Shimmer -

So often in our journeys temporal, Zeez looks past the obvious, to the inner tugs on the souls so embraced by her rememories. Today it is Esther who shimmers into view.


Esther who had no challenge by privilege of birth; Esther who made a very good marriage and had three beautiful children; Esther whose tapestry strands Zeez is unraveling for me. I am seeing in glorious detail. Just the strands, mind you.

Now this puzzle is gaining shape. Zeez is still struggling to find the great king piece that will allow me to see Esther as she does.


At last she looks right into my eyes and announces jubilantly:

"Her challenge was this - - -"

-and I learn -
what Zeez learned from the pains of another. In so naming she dispels yet another demon for me or at least shows me the secret to so dispel.

Greater love has no man that he would lay down his life for another.
Zeez' laying down is her act of the greatest love.

Novembering

Its a grey day better suited for November. But it is March.
My break falls now, at 07:30 no less, and I am sitting sipping hot chocolate at the beach.

The dawn is grey.
As are the skies.
In the bay, the herring fleet is a flotilla of ghost ships. Even the wheeling gulls are colourless on this morning. Where is Spring?

"I'm trying to be cranky here"

She was sitting in her big chair looking annoyed. I suppose I sang out my usual cheery greeting and with great effort she retained her scowl.

"What's with the look?" I asked.

"I am trying to be cranky here", she said, "and you spoiled it!"

"There is always tomorrow", said I and we both laughed before getting into her time machine and journeying back to the 70s.

But that, is for another time.

What's not to love?

Ladies and gentlemen:

My companion and bestest friend, -

Goodbye Frank

For a few months I had been whirling about rattling cages trying to find out where the Scribe went without having to call his wife and ask. Today I bump into an older woman while paying for my gasoline purchase. It is of course Franks wife.

Yes she say, he is gone. He was in a private care facility for his last year. It was a good experince for them both and now he is gone she has sold the house and is moving back to the right coast to be with her family. It is a good moment we share before I continue my day and she her lifetime.

Goodbye Frank.
There is a little bit of your wit and wisdom in each of us privileged to share your journey.

The Shuffle

Its sort of like the old disco dance the Hustle. A few jerky movements this way and that in a pattern and repeat! The dance we do is a strange one. We do not recognise the dance until we recognize the pattern, and that, generally. after the fact.

Just a month or so ago I was musing about how Mondays were my very special day with all of my clients being well in their 90s, and all happily living at home, mostly independently. Enter the shuffle. Two in hospital, one recently deceased, and now it is a new Monday of new people and new things.

Buggerit all anyway.

A Westmont girl

--------->Time travelling with my dear Zeez is a favourite pursuit of mine. We sit ignoring the storm hurling waves at her front windows sipping cocoa and chatting about the long ago.
Her long ago is now my long ago thanks to all the time travelling we do.

Today we are in Montreal of the late 1920s, early 1930s.
Zeez is not coping well with school at all. Fortunatly her mother has twigged to this and is sending her to a private girls academy where she can make a more sedate try at things. Before she goes she has a little tete a tete with the art mistress who has seen in Zeez a beautiful mind, and more to the point, a fellow lover of artists.

The teacher takes Zeez to a little storage room where she has stashed her special folios. She gives Zeez a sheaf of papers to look at. And what do you know?
Norma Shearer was a Westmont girl.



The Art Mistress has preserved Norma Shearers high school efforts because she saw in her a beautiful mind headed for better things. I tell Zeez she is my Norma Shearer
The Westmont girl. And I mean it.

- - and - - Check this out too!

Listen HERE

I am a BIG fan of . . .

I love this girl.
Bless the designer - may he/they prosper.

There is a little Emily in us all.

-*-


"

A Baaaad Feeling

I have a bad feeling about this.

My dear friend the Lady Diana is on her 4th of 6 chemotherapy treatments.
Her treatment is changed now and a new drug/poison is coursing thro' her veins.
The side effect this time is muscle pain and general achey-ness. The nasties have been amplified by an evil flu bug taken residence in her home. Having kids in school is a risk right there. Alas the flu has got her in it's grip. Last week when her eldest came down with the flu she could not hear me when I suggested she go stay at her parents. This week she has decided this must be the answer should this happen again.

And the bad feeling?


I am rubbing bright red eyes and feeling every bone in my body.
-sigh-

Things of Import

At meetings we discuss matters deemed to be of importance.
Sometimes the irony factor outweighs all.

My favourite ironic moment was years ago when the concern au jour was a clients drinking habits. Shame on the client for taking control of her own life and boozing it up! Of course it was an older woman client that was of such grave concern that it warranted 30 mins of a regional meeting, and not the much older man in the same area who routinely swilled down his medications with a double scotch.

It set the stage for me.

This time around we are concerned about fleas in a household. Just the one household mind you, where we are taking charge of the flea situation. The other thousand homes we enter with cleansliness issues from rats to bears we are overlooking. But ooo ahh to the fleas.

Things to remember

Note to self:

perceived versus concrete
Difference between the right to refuse and the requirement to report
The happy bright things that people think appropriate to say when not seeing the point
Having someone you care about in Iraq
Dreaming in colour

16 year old madness!
and other things discussed

At last being in a meeting with predominantly pro health people who say what they mean.

huzzah
dont forget p

Not a Mystic

Perhaps in former or parallel lives I am atop a mountain contemplating, or healing with my mighty mind always on the side of light and love, but I am no mystic. An intuitive yes.

Someone I enjoy reading is Carolyn Myss; particularly the "Anatomy of the Spirit". Today I picked up "Sacred Contracts".

Altho I take issue with some of Ms. Myss' credentials, (not that it would matter to her), she does have some wisdom to impart.

Seduced by the Dark Side

I succumbed to the lure of 3 tier cable television.
I later succumbed to hooking up my mini television UPSTAIRS in my sanctuary.

Being evil feels good.
Oh dear.

Valentines Day

Happy V day.
-------
>


My inbox contained a Valentine from my diamond, - my motorocycle riding kite building longtime crush.

Life is strange. I long ago gave up trying to make sense of things. Somw of the best times I ever had were in the company of my diamond. The bugger of this all is that timing is everything.

---

Pressies to me:

My tiny little condo is now home to cable television. To celebrate I went out to buy a big ass tv. Being cheap, I bought a 37" Sony trinitron from the thrift. Weighs a ton. Works great. And did not fit into the corner built in. Naturally.

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

Oops -

Lady D came over to help me connect up my new little furnace that Dad bought me. Its a Sun Cloud and it is not really difficult to set up= it is more that I get freaked out when assembling things electrical. After we got it working Diana decided to put the wheels on my other closed oil type electrical heater - oops. 3 out of 4 are broken.
-------
>

Progress ?

Tucker and I walk in the darkness of the early morning. Being myopic I see only the walkway. The building site preparations up the street from me continue and as I drive past on the way home I notice it looking more residential and less and less parklike.

This morning I walked up the way in the full morning light only to see a large machine ripping trees out of the ground and chewing them up. The nice stand of everygreens along the perimeter that we had thought safe are being taken out one at a time.

Overhead there are dozens of birds flapping about trying to figure out where to go.
All the local trees are already taken. It is a sad thing to witness.
--sigh

From the Beach - early morning post

Ahead of schedule. Oh those devout Catholics! Off to early mass almost before I can finish my little morning task. '

My sheltering cedar is two trees down from the eagle tree where this morning a crow and gull share the top branch. It is daylight - barely. The waves lap deceptively gentle against the driftwood. I don't believe them. A band of pink eastward across the visible Islands indicates something other than dawn.

My tree stands just between the sidewalk stroll and the parking. One particular Kayak rental company somehow coerced the Town into designating two spaces here. This seems hardly fair as this is PUBLIC parking on PUBLIC land and they are not the only Kayak company in town.

The crows finally give up on any crumbs being flung from this vehicle but I know if I but open my car door to stand for a moment two dozen gulls will magically appear, greedily hoping. Sorry boys. Not today.

Sometimes a seal plays in the shallows, more often ducks and shorebird glide in groups 100 feet offshore. It feels like Spring beckons and I am part of it. A month or so from now the herring fleet will share the bay with a few barking sea lions. For now it is just the waves.

Now comes the gentleman who walks past my car every Sunday at this time. I see him looking in trying to figure out what I am sitting here doing. In the summertime my uniform and government ID badge show but in the winter I am just some broad sitting at the beach alone in the early morning. I like watching. Walking the stroll does not quite appeal to me before noon.

Our stroll showcases this community. Up the hill the Village sits with it's faux English countryside appeal. The quaintness belies the incredible inaffordability for the average person here to own an average home. It is of no concern to the residents, this has always been an elitist community. No chain stores and very limited beachfront developement. My little city that sits next door is losing the water views to massive development of luxury condos. In five years it will be another Palm Beach or Malibu. Perhaps it already is.

This morning however, the beach is still free. And my illusions are preserved for a little longer. One more glass flower to cut.

God Bless Hospice

After posting that terrible sad story of a woman dying alone it seems only right to insert in this place a cudo for Hospice.

The person who made the call trying to ensure that someone connected to the dying woman be present at her end was clearly a Hospice person. I too am a Hospice person. I too believe that no person should die alone, or in pain, should they so desire.

God bless Hospice for all that they do all over the world. All those who work and volunteer and all who take training with a Hospice society.

God bless you all.

----------

People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in; their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within. - Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

THE MOST EVIL WOMAN ! (all caps)

THE most evil woman who ever lived.
The correct quote was:
"She was the wickedest woman I ever met. THE MOST EVIL ! She was mean and nasty and manipulative and utterly horrible."
Imagine embuing someone with that title.

Those sweeping statements of the absolute make my blood chill.
Admittedly people are at their worst when I meet them professionally, but it has been my experience that most people are pretty nice under the skin. A few prickles on top for some, but scratch a little deeper and generally there is decency. The exceptions tend to be those in severe pain. Mental, emotional or physical.

Funny thing about that awful wicked woman - I knew her fairly well.
Difficult - yes.
Strong-minded - yes.
Domineering - yes.
But evil? That is in God's skill set not mine. I am a strong believer in:
"As you judge so will you be judged."
It seems like an apt companion to the Golden Rule by my measure.

In a small town like mine, even with mass immigration of the wealthy newly retired, people know each other or know OF each other. The woman telling me this was a friend ( or so I thought) of a former elderly infirm client of mine. She was a tough old bird - 92 in a wheelchair and just a hair over 350 pounds. I knew this because the sling we used that had a maximum load of 350 broke under her.

Now comes the tragic bit of this tale.
The woman doing the telling told me with great animation how the facility in which Madame Wicked lived called her as her only next of kin/friend on record to tell her that death was imminent. They wanted to know if this woman would come and sit with her as she met her end. To their credit they told her that it was their policy that no person die alone.

And she said:
"I am not losing one moment's sleep over her. Trust me, she wants to die alone. If you or one of the Nurses want to sit with her so be it but I wont be shedding a tear."




How angry do you have to be to say those words?
Or to repeat the story?

Once again I reiterate:

Our resentments will kill us.
------------ +

Never mind Mrs. S. You were a righteous shit at times but I liked you.

A Tylenol Post

Dental work of any kind makes my head hurt. This weeks root canal is still thundering i my head. It hurts!

In the words of Spooner I am a Witty Shiner.

Rollin' rollin 'rollin' -OR- How Bess lost her Nerves

Bess is in her early nineties. We see each other one to four times a week. Bess is a Islander born and bred. She was born in Nanaimo and worked her early years at home with her father, clearing the land. By hand mostly.

When Bess got a bit older she was snapped up by the love of her life and lived happily up and down the Island as work went. Work did not go much for many years in spite of the forestry and fishing industries. Jobs were hard to get and temporary in nature.
Housing was sometimes a tent pitched on Crown Land. Finally things settled down a bit and her husband found a more permanent job. They negotiated with the holder of a tree license to build a cabin near the logging road just outside the woods. As long as the home was on skids, they could do it.

Bess talks about going to the lumber yards and buying "B" grade lumber by the truckload for $5 per. She and her man built their cabin for a grande total of $95.00 . It sat about 30 feet back from the road, at the start of on upslope of a big hill. One of the charms was a huge boulder 9 feet long and 2 1/2 feet high that sat in their front yard as a natural boundary. Her two tiny sons would run their toy cars along it as she gardened.

Bess and her family knew every one of the truckers that went past their place. They could watch the loaded trucks as they came down the big hill. Loaded in those days meant some first growth superlogs. Sometimes the loads were only 2 giants. This paticular day Bess heard the truck blaring on its horn around 3 in the afternoon. She had time to grab the boys and watch as the driver set the steering wheel towards the forest and away from the cabin and jump out to safety.

The boys had no idea that they might be in trouble. Bess calmly told them that if the truck swerved they must run as fast as they could into the woods behind them. All looked well until just before the bottom of the hill, a small rock on the road changed the course of the runaway. It missed the cabin but as it roared past, Bess saw the logs loosening. To her horror, as the truck went off the road, the load spilled down and the giant logs came toward the cabin. Bess put her faith in the boulder. She and the boys ran to the woods. She turned to take a last look in time to see the monster log roll calmly OVER the boulder, crush her front garden completely and stop 2 feet from her front window and door.

I asked Bess if they stayed there much longer.
"No", she remembered, "My nerves were shot - still are- and I could never live near a logging road again."

I guess not.

Panamaian Root Canal

There are times when I view the Universe as finite and dental horrors as endless.
Such as today when my latest dental adventure involved a root canal.
Interestingly, a dentists needle is the only one I do not faint from. This could be because I am already reclining or it could be that I have spent so much time in the big chair that the terror has worn down a little.

When checking for a dentist in Paradise a decade ago, my criteria included giving good needle. The man recommended to me turned out to be a gift from heaven. My dentist is amazing. Prior to Dr. Louis' tender ministrations, I had had a double root canal on my two back molars. Then crowns were put on. It was never for one day without pain afterwards, and some pretty awful oral surgery ensued. The next time I faced a root canal in my new Dentist's chair, my body almost levitated from fear. Despite losing 5 pounds in sweat that day, it was an all right experience.

Today, after finishing my dentistry, I wanted to know how many teeth in my mouth still have roots. Not many. Sometimes I feel like I am shovelling my way across the panama one little spadeful at a time. I just want it to be DONE ALREADY.

And the tooth that had the work today? It was the one that got moved extremely in the dental rearranging. Apparantly it could not take the stress. Since it enflamed I have been unable to wear my night appliance and in a few short weeks that tooth moved so far that the appliance no longer fits. *grrrr*

Research has shown that instead of being what we eat, we are more likely what our mothers ate. Pre-natal nutruition counts for alot in the development of healthy bones. My mother was anorexic. Explains many things. Mom's long gone. Like my bank balance.

Horrors!

All righty my elder sister who fancies herself the dog whisperer of Paradise/West Coast, and who does NOT read my blog as she considers my writing churlish, pendatic and badly punctuated, put my dog on Dogster. I thought it a bit of a lark. Until moments ago when, clicking on Tuckers page I noted Tucker had a diary.

A diary???

I suppose it could be worse. She could be a cat lady. All the signs are there!

haha this one's for you Peter, I know you agree. And you'll note my comments are turned OFF precisely for this reason (*wink)

Brainstorm

It snowed the other day, or so I am told.
I was confined to my room for the duration of a brainstorm. This time around was not as bad as last time. Although, I could not stand the light, nor intelligent speech around me, I could most definitly stand my doggie boy who stayed most valiantly and loyally by my side, except for his brief appointment with the back yard.

While pulling on a sweater, I caught one of my many reflections and did not recognise the person I perceived as entering my room with their hands up. For one thing, the person was ALOT BIGGER than little old me.

My GOD the carnage from brain meds. It's enough to make a person go back to bed.

Walk-ies!

This is my darling Mr. Fluffy-pajamas, Tuckerkinz, sniffing each and every blade of grass along the trail behind the railroad track. Oh what delight!
And at the big beach with his step brother Rocky, the terror of tiny town.

Nobody loves you like your doggie does.

Ahhhh at last Si senor the Hairy Grill

Never one to accept failure without a whimper or five, I have spent a RIDICULOUS amount of time over the years looking for a legal way to embed my favourite song: Si senor the Hairy Grill.

Ok I cant completely vouch for the absolute pristeeness of this operation but DAMN it works good.

Now if you cannot see what I see in this song picture this:

My punkette dance days/nights at the Love Affair on Seymour street in Vancouver. This song would come on and like lemmings, the girls left the dancefloor and the most colourful mohawked guys came out to play. Its the primal scream. Its just the coolest. Now I had already seen Yello and knew what kind of men they were. Quirky. Eccentric. Complete sonic adventurers but not punks, no not really. A little too wealthy a little too fun. okay, alot too fun. But the scream. I loved it. So I danced and danced and danced to it and every time he screamed I would laugh thinking about how cool we all thought we were and how cool they really were. Rather effortlessly.

Fast forward to the days of kite festivals-
there I am on the big beach at Long beach Washington with my custom kite. It was a GORGEOUS blue with graffiti scriggles all over it. I had made it with Ray Bethel under the Official Secrets Act. "DONT TELL ANYONE WHERE YOU GOT THE TEMPLATE"
It was before free trade with China and our kites were alot heavier than todays versions. We used graphite for the rods. It was a bitch sometimes. But in the Long Beach winds we never had to haul ass like we did in //www.discovervancouver.com/vancouver-canada/vanier-park.asp. Our motto at the time was: A good kiteflier doesnt NEED any wind. And by golly I could do it just as well as anyone. Better than most.

So on the beach with my groovy kite. And my tunz. And the music person comes over and says to me: "We cant play this! Its too.... punk" (Most of the competitors for stunt ballet flew to Celine Dion ...etc)

I laughed at the sheer synchronicity of things. Of course I did have blue and black hair at the time and I was wearing a rather interesting outfit with my trademark "Still Sane" tee shirt. I never got to compete but it was worth it.

I could go back now with the same tune and a modern kite and noone would look askance. WSIKF is big business for stunt kitefliers now. We were in the first wave. And I was on my own wave. Anyway, picture me on the beach with my kite ready for my stunt ballet. Oh btw- I didnt get to compete but for revenge I put my stake about 100 yards from the competition area and my walkman with speakers and BLARED my music and did my routine anyway. The best revenge is a good life.

SO now I am much younger than I was back then - and when I listen to this song I think: ooo sex. This song is like a really good f**k. A spectacular one. I rather suspect this is what was in my head all along. and no wonder every guy I met at the Love Affair on the dancefloor professed undying and very horny love.

So click.
And laugh
And scream - yeah - scream like you mean it.
(mmmmmmm)

NOT Si senor . . . but close

- - AND:





ok this link works SOMETIMES:

http://www.last.fm/music/Yello/_/Si+Senor+the+Hairy+Grill


and uhm lemme try this one:

Whatever you do, DONT mention the War. (marriage & Mausers)

John Cleese as Basil Fawlty comes to mind but this little story involves a person who lived in Vancouver. Yes, really.

Today whilst scarfing down my morning eggs and coffee at ye A & W in the company of my father, a few stories were being exchanged in the background. Naturally, I was doing the Province crossword as I politely pretended to listen. and then....

Our table for two had split like a cell. First two, then four, and when I looked up, eight. Most of the guys were closer to 80 than 50 and all of them were vying for my father's attention. I am unsure how he does it, but the charm factor is high. One of the fellows who had moved in beside dad was knee-deep in a lengthy anecdote about a WW2 vet who never forgave the other side. Not the countries alone, oh no, this was a personal vendetta against anyone with a German/Italian/Japanese appearance or last name. It was so extreme the stories resembled high farce. Well, I said, I got one for you.

Long ago, I met a man with a Scottish last name who had the same brand of unforgiveness happening. Alas, noone warned prospective property owners and a family of Italians moved in right next door to Jock. THE EFFRONTERY!

The new guy on the block tried everything to break the ice but our Scot would thaw not a cube nor a crack. The common property line overnight became home to a 15 foot hedge. Things stabilized to an uncomfortable halt. The war was not over, just on siesta. The neighbour had the block on his side, in fact the entire neighbourhood was on his side but Jock was immovable. No *I*talians welcome. The safest course was to never ever mention the war - or anything resembling it.

One of Jock's peccadilloes and hidden passions was for WW2 paraphernalia. As a returning Officer, he had loaded crates of confiscated armnaments and weaponry, and shipped them to his home address. The entire basement of his 3 bedroom bungalow displayed every item he had with typewritten description cards alongside. Jock's was one of Canada's largest personal collection of Nazi/Axis collectibles. Also one of Canada's most illegal I suspect.

And now the two tangents merge-

The Italian neighbour's eldest was getting married and the wedding was to be held in his beautiful back yard where his dedication, time and love made it the envy of many a lesser gardener. Jock, hearing of the impending nuptials was fit to be tied. His wife, his friends, in fact everyone who knew him begged him to overlook this occasion- perhaps go on a wee holiday. "I'll be damned if I'll let those barbarians think they can good time charlie under MY nose." The world held its collective breath as the great day dawned.

Nothing much happened in the morning. The curtains fluttered up and down the block as nervous neighbours tried not to stare obviously. And then, just as the first car pulled up, a figure appeared along the front sidewalk. A figure dressed in full SS Officer dress uniform including Mauser, goose-stepped back and forth along the sidewalk in front of Jocks, from property line to property line. Back and forth. Click heels, repeat.

To the credit of the wedding party, each and every guest pretended he was invisible. And Jock, with one very loud HEIL HITLER went inside just before the vows.

Wish I had a picture to share.

Go get yer own...

Lady Fortune the Absurd of Greater Internetshire presents your opportunity to receive your very own eccentric British aristocratic title.

Snippets from a wee netcruise

Your Peculiar Aristocratic Title is:

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Her Eminence the Very Viscountess Pepperkinz the Subversive of Larkhill under Porton Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

"Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot." - Dream, The Sandman (Neil Gaiman).

Why wilt thou examine every little fibre of my soul,

spreading them out before the sun like stalks of flax to dry?

..... naught shalt thou find in it but Death, Despair & Everlasting brooding Melancholy.

thou wilt go mad with horror if thou dost examine thus every moment of my secret hours.

William Blake (1757 - 1827)

Well said Mr. Blake and so relevant!

Today I was speaking to he-who-is-in-Iraq and asked what he was most looking forward to doing when he got home. Now, bearing in mind that I have feelings.... read then, this his list.
He prefaced it with: " IF I get home...."

A bottle of Tequila and a 24 hr drunk.
A thick juicy steak.
A 42"LCD television at the foot of his bed.
====

I dont have to think such things. I hate tequila and would never want a mega television in my personal sanctuary. No wonder I am not in that list!

Here then is what I come home to- mr fluffypajamas lying on the bed and watching me with a wondering eye.

A beautiful day

Driving to work with the full moon setting behind the Islands - I pulled over to take a picture.
My camera did not see what I saw. It saw it differently.

My Mondays are very special to me for the type of people I engage with. Each of my Monday clients is over 90 years of age. All of them are living semi - independently and living well.
This morning I had two or three instances where I was tempted to get my pen and jot down a few key words to remind me of precious moments. I decided to trust my memory, reasoning that it was only going to be a matter of hours til I could blog.

I remember nothing but the smiles.
- not the worst thing ever.

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


"When glory comes, loss of memory follows”

Hard at work . . .

Things to do, people to see, promises to keep - and so on. The list goes ever on.
I have found that the more I need done the less time I have to do it. The closet renovation, so nicely started by he-who-is in-Iraq, will never be finished unless I find a way to do it myself. Amazingly, a daughter of someone I know professionally offered to help me out.

I was so looking forward to learning some carpentry but I confess my role in the whole enterprise was that of the cleaner-upper.

Thus it was always.
:)

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I remain puzzled about relationships.
Serves me right for getting my hearts desire.

Be careful what you wish for.

A Common Complaint

Today I made the acquaintence of an older couple who live in a small apartment here in Paradise.
The gentleman was released after a series of radium treatments into the care of his arthritic wife. She is 86. He is 88. He cannot walk without assistance. In fact. he has no balance.

What on earth is our HealthCare system coming to?
On what planet does this scenario make sense?

Poster Boy

A young man in his 30s sits at the table perusing the latest copy of Time magazine. He is a very good looking man with bright eyes and a ready smile. When he speaks, he is articulate - very well spoken. He is also, by the way, schizophrenic. Let us call him Ron.

Ron and I are sitting in a house funded by Mental Health where a variety of programs are offered for the consumers - all people suffering with Mental Illnesses. Currently, some funding has come their way to make a series of videos on living with a Mental Illness.

One of the staff is trying to get Ron interested in appearing in the video. Another is leaning close to me whispering: "See what you can do to get Ron to be in the movie. He would be perfect!" They already have 5 or 6 *actors* who are very eager to appear. They are not among the highest functioning clients but they have great enthusiasm for this project. Ron is looking uncomfortable and asks me to go for a walk with him.

As we amble down the lane he tells me that every time he goes to this place it is the same story.
He is feeling pressured.

"I don't want to be in a movie. I don't want people labeling me. I am more than my illness. I don't want to be the Poster boy for schizophrenia."

In that moment I realize his assessment is right on the money.
They want a Poster boy; especially one as eye-pleasing and charismatic as Ron is.
They want him so badly that they are forgetting one of their own tenets: to let the client be who they are and allow them to express themselves as they wish.

As I drop Ron off he thanks me and says he does not want to go there anymore.
Later, a volunteer for this Society tells me that most of the high functioning clients do not find a peer within the House. Most of them stop coming after a few visits. The people at the top of the food chain view it as them expressing their recovery.

I view it as another pothole in the Health Care system.
Preaching to the converted.

What is TBI ?

This is for the emailers.
Those who found this blog by chance or by keyword.


What is TBI, you ask?
And why is it a problem in one who seems so capable?

TBI is short for Traumatic Brain Injury.
There is more stuff online about it than you could read in ten lifetimes.
This is a good start here - the Mayo Clinic's guide.

Why is TBI a problem?

Like many with brain injurys my memory is impaired, in fact completely unreliable. My specialty seems to be taking two or three similar events and cobbling them together into one false memory with true details. It is...... something very humbling.

My life is lived by lists and reminders.
Things that I have planned and looked forward to, frequently go by without comment.
One of the reasons I blog stories and little remembrances that elders tell me is precisely because of the forgetting. We are nothing without our memories. When someone gifts me with one of theirs I wish to treasure it. Some of my clients know that I have an impairment. Some of my management and supervisors know.. most do not. It is not who I am - it is just something that affects me.

It was very difficult to get my life in order to a point where I could manage my own affairs. My bills are auto-debited, my paycheques direct deposited and a whole lot of clocks and timers help me not get lost in my head. Because I do. If I do not keep on track hours bleed by without my realising. And yes, I drive a car. Not at night and rarely on the Highway and only because I get yearly brain scans.

The great struggles, the soul wrenches, are things other people take for granted. I was in my 20s before I found out that other people did not *see* sound, nor have nonstop adrenilin 24/7.
On bad days my brain physically hurts. Bright light sears and sound looks like a mass of jumble and feels worse. On bad days my legs move a little awkwardly and my feet kick out involuntarily every now and then. My eyes rolls my jaw sets in a grimace and I am told I just look incredibly annoyed. Imperiously so. Doesn't it figure that it would settle on me with a mantle of delusional grandeur?

All that I can deal with. Perhaps not always well.
What is contentious for me is the medication. S.
Alas my scrambled brain has forgotten how to shut down for sleep. It does shut off for an hour or so but never more unless I am completely exhausted. This means I have to take medications or within 3 weeks I become unable to function. --Medication--- see the rants I post every time I have troubles. Medication is a curse and a blessing in one. Without it --- if you are not financially independant you could very quickly become homeless. With it, you can manage to function within societal norms but at great cost. (!!!!!) Brain meds are pricey in all ways.

THAT is my world of TBI.
It's all I have.

Knowing the Demon's Name

There is power in naming something. To claim it is tricky.
Today I feel up to a fight.

So named one - mirrorme - let us dance once more.

-whew!

Finally the brainstorm has abated.

This horror was one of the worst ones of my entire life. It took 9 days to depart. The last 4 were pretty much unbearable. But thank goodness it is gone. And I did manage to keep it pretty much for myself. No inconveniencing or scaring others apart from my long suffering neighbour who shares a common wall along our bedrooms. She hears me shouting in my sleep.
I woke myself up last night shouting ENOUGH! And by golly, it stopped whatever it was in it's tracks. I rolled over and slept soundly to wake up to a cozy background mayhem in my mind. Doable.

One thing about having a brain injury - you have a friend for life. You are never alone in your total aloneness.
---
One third of the way along for my cancer-fighting friend. She has lost the thick mane of hair atop her head. It just fell out in 2 days.

Lady Di stopped by wearing a bright orange scarf. It looked fabulous of course.
I try to stay positive always in her presence. She is so fragile just now.
---

Today,10 boxes of collectables exited my home on their way to the thrift. Deeply suspicious after this last horror's visit as to what lies ahead, it seemed prudent to get a little more organized. My friends and family would not recognize the valuables in my sea of stuff. REALLY COOL stuff but stuff nonetheless.

The long stretch of despair and darkness that settled upon me made me aware that if that is what my future is to be I do not want it. Being currently human I have limitations of what I can bear. And my friends, this week was as close as it gets.

Today is good. So all's well in Pepperland.

fly

Still mired.

Bad day 2

I am so tired.

Bad days

They come in packs, slathering at my heels.
Sometimes in my darkest hours, I wish I could either dispel them, or wake up elsewhen, elseself.

The worst of it is now.

Fly

-nick drake

Please give me a second grace
Please give me a second face
I’ve fallen far down the first time around
Now I just sit on the ground in your way

Now if it’s time for recompense for what’s done
Come, come sit down on the fence in the sun
And the clouds will roll by
And we’ll never deny
It’s really too hard
For to fly

Please tell me your second name
Please play me your second game
I’ve fallen so far for the people you are
I just need your star for a day

So come, come ride in my street-car by the bay
For now I must know how fine you are in your way
And the sea sure as I
But she won’t need to cry
For it’s really too hard
For to fly

Fun and Linguistics in the Workplace

One of my very favourite places to go during work hours is the home of a lovely woman of danish descent who requires assistance to stay in her own home. She has a daughter who is a treasure beyond measure, who keeps the fridge full of pre-cooked tasty home meals that will appeal to her gourmet cook mother. The daughter keeps the garden in bloom and flowers on the table in even the darkest months. All things cheery and nice appears to be her mantra.

Frequently I will find myself grinning in that home from sheer delight in the job. This week it was laugh out loud at myself. Here is what happened.

I dropped in around the lunch hour and asked my dear client if the single portion of homemade macaroni and cheese was what she wanted. "Yes, and please heat in on the stove in butter", she replied. Done.

I put the tasty slice on a plate and handed it to her.
She said (or so I thought) : "You misunderstood me. I wanted this heated on the stove."
Puzzled, I replied: "Yes. I did that."
She said: "No no, I wanted it mushed up."
I said, handing her a fork and knife: "You can do that now that it's hot. Ok?"
--- silence--

She smiled at me and said: "No, I dont think you know what I mean. Can you bring me the curry sauce? It is in a jar in the fridge."

Curry and macaroni is a new one on me, but not the first strange combination she has requested. I brought over the jar to a very strange reaction.

She enunciated carefully for me: "Not CURRY - CHERRY."
Ok. I did just that.

and she lovingly spooned cherries and cherry sauce over her portion of pasta.
I suppose I was still standing there looking bemused, so she looked up at me questioningly.

"Pasta and Cherries isnt something I have ever tried", I ventured.

"Pasta?" She looked horrified. "I thought this was rice pudding."

--------

hee hee
I guess you had to be there.
Looking in the fridge I found a bowl of homemade rice pudding and yes, she ate that with the cherry sauce. The pasta, alas, went down the drain.

Hands and Heart. And Happy birthday on the 7th.

My dear friend and favourite fruit Randy is having a birthday bash this weekend.
Alas for work.
I will make it for your 50th my dear. Just give me a few years to get organised.

Randy and I met when he was China Stock and I was Assist. Mgr for H.B.& Sons Ltd.
That was a million trillion years ago. Randy and I both had our issues with that company although we both LOVED our jobs. Don't you hate it when that happens?

In the course of taking an order from my store, we could dish on everything from politics to the Booker Prