagine what else could be in my memory banks that would account for the brilliant orb I saw in my bedroom as a teenager. This orb emanated peace and goodwill and absolute love. I was not afraid, I was amazed. It told me to rest and renew and be still in the knowledge that I was important.

In my hospice work, I frequently have students along for the ride. Almost every one of them has given me a small gift on their graduation and almost every gift has been an angel. My clients and their families also gift me with angel pins keychains and ephemera. My dashboard and my headliner are adorned with dozens of these things. They watch out for me and remind me that in this vast universe, a being of light had time to calm a teenage heart and mind and place a life-saving truth within my soul.

I believe.

Dodged a Bullet

2009-02-25T23:11:00.000-08:00

For some time, my old faithful car has been making an odd sound; a grinding clunking sound. As my particular model of Pontiac is notorious for going through front brakes, and as it had been almost one year since the last set went in, I was blissfully untroubled.

Around the time of the great snowfall, and after I had been stuck in two different drifts and pushed out by complete strangers, the noise level escalated. As I was driving my dad out and about he lost patience and raised his normally placid voice to bark: "For God's sake get that noise checked before you kill us all." Okay, I heard that!

Two days later as I was breakfasting in the dub, my friends of friends who had been so helpful and hireable during my September move from hell appeared. They were looking lithe and lean and oh so tanned as they had been in the Philippines for the past 3 months. I mentioned my car dilemma as the gent is a retired mechanic. I asked him to recommend a garage that wouldn't take me to the cleaners. "Pop by the house and I will have a look. Then we can go from there."

Visiting these people is fraught with peril for me as the gent has a bit of a crush on me. I found that out in a bit of an awkward way, a big bit of an awkward way when we were painting my old condo. I no longer deem it wise to be alone with him but neither do I wish to offend as he was very good to both me and my father. I am well aware that we all can only be who we are. That is who he is. The middle way around this, I decided, would be to take Dad along. So - off we went.

Brakes and pads and rotors for old faithful vary in price HUGELY. Stock parts and after-market ones seem to wear pretty much alike. This insight came to me after set #4 went in 11 months after set #3. Set #3 was the time I spent big with the very best, the most heavy-duty, and of course the priciest installed. Set #4, the cheapest of the cheap, lasted almost 2 years. So for 350$ I got a year and a bit more than my $1700 bought. What I wanted from my mechanic advisor was an opinion on what would constitute a reasonable price for the work needed.

Our buddy went out for a ride with Dad in tow and returned in less than 3 minutes. He could not speak as he came in making for the telephone. He looked at me with a red face and dialed. After a 2 minute phone convo he turned to me to inform me the car was unsafe to drive. Anywhere. I was going to call a towtruck to move it to a garage and then rent a car when our buddy said:
" Arent you taking your dad out for dinner?"
Yes, yes I was.
"Do you have an hour or so?"
Yes, yes I do now.

So it was that Dad graced their couch for a wee nappie, the wife made coffee for herself and me, and we chatted about life in the tropics for a few hours.

My brakes remain undone but my wheel bearings have been replaced and in Spring when the sand salt and sludge is gone my brakes will be restored.

Our mechanical friend said that when he took the wheels off, the bearings broke in his hands. Dodged a bullet there.

I truly believe that all my angels guarded me. My flotilla can stand down for awhile now. And me - I am breathing: in out in out in out.

-----!!

“These things I warmly wish for you Someone to love, some work to do, A bit o' sun, a bit o' cheer, And a guardian angel always near”
(Irish Blessing)

Projects - - -

2009-02-24T18:33:00.000-08:00

Install Closet in Bedroom - dressy clothes and shoes...

Downstairs balcony lattice - privacy screen.

Upstairs balcony - cover.

Car - touch-ups for paint, front end work and brakes - again.

Papers and disks - short stories. Submissions. Collections.

Archiving.... again.

phew.

Oh My my!

2009-02-24T16:00:00.000-08:00

Today, I have been given two more weeks of exercise to get my shoulder back in shape. Two more weeks! ... (sigh)

One of my great pleasures in life is communication. It is such a joy and a privilege to listen to tales of other folk's. Their experiences and opinions are treasures that are sometimes hidden and other times displayed for all if they only would use their senses. So many times, people have this need to be heard and there is no one there TO hear. The saddest are the ones who have alot of people in their lives and flurries of activity everywhere, but nothing that connects in that deep satisfying manner. The part of my job that I most love is that connecting.

These days of exercise and physio I am connecting all right... with my piano, with my guitar, with my keyboard, with my dog. I miss my lovelies.

----- !!

"As the ocean "waves," the universe "peoples." Every individual is an expression of the whole realm of nature, a unique action of the total universe. This fact is rarely, if ever, experienced by most individuals. Even those who know it to be true in theory do not sense or feel it, but continue to be aware of themselves as isolated "egos" inside bags of skin. "
Alan Watts : English mystic & writer
(1915 - 1973)

Catch Up

2009-02-22T21:25:00.000-08:00

You would think that with so much time *healing* I would have my house in order and all my projects at least started. Not so, my friends - the house is the familiar messy creative den it always is and the projects are still awaiting my attentions. Turns out that healing takes alot of energy and rest and 5 days off of work does not necessarily mean 5 days of ease.

I have been stretched and ultrasounded and medicated and encouraged but the shoulder is still mis-behaving. Tomorrow I see my Physician again to get the yay or nay for back to work. Since I am not being paid I would really like to be back AT work. Job #2 although wonderful does not pay the bills. I do have a Lotto tic or 2 about the place....

This week I did use Facebook to reconnect with some of my favourite people from the Vancouver Art and Music scene. If I had been in Vancouver I could have gone to Jim Cummins "Nite of the Living Devil Kittens" show. In my mind and in my time it was more of this kind of thing.

The most worn and most borrowed t-shirt of my entire life is my Braineater "artist poet thief" - I still have to wrest it away from the replicant when I wish to actually wear it myself.

Also from my inbox - and another Vancouver first wave punk/new waver Tony Bardach - he of "pointed sticks" and "Modernettes" fame has a new band. "Slowpoke and the Smoke" - they play at falconettis (1812 Commercial) the first friday each month-next show is march 6- 9-12p. Frankly I always thought Tony to be one of the most beautiful men I have seen. He used to quite take my breath away. And then of course there is the music... always the music.

"It's only when you hit a nerve that you know you're on the right track."-Jim Cummins

Don's still writing...

2009-02-17T14:56:00.001-08:00

With great delight I remember to post the link to Don's musings. I posted about him way back when- - -

Here you go: http://dontoearthagain.wordpress.com/

He is well worth the read and gives the world a great example of what being 90-+ is like.
It is rich and rewarding.

Go Don GO!!!

People I love

2009-02-16T18:19:00.000-08:00

I have to post this. My friend Bill I., the man who works for NASA, had this on this blog... life of Bagginz:

""When people asked me what kind of car we bought, I tell them we got a Hummer H2 that runs on the blood of virgins. It gets 18 MPCS (Miles Per Catholic Schoolgirl.)""

Bill you made me laugh manically in my room scaring my dog.

:)
----!!
(one of these people is Bill) :)

Lux Remembered.... with a smile

2009-02-16T17:06:00.000-08:00

Before the Pixies, there were the Cramps. Before the rebirth of Goth/Punk/pyschobilly, it was just music in clubs. If you were of a certain bent you probably went to see the Lux and Ivy show (also starring Nick Knox or Kid Powers....)

Lux was a constant in my Vancouver life and nitelife. Being a silly scenester from the dinosaur ages and being a lovely lush for a time, I did manage to meet most everyone I wanted to and boy how I wanted to meet Lux. Instead I met Ivy and then in the most offhand manner possible met him. He adored her. Hard not to, really.

The Cramps toured and retoured always with the same show - new guitarist from time to time but the same show. I never tired of watching Lux work that neoprene under the cool gaze of Ivy. "Ever get down to California? You can come visit if you want...."

If I want? (faint)

Sipping tea in the shade outside their very cool house by the desert talking about vinyl..... ooo thats livin!. No rock stars in my friend collection just people who happen to make good music. I never gave anyone else the title but them: Cool as fuck.

After becoming a momzie, I found that for a time I could not handle the concert crowds. One night at the Commodore I actually had to leave a Cramps show.... on the stairs were two teens all dressed up who had no tix. I gave them my stubs and said go enjoy- the guy looked at the girl and said: Talk about the generation gap. Who would walk out on the Cramps? I just smiled.

When I heard Lux had died I was not really sad. He lived a good life with his lover and lived it exactly the way he wanted to. They did everything they chose in the manner they wished and did it well. And loud. A life lived well is not lamentable. But it is the end of an era. No other man will ever climb scaffolding in stilettoes half naked and look so barbaric.

The best of YouTube is Lux and Ivy from June 1978 where they gave a free concert for patients at the California State Mental Hospital in Napa. They didnt do it for the money - they made a point. God bless em for it.

----- Lux's obit here -----

------------- !!

So Thankful!

2009-02-15T17:20:00.000-08:00

Now that the Naproxen is working, I feel very much better and the tendons in my arm and shoulder are calming down. I am thankful.

My evening position, bereft of lifting or repetitive motion, continues to be a source of joy in my life. It is such a little job in such a little place but I do love it so. My Manager is a bright warm witty woman and my co-workers are mostly very happy to be here in the same way that I am. It is always a pleasure to work with the young and be awash in their energy and drive. The folks who we serve are of a median age of 80. They consider me young! Bless their hearts!

One of our new residents has a son who is another beam of sunshine. He stopped by to visit his mom and then came over and sat with me a few hours. It was a Valentine treat!

I am so grateful for my charmed life.

------- *

“Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.”
William Arthur Ward

In a Perfect World...

2009-02-08T20:25:00.000-08:00

This week's event to humble me is very basic and not something someone who works in Health care should be having trouble with. I blush a not uncomely shade of Valentine's red as I recant to you the details.

In the snow and ice that lasted ever through December and January, many unpleasantries occurred not the least of which was a fall outside a client's home. This particular client lives just one long address off the accessible road and has a small residence at the front of a very large acreage belonging to a family member. The driveway to the home had been ploughed once or twice but was still very much packed ice. My car had been stuck in this very driveway a week or so before.

Not wanting to spend another hour going back and forth to free my vehicle, I parked nearer to the very start of this driveway. I was blessing my new shoes which are stamped *WORKSAFE* as I trundled my way along. As I left the home, my client told me how she had watched me the week before and had a good hearty laugh over my antics. At least it had amusement value....

So chuckling to myself, I round the house and begin my trek down the driveway. 1-2-3-4-5-6-CRASH! A fall! Me, the fall preventer- fell! argh! As I went down, I only barely had the presence of mind to drop my books and put out a hand. All my soft round feminine divine weight came down on my wrist. I sat on the ice for 5 minutes, waiting for the burning sensation to depart. At first I believed my wrist to be broken but as the minutes went on and function returned I realised I was one lucky girl.

Banishing all humilating thoughts from my mind, I continued on continuing on. For a few more days, my wrist ached and I had a road rash along my arm. Thankful that I had averted serious trouble, I took it with a smile. One night as I lay fitfully turning and wondering what was wrong with my shoulder, it came to me! All my weight coming down on my right hand. hmmm.

Now there are several spots here where you could say: HEY that doesn't sound like company policy. Or: HEY shouldn't you have gone to the Doctor and had yourself checked out? In my mind, I was viewing it as an *almost*. I was mistaken.

The moment it was reported to my employer I was booked off. The moment I entered the Doctor's office I was told it was an WCB claim. And oh good... off with no pay.
grrr. My Doctor presecribed Naproxen for the inflammation and told me to beware my stomach as it is a drug notorious for causing trouble that way. All week I took my Naproxen and was sick until taking 2 or 3 Tums. I did not seem to be getting better.

Follow-up visit to my Doctor and I tell him how the Tums are keeping the bile down but the Naproxen doesn't seem to be worth it. "Tums? " he says quizzically. "They will neutralise the Naproxen - take Zantac 75 and you'll be fine."

So he said and so I did and so I am.
D-oh!

-------- *

“Supposing you have tried and failed again and again. You may have a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing that we call "Failure" is not the falling down, but the staying down.”

--Mary Pickford

Oh What a Fog!

2009-01-31T19:31:00.000-08:00

This photo just arrived in my inbox from my Vancouver school friend Dawn Scott -

Anyone who knows Vancouver knows what that landscape shot should look like!
Those wavy lights are the top of the Lions Gate Bridge.
WOW!

Levitate Me!

2009-01-25T15:33:00.000-08:00

Why is the idea of nightly levitation so strange to so many readers of this blog?
Is it the idea that one might truly fly in spirit or the idea that one could be deluded into believing such? All I know is that more than a few people wondered about it. The truth of it is really rather dull and not even remotely dangerous.

Each and every night, a dreamscape arises in which I suddenly decide to move quickly and as I take longer and longer strides, a levitation happens until it is all levitation and no striding. Frequently in these dreams, there is someone who comments about my showing off and more frequently I am.

Unlike my teens and twenties, when flying and levitation dreams scared me so much I would awaken bolt upright with heart palpitations, this is a fun thing and a joy. I am a free agent in the universe. If only I could discipline myself to do things "that matter" in this hours, the world might be a better place.

The dreamscape that I do not care to go to is the crystal city. This silent world is one that I have visited since my earliest days. It is both strange and familiar, and utterly bereft of habitation. There are shades in this place but they are unable or unwilling to interact with me. I still believe this is a city of the dead.

Another strange and eerie world is the one out in the stars, where my communications are with beings if infinite light. When that dream is upon me, time distorts dreadfully. The vastness of the nothingness is a weary solitude and the beings are curious but sad. There have been nights that felt like centuries spent in that empty landscape. Many times I wonder if I could fully remember the entirety of the dreaming, would things be as I remember them to be or is it my rational mind striving to make sense of what is completely alien and unknowable as a human being?

As I get older, my ponderings are vapid and my musings slight. Whatever it is that prods me out of myself, it is a benign force. When I am aware of my self in the night, it is as a being of great force and size, unhampered by malevolant spirits who seek to fool me. As a younger person, I was terrified by them, and experienced years of flight and fear. My noturnal ventures started long before my brain injury and any head trauma, or I might blame things on some miswiring. As a 4 year old, my flying was between the trolley wires in front of our home where the No. 14 Arbutus glided past.

The joys of those flights was mitigated by the terrors of being persued other nights until the time came that instead of running/flying away, I stopped in my voyage and looked back at what was chasing me. I looked at what was and laughed out loud. My wise dream self, like Glenda the Witch of the North, banished the evil with a wave of the wand. "Begone! You have no power here!"
I never looked back.

All in all, a little levitation is fine.

====================

Give me help
Give me help
You can... levitate me

Then take off them rings
Off them hose
Levitate me

Higher place
Levitate me

Elevator lady elevator lady elevator lady elevator lady
Lady levitate me
If all in all is true If all in all is true If all in all is true
If all is true
Won't you please fawn over me ----- the Pixies

Noctogenarians

2009-01-24T17:23:00.000-08:00

They are EVERYWHERE living quietly among us. They look like us, they act like us and one day they will become us! Yes, I am referring to those in their 90s - the Noctogenarians.

It was not that many years ago that I was agog over people in their upper 90s managing to live alone in their own homes. I considered it an oddity. Now that I have been around the carelane a few thousand times, I know that this is as rare as sand on a beach. In this fabulous community of ours it is positively rampant.

Today I had the experience of seeing 7 clients, all closer to 100 than 90. It was an experience both uplifting and inspiring. I want to be them!!

As I was departing from the 98 year old, a visitor arrived. I heard her say as I was leaving: "She is surprizingly capable and really rather funny."
That would be my praise au jour.

===========
“If you plan on being anything less than you are capable of being, you will probably be unhappy all the days of your life.” Abraham Maslow

Dreamscape of Gaiman.

2009-01-24T17:05:00.000-08:00

For as long as I can remember, I have occupied my nights in a world more real to me than this one. I am a dreamer of the highest magnitude. As I age, my control over my dreams is getting better. I now fly weekly at least, and enjoy levitating nightly. It is fun.

The two things that I wished to dream about are conversations that I would like to have. Conversation #1 would be with Nick Drake. This assumes he would talk at all.
Conversation #2 would be with Neil Gaiman. One of these dreams came true on Friday night. Be still my heart.

Even in my wildest dreams, I am capable of sabotaging myself. The dream was as follows:

I am entering a very long hotel lobby when the man in front of me turns slightly. I realize that it is Neil Gaiman and my peppery heart goes pitter-pat. As I examine him in a pretend offhand fashion, I see that he has blonde highlights in his hair and is wearing a tan overcoat. A trench coat in fact. I narrow my eyes thinking this must be an imposter as there is no black teeshirt and no black jacket. Neil turns as we approach an elevator together and I see somthing in his hand that could ONLY belong to the real Gaiman. We begin to converse.

I look at him and with great conviction say: "Thank you for writing ____ insert Neverwas book title here ___ "
"My very great pleasure" says Neil.
And in a tizzy of fandom I flutter away tongue-tied.

Wouldn't you think such as me could do better than that? It was MY dream after all.
Bah.

I hope I fare better with Nick Drake.

==========

I don't think this type of fandom quotes passes our "notability" criteria. --Aphaia 20:08, 19 Jun 2005 (UTC)

The New Roster

2009-01-22T20:08:00.000-08:00

Appropriatly enough, the New Year continued to provide change for me. Rather than a dime or nickel here or there, I got new clients~@@ ! They are not new, but are new to me and I love them. The new faces all attach to 90 somethings who live well independantly in their own homes. This never fails to bring a huge smile to my face as I aspire to the exact same circumstance should I be lucky enough to achieve nonagenarian status.

One of my new regulars is a familiar face from my days at a certain church. It didn't take with me, but the friends stayed. It is somewhat weird for my client as she wants to serve me lunch and chat about her life but does not emphatically not want help with any ADLs thank you VERY much. I know that if I report her, a reassessment may very well end with her being *placed* in a complex care bed bereft of everything she loves. Since she appears to be clean and clear and living in a sanitized manner, I shall not blab on her.

My visits are always a happy time for her. She greets me with, "I remember that there is something very special about you." What's not to love about that? As she sits in her den, surrounded by paperwork in piles, she admits to me that she does not want to live this way but she does need to go through each and every scap and read it all. Luckily for her, she does not have any children or grandchildren frowning down their noses, whilst eyeing her magnificent property with dollar signs in their eyes. In her case this would be several million dollar signs. Since she had no children, she was lucky enough to indulge in a lifetime of travel and career. "I loved my life" she says with a smile.

Today I heard about the guest house in Tobago. After retirement, her husband asked her if she wanted to try running an establishment in the Caribbean. She told me that she met more titled folk in those 13 years than in the 65 preceeding, since, after all, they bought the place from an Earl. Would I have the tenacity and drive to do that as my retirement? If I had a reliable partner who was always hard working, perhaps. But then again, perhaps not.

Just prior to my leaving, she proudly showed me the sunken living room features which she had custom installed. Hers is the home in the catbird seat along the most prestigious of golf course here in GolfLand. With a flick of her remote the curtains part to show off the 6th green. As I admire the view, she shows me her gild edged, framed certificate from Who's Who. This Lady was a world class decorator. There is nothing in this home that would not go well in any chateau, chalet or castle. There is a whift of 1950s chic about the place, but it is indeed chic.

The one teensy thing that I am pondering that might possibly be a risk factor in this instance, is something I have never run across before. Possibly my clients have not be forthcoming about this or possibly not rich enough but this is indeed something new for me. My lovely client is planning a trip to the USA for treatment in a private clinic for spinal stenosis. This will cost her many thousands of US dollars. At 96, this seems to be slightly risky to me, but then, it is her choice.
The true risk factor is that she suffers from a disease or disorder that causes tremours. It is a contraindictation for this type of surgery. It somewhat amazes me that the clinic she is booked into did not inform her of this. The goal, in her opinion, is to jet the walker.

My hand on the door, I turned to her and allowed as how walkers are good friends for nonogenarians. She looked me in the eye and said: "I have lots of friends but how can I see them when all I have to get around on is this thing. I might live a few more years, so I want them to be good ones."

----

I got the bill for my surgery. Now I know what those doctors were wearing masks for. ~James H. Boren

I learned a long time ago that minor surgery is when they do the operation on someone else, not you. ~Bill Walton

A Good Big Sleep Later . . .

2009-01-11T21:38:00.001-08:00

After the many losses of this past week, it was a mercy and a blessing to go home after job #2 and lay me down to sleep. A good big sleep it was, awakening to a clearer mind and a refreshed spirit.

Some losses are easier than others. Some losses bring echoes of others. There was something so valiant in our warrior, something so fierce and strong that took such a battle to best, that to see it gone is difficult to process.

My slots will fill again with new faces and new spirits but there will never be another Mike.

End of the Road

2009-01-10T20:06:00.000-08:00

All week long, the buzz has been around our tenacious warrior gentleman, who clearly was at the end of his life. No one wants to be the person who accidentally chokes him on water or rolls him and feels the final death spasm but someone has to be there. It was inevitable that one of us would be the last Health Care representative to attend to him and today was the day. My co-worker and I walked in to find him deceased. We did his last care as an act of closure and a nicety to the family and then we cleared as many of the medical reminders away as we could.

We said our goodbyes, telling his wife in respectful tones,how much we admired her for being so present and willing. Grace under pressure needs to be affirmed. We left the home, looked at each other and decided to go for coffee. I booked off my next client as I could feel my usefulness as around the zero mark. My coworker did the same. Do not think badly of us. We just needed to breathe.

For three years we have been going into that home to care for this man. At first we went to the upstairs bedroom. Next we used a lift for bathing but assisted him to stand and walk. A renovation moved him to the lower area where a hospital bed and an Angel overhead lift made transfers safe for all. Last summer the word came down the pike that the assisting to stand was off the books. He grumbled but acquiesed. His decline necessitated catheter and bowel care, and even this indignity he bore. His wheelchair was modified repeatedly to accomodate his growing needs. Pureed food came before syringe, and this last week, it was very little of anything. The constant throughout all this was his resilience and refusal to have things done any way but the way he wanted. He did not suffer fools but once he trusted, that trust was firm and unwavering.

To see another human being use their will so mightily is an awe inspiring thing. Very few of us possess the tenacity to wrestle Death to a draw. The trouble with a draw is that there is always a rematch, and Death being who he is, always wins.
There are no words for the things we see and do. There is no one other than another Palliative Care worker who understands the feelings that wash over us at such a time as this. We are happy that he has found his rest but we are sad that we bore witness to such incredible pain and suffering.

The reason that man stayed around this planet on this plain for so long is that he understood what is stronger than death. It is love. He had the love of a wonderful woman, bless her heart.

It will be a long time before I forget these two extraordinary people. I stand humbled.

Palliative Care is not for some....

2009-01-04T16:44:00.000-08:00

One of the difficulties within the structure of the Government HealthCare system, as it pertains to care in the home, is that it assumes every Doctor, Nurse, and HealthCare Worker can do palliative care at an acceptable level. This is a fallacy.
Although we all see some of it, and most of do some of it, not all of us enjoy it. There are also those who the client does not enjoy having. The things my clients tell me would put the curl in or take it out of almost anyone's hair. Some days, I hear about circumstances and comments of the unfortunate nature and some days I hear it first hand. Today was such.

In the home of our magnificantly fierce gentleman, he of the indomitable spirit, things are not going well. There are some nasty complications this far down the end of life road. His strong heart and will keep beating in a body that is literally rotting from the inside out and it is a source of amazement that he fights on for every breath. This week is truly the end. He has not taken food for 2 weeks, and his breathing is laboured. He is gasping for air. He is choking on water which we administer with a syringe. He expresses himself in grunts and makes eye contact to show distain or amusement. He and I get along well. I try not to ask too many questions and keep my chatter lite.

My philosophy of care remains unchanged: do the job well, be mindful of the client's individual, maintain client dignity and then get the hell out of the way.
Each day as I enter this home over the holidays, a different co-workers face greets me. As he is a two person assignment, it is essential that at least one of the two is both trained and familiar with the client. I am that one. Today the other is a pleasant well-intentioned woman who has high skills. We rarely work together. She enters the bedroom, greets our client, bends down over the man in the bed and announces:
"Oh my GAWD- your eyes look awful. You look like you are going blind."

---then---:

"Happy New Year. Well, I guess it isn't a very happy one for you eh."

and so on.

My experience dealing with people who are inappropriate, is that they do not learn appropriateness from co-workers- they learn it from clients. Until the day a client tells her that she is out of line, she will continue to be who she isand so, I waited until she left the room to lean in and say:
"You'll have to forgive her. She means well but is a tad insensitive."
He snorted.

We got him up today. After a week where he spent alot of time in his bed, he wanted a change. He has a wonderful bed that inflates and deflates evenly in rotation so that his inability to move does not result in bedsores. With that bed, it is not necessary to reposition him unless he desires it. Once up in his modified wheelchair, only massive pillowing kept his head erect, as he is too weak even to hold his own head up. Each breath rasps and there is a faint gurgle. Every single respiration sounded like he was wrestling the angel of death for it. When I left the home I was thinking how nice it would be if he could have a wee nap by the fire and just sleep on into eternity.

Soon. Very very soon.

----*

"We would never learn to be brave and patient if there were only joy in the world."
--Helen Keller

Strangeness in the already Strange

2009-01-02T19:20:00.000-08:00

Life with a head injury is never dull. Coping is a committment. Learning to live well takes decades even amongst the non TBI-ed. For me, there are always lessons to be learned and much humbling involved. The greatest of all challenges in my lfe is to keep and maintain balance. My natural good mood and humour takes a turbo jet to the black lands when my rest is disturbed and the holiest of holys in my home is my bed, my lovely bed. (sigh)

The carefully constructed life routine, so revered by me went to hell in a handbasket as the snow grabbed the resort areas and throttled remorselessly. The usual winter here, should it contain snow, only keeps a white frosting for days, usually less than three. Our first snow started December 13th and has not yet melted. More on the way, they say.

Many locals, me included, could not get out of our own driveways for a few days. No work, no pay. I walked, but could not attempt anything outside of our Village centre, and am minus a few hundred dollars. Luckily for me, my contract with JOB #2 involves working on statutory holidays so I was able to recoup somewhat with the two big stats. Not so luckily for me, this meant quite a few days of working double shifts and the loss of two regular days off. My four day work week evaporated as did the three days of great necessity that I get off.

Working for the weekend is common. Loosing said weekend, for one such as I is a nightmare. Day one generally involves me doing alot of sleeping and snoozling so that days 2 and 3 are better. This week did not contain the usual and I am feeling it. There is a woman who can do my shift tomorrow at Job 2 THANK GOD and hopefully by Sunday I will once again feel rested for my double shift. Monday I can rejoice in knowing I am about to get my threes. WOOT!

Banal, but mine. This is my life.

===== *

Jean Paul:
No rest is worth anything except the rest that is earned.

The Neverending Snow...

2009-01-01T18:06:00.000-08:00

Here in Paradise, the weather continues to be remarkable. Understand it from our prespective; our official website says thusly:

Most Canadians envy Vancouver Island climate as it is the country's mildest. Temperatures on the coast, even in January, are usually above 0 °C (32 °F). During the summer season, maximum temperatures average 21-24 °C (70-75 °F).

The rain shadow effect of Vancouver Island's mountains (including Mount Arrowsmith, southwest of Parksville and Qualicum Beach), as well as the mountains of Washington's Olympic Peninsula, creates wide variation in precipitation.
The rain shadow effect means the west coast of Vancouver Island is much wetter than the east coast. The average yearly precipitation ranges from 6,650 millimetres (260 in) at Henderson Lake on Vancouver Island’s west coast (the wettest place in North America) to only 635 millimetres (25 in) at the Saanich Peninsula in Greater Victoria. Rainfall is heaviest in the autumn and winter and snow is rare at low altitudes on Vancouver Island"

Uh huh. This is a picture of the view from my bedroom balcony.

Weekend forecast is for more snow.

Family Christmas

2008-12-29T20:43:00.000-08:00

Ah Christmas time!
Nothing comes close to the warmth of family.
Not a nuclear blast, not a supernovae, not the glow from the Channel 1 yule log, no; only family emit that thermal heat we love so well.

As I sit facebooking, the replicant mutters about webcams, the evil twin bellows rules to the father who is shamelessly cheating at cards... or was that the other way around, and the dogs sniff about looking for any leftovers.

Bring on the New Year.

A Left Coast Christmas Wish ♥ ♥

2008-12-22T21:28:00.000-08:00

What a week we have had! What a whorl whirl world! Only the weather could displace the economy as the major news story. From coast to coast to coast, Canada is a wild wet white wonderland.

Speaking from the left coast - I love the idea of a white Christmas. I am not so sure about the weeks before and after. The snow removal budget in our Village is infintismal. The crews not at the top of their game. How do I know this latter fact? The transmissions of three snow removal graters blew during the first clearings. One is bad luck. Two is remarkable. Three points to something else.

My week started at being snowed in at home and ended with being snowed in at work. Luckily for me, the wonderful management of job #2 allowed me to sleep overnight where job #1 could be accomodated by walking my route. This only worked one day. The next was today.

I am always more than willing to do my share and your share too of the workload if it makes things run smoothly. I will go most places and do most things if I can. Alas I am not driving a Van Truck or 4x4, I am driving a GM with all seasons on it. Every year this has sufficed. Not this time. It was impossible to negotiate the side streets where two addresses on my list were. I got stuck, got pushed out by wonderful strangers and drove in vain slowly along nearby main street looking for a parking spot. It was not to be.

At the base of a hill another client. I had double checked with my office to make sure it was possible to get in there. I was asked to park at the top of the hill and hike down. I was assured that everyone else got in there. I did my duty and hiked down. The driveway was not ploughed. The stairs were not shovelled. The door was not answered. I hiked to the back door. No answer. I walked around the place in 3 foot snow jumping up and knocking on the windows. Nothing. I looked under every brick and patio ornament, every bin and rock for a key. Nope.

Did I have my phone? I had left it in the car. At the top of the hill.
When I called the Office I was assured again there was a key and other people had gotten in. Back down the hill, back to looking for the stated key hiding spot. No key, no answer at the door, no success. Back up the hill. This visit is scheduled for 45 minutes and I was now at the 50 minutes mark.

Back in the car, I headed for my next visit and once there called my Supervisor to give the facts. Now in my head I was expecting her to follow up on it as I had more people to see. Instead I heard her tell me the name and phone # of a contact who lived next door and then she said: " See if he can help you get in and call back if you have a problem getting in." I guess she missed the part where I said I had left the area and was at my next client. I get paid by the assignment - my Supervisor makes a much higher salary. It is not my job to do follow up as I have more people waiting on me. I called the contact number, wished him a Merry Christmas, and explained that we could not get his neighbour to answer her door and could he look in on her and call our office if there was a problem or if he could not get in. He was very agreeable and wished me well in turn.

Perhaps I am a teensy bit prickly on this topic. It could possibly be because in job 2 I came across a frightenend co-worker who had been urgently paging this self same supervisor to advise her that the roads were impassable and that she could not finish her shift. Her shift that would take her out to rural roads, an address at the end of the road at 10pm. There are family on the property who will not risk life and limb to do a check in. This co-worker was terrified to go and more terrified not to. Having got my seniority in that exact same shift I know exactly where she was off to.

The supervisor never returned those multiple pages. But I got my coworked to call the clients to advise them that it was unsafe for her to risk the trip and she could not come. That, again, would be the supervisors job. Oh she would have gone if I had not told her repeatedly that we have the right to refuse unsafe work. And indeed last year another coworker who went out to be helpful in the ice to a client in a remote area, had her workers compensation claim denied as she "had untaken unnecessary risk where not indicated." The rules bite you coming and going.

Yes, I am happy to go more than my share, but please send me somewhere I can get in. Those who do not shovel their drives or live on unploughed streets will not be seeing me. Please God send us cleared roads for Christmas. Snow alert for the 24th. - - -

Proof of Dragons

2008-12-19T19:34:00.000-08:00

Anytime people express doubts about the existance of dragons, point them my way.
The proof is within me. I house the pivotal DNA strands of dragonware or, dragonwere. There are wererabbits and werewolves so why not weredragons.

All the signs are here. I am capable of breathing fire, I sleep in the shadow and most telling of all, I hoard. Today whilst looking for the USB connector for my camera I found a Haida necklet my sister gave me at 12 years of age, sitting in the drawer besides the Sunday School attendance chart made by my Grampa for my mother. It is a symbol of the ties that bound the two families, so diverse in circumstance together. Grampa T. was the Sunday School superintendant of the Church mom's family were attending. Brethren, no doubt.

My father is definitly not the author of these genes. He is Mr. Clear and Clean. He is only happy when every surface is gleaming, bereft of anything resembling clutter. My mother, on the other hand, put the obsessive in OCD. She had closets of clothes in all sizes, hundreds of shoes all catalogued and sorted, every jewel ever given her in her Elisabeth Taylor mode, and money. Lots and lots of money cloistered away in shoeboxes and drawers and pockets. God only knows how much we gave to the Salvation Army before we caught on to the pockets.

It would be easy to blame a mental illness for the hoarding trait- except that Grama B, mom's mother, also hoarded. In her case it was good leather gloves. There were dozens of pairs in her drawers, all wrapped in scented tissue. She also had stashes of toiletries that never saw the bathroom shelf. They lived under the cupboards. As I was born when my Grama was 61, I saw only the residual hoards.

Now to me. Today being a snow day and me being stir crazy I decided to go through my bedroom drawers and declutter. It is almost 8pm and there is nothing in my donation box. When I find the connector cord for the camera I will take a picture of one of my drawers. The younger generation has inherited my dragon gene. If I am bad, she is worse. I console myself by reminding myself that I have always trained her to pay her own bills and live her own life. We who choose to be slightly a-typical must never rely on the kindness of strangers. Or husbands.

Like Smaug, a ray falls from my eye on the items removed. I know when my stash has been lessened. It is a strange thing this gene. Perhaps it explains more that just the shiny thing attraction.

Daughter of dragons? Daughter of daughter of.... hmm, more than just those Sinclair genes are perculating here. I wonder what ever happened to dragon spawn. Besides being burned at the stake that is.

Today in the Village!

2008-12-19T14:58:00.000-08:00

Our likeness to a Thomas Kinkade postcard continues. The warm light shine out from beneath the snowy roofs. People wander the streets in colourful mufflers, and children frolic in the huge drifts still so pristine. Cars are few and far between. Trucks are more common.

The very nice man who dug my car out at 11pm last night was almost embarressed to take the small gratuity I was delighted to give. Afterall, how many people work those hours in the freezing cold and how many go back for a shovel when the plough alone cannot get my car out? Oh I was delighted to be able to show some appreciation. This morning when I went outside at 6am, my car had been de-snowed, and my parking spaces were completely cleaned of snow. My sidewalk as well was cleared from my door and ten feet in both directions. Now, who says these is no such thing as kindness? My neighbour, more jaded than I, asked me how much I gave him. Not enough, I replied with a smile.

Today I was unable to get to my first client without sliding dangerously, and this on the main roads. It is really only my neck of the woods that is so dangerous as we are technically on the outskirts of our fabulous resort town. The budget does not include tri-daily sanding which at this state is necessary.
All dressed in my scrubs, equipped with MRSI worthy equipment, I parked back in my perfectly ploughed parking space and came home for a nice long winter nap. Now, clearly I am not one of those who are happy to be snowbound for longer than a day or two, and so I felt the urgent need for some humanity. Across the street for a lunch of coffee, ginger ale, burger platter with sweet potato fries, and apple crisp. It was delicious.

The server was nice enough to get a newspaper for me that facilitated my lunch visit to the 90 minute mark. It was lovely.

Tonight I shall go to bed early and try HARD to will the roads less icey. Tomorrow I shall be driving UPhill in our Village where the tax dollars are spent.
If I can get up the hill all should be well. I will pack my outfit for job 2 as I cannot see myself getting home at midnite. Perhaps I shall pack 2 outfits.

Snowfall warning for Sunday. Unbelievable.

Wet, Slippery, and (sigh) Cold!

2008-12-18T20:08:00.000-08:00

Land of sunshine and flowers. Most moderate climate in Canada. Lowest annual snowfall.... etc etc etc. Someone forgot to remind Mother Nature of these facts this December.

A week or so ago we of the Village rejoiced childlike in the beautiful snowfall showcasing our streets. Down the hill, along the waterfront where it is always warmer, icy winds heralded the unexpected guest. Old man winter came for dinner and stayed overnight. And overweek.

All season tires service my vehicle which is more sturdy than most of it's age and ilk, but definitly are NOT up to a heavy snowfall. It was a moot point in any case as my driveway had been sealed shut by a 12 foot snow wall courtesy of the highway clearing ploughs. Yes, 12 feet! It was whittled down to the 3 foot level by our own Strata hands but it took another plough to get it to the mountable level. A small footpath was the only exit from our lot for 2 days.
Snow removal is something so strange to this area that the local budget is reactionary, not presumptive. Local excavators work 24/7 in these strange times with their heavy equipment. Although we are a highway address we are no longer the MAIN highway and we are a cough away from the bypass. This may seem inconsequential however the reality makes for a lonely time these blustery days.

All week I have been saying I should take some pictures. My mood has not been the best and in protest against this strangeness, no photos have been taken from MY camera. The highlight of the week was opening my front door to four feet of snow. This is a wonder in paradise. But to have it stay unmelted for nigh on 8 days is yet more marvellous.

Birthday Brunch! Or, not!

2008-12-14T21:39:00.000-08:00

Happy birthday to me! God bless Facebook for enabling greetings from near and far and making the day special.

The tasty brunch at the local hotspot on the water was a no go due to a sudden and unexpected heavy snowfall. I counted it a Godsend that we made it to my fathers at all. Almost no one else braved the roads, and upon arrival and cancellation of the official plans, our plan B of paying handsomely for delivery food failed absolutely. No one was foolhardy enough. And then a suggestion from the younger set: "Let's ask George! HE is coming for cake anyway."

By gosh and by golly if he didn't acquiesque. NO chocolate dipped strawberries, no 100 item brunch bar, but luncheon fare from Boston Pizza along with a tasty and delicious chocolate birthday cake from Thrifty foods saved the day.

Happy Birthday to ME!!
And God bless us all, everyone!

Paging Dr. Freud - !

2008-12-06T19:17:00.000-08:00

Once again, I am in Vancouver and it is early morning just before sunrise. It is home I am headed for, garbed in an odd fur robe that does not cover my nakedness properly. Observing this, I try to get off the main road; possibly Oak and 14th or so but there is an obstacle. There is always an obstacle.

Impeding my path is a huge hedge that bars my way to the sidestreets. I cannot go through it as it is thick and girded with wire. Since I cannot jump it nor stumble through it I try to minimise myself under a shrub as a dark man with a possibly Jamaican accent walks his small white dog. Looking at my incredibly stupid fashion choice, I muse on the arts gala I have walked out on. Why did I walk out?

As always in such scenarios, no wisdom is gained from reflection. It makes no sense and is unlikely to morph into sensibleness through dissection. I got miffed and refused to compromise and naturally, had to leave. Since I did not have a car, I must walk home. And where is home? Why 49th and cambie of course. Therefor this must be the 80s. Since it is the 80s I must be loaded. If not why walk?

The sound assaulting my ears is "Fur Elise." I lurch up and vanish into the mists and back to my bed. Buggery dreams. If change is indicated, a variation of this dream occurs. Always I am lost or looking for home. Always my car, bus, train breaks down or I am walking hesitantly. Always I am thwarted in my journey.

--------- *

Now I am up and out the door and putting on medical stockings for those who cannot do it themselves. A few medications here, a catheter or two there and I am at the home of a very ill client where another worker awaits me. We are mystified as to how this person stays alive in a state where 99.9999% of others would be long and truly gone. A triumph of will I suppose. Soon I hope this will fades as the road from here on in is a black road. There will be no more comfort and there are no pleasant attractions. Bone on bone cracks as we position the client in the lift and transfer to the wheelchair. We do everything for this client but breathe. And it is not nearly enough.

Now I am out to the farthest arm of our area to a person in the endstages of cancer. There is no hospital bed, no transfer devices, no wheelchair but there are plenty of meds and an oxygen line that can circle the home 5 times. Another dominant spirit is residing in this client who is living every second until it is not possible. I hear that last night a tasty Galliano was enjoyed with the night dose of morphine. They look at me for a reaction.

Why the hell not? That's what I think. The worst thing that can possibly happen is that the client keels over from a drug interaction. Not a bad end considering what is the reality of their medical situation.

And so- home again ,home again where my doggie greets me royally. We walk up the hydro line and enjoy the crispness of the december day. A snack and a nap before another brief walk and I am off to the other job. It is a good life.

Drama drama Drama

2008-12-03T13:35:00.000-08:00

and on it goes- the fall out from a meeting where one person vented an angry rant and another refused to take it.

I am the one who said: Hold the crap, thanks.

Workplace standards are usually just plain old common sense. Rules and written guidelines are for those rare instances when one employee does not recognise their behaviours as out of control. In a civilizaton we need to be civil.
A no-brainer you would think.

----*

Carol Barker Remembrance Day

2008-11-30T08:08:00.000-08:00

November 30th is the day I stop and remember my first very best friend who died a lonely death on Oak street one rainy November 30th, all those years ago.

Regular readers will know that some years my November 30th posts are sad and self-accusatory and some are whimsical and nostaglic. It is a hard thing to look back on a regret that may have caused a death. Because I did not honour my word, my very best friend walked home in the rain rather than accepting a ride from a man who she felt creepy about. She did not make it home. It was only 2 blocks but it was across a very busy main route and even at 11:45 pm traffic was an issue.

This year I realise that my daughter is the same age as Carol was when she was struck by that car. Is it any wonder I want to drive everyone home safely?

Carol Maureen Barker.
An artist, a character and a friend.
I still miss you.
I think of what you might have been. I remember what you were.
-------------- *

"Accept everything about yourself--I mean everything. You are you and that is the beginning and the end--no apologies, no regrets.”

--- Henry Kissinger

Workplace Update

2008-11-29T22:10:00.000-08:00

Sadly, I have two new clients who are both in their last month.
In both cases the person was released from the hospital to come home to die.
In both cases the person is very independant and has trouble accepting help.

I know this one, having learned it from my mother who was the original difficult patient, bar none. My mother did not want anyone to mention cancer, (although she was terribly ill with it), death, (although it was imminent), or peri-care, (although it was necessary). My father told me that the one time she did mention death was at 3 in the morning on a night when he had taken a sleeping pill. He tried to calm her down and get her to just cuddly but she would have none of it. My father was a saint in those last months. Mom had him running around the Island for all kinds of things. When we, the kids, mentioned we were worried about dad she yelled: "Why are you worried about him? I am the one who is dying!" And that was the last time that word came from her lips.

I see my mother is so many people I do nursing for. In the determined woman who almost fell off her bed to prove she could "do it herself" and in the young woman whose hair is littered all along her hallways. We are all the same in these key ways. I see my mother and I utter a silence thank you to her.

My trainee is finding it hard to cope with all this death. She is definitly not going to choose palliative care as her speciality, but she is learning fast and doing well. Today she turned to me in the car and asked me when I learned that trick that works so well for difficult people. "Trick?" asked I.
"You know... where you go down on one knee to talk to them. I noticed you do that and I remember we read it somewhere that it works for difficult people..."

Having no idea about what she was referring to, I shook my head. Trick... hmm hmm hmm. Finally I realised she was talking about my habit of sitting lower than my client when at the first visit. I always take the passive position to give the show of control to the client. I do not think it through, I just do it. It works too. The prickliest people let me do almost anything where they send other people packing.
Again - thanks mother.

My trainee will be a free agent in the universe next week. It is doubtful she will miss my client load but she is capable of doing it, and doing it well. I was correct. Four days and she was confident and caring in an appropriate way. Do the job well, do the job at the client's pace, finish completely and leave quietly.

Job well done!

------------------

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

... from Desiderata by Max Erhmann.

AMBUSH!

2008-11-26T21:59:00.000-08:00

Workplace peril alert! Avoid staff meetings!
Sad. Sad. Sad.

On the positive side, it reminded me to be even kinder to the woman I am training on the job (the OTHER job). She is brand spanking new with a freshly minted diploma but very questionable skills that will come up to par quickly with the right hands-on training. I predict that in four days she will be FABULOUS.

===================

As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

.... from the Desiderata by Max Erhmann, 1927

Ro-nan

2008-11-14T16:21:00.000-08:00

During one of my visits to our lady on the waters, I met a wonderful young man. He came delivering meals-on-wheels, and when he spoke, a beautiful parisienne accent issued forth. He was a treat.

He asked me my name and remembered it. Of course I asked his and promptly forgot it. Was is Rowan? Roland? --arg-- I could not get it. He told me again the next time I met him and he said it with two syllables. Ro-NAN. I remembered.
Our paths have crossed in other homes but I shall always associate him with our lady.

Ronan was there again today discussing spirituality with my dear lady. When he at last he had to leave, our lady told him she loved him. "What about you?" she asked turning to me. I smiled. "Yes Ro-NAN I love you too."

Poor young guy. He blushed furiously and then left at a brisk pace. As he passed the patio window he came back and waved at us. We both exhaled happily.

Ah Ro-NAN. What joy you bring two old ladies.

:)

------- *
“The world is extremely interesting to a joyful soul.”
Alexandra Stoddard

A Call for Help

2008-11-13T14:32:00.001-08:00

During my move of the last months, a strange number kept showing up on my call display. There was never a message. A week of so ago the number showed again on my missed calls. There was a message in my inbox that was almost unintelligible. All I caught was: "You of all people should get it." The rest was a mumbling rant.

There have been times in my life when I enjoyed the flavours of tasty scotches. Single malt was my favourite but a good blend was fine as well. Alas, I cannot drink. One tasty beverage is enough to send me to the land of the incohorent and so I choose not to drink. There are some friends from my long ago who never came to that conclusion and I never judge them as it could be me still singing lullabies to stuffed animals and taking cabs home. My assumption was that this was a friend from scotch drinking days.

Today I was sorting through my cellphone bill and saw this number. I called it.
"Who are you again?" a very stern and gruff voice demanded.
Once explained I heard a very sad story.

This was the number of a lovely woman I used to practise singing with back in the Starlite Lounge days when I played for my supper. Because my name is memorable, she remembered me and somehow tracked down friends of friends who eventually hooked her up with my cell number. She had experienced rather too much loss in the last years and was facing 40 with cracks in her foundations. She remembered me in my losses. She knew I had somehow triumphed and wanted to know HOW.

Farewell Sarah Slink. Farewell and God Bless.
Her partner told me she went to bed last week in a flush of scotch and lorazapam and woke up in the next world. What to say?

We spoke for about an hour. I do not know this man except for our shared grief over this, a preventable loss. November is a horrible month for loss. Of course there is part of me that wonders if I had called back last month would things be different?
I suspect not as I could barely understand the confused mumbles and likely would not have been able to get through the haze of numbing.

It could be me.

----- *

"The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love, and to be greater than our suffering."

--Ben Okri

Mump and Smoot

2008-11-13T13:24:00.000-08:00

Oh Facebook -- the truly all encompassing tool to remind one of one's life.
Whilst perusing a Fringe page, a memory of the chaotic clowns, Mump and Smoot came to mind. Discovering their Facebook page, I became a fan! In truth I have been a fan since at least 1987. Possibly prior.

The guys had a funny little tour bus-ette back then and toured with a woman who was part of their show (briefly) and were about to EXPLODE. I loved them, particularly Mr Mump. I had a kite for awhile in their honour.

One review that catches what I see in them completely is;
"They are a little bit Laurel and Hardy, a little bit David Cronenberg"
- Bob Remington, Edmonton Journal

On my list of things to do FOR SURE this year - see them again.

I still love you, Mr.

Mump

.

==========================*

HILARIOUS quote from evilevilclown.com:

Friends:

Not all Evil Clowns can be identified by the smell of cheap tobacco, booze, seamen and gunpowder.

Safeguard your mind and protect your loved ones from the menace that lurks beneath idylllic banality.

ACT NOW

Tryin to make it through . . . .

2008-11-12T21:24:00.000-08:00

I dragged my butt through a double shift yesterday on a statutory holiday.
The second part of the shift was really hard to get through.

This morning I woke up and rolled over. A day off to sleep. Then shop for groceries. Then taxi me.

Now I am about to go to bed. Zero energy. So tired.
Not sure I can do the double shifts. Arg.

I am using the lite book every day and making sure I eat properly. It is just the whole flu thing. I have not got my energies back.

--sigh

------------------------*

So, I make friends with the tiredness, the occasional impatience, the moments of anxiety and distraction, the hours of not-knowing. I welcome them, knowing they do not interfere with but in fact are part of what is longed for and needed. I let go of wanting to be anyone in particular, or any way in particular, and for an instant, I am free.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Supernucleur Palsy

2008-11-08T21:12:00.000-08:00

What a name! "Supernuclear" Palsy. In my mind I see a flowing cape enblazened with SNP. Of course it is not really "super", it is "supra", meaning above. The disease affects the part of the brain above the nuclei (“supranuclear”), which are pea-sized structures in the part of the nervous system that controls eye movements. Palsy means weakness. The best info I found on it is contained in this succinct page here.

This disease is comparatively rare with 20,000 people in the United States suffering from it. There is no effective treatment yet. Now you know all I knew when I walked in the door of my client's home. He was sitting in a lift chair with a transfer belt on a table behind him. Without the belt, and his walker, he goes nowhere. Even with the belt he must be guided from behind.

As we prepared to get him up, I was looking at him sitting there and trying to access how heavy this man might be. He was a bear of a fellow, big and burly. As we progressed through the visit and the tasks at hand he had difficulty with many movements. At one point he was frozen in his moment saying: "OHNO OHNO OHNO" over and over again. "What can I do to help?" I asked. "Move my leg." It wasn't pretty but we got it done.

The disease was very much like Parkinson's in presentation. The eye movements were the main give-away that is was PSP.

Here in Paradise, we have alot of retirees, especially in the Village. With an older crowd comes age-related complications. In my ten years in this area, I have seen more rare disorders and diseases than I ever believed I would see in my entire career. We are a small population, but we are greyer than most.

Nothing much surprises me anymore.
But I can still be shocked.

================= *

"The biggest disease today is not leprosy or tuberculosis, it is the fear of being unwanted." Mother Teresa

In which I growl....

2008-11-08T20:02:00.000-08:00

This is my safe spot to growl.

*grrrrr*

Tonight I have issues with the cook. He is behaving in a poor manner and being a blamer. I am displeased.

*grrrr*

=========== *

"The only disability in life is a bad attitude."
--Scott Hamilton

Meow Meow Meow

2008-11-08T17:15:00.000-08:00

Every now and then, I meet someone on the job that delights me in ways so unexpected, I take the joy with me for days. Such was this week when I found myself in the home of a woman who appeared to be mystified as to why I was there.

It was the correct time, but I was not the expected person, so the excuses were flying fast and furious. She really did not need anything at all. Did I want to hear about her son who was trying to move her into a facility where she would get full care? Did I agree that he should ask her before he decided to majke such decisions? Did I have anyone in my family like that? And, once this topic was exhausted, 25 minutes later, did I want to see her condo?

I ooohed and aaahed in all the appropriate spots and when we were admiring the bathroom I closed the door and allowed as how since we were already in there....

At the end of bathing a person, I offer them a soapy cloth and ask them if they would like to clean their personal area. I do not use any other term be it man or woman - I just say "personal area." Most people appreciate the choice even if they cannot do it themselves. This particular woman looked at me with her eyebrows arched. "Hmm? What did you say?" I repeated myself with accompanying hand gestures to the area in question.

"OOooooh," she said. "You mean my pussycat. Okay dear, I will wash the kitty."

This from an 89 year old woman.
First time for everything.
:)

Sundry Happenings in the Beach Area.

2008-11-06T20:08:00.001-08:00

The economic crisis continues. House sales grind to a halt.
My condo remains on the market with nary a bite. I am the proud owner of two properties - median price $160k per. One of them I live in, the other sits spotlessly empty awaiting new owners. Please God let it sell.

I do have an alternative. I can rent it to a family member. In my case this would mean an ex-husband who historically is not the most reliable in the financial department. The other alternative is to rent it to a family member of someone in my complex. I may opt for this.

In my new place, I have installed heavy curtains in my living room to keep prying eyes and the cold winter winds out. Summertime is great for huge windows. Winter, not so much. I am loving the extra space. Is it worth 80k more than my last place? As long as that 80k costs me $500 a month it's cool. Otherwise - can you say: *ouch!

Each evening when I go to bed, I sigh happily as I nestle down into my cozy blankies. My room is excellent. My brother was going to come over and help me plan the adjacent patio , but that may be some time in fruitition. He is wonderful at intentions but poor in execution. I understand completely as I am exactly the same. In my life I have missed many many important events that I wished to attend due to various and sundry happenstances. All of them preventable, and, yes, inevitable.

Alas alas.

The buggery flu has come and gone, thank goodness. It was much fiercer than I remember other flus as being. The hard part was not having the flu, it was getting the damned flu to leave. Although my worst days were two weeks ago, I still have not got my energy level completely back. It completely incapitated me. How the resident elders of our community cope with it is a mystery to me. The flu is a killer.
============ *
(In which I prove HTML is not my second language) :
The following table can help you determine whether you have influenza or a cold.

*Symptoms*	*Cold*	Influenza (the flu)
Fever	Rare	Usual, sudden onset 39º-40º, lasts 3 to 4 days
Headache	Rare	Usual, can be severe
Aches and Pains	Sometimes mild	Usual, often severe
Fatigue and weakness	Sometimes mild	Usual, may last 2-3 weeks or more
Extreme fatigue	Unusual	Usual, early onset, can be severe
Runny, stuffy nose	Common	Sometimes
Sneezing	Common	Sometimes
Sore throat	Common	Sometimes
Chest discomfort, coughing	Sometimes mild to moderate	Usual, can be severe
Complications	Can lead to sinus congestion or earache	Can lead to pneumonia and respiratory failure, and more complications in persons with chronic diseases
Prevention	Frequent hand-washing	Yearly influenza vaccine and frequent hand-washing
Treatment	No specific treatment is available; symptom relief only	Anti-viral drugs by prescription, which can reduce symptoms.

Living La Vida Murphy

2008-10-27T14:16:00.000-07:00

True to form, I booked my flu shot for Friday, October 17th, and thus inevitably came down with the flu on Thursday, October 16th.

The flu with all its' attendant aches and pains seems like a preview of what life will be like at age 100. Fortunately, each new day brought a new symptom and left the previous days' somewhen else. Day 1 = disorientation. Day 2 = Body aches. Day 3 = fever& chills. Day 4 = Ear ache. and now Day 5 = weak as a kitten.

Meow meow.

Sadly, these were my holidays from the usual job and job 2 = no work for no pay. Luckily, they had my back and my lovelies had their service uninterrupted.

So a little Nick Drake and some chai tea and everything will be all right.
A shower and fresh bedding helped tons too.

Tempest in a Teacup

2008-10-19T21:04:00.000-07:00

A little bit of the Mercury retrograde thing happening in second job ville.
Oh dear but there was a tiny miscommunication....

I am somewhat notorious for my bluntness. I try, really I do, to be kinder than necessary. The bluntness seems to shine through like a beacon. What I meant to do was write a little note in the communication book asking the other night managers if they review the work the serving staff do before they, the managers, go off shift. I always do. If things are not done I do them myself since I am the one responsible in the end. A whole ton of things were not done the other night; far too many to overlook. I meant to write a little note but it ended up being a long one that was open to interpretation. I ended up pasting over it the next day when the cook took it wrong.

The moral of the story is the same as always:
Do not write anything down after 10pm.

I really should know better.

2008-10-18T19:45:00.000-07:00

Three Life-changing Letters - ALS

2008-10-18T15:33:00.000-07:00

Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis:
A = absence of
myo = muscle
trophic = nourishment
Lateral = side (of spine)
Sclerosis = hardening

OH how my heart hurts when I read these three letters on a case file.
For a disease that is said to strike 6 in 100,000 Canadians, we sure seem to have a high proportion of afflicted in this Paradise of ours. Naturally, because we live in the best spot in all of Canada, we do get retirees from all over and everyone gets some sort of thing that slows them down. Some of us just get Old Age and all it's attendants, but others are felled by such as ALS.

In the last 2 years, I have attended 7 different people in this area of approximately 20,000 residents, and that is just the ones I know. Statistically, we should have a much higher popluation for these kinds of numbers. What is even freakier is that three of those people live within 1/2 mile of each other. In this case I am aware it is coincidental but it is still weird.

I was called into our sister town a few months ago to assist a gentleman who was about to go in and get a feeding tube installed. He still had the power of speech, and spent a lot of our time thanking me and complimenting all our team on their professionalism, compassion and skills. I recall thinking at the time: "Hmm, the last person who complimented me so profusely passed away not long after." These kind of people who see the good in all, and try to be the best they can in all ways in all times, make even their own deaths easier on others. I stand in awe of this.
This gentleman did indeed pass away not long after our meeting.

Now I am in another home, with another family, helping another person who is trying to live his best life under ALS's oppression. He also has an amazing wife who does everything she can to make things flow smoothly. My concern is always that these superwomen wear their bodies out caring for their spouses and do not realise it until after the fact when they too are clients. Still, you cannot ask the Sun not to shine nor command the Wind not to blow. She will do as she wishes until she cannot.

Me, I get to go home at the end of the day to my doggie and my beautiful new condo.
MMMmmmMMM! That could change in a heartbeat, as well I know. I enjoy every minute.

--------- *

It is with words as with sunbeams. The more they are condensed, the deeper they burn. ~Robert Southey

- Severe Auto-immune Disorders -

2008-10-17T18:16:00.000-07:00

What a thing to have happen to you in the sunset years of life, when all you want is to dandle your grandchildren over your knee and take vacations around the world in your own good time at your own speed. Your leisure time, now that you have it aplenty, is earmarked for just that: Leisure. Instead, you awaken one day to blisters forming all over your body. At first you think it is some weird virus, and perhaps your Doctor thinks so as well. Sometimes the Medical Practitioners are convinced you are severely allergic to a medication or food you recently ingested. As the weeks roll into months, it may happen that you are diagnosed with something like this.

My client of the moment who is experiencing this horrid disorder, has developed a sensitivy to touch of any kind. Although he is struggling to immerse himself in the oatmealed waters that provide his only solace of the day, he insists on doing it himself in the most unsafe manner you can imagine. As my Nursing instructor told me long long ago, "People have the right to fall if they so choose."

Being of the Matrix religion, ("You have to choose, Neo") this is all good with me although I find it frustrating to not render the assistance I can. Where I come in handy is to cut off the bandages covering his lesions. Some days this goes like a charm. Some days his fear of being touched is magnified to such an extent that he shakes badly making the removals very difficult. Hours of this man's day are consumed with Health Care needs. One hour to remove bandages and to bathe. 2 to 2.5 hours to rebandage the lesions. Each time I leave that home I am struck by the quiet fortitude of this man's wife. She chooses to be gracious and helpful in a situation of high stress. She is a true heroine.

Can it be that some of us flower most magnificently in the rain?

========= *
“Those who are firm, enduring, simple and unpretentious are the nearest to virtue”. Confucius

Credit where due

2008-10-16T18:56:00.000-07:00

Likely I am the last in the buyer group that purchased the same machine as I did two years ago, to upgrade my computer's RAM. My poor little 512k just did not cut it for the programs I like to use, so off I hied to Staples for 1 GIG of DDR RAM. It cost a mere $60 and for ten dollars LESS I could have put in a 2 shot. Being unclear on whether my computer could be upgraded to that extent I stuck with what I knew. What a difference in performance!! My little Acer is humming now.

On the way through the store, the clean clear displays of the flat screen televisions called out in my direction …… *buy me * buy me.* I have my huge and heavy Sony Trinitron in the extra bedroom/den and it aint moving anytime soon. It has a great picture but it weighs about 100 pounds and is very bulky. The living room here in the new place houses my computer with that stunning tiltable widescreen monitor that my father bought me but my computer, although great for watching DVDs, is not really up to broadcast standards. I could sense the wisdom of having a television in the space formerly sacrosanct. Despite these delusions, I assure you that my brain had not completely stopped working. I took the time to tour a few other stores in the area that sell flat screen LCD televisions. Best Buy and WalMart and Future Shop had deals but I was satisfied that my original choice of a 32” Sharp Aquos was best. Thus justified, out came my Staples card to instantly gratified my whim. (Yes, I admit to it being a whim and yes, I bought it on credit.)

About that justification thing: My reasoning for the purchase went something like this: With the economy at the start of the big dump, now is the time to indulge in these last few higher ticket items. Someone has to keep the economy going. Right? And there is the thing - it was not all that higher ticket, It was $699 plus taxes. Quite a change from 2 years ago when dad's behemoth wall mounted flatscreen cost 6k.

Now I am watching television with the best of 'em. More often I am reminding the replicant that the den contains a perfectly good tv for viewing teletoons.
======== *

“Shopping is better than sex. If you're not satisfied after shopping you can make an exchange for something you really like.” - -Adrienne Gusoff

Weights and Measures

2008-10-04T20:48:00.000-07:00

Every year at the same times my energies ebb. A calendar is not necessary for this observation - I could be on the Moon and it would come a-visitin'. October is one of my bad months. Too late I remember my Lite Book (tm), too early I remember my troubles. The Octoberness has fallen upon me.

Part of this years troubles are of my own makings and a testament to my frugality, (cheapness, my child would say). PAY a painter to patch, sand and wash walls? UNTHINKABLE. In my fervour to complete the job in a timely manner, I managed to upset both my shoulders and hands - especially my right hand. Repetitive strain injuries, to be sure. Live through this I must as mortgages times two must be paid. I cannot be anything less than spot on. This morning I awakened to below spot, considerably below.

The reasoning of September in which the perfect solution to debt and want was a second job that involved a few days of 18/24 seems to elude my Octoberness. Not factored into my Septembering equation was the obvious danger of working in a building with seniors loathe to open windows and willing to sit in the crowded dining hall coughing into the air delicately, (and not so). Working with Teens who come down with the inevitable school colds and flus, my exposure is doubled. Table by table, week after week, I see the ranks wane as residents catch the early Autumn bug. One week it is the husband, the next the wife and everyone else who sat near him staying upstairs for dinner only because of the logisitics of making a bathroom visit during the supper hour. Last nite as I leaned in to speak with a little lady profoundly deaf, she put her face right next to mine so I could hear her whisper that she had been feeling poorly all week but today was the worst. ---arg---

I suppose I rant about these things because I cannot speak about them and sound anything less than ungrateful. I am not. I am profoundly grateful to be working in the building I most enjoy visiting. It is me that needs to change, not the building. Perhaps I must revise the notion of working 18/4 to something less depleting. The work part is easy. The winding down part is hard. It is usually about 2:30 am before I am asleep these days on a double shift day. Six am comes early. Perhaps I should take an evening posting with the Health Authority and work Monday to Friday. Hmm unlikely to see such a posting. The perfect solution would be to have a posting that saw me work Thursday to Sunday, thus reducing the impact of one job on the other. Truth be told, if not for the pension I will likely never see, I would rather work 5 nights in the building and 2 days for the Health Authority. Whether in a Facility or in the Community, it matters not to me as long as my benefits stay intact. This seems more fairytale like every month.

The beauty of my job with the Government is that I am a regular Part-time employee with Medical and Dental benefits and a pension. I am going to need that pension all too soon. Because of my move to pricier digs, I require more funds than I make at that job. Traditionally my second jobs have been contract labour Hospice work providing end-of-life care for those who choose to die at home. I still treasure my work with the dying, but choose to insert something else for my second work now. My choice was a good one, of that I am convinced. What is surprizing to me is to find that I may prefer the second job to the first.

Change. Weights and measures.
I bend, but never, ever break.
=========*

“"The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs, and explosions, and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, ideas, predjudices, to be found only in the minds of men. For the record, predjudices can kill and suspicion can destroy. A thoughtless, freightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all it's own for the children yet unborn. And the pity of it is, is that these things can not be confined to the Twilight Zone.”
-- Rod Serling

Healthy Health Care

2008-10-02T20:08:00.000-07:00

Still smarting from the indignity of having the Contract shredded and the Pension revoked, I remain skeptical as to whether my Union will survive after 2010 when the eye of the world is no longer fixed on British Columbia. Sure, we got some renumeration (all taxed at the lump sum rate, thanks Gordo) and sure we got our pensions reinstated ( starting date of the legal victory, not the original paid from date, thanks again Gordo) but not many of us believe that if he gets in again, and recession hits hard, Gordo won't pick on us again.

Predominantly a female work force, we work hard for you, the public, without judgement. We do things you do not want to. We see things that no human can witness without wincing so that you, the families and friends do not have to. We work for you. Present and accountable, we go everywhere, in our own vehicles, to provide one high standard of Health Care for all, rich and poor, young and elderly. This is the beauty of Government Health Care - we believe that it is every Canadian's right to access free Health Care.

We in Community Health are paid less than our fellows who work in Hospitals. We work at considerable risk because of our passionate beliefs. I have never met a Community Health Nurse or Worker that did not have this passion. I have never met a Community Health Nurse or Worker that I would not want in my own home providing care for me.

---- * *

“Compassion, forgiveness, these are the real, ultimate sources of power for peace and success in life.” Tenzin Gyatso, The 14th Dalai Lama

Tradesmen, spoiled Tradesmen!

2008-09-28T20:44:00.000-07:00

Not so many years ago,before the housing boom in our resort area that changed the market forever, I chanced to have a conversation with a car salesman who had changed to that career after a failed one as a painter. He was bitter about the lack of work for tradespeople and told me that in his opinion Nurses were grossly overpaid for what they do and that painters are undervalued. I asked him if, when was needing emergency services he would call a painter or a Nurse. He remained non-plussed. I remember him well as the degree of annoyance in him was so strong.

Here we are 5 years later. Waterfront property here has gone from affordable to a working couple to out of reach to all but the very rich. The big boom has brought tradesman from all over, cashing in on high end clients and all the fancy things they need/want/desire. It is almost impossible these days to find a simple handyman to do light repairs. The waiting lists for small jobs are frightful as mega-projects take most of the skilled workers. It is even worse to find a painter.
How do I know?

In my ignorance, I called for a painter to come and start painting my ceilings as I was still patching and sanding most walls. This was, apparantly, a bad thing I was doing. Imagine my foolishness, saving someone else work of the grunt variety. The first painter told me he would not consider starting the job until the house was completely clean. No ceilings, no nothing. He was pretty shirty about the whole thing, causing me to loose my cool and tell him that in my work, I work within the client's parameters, and try to be as flexible as possible. Since my home was 99% empty and the downstairs was ready to go, I failed to see the wisdom of his argument.

The second painter was delighted to tell me that he was available at very short notice. He would charge me $1.50 a square foot for my ceilings, and $1.00 a square foot for each coat on the walls. Naturally, my walls required a minimum of two coats. I was willing to give it a try but wanted a better price, so I asked him to come by and see things. I sent my father to deal with him. This, was a grievous error. The two of them spent the visit horrified by the state of things. They spent alot of time in the junior members bedroom comparing horrified looks over the number of holes being patched and the basic injustice of anyone requiring a closet the size of hers. Bad bad move on my part. Once my father called me with the details of their shock and disappointment and how he had to talk the painter round to even wanting to paint..... I lost my cool once again. I am doing the patching, sanding and washing of walls. All the painter has to do is paint. Is this too much to ask? For 954 square feet of square rooms, and only the living room and dining room ceiling to do, it still would come to over $2600 for about 2.5 days work.

My father was very clear. The cleaning had to take precedence. I was even clearer. I am working night and day, spending all my off hours cleaning and sanding. Of course it's a mess with all that dust flying around. Once I finish it magically people will notice. In the meantime my hundred hours of work go unsung.

After my little hissy fit my father called me again to tell me that Joe, the very kind man who has been of great help to me over the move, would paint for me. Did I hiss moan or act up? No. I was delighted. I am very happy to pay Joe whatever he wants for painting my little condo. He at least works and does his work uncomplainingly.

My flooring installer was laughing at me when I made a face aa painters were mentioned. "Spoiled rotten tradesmen", he said, "They only want the gravy jobs, not the actual work."

Amen, brother Al. Amen.

Al, the flooring installer, not only removed the old dance floor, but cleaned and cleared and reinstalled the high end laminate in 2 and a bit days. He even cut a remnant for that massive closet and matched up my parquet in an alcove. He is not just any flooring installer. Al is the best. I am so grateful. Good people still exist. Al does the same job for me as he does on millionaires row. He is an excellent man indeed. When times are good and when times are bad, Al is steady and constant. Thank you Al.

==== *
“Relationships of trust depend on our willingness to look not only to our own interests, but also the interests of others.”
Peter Farquharson

Details. Pesky, annoying details....

2008-09-24T20:43:00.000-07:00

Ohhh moving is not for the faint of heart. It isn't even for the stout of heart. It is a necessary evil. Alas alas.

I am the third of three girls in my family of birth. My eldest sister shares only one trait with my second sister- a distain for silver, crystal and china. Being the third, I expected nothing at all from my mother in the way of heirlooms. Mother was always very vocal about lines of succession. It wasn't me. Naturally, I took a job at Canada's finest retailer of all things high-end and got myself possessed of the best I could afford, and even alot I could not afford of sterling silver dinnerware, teasets and fine bone china.

After my Mother passed away, my father remarried in a fit of loneliness. He was taken for a ride by the biggest poser I ever had the misfortune to meet. The only person she fooled was my father, and that for a mere year. As this person slowly but surely displaced my father from his waterfront home, every single thing that reminded her of the prior resident was removed or relegated to storage. Imagine my surprize when my father showed up at my door with two huge tubs on a dolly.
In the tubs was my mothers entire set of Royal Albert China in the "Brigadoon" pattern. 16 place settings and every other service piece available. My father told me that he had indulged my mother in this purchase as it reflected her pride in her scottish heritage. He had ordered and paid for all the china, and now that his new wife was installed with her own china, he had to pass it on. "Your sisters don't care about this sort of thing" he said "And I know you will use it and enjoy it."
Damned straight Dad.

My younger brother had received our Grandmother's Royal Worchester china which was her "good set." In a moment of self-reflection he called me to say that he would never use it and wanted it to go down the family line. He then told me that he was sending it, and the oak china cabinet it was displayed in over to my place. 954 square feet with a dining room 9 by 9. Around the same time Lady Di called me to say that much as she had appreciated using my Heintzmann piano, it was time for it to return to my nest. 9 by 9 dining room - upright grand piano, and china for days.
I had a floor to ceiling china cabinet installed. It was made to match my floor to ceiling bookcases that took up the entire living room long wall. I absolutely adored my cozy condo. It looked like a million dollars to me. Alas we do not all share the same tastes.

To sell my condo, it seems it was necessary to remove all the dark wood built-ins. Cabinets went the way of the dodo. This is where Joe came in. He removed the 8 foot highh book shelves. I had no way to transport them anywhere and Joe very kindly offered to give them to his son-in-law. This was a true kindness as I had no usable wall in the new place for them, and was going to call a removal service. In return for the book shelves, his son-in-law wired in my washer/dryer in the new place, adding a fuse to the breaker panel. A good trade. Joe also found someone to transport my beautiful washer/drier combo to the new place and swap over the ones resident there. This cost $100. My father tipped the guys $40 for the inconvenience of having to navigate two steep flights of stairs. A very good deal.

Now all that I loved was gone from my olde home. Next up was the dance floor which apparantly would stop any sensible buyer from buying. No one but us dances I suppose. And my colourful halls and bathroom had to be beige-i-fied. All traces of me have been expunged. This clearly means that my condo will sell instantly.

Please God.

===== *
“There is no man, however wise, who has not at some period of his youth said things, or lived in a way the consciousness of which is so unpleasant to him in later life that he would gladly, if he could, expunge it from his memory.”
Marcel Proust

A Shocker!

2008-09-23T18:53:00.001-07:00

It was over my morning breakfast at ye A & W that I spied in the local paper an obituary for a fellow that I once knew rather well.

Rob Slater was in the crowd I hung with around the turn of the century. (Does that not sound like ancient times?) He was very cute and cuddly and incredibly funny. I had a bit of a crush on him and I thought he had one on me as well. Turned out he had pegged me for his father who was in his later 80s..... Rob Senior was a hell of a man as well, but 40 years too old for me. I still remember sitting in their home, polishing trophies that once belonged to Rob Sr.'s wife, and, thinking I misheard, asked him to repeat himself. No, I had not misheard. Later the same day, Rob Jr. asked me if he could call me Mom. I was not insulted, just blown away, as it was outside of my realm of probability. Rob Jr. took after his father- he was interested in 20 somethings not 30 and 40 somethings.

Aside from that awkward moment, I enjoyed alot of happy times in Rob's company. I knew he had suffered from some inner turmoils and had demons that were not yet tamed, but I believed he had conquered the main ones. Rob went into a welding program and became a very proficient tradesman, but never quite got past whatever demon lingered. Now that is all moot as he is gone from the body.

It is never a good time to hear of the death of a friend.
I wish you well in the sweet hereafter friend.
Rest in peace.

==== *
“Anyone desperate enough for suicide...should be desperate enough to go to creative extremes to solve problems: elope at midnight, stow away on the boat to New Zealand and start over, do what they always wanted to do but were afraid to try.”
Richard Bach

Blessed am I.

2008-09-21T21:12:00.000-07:00

My oh my what a difference a week makes.
Somewhat overwhelmed by the minutae of the endstages of moving, I found myself hoping for easier work on the regular job. To my sorrow, I got my wish. Sorrow, because it has come at the price of many farewells from people I was not yet ready to let go.

My dear Danish lady is on the waitlist in the supersonic fast lane. It is not her desire, but in truth she has met all criteria for extended care placement for over 2 years. Keeping her independant in her own home has been difficult for her children. They are tired, she is tired, and it is time for a change. I know that she will not thrive in the facility atmosphere and likely will sicken and die within the year. Still, what other option is there?

Two more of my regular clients have been sent to extended care on a permanent placement and a third is being re-assessed this coming week. -sigh- My hours will filled in with newer long-term clients and one or two palliative care clients. One gentleman in particular bears special mention as he most definitly allowed me in his home on sufferance. Grace, grace, I am always striving for grace.

How wonderful it was to have one of my clients tell me that her feedback from the residents of the building where I do my second job are happy with my appearance on the scene. "They love you" she said. As long as they tolerate me with a modicum of decorum I am happy. I get to dress up and wear jewellry, and make-up. I get to assume the title of Manageress. I get to zip around with the teenage servers inhaling their energy and enjoying their company.

I am truly blessed by all these things.
It is a good life.
=====*

“My imperfections and failures are as much a blessing from God as my successes and my talents and I lay them both at his feet.”
Mahatma Gandhi

Almost done.... almost almost

2008-09-19T14:52:00.000-07:00

It seems to me that I have said this before: "I am almost done."
Who knew that once stripped of it's furniture, my cozy condo would look so darned drab and dowdy. Not only do I have to repaint the whole thing, which I had counted on, but I also have to replace the floors downstairs. yes, REPLACE.

When someone in the household was a career dancer it made sense to have a sprung living room floor. Perhaps it was not installed to perfection, but it was serviceable. Well, it has to go before we can resell.

DRAT.

Otherwise - my library shelves, the custom made floor to ceiling, room long ones, were yesterday's casualty. Gone gone gone.

-- sigh
---------- *

“How do geese know when to fly to the sun? Who tells them the seasons? How do we, humans know when it is time to move on? As with the migrant birds, so surely with us, there is a voice within if only we would listen to it, that tells us certainly when to go forth into the unknown.”
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Almost done.

2008-09-15T19:05:00.000-07:00

Almost done is like almost pregnant.

:P

Not about work ---

2008-09-14T21:21:00.001-07:00

This last week I was completely honest with someone I love.
It was misinterpreted and brought pain. Sadly, as it turns out, I was better at hiding my thoughts and emotions back then than I ever would have believed.

My life has been charmed. I have had alot of loss and more than my share of humbling circumstance, but it all served to make me strong. I know my limitations and work within them - no exceptions. When I was a young woman I would eat nails before I would admit defeat. I flailed and raged against life with the usual result.
In my case, only time could help me. I learned, eventually, and it was age bringing wisdom, nothing else.

My life is a happy one. I am very content. I have all that I desire and more. The sole chink in my armour is romance. It has not been my forte. I have loved and been loved in return, enjoyed happy relationships and had a child, the source of my endless joy, but a life partner has eluded me.

-------------- *

The heart is the place where we live our passions. It is frail and easily broken, but wonderfully resilient. There is no point in trying to deceive the heart. It depends upon our honesty for its survival.
~ by Leo Buscaglia (Born For Love) ~

There is only one happiness in life: to love and be loved.
~ by George Sand ~

Love is an act of endless forgiveness
A tender look which becomes a habit.
~ by Peter Ustinov ~

Once long ago, I met the man who was my soul mate. At the time, my latest romance had ground to a weird chaotic halt when my boyfriend was arrested in another province. The nature of the crime was drugs, and the number and seriousness of the charges were staggering. This was mind-boggling to such as me, who never successfully did drugs, nor knew that my boyfriend did. To find out he was not merely a user, which was shocking enough, but a dealer, was such a blow to my system, my mind literally shut down. I found I could not process this event. I too was halted.

During this time, my soul mate was available. He was there and willing, and I, I was at an utter loss over where I was going and what I was doing. I was stuck. I told him to go out and date and get dating out of his system. He met a woman who was in the market for a man and they were living together within months. I gave up on him.

It went on in this dysfunctional manner culminating in my pregnancy. I never admitted to anything but sheer joy where that was concerned. In truth, I cried for 2 weeks on the shoulder of a wiser woman. I put down my guitar, and took up motherhood. I did it well. It is one of the two things of true importance that I have done in my life.

As to romance:
Carnage everywhere.
I completely stink at romance.

-and- Even Better!

2008-09-14T21:05:00.000-07:00

Here we are in week 2 of my new job.

Better and better, as it unfolds. I have all the names down, and I am getting better at the portion sizes and the "specials." Last night was hard as I was focused on what I had to do today. Really stupid, I know, but there it is. Tonight was overbooked, and I had 43 people to serve. The servers are high school students who are twice as fast and ten times as knowlegable as I am, but that ratio will change as I improve. Tonight I bargained away their vacuuming for extra help serving. I think I got the better end of the stick as it flowed beautifully. Without them, I would sink like the Titanic - break in two and descend to the inky depths. It is integral during a learning period that your staff move and flow strengthening you. I am strong. They are strong. All is well.

The other part of my life, the move part is almost at an end. Come hell or high water my cozy condo must go on the market this Friday. This week will be one of cleaning and painting. I can do it.

:)

Even Better - - -

2008-09-07T23:55:00.000-07:00

OH happy day!
Tonight went yet more smoothly and easily on job 2.
I absolutely love it.

Job 1 is wonderful and job 2 is so different, complementing each other perfectly.

I have almost all the names done now and most of the substitutions.

HURRAH!

I've Got to Admit I'm Getting Better...

2008-09-07T01:49:00.000-07:00

Today marked shift #2 on the new job. It was decidedly better than shift #1.
This would be mostly due to my trainer who is most excellent at leading by example.
This most excellent woman has been kind and correct and even "taught me how to google". I was mildly amused but t'was meant in the best of ways.

It is a source of minor irritation to me that I was unable to perform at maximum capacity. In my mind and the moment, I was rather hot and somewhat slower than necessary. In actual fact it was hellaciously hot in the dining room and everyone on staff felt it, including the teenage servers.

The thing that slows me down is the substitution list and the list of people who take various portion sizes. It is not rocket science but the delay in my brain recognition of a new pattern is substantial. Humbling how we learn, but deeply appreciable. I loved the moment when I realized I had almost got one of the big huge things down.

A woman like me who can tend the dying, brave wind and weather on behalf of my clients, meet pyschosis eye to eye and come out alive, hold hands with those meeting eternity and share both the calm and the exciting, daunted by a dining room. Kind of silly, huh.

But damned fun. I love this new job.

Happy First Shift

2008-09-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

Today dawned rather too early for me as I had worked until 11pm and had to get up at 7am. It was a good kind of tired. My very first shift at my new second job is in the past now. It was really great. (superlative superlative superlative)!

The first indication that things were going to be wonderful was upon meeting the woman who was training me. She was a little dynamo with a great spirit that shone out from her like a beacon. When working with the elderly this is a huge asset, and this lady had it in spades. She is from MY tribe.

Somewhat less exhuberant was the brain misfire I endured in the middle of serving dinner. I was moving and groovin and right on the money until --=*wham*=-- I lost my momentum and fizzled to a halt. It was not catastrophic as my trainer was there and two servers were buzy zipping about, but it was very humbling. I just have to learn the names to associate with the faces of the 35 residents who come down for dinner. Once I have that down it will be much easier.

The other perk is that I get to have dinner at my job when I work the evening shift!
Last night was salmon with dill sauce, rice and veggies and a parfait for dessert. It was delish! (yum)

Life is wonderful when things lock into place. Click click click.

My piano moves on Friday morning and I clean out my home completely on Monday.
Look out resort town, I am officially there in 5 days.

:)

===== *

Men with secrets tend to be drawn to each other, not becausethey wanttosharewhatthey know but because they need the company of the like-minded, the fellow- afflicted. —DeLillo, Don

Un-freakin-believable

2008-09-01T16:31:00.000-07:00

What you think about, you bring about. I have always believed this to be true. My life seems evidence of same. Currently I have what I wished for and am wondering where my brain was when my thoughts were made manifest.

Currently, house 1 is in a shambles - not painted nor packed, but in a complete state of disorder. House 2 is empty-ish except for the very few things I have moved over. The lovely card from the realtor, a few kitchen items, some clothes belonging to the younger version- a towel or three and some soap, that is about it. Now I must plot the ---really--- big move. In the words of the Bubbles Julian & Ricky: Its a shitstorm boys.

Tomorrow I start orientation on job #2. This looks to be pretty much perfect. I love the idea of working in the Village. Excellent!!

Me boyo Nigel was in town again this weekend, hopefully without a certain other person, and I missed him again. Crossed stars.

And now, to pack.
Honest.

===== *

“Moving on, is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard.”
Dave Mustaine

Timeline of the Next Month

2008-08-24T20:29:00.000-07:00

This should be filed under: "reasons I am not blogging" with a subheading for "Arda my love I am busy..."

Can I finally be nearing maturity? Not MUDding??
That is tantamount to heresy. Arda lovely Arda where the digital winds sooth my furrowed elven brow, how I shall grieve our absences. I leave you Telvorn in my stead, who can outMUD anyone while recoding the world. In all my digital years, I have yet to meet someone I respect more than Telvorn. We share similar air and many common beliefs. It is a stranger's familiarity that only other MUDders understand.

But I digress....

So firstly, the deed comes my way in 4 days. First up is the mighty mighty piano that must not be moved unless by expert movers. Luckily I have one living in my neck of paradise. Once the piano has exited the cozy condo I must look at the floor under it that cracked when it was moved in. 1400 POUNDS tends to do that sort of thing. I am moving my bed and some chairs in first so I can hang out in my new pricey digs without feeling orphanded.
It is going to be obnoxious in the beginning as I know very well my father will get any and everyone to come visit me. (oif)

All righty!
Next up it will be time to move the kitchen and dining room.... I have way too much china and silver for one lifetime. This is due to alot of it coming from other people's lifetimes. Nothing in my possession is unused or unwanted. I will have to purchase a new china cabinet for the items I have stowed in crates. One of the things I love about my new place is that it has a STORAGE ROOM in another building in addition to whatever that 1250 square feet has to offer. Alot of my papers are not yet digitised and must be transcribed. Until then, they live in bins, hopefully awaiting my keystrokes.

The cozy kitchen must then be repainted as it is shabby as hell. Since I am lazy and in a rush, I plan to only paint the surrounds of the cabinets and let the next fellas work their magicks. The dining room has about 65 holes to patch before I can paint due to the clock fetish. The second bedroom has to be painted after similar patching due to young people having their way with the walls. It must be heredity.

So busy .... lots more to do no time to discuss it but prolly will moan about it on here.

I love my new place!!

===== *

“How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” Anne Frank

Jugglin'

2008-08-22T20:08:00.000-07:00

So many balls in the air, and still only two hands.
Which ball drops this time? Prolly the one marked: "Achieving balance and well-being" --again--

All the plans are in place and now I must only move paint and sell, in that order. This is going to cost me a whole lot of money and likely will be the last move I make this side of the soil. It also is a huge gamble on my part and one that I am undertaking with the attitude that every BIG dime I made got swept away in a sea of parenthood and ill-advised partnerships. This current gamble is built on an initial investment of 10k which has blossumed to 100k, all in equity. To keep my sanity in place, I am regarding it as 10k.

The balance that was absolutely integral to the last few years is going out the window as well. This I am doing as I am no longer paying a huge amount of tuition nor am I having to pay for dance related expenses and injuries. Sounds minor but after 12 physio visits they all ring up at $75 per.

The whole operation hinges on my second job. After a lot of belly button glimpses and much discarded lint, I have jetted the second hospice job. Not that my heart is not there, more that I need a second income that is not generated by health-care. It is a decision made after thinking long and hard. Far less money, but no attachment.

The new second income job starts next week and involves being responsible for the evening shift at an independant living apartment building. It is a very well run establishment that I have always viewed with respect. I also am one of those people who can be polite and pleasant to all and come off as halfway sincere. This is because I genuinely enjoy people and their stories. I enjoy interacting outside the home. My own home is sacred. No, you cannot come visit. No, I am not mad at you, I just do not like sharing my sacred space.

Besides, I have some auring to do. This whole December 21st 2012 thing has me thinking. The glass bowl is calling. And no, I do not care to explain that one.

While watching this Discovery Channel theme afternoon on the end of the world at Dec21st 2012 thing, it was mentioned that Nostradamus firmly believed that his was a gift of prophecy that had come down the family. My sister was looking amused. It is funny that she can be in our family, and not understand this part of it. It is not really a gift, it is a predeliction towards intuitiveness. My brother and I both have it. My mother fought against it. Our Sinclair great grandmother believed she had it and spoke of her own grandmother recognising the gift in her. Of course I do not really believe this but it is an interesting premise.

Are we all nuts? Sure we are. Assorted nuts. We also tend to be right in our assumptions on things far more times than most. I don't really have a bowl to gaze into. I do use cards....

===== *

“The world thinks eccentricity in great things is genius, but in small things, only crazy”
Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

The Winds of Change are Blowin...

2008-08-11T17:21:00.000-07:00

Living in Paradise is a matter of lifestyle enrichment. No matter what your address is in this area, it is good. Great. Fabulous. Outstanding.
So - why are we moving?

The cozy condo which I have customized and made my own is my haven and sanctuary. It is a little estate with 14 units. When I first moved in, I was saddened to learn that the woman in the home behind me had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. Alot of prayer and even more surgery left her on permanent long-term disability, but alive. It stuck in my mind as a very cruel and strange twist of fate as she was in her early 40's. Since then, I have watched as person after person on my estate is felled with varying forms of cancer. Even I had a nasty bout of a treatable cancer a couple of years ago. It was debilitating but I recovered well and am clean and cancer free as of this date.

My immediate neighbour had a breast cancer recurrance in the time she lived here. The woman two doors over has been told she has 2 years to live as a stealth cancer ravages her insides. The woman 5 doors to the other side passed away early this year from ovarian cancer. She was 28 years old. After her death I vowed that if one more person announced a cancer I was going to run not walk to a realtor. Last week our little street man who lived in a condo his brother bought him moved into a full care facility as he has, no suprise, cancer.

Yesterday I bought another condo in the resort community where I do most of my work. It was almost 50 thousand more than I was willing to spend and I will be paying a mortgage off well into my late 60s but I DON"T CARE. No one in this newer place has been ailing and the seller was a vibrant 60 year old who had renovated the place for herself using all the same type of wonderful things I use. Now all I must do is to remove all my chandeliers and get packing. I am moving into the new place in 12 days. Then I plan to paint out my condo and leave minimal furnishings and sell the bugger.

Egad.

===== *

“The only objects of practical reason are therefore those of good and evil. For by the former is meant an object necessarily desired according to a principle of reason; by the latter one necessarily shunned, also according to a principle of reason.”
Immanuel Kant

2008-08-03T17:55:00.000-07:00

Lyrics | Sweet About Me lyrics

Gabrielle Cilmi

2008-07-28T14:05:00.000-07:00

This is one of my newest favourite artists.

I hope you enjoy this. She reminds me of me (attitude wise). Especially in the official video for this song with the guys tied up and hanging upside down...

(Sorry about the quality - all the good copies of the official video were taken down)
I posted the above link because it shows how good this girl is LIVE and as you all know, I support music LIVE AND LOCAL and you should too!!! Art is life!

If, however, you want to see a cleaned up version, visit her website:
http://www.gabriellacilmi.com/ (go figure)

A Little Wisdom (from Zeezee)

2008-07-26T20:58:00.000-07:00

Some days she speaks in **soundbits - today was such a day.
We were discussing the nature of truth.

ZeeZee: "Truth is like yeast.
--- (big pause) ---
"But who the hell bakes bread these days?"

-@- -@- -@- -@- -@- -@-

** - similar to soundBITES but smaller, and more polite. (ie: Canadian version)

Thinking Back to ----

2008-07-24T17:30:00.000-07:00

Posting about Joseph Iorio, made me think about all the characters I met while I was in his employ. No television mini-series could do justice to all these amazing people.

A few years ago, I posted about one since departed: Padriac Kennedy. He was a bit quirky but in a benign way. He was too brainy for this world. I hope the next is more rewarding for him. Another person that was worthy of mention was Darren, who loved to wear a deer stalker and cape, and bravely took public transit to work. Elisabeth, the saboteur, who was capable of great kindness and equal intrigue. She was a complicated person who was not so kind in retrospect. Ernie, who helmed the ship was an anchor. Hemet who always wanted to be out front - (he was stuck in the backroom shipping for years) and now is. I am so pleased for that, as if ever a person deserved a sizable promotion, it is Hemet. He was and remains the most loyal of Joe's crew.

The rest of the staff in those turbulant years came and went, mostly went. I worked in dangerous times for Joseph. The stories I could tell.... (but not yet).
Some of the folk that I was friendly with were legitimate small time dealers, but some of them were definitly a little on the iffy side. I was too naive at the time to see it. Not now though. Joe always ran a reputable ship. He abided by every city statue and law, and sometimes got grief from the authorities where none was warranted. He is a straight shooter.

There was Roy, the guy from Chilliwak who couldnt date or appraise anything but had a supersharp instinct for valuables and an amazing ability to get things cheap. There was Bill, the British Coin expert who turned out to be a tad shady. There was Paul who left in a fit of pique because I was there, and who went on to do what he should have all along - run his own outfit. On Saturdays, the little dealers would come in with their week's worth of trade, and alot of them knew that I was a sucker for rhinestones. Now of course the store did not buy rhinestones unless they were housed in a truly show-stopping vintage extravaganza and even then, it was not a surety. I, on the other hand, was happy to go out for a coffee and relieve the boys of the glitz. It was a few years before one of my assistants pointed out to me that these transactions had a sexual undertone. I was once more, alas, too naive to see this. It pains me to say this as I always thought of myself as one of the boys. One of the boys in high heels and glitzies, but still, one of the boys.

Silly silly me.
It is a good thing that the enthusiasm of youth keeps us from being too introspective. That comes later. -heh

In Scale

2008-07-24T17:07:00.001-07:00

The 3 items I purchased at the Thrift are picture on a chair cushion.
That should give you some scale to judge by.

So Beautiful - At Home in Paradise

2008-07-24T16:16:00.001-07:00

Recovering from my helldays was easy this week as the winds are warm and the tides friendly. Even the Thrift was user-friendly, as miraculously some vintage silver was put out as I wandered past. The gleanings were a small sterling match case with a crest on it and a crystal perfume bottle with a sterling rim, hallmarked Birmingham, 1916. I also snatched up a very Art Noveau trinket box, crystal with a gold-plate top. Grande total = $18.50

-@ go me! @-

Other people have different hobbies. Me, I like to sift through junk for treasures. I honed my skills working for Joseph Iorio, the King of Canadian Coins (stamps and jewellery.) Standing at his counter going through sacks of stuff looking for precious metals to melt down gave me a razor sharp instinct and a fast eye. I absolutely loved my job there and I believe that I learned more from Joe than from any other single individual. Joe is an overcomer. Joe is a man who takes life and bends it to his will. Joe is a man who tranformed himself. Thank you Joe, for everything.

Now, one trait I acquired in Joseph Iorio's employ was thrift. I am very loath to part with large sums of cash. Somehow paying the retail price defeats the purpose of thrifting. Working at Joe's, I saw beautiful one of a kind items melted down for scrap price. It killed me at first, but I got used to it. The true value of a material good is what someone is willing to pay for it. That's all. Every now and then, when Joe was in an exceptionally good mood he would let me go through the huge bucket of scrap sterling and pick out stuff for myself. He thought it was a strange quirk I had, as he has no attachment to things. I got some amazing treasures from those days.

Today, I felt a whiff of my own past as I scooped up my little trinkets. I was very fortunate and I know it. I am delighted.

Somniloquy

2008-07-22T15:22:00.000-07:00

During the drugged and prone aspect of my little weekend drama, I not only missed a kite festival in my neighbourhood (and a personal appearance by Nigel on his Motoguzzi) but also a visit by Randy and Laust. The boyos stayed in my home overnight and not only did I not wake up, I did not know they were there until after they left. Thank GOD I caught Randy and Laust on the flip side. Barely, mind you but catch them I did. Now they are off to Vancouver for the Festival of Fire and the view from Randy's balcony.

I am once more alone in my abode so should I somniloquize tonight there shall be no witnesses, other than my doggie and he is the soul of discretion.

So.... She who drugs and sleeps away, lives to to fight another day.

I am not really promoting pharmaceuticals as a remedy for life, but they work and work well for brain-busting a broken brain. You are totally useless, but the body repairs as you zombie away. It has taken me years to admit this. I can now say it and mean it. Broken brains need drugging sometimes. And pain, the great equalizer, can change even the most stubborn mind.
-@-
After being told what I was shouting about last week, I have been very tempted to set up a voice activated tape recorder, but perhaps I am more scared..... than curious.
I am not sure I want to know.

The Snoozle Factor

2008-07-17T21:09:00.000-07:00

There can be pesky side effects to life with a TBI. This week's blue light special was migraines. BAH -

The first day I suspected I had been in the land of pavor nocturnus,( and perhaps I was there without any recall) when the crush of nerve on brain got my full and complete attention. Dark room and solitude produced a few hours of complicated sleep and visits from concerned roommates and guests. It was the sleep shouting thing again. "Get away from me, get that thing off me, get out get out!" Why is it I never shout happy things? Why are sleep terrors not balanced by sleep blissies?

It was a long haul this time and somewhat discouraging. The migraine lasted almost 3 days, a record for me. The terrors were in accompaniment. Only the words of a Neurologist who told me not to consider surgery until I was screaming in pain all day every day held me together. Once my brain was functional once again I decided to see what other people are posting about the sleep terror aspect of this phenomena.

Thanks to global communication and the Internet, freaked out people are able to connect with others who experience similar things. In my past I have been told and told off by people with the letters PHD after their names - told that I am making it up, told that it is impossible for sleep paralysis to last more than 20 to 30 seconds, - yadda yadda - The great strength of being me is that I never once believed that it was not really happening. I refused to accept that I was the only person in the world with such things going on. In the Internet age, it is obvious that not only does it go on, it is positively rampant.

I had a good laugh at Dion McGregor, who talked even more than I do - and oh dear, what a potty mouth! Listen to him here - (""Brown it, brown it...") His sleep narratives invariably ended with his shrieking in terror. I believe that as long as your night terrors stay in the night, it is bearable. When they interfer with your days, its difficult. When you can no longer fall asleep at all, its dire.

Most of the sleep chatters who also have night terrors just want to understand what it all means. I like the way this fellow approached the problem, by recording himself in the night, and posting it to a website.
If you cannot sleep soundly, it is unlikely your days will be full of sunshine and roses - that you would notice at least.

So another round of horror, and another set ceded to Pavor Nocturnus. --sigh-- I took all my medications three days in a row..... and let us hope they do their work.

Happy Birthday Nigel

2008-07-11T07:57:00.000-07:00

Black jeans.
Leather jacket.
Happy heart.

What's not to love?

Best Deals - Thrift-wise

2008-07-10T16:56:00.000-07:00

Some deals are good, some deals are great and some are priceless.
Some of my better deals, (as requested)-

The leather chairs - yummy yummy - I was happy to pay $100 each
The Solid Oak 5 pc. bedroom suite - $450
The Garnet necklace - $3.99
The 5 pc. Sterling teaset - $125
The Apple G3- $9.99
The Diamond Stud Earrings (VS2/G Colour) (.45ct each) $5.00
The 9ct. Gold Bracelet - $3.99
The Sterling Dresser Set- Mirror, Comb and Hairbrush- $25.00
4 Pairs of Doc Martens, green, brown, black and red - $3.99 pair
The Sterling Candlabra - $5.00
2 x Waterford "Alana" Tumblers - 50 cents each

A Perfect Day

2008-07-10T15:58:00.000-07:00

This week, my day off happened to be the same day a very interesting meeting took place on. Never one to eschew educational components to the job, I naturally attended. Next day I awakened and knew before my eyes opened that is was not going to be a great day. Remembering what Dr. L. said about such things, I dutifully took my medication and after walking the doggie-boy, went back to bed.

Today, I awakened to happiness and well-being. The temperature is slightly lower and the winds slightly higher resulting in a beautiful day. The whitecaps show even in the shallows and the tide is way way out there. I found an iron-framed daybed in pretty much wonderous condition and put it on hold. After consulting the moneyman, it is being delivered on Tuesday. -swoon-

I saw an original Robert Wood canvas, signed even, for 7.00 but you have to leave something for the dealers. If it is still there tomorrow after work it is coming home with me. Somehow, I suspect not.

Eschew obfuscation, espouse elucidation!

Now I am digesting after a delicious meal, awaiting the family bonding experience. Yes, it is the multi-generational moment happening around "So You Think You Can Dance." I admit to enjoying it on Dad's big screen.

The dog is happy, the kids are all right and I, too am swathed in an aura of contentment. A perfect day pretty much.

An Otherwise Pleasant Day

2008-07-01T21:05:00.000-07:00

Stepping out into the morning, so warm it was like a hug, I viewed the promise of Canada Day of an exceptionally fine quality. Looking to my client list, I realised the person in the 7am slot was unknown to me, nor did I have a telephone number for them. I decided to go to a lady who I knew would be up and willing to receive an early visit and bump the gent to the 7:30 slot. The two people lived rather close so it was actually 7:15 when I entered. As it turned out, he had been expecting 7 but a quarter of an hour later was acceptable. And so ended the predictable portion of my work day as Murphy got into my car and travelled alongside me, spreading chaos.

Protocal demands that if no reply is given at the door, I must continue to try to gain entry for 15 minutes and call the person on the telephone before notifying the on-call supervisor whose duty it is to make the decision whether to overlook the absence or call the contact numbers. As we know our clients rather well, this person's judgement is right on the money 99 times out of 100. No answer at the door in this case put me 45 minutes ahead of schedule as I had completed my first two assignments 30 minutes early, due to competancy AND no need for use of the build-in travel time. What to do what to do? I was not able to go early to the next place as it was a 2 person assignment. I cruised past my ten am client and saw the front door open and a family member outside. It was 8:10 - but I opted to stop and check in to see if I could buzz through early. I could.

Once in, it was obvious that the heat had taken it's toil on the older lady. Her husband, was busy telling me nothing at all was wrong, but in fact, she was difficult to rouse and once her eyes opened she complained of a bad stomach. I went back to the gentleman who shook his head and told me that she was fine. Nothing at all wrong. She had been up earlier and they had enjoyed their tea and porridge and now she was just resting. I had a bad feeling.

One advantage of attending to a person with poor short term memory is that you can leave the room for a moment and come back in with a similar approach that might succeed. Like the filme Groundhog Day, I tried it over and over until I found the formula that worked. I got her up and dressed and walked her out to her living room where she sat down. Suddenly her eyes rolled back into her head and she lay down on the couch unresponsive. It was very warm and she did not look well hydrated. It is always a worry in the elderly at this time of year, that they will not increase their fluid intakes to compensate for the heat. But when you are in your 90s, it could be almost anything. Age brings friends that most of us would rather not invite to our parties.

By the time the ambulance arrived, the other half of this sweet couple was in distress as well. The first responders were excellent and had him stabilised quickly. His wife on the other hand was taken away to be rehydrated, and checked over. And I was now very late for my assignment. It was just a few moments more until someone arrived to stay with the gent, and by the time I arrived to my next place, I was delighted to see one of the better co-workers already engaged in the tasks at hand. Not that I dont like everyone else but indeed we are not all created equally and in some environs, certain personalities fade, fail and crumple. In this place where we work, all the tools are there, all supplies well stocked, but the client is not going gently into that dark night. The client has a whip of a tongue and even in a diminished state is quite capable of reducing suseptible folk to jellies. My co-worker was rather aware of his dislike for her but seemingly impervious. It did not affect her care and we completed our tasks easily.

The remainder of my day had glitches and some downright errors. One of my clients had already received service by someone who misread the schedule. Another was out on the links and I was running behind the cart to get his attention. All in all it was fairly typical of a holiday work day in our world. Pleasant but chaotic.

Those Lazy Hazy Crazy Days ...

2008-06-29T17:49:00.000-07:00

Oh yes, we know summer is here now that the mercury has risen and the tourists have at last had some beachtime in the sun. As I sit sipping my coffee of the day, I cannot resist pulling out the camera so you see what I see, even for just a few moments. Can anyone at all be cranky on such a day as this? Today I am meeting four new people. It should be interesting. If things go sideways I can always remind them of this. This IS paradise and we live here. I love it!

Last Man Standing

2008-06-29T11:27:00.000-07:00

How we think, how we feel, and what we say - these things are so different in thought and execution. Being clever is not a thing I value in others for it's own sake as cleverness abounds in our family of wolverines. Being kind, being present, being willing, these are the things I value alongside morality and ethics of a kind to impact our planet in a positive or even benign way and the resolve to do no harm to fellow beings.

Frequently people mistake manners and pleasantries for friendship. That can be one deadly error and result in friendships that do not work out. All around me I see people mired in social disorder - chaos from alcoholism and dysfunction- and this is what seems normal to them. It works for them but not for me.

Shakespeare said: "Give grief words lest the ravelled heart bind up and bid it break." Years of not giving grief words resulted in my heart breaking into a million tiny pieces. No more..

You can get past your past but emotional memory has a life of it's own. The thing named has less power.

Chrome Sweethearts

2008-06-22T20:08:00.000-07:00

Not even 8am and the streets are buzzing with excitement in a town known for sleeping through Sundays. I have a client on the main road so I have to park outside of the barricades and hike it in. I pass cars and more cars, queuing for their designated spots in the annual car show. There are thousands of vehicles in this years show. I am extrememly glad my schedule continues in other areas as I hike back out again.

Later - the streets are awash with people gawking at the cars. Grannys and Hells Angels and everything inbetween and all to the backdrop of 40s-50s-60s music blaring from the speakers at every corner. The high price of gas has not dissuaded anyone from attending or participating.

What strikes me is this: As a teenager attending Car shows, the guys and their wives and ladies, were just one generation older than me. Sure, some of my friends had the car bug but by and large, most of the car guys were older. Now I am older too and guess what The Car buffs are STILL one generation up. Silver haired foxes and pot bellied retirees form the majority in this huge seaside event.

I am just a teeney bit jealous.

Shiny Chrome

2008-06-20T19:07:00.000-07:00

Boys and their toys- some things do not change no matter how old you get.

As a teenager in school, I was always mystified by the amount of time some of my friends spent on cars. They chromed everything, polished everything and then raced at Mission Raceway. Or the brand new Knight street bridge. Or along SE Marine drive between the Fraser Arms and Fullerès restaurant. Not me though, oh no not me.
I was a mere passenger. My first boyfriend was Ricki Cohen. He had a beautiful 1962 Cadillac. It was a boat. I loved cruising around in it. We went to the Stanley Park Be-In together and I was never so happy to get in a big comfie car afterwards.

Mike S put a Hemi engine in a Chevy II. --------------------- + woooooosh!
Greg N had a Black Cuda. Mimi drove her Moms Pontiac station wagon with a 456 in it. Mrs. G used to lend ¨Pat Bridges that car and he would rat race everywhere.
I got my dads old 1969 Buick Skylark and MAN it went like stink.
After I tired of paying too much for gas, I moved on to Sports cars.

Mmmm sports cars!
My favourite was my Datsun Fairladys. I had two of them. One grey ghost of a car, a sleeper with the 2000 motor and one candy red with the 1600. Driving those cars was fabulous. The sports car I kept longest was my 1969 MGB with spoke wheels. It was white with a black leather interior and the seats were pinstriped with a white band along the top edges. I used to drive to Vancouver pretty much every weekend and the taillights would be stolen EVERY SINGLE TIME. The 1969 and prior cars had a beautiful red taillight. The newer ones were orange and red. Eventually I swapped over to the orange kind before undertaking my Vancouver outings. I could be seen once a month with a wire brush polishing my chrome wheels. After I sold that car, I never again felt an attachment to an automobile. Sure I drive a sporty looking car red in colour - but its just a car.

Guys on the other hand, the kind with the car itch, tend to stay in love with their chrome sweethearts.

Passing Grade

2008-06-18T21:19:00.000-07:00

The annual flurry of questions preceded my yearly exam for how pharmaceuticals are keeping my night horrors at bay. I did in fact mention that I have thrown up a few times in my sleep, but underplayed this as a symptom of some hidden anxiety.

Unfortunatly, my subconscious has clear memories that I would rather not retain. They come out in my sleep and I frequently disturb the neighbors by yelling in my sleep. In the past, the disorientation has lasted into the daytime and I have lost work time. It is very difficult to shake off this sort of thing no matter how cheery and optimistic a person naturally is. My intellect knows one thing - my emotional memory knows something quite else. To my sorrow, witnesses to my yells tell me that I cry for my Mommy or plead for help in a juvenile manner *or* I shout NO! STOP! in a strong adult voice.

I take a tiny dose of Seraquel prior to bedtime these days which keeps my daytime clear. It does not entirely banish the night horrors. I still shout but I do not wake up and I do not remember in the morning. Last night something happened that has not happened in years. I wet my bed. I also threw up in my sleep.

Wouldn't it be nice if a drug came on the market that would remove memories. There is always the shock therapy method, I suppose, but I have no desire at all for that.
I passed my test and for one more year I shall be medicated.

What I would give to have less challenges.
The upside is I am more compassionate than most.
But grrrr - I want to sleep soundly.

Control - Joy Division

2008-06-17T18:52:00.000-07:00

At long last, the film by Anton Corbijn is playing in a theatre I can get to in under four hours. As a very young person, I embraced the music of Joy Division as that of similar souls. In my youthful brain the thought probably went more like this: "Finally - someone who thinks like I do. Wow. Are they ever deep." To my sister, it was: "Mom - Pepper is listening to that music to commit suicide to again." Ah diversity, such is life.

Another film, a documentary entitled "Joy Division" is also playing the big screens. Sadly, it will not show anywhere near me without both a long drive and a ferry ride.
This is something I am really looking forward to. Perhaps what this illustrates most is that certain aspects of my self never change.

As I was linking the site above, I noticed that I can order "Control" as a DVD. And indeed, I shall

The Indignities of Name-Calling

2008-06-15T19:23:00.000-07:00

Although I never use real names in my blog when discussing clients, this story contains the actual maiden name of someone I know. The someone is my time-traveling friend on the water for whom I harbour such deep affection. Although her stories are becoming repetitious, they never lose their intensity.

This story concerns her school days in Montreal where her family had moved after an idyllic early childhood in Victoria, B.C. where Emily Carr could be seen collecting sea shells along the seashore. The move did not sit well with my friend's seven year old self and only got worse when school began. For the first time in her young life, Zeez was subject to jeering and name calling. The theme of the taunts was her last name for reasons that both mystified and enraged her.

In the school world, the hierarchy was set in stone - pupils at the bottom, teachers many many rungs up and at the pinnacle, the school Principal. Approaching the upper levels unbidden was something unheard of. Naturally this never occurred to young Zeez who, after a particularly galling interaction decided to take matters in hand. As the bell sounded for class to begin, Zeezs young hand took to the air.

"Yes?" asked the teacher.

Zeez stood up to announce that she needed to see the Principal. Immediately. The teacher who must have been mildly amused by this demand, told her that if she thought she must indeed speak to the Principal then she would have to go to the classroom where he was teaching. Zeez marched out of the room in pursuit of justice and retribution. Upon reaching the proper classroom, Zeez knocked purposely on the door which was answered by his eminence himself.
"I need to speak to you Sir." she began.
"Come on inside then and do so," he answered turning his back and returning to his desk.
"But Sir, I need to speak to you privately," she whispered after him.
He turned and fixed her in his gaze.
"If you wish to speak to me, you must do it in my classroom."

Zeez entered with great trepidation yet equal determination. The class was full of seventh grade boys who were all watching with interest the spectacle of this young girl on a mission.
"Please tell me what it is of such importance that you come and interupt my classroom young lady." The Principal was frowning and his long fingers were drumming the desk.

Zeez took a long breath and began.
"Sir, Bobby Fowler took my Father's name in vain."

A silence fell in the room. The Principal looked strangely at Zeez likely remembering that this was the girl who came from that family of Christian Scientists - an unknown quantity in predominantly Catholic Montreal.
"Go on," said the Principal. "What exactly did he say?

Zeez squared her shoulders and let it all tumble out.
"Sir, Bobby Fowler said: "How are you BALLS today Balls?" and Sir my father is a member of the Scottish Rite and wears the same ring you do and I don't think it was a very nice thing of Bobby Fowler to say."

Zeez was amazed to see that the entire classroom had completely dissolved into barely repressed laughter. Every face of every boy was smirking smiling or laughing. Worst of all, the Principals face had gone very red. He thundered to his classroom for silence and then looked very seriously at Zeez.

"Thank you Miss Balls. I will take care of this. You are excused."

Word spread through the school very quickly that Bobby Fowler got both the strap and detention. Zeez was never again subject to that particular jab at school but every Sunday when her father was at home, he was called to the telephone for some prank call.

Ah the misfortunes of youth. To young Zeez, Balls had been an illustrious and dignified name. During their time in Victoria, it had always been understood that here was a name steeped in tradition. In Montreal, this had been reduced to a joke and euphemism.

Recounting this story almost 90 years later, Zeez is just as outraged as she was in the original version. She tells me that until she was a married woman, she did not understand what made the grade seven boys laugh. Her husband had to explain it to her.

Ah the indignities of name-calling.

Happy June 12th

2008-06-12T17:48:00.001-07:00

I was gifted today. Most unexpectedly and for no reason other than that it is June 12th today, with absolutely no affiliations or associations that matter to me. Until NOW.

This is my giftee.

Woot Woot Woot!
ok it has rear mounted speakers, USB and it tilts when you want to read legal size documents. Too cool for school Miss Mary jane! 22 inches of fun for my boudoir.

That sweet sweet feeling - -

2008-06-12T17:03:00.000-07:00

It began in the morning when the urge for chocolate pudding overtook me. MMM pudding.
Later in the day, a kitkat bar beckoned, and by the time I was visiting my father's, a revello was in order. Oh chocolate, how I love you.

Righting

2008-06-08T05:17:00.000-07:00

Most nights are filled with benign wanderings, curious visits or strange reunions. Whether too much caffeine or too much life, my night was a hunted haunted ill slumber filled with many awakenings. How I recoiled with a start from the hand of sleep. Each rude interruption assured me I would call in sick and right my head with a long steady morning dreaming. Falling into a mini dream moments before my final arousal I emerged calmed and relieved until only the faintest remembrance of nocturnal disturbance remained.

Off to work with my usual aplomb. This earth once more spins in the correct axis.

The Other Kind of Ghost

2008-06-04T11:34:00.000-07:00

The home sits on the bluff, overlooking the river's mouth. The ocean is visible from every room as east and west windows let in both the sunrise and the sunset. The kitchen has an old fashioned pantry, and the wood-fired stove is still connected to the flue although seldom lit these days. The lady of the house is in the living room reading the same book she had in her hand a year ago. She has a great deal of short term memory loss, but is one of the happiest people I have ever met. Her entire life has been lived in this home, so no matter what period her mind settles on, her surroundings are familiar and she is unperturbed.

There are two huge bedrooms at this end of the house. One of them has the door always closed. The other is where she sleeps in a brass bed with a large eiderdown and two huge overstuffed pillows adorning it. Today she is fussing with the covers, trying to get everything symmetrical. Today she is carrying her doll with her, under one arm as she tucks and fluffs. She pauses in the hall and smiles at the closed door of the other bedroom. She thinks of me as a familiar Aunt or cousin. Although she is never sure where I fit in exactly, I do indeed fit and my presence is a happy event in her days. This lady is 97 years young. She is petite of frame and slight of stature and wears glasses that accentuate her round curious eyes. I was at her 85th birthday party and although she was better oriented to the actual date, she was not much different in appearance or attitude. She is one of life's happy wanderers.

When her son comes to check on her, as he does every morning, she sees her husband. Sometimes she sees her father and more rarely, she recognizes him as her own son. No one much pays attention to that part of things as she is just delighted to see him. He brushes her cheek with a kiss, puts a few fresh groceries in the fridge, and tells her he will be by to take her for a car ride later on. She goes to the window and waves him away.

Today as we stand in the hall, she moves past me to open the door to the second bedroom. "Mama asked me to air it out today." When the door opens, it is to a room with a dresser highboy and lady's vanity matching the rich mahogany of the bedframe. On the sittee, hand embroidered cushions hold flowers and mottos of another era. The wedding photo on the highboy is brown and taupe in colour. One picture adorns the wall. It is a sampler from the 1700s done by a seven year old girl, treasured through the generations. The room smells like roses. There is no dust settled on the window sash and the wooden floor gleams with high polish.

When I next see her son, I tell him that I caught a glimpse of the second bedroom.
"What, did you look through the outside window?"
"No no"", I tell him, "Your Mom was airing it out."
"Oh you must be mistaken. We keep that door locked so that Mom doesn't get upset over things. As long as the door is closed she doesn't worry. Grama always kept her door closed."
Rather than dwell on the strangeness of the open door, I asked him what his Grandmother was like, and if she was as laid back as his mother.
"All I remember about her is that "Attar of Roses" stuff she sprayed herself with."
"Was she a good housekeeper?"
"We used to slide along the floors here. Hard to believe now with the carpets everywhere, but Ma's mom keep the wood floors polished to within an inch of their lives."
Carpet everywhere?
I looked around at the thick wall to wall carpets. I decided NOT to look through the window on my way out. My client sat in her big airchair smiling.

Chilly thoughts of ghostly dreams

2008-06-04T10:45:00.000-07:00

Here it is, June 4th and I am wrapped in blankets with my heat on and my dog nestled against me. How strange this season has been. Perhaps summer will prove unbearably hot trying to make up for all these days of damp coolness. For now, the extra sleep is pleasant.

Casting my mind back to more turbulent times, when my family lived in the house so saturated with frenetic energies that no family after us ever stayed more than a few months, and trying to arrive at the point in my mind when I knew without a doubt that time was an illusion, I traveled the road of thought. As a very small being, my universe was infinite. The ghosties and goblins living under the house and in the closets, behind drawn shades and between the lulls in prayers, waited only for a lapse in the attention of the adults to show themselves present. Indeterminate knocks through the central heating systems. and little groans beneath the floorboards; flickering lights and random clicks were all proofs. This world of wonder was exclusively the family realm of our home. Many years later I decided that we haunt ourselves. Forward and backward in time, using dreams, mirrors and mental magic as portals. we connect briefly with ourselves. Flashes of insight, moments of terror, sudden strong longings, yes, I believe we haunt ourselves. Independent of that, I also believe that some of us leave energy footprints in places- emotional stamps of strong feelings imprinted in the place where we felt them.

Growing up in a house so haunted that no neighbourhood children would visit for longer than a few minutes, and few ventured up our stairs on Halloween night, caused me to value the peace of a happy home above all things. My current home is a sanctuary of good thoughts and happy times. A price above rubies say I. As a teenager I met someone else living in a haunted house. They lived on Heather Street in Vancouver, in a home that had been the original farmhouse of that area. It stood four floors and an attic tall, quietly waiting for nightfall. A telephone would ring it's old fashioned brrr sounding in the stairwell. Books would fall from their shelves. A heavy iron bed , with two unaware sleepers in it, moved across the room to block the doorway during the night and sometimes, a cold freeze would descend on the kitchen. The matriarch of this family was deceased. The only daughter left home at 15. The four boys lived on with their dad who steadfastly refused to acknowledge the strange events. The boys, howeever, gleefully told their stories to friends and visitors. I thought it was all a silly fairy tale until the day I was alone in the attic - or so I thought.

My friend Bruce had told me the ghost did not like females staying around, and I had laughed. He was quite stern about it and asked me to make sure not to close the stairs door. I was up in that attic when I heard him call from downstairs. He had gone to get us some snacks so I went to help him bring them up. As I went down the stairs the door closed after me and the light went out. I kept going steadily down, calling out as I went. The doors were closed all the way down. When I got to the kitchen entrance, I kicked on the door and called out to stop fooling around and let me out. Sitting on the stairs, I was quite a bit madder than I was scared. I was convinced that the younger brothers were having a laugh at my expense. But where was Bruce?

I ended up crying in frustration and pounding on the door while yelling. A sudden *pop* sound and the door on the second floor opened. The light went on. Two heads looked down on me. They swore they were just coming down for a snack and had heard nothing. Bruce was in the basement with his father, investigating a series of thumps. They had thought a raccoon had gotten inside. No one admitted to calling me down from the attic. No one had seen the doors close. And no one was even slightly surprised by my misadventure. Needless to say I never stayed in the attic alone again, nor did I go down the stairs without someone right with me. In fact, I broke it off with Bruce as one haunted house was quite enough for me. My house at least tolerated me.

My Time Travelling Friend

2008-06-03T17:17:00.001-07:00

There is a distinction between friends I know from work, clients I know from work, and friends. There are also some clients who are very friendly who would, in other circumstances be friends. My time travelling friend is one of these. I love conversing with her, love listening to her, love her company.

Still, she is a client.

There was this incredible book in her formidable library, titled: "Celt Druid & Culdee" by Isabel Hill Elder. It had a forward by none other than Lord Brabazon of Tara, the early gentleman aviator. Perhaps this book is not news to you, but to me it was a welcome glimpse into the truth about Druids. Always portrayed to me as blood-thirsty human sacrificing wild mages, the book discloses that no human bones have ever been found on site of Druidic Ritual.

It was interesting to me. I highly recommend buying your own copy of this book. I ordered mine already.

More Thrift Shoppe Adventures

2008-06-02T17:55:00.000-07:00

So many shiny things, so little time.

Off I went to the Thrift where the boutique case held bags of junk silver and one little bag of junk gold. This is the same store that has on display, an empty wedding setting in platinum, priced at $89.99. A ridiculous price for melt worthy metal. I asked to see the bag of gold. priced at $44.00. Inside the bag were three 18ct earrings without partners, a beautiful droplet of fine chinese jade, six or seven single stud earrings and two chains. S*O*L*D

Self control?
I have no idea what you mean!!

The Holiday Song

2008-06-01T20:38:00.000-07:00

On each and every statuatory holiday, their are people in my workplace who do not choose to work the day, and use their seniority to ensure they do not. Being a person who works a lite shift and a short week, I try to work every stat I can. It is always enjoyable for me when a new name pops up on my list because of the holiday. I see some grande folk on exactly this basis year in and year out.

My favourite holiday lady, lived in a genteel apartment in the area overlooking one of the tourist attractions as well as the ocean. Life in the upper 90's can be difficult as the body shows ever more concessions to age. It is always sad to see a vital lively mind in a failing body, but this is life and thus inevitable. We all fall down. My holiday lady was always happy to see me and unfailingly gracious. Each time I would leave I would say the same thing, "See you next holiday" and she would nod and smile. Last holiday she said: "Lord I hope not. Not you, dear, me. I hope I don't have many more of those in me."

She was correct. She did not. She was not on my holiday schedule but she was in the obituary column. It is impossible to feel sad at such times. It is more that you are glad for the person and thankful for the knowing of them. Alot of times my wish is that I had known some of these incredible people at an earlier date, and shared more time with them. Mostly, I am just thankful for the time we had.

A True and Lasting Joy

2008-05-30T20:28:00.000-07:00

In case I have not voiced this in a while, let this post serve to tell the world one basic truth of my life. I love my job. And life is a joy for those who love their work. Each day I arise happy to set forth on my work of the moment. I am never disappointed. Sometimes, I meet other people who clearly do not love their jobs. That is a great pity.

Honorific

2008-05-27T21:57:00.000-07:00

Many people I attend to are retired military. Among the eldest of them are a few long retired British Military. Career military gentlemen tend to like to be called by their rank, rather than their names. Many times, this information is not available until the first face to face meeting. This week I had just such a happenstance.

Enter smiling. Me: "Good Morning Mr. Smith."
Large elderly gentleman stands ramrod straight holding the door. A frown passes his countenance, followed by much throat clearing.
I glance at many framed certificates of merit, medals and accolades.
Me: "Would you prefer to be addressed as General, Sir?"
He relaxes visibly, and breaks into a huge smile-
Him: "Now, now, m'dear. don't stand on ceremony. You needn't call me Sir."

Early reasoning

2008-05-24T19:44:00.000-07:00

It had been a very eventful day indeed. We had visited one of those stately homes with a turret attached or visa versa. Indeed a hotel was built around the site. The turret was only accessible by a terrible outside climb that noone in their right mind would attempt -or- by this old and very unreliable elevator. The whispers were that the elevator was haunted. This whisper started around the time the elevator took to stopping half-way up and lurching menacingly. It was serviced meticulously and always passed with flying colours, only to act up again once re-certified safe. I was the only one of our party that knew the stories about this aspect and had left it out when persuading everyone to take the trip up to the top.

We had, possibly the worst elevator ride in the history of same, with stops and starts, and creaks and groans until we were all convinced we were going to die. I was so scared that I starting singing to dispel my terror. Everyone else was so scared they did not complain. Once we finally got to the top of the turret, at least 12 minutes since departing the bottom, everyone spilled out whereupon the silly lift disappeared. It went down, stranding us. My dad who was a terrible shade of green announced he would climb down, thank you very much. I looked over the top of the precipace wall- down down down and showed Dad. "Perhaps not" he said.
For some odd reason, as everyone was trying to shake the elevator heebee geebies I told them the stories about it supposedly being haunted. This was, in retrospect, a very bad move. We all now looked down at the suicidal climb and went silent. Just then, a click and a slam announced the return of the elevator. We all looked at one another and got in. This time, one of us held the door open and we tried to distribute the weight evenly, for a better chance at a smooth ride. Once in, the metal trellis was pulled across and down we went. Everyone held their breath expecting the treatment we had on the way up. Nothing at all happened. It was a perfectly normal return to the ground.

One by one we exited, and the guide at the bottom took one look at our befuddled state and said: "Glamis acting up?"
"You call the elevator Glamis?" I asked.
"No, actually we call it the Monster of Glamis but Glamis for short." He was smiling. "She doesn't like me, our Glamis doesnt, so I don't push my luck. I never use it anymore, well, after last time."
We did not ask. Probably because we knew.

All the way to work this morning I was fretting about this experience. I had resolved in my mind never to investigate aging turrets again if the guide did not actually accompany me. I was thinking how I should never have taken Dad there. How ridiculous the whole thing sounded but how terrifying it was in the moment. After my second client, I had a moment where I froze in my tracks and realised that I had never been in a haunted elevator and I certainly had never been on a castle/stately homes/ tourist trip with my father. Good God, I realised, that was a dream.

Is it any wonder that I wear a nametag? I might forget who I am at this rate.
It has been a long while since I had a dream indistinguishable from reality. Whose reality, you ask? The reality of haunted turrets and wayward elevators of course!

This is life. Or something like it.

Magnetron OFF

2008-05-21T21:19:00.000-07:00

(Magnetron *ON* - - - IT'S ALIVE!!)

Quietly eating my breakfast whilst doing my crossword when a gentleman signals me from across the room. He is a familiar stranger, one of those who frequents the same places at the same times I do. Although I do not know him, I know OF him from the old fellas who cross my path. They do not care much for him as it seems he is a braggart, by their standards.

He looks at me and speaks in an almost courtly manner. It comes off as sincere if slick. I am curious to hear what he brags about. It does not take long, in fact he asks me if he is allowed to brag. Yes, he uses that very word.
"Go ahead", I say and away we go. I listen AND do the crossword at the same time as he brag brag brags some more. He has alot TO brag about it seems but when he mentions he got an Academy Award I am incredulous. There is a chance of course that he is a minor player in his field, or a major one for that matter, but an Academy Award? hmm, unlikely. There is also the chance that he has some sort of brain dysfunction and means something other than what he is saying. I have come across that before many times. I still listen but I am plotting my escape. Not that he is annoying me - he is rather charming in fact but I have things to do and he does not. He is at least 25 years older than me and although I love and enjoy conversation I am not really looking for an older boyfriend. I could talk myself into it I am sure but work is work and social is social - I do not want to be a caregiver in my private life unless it is to my own progeny.

As I leave he stops me, standing in that mannerly way, and asks me out for dinner.

(magnetron OFF)

Really, I must fiddle with my settings some more and do a little fine tuning. Many is the charmer I have met in my life in theatre. Many are the men of immense charisma I have crossed paths with. I know the different types well. One thing I can spot easily is the person who wants you to want them and will engage themselves fully until that is achieved - afterwhich it is a question of doing their bidding. The other niggle is that someone who has led the life of a successful professional entertainer in Vegas and LA has been very very much out and about. I am completely convinced that he has indeed led that life- the life of a World Class performer - specialist in his field - especially after using Mr. Google to check.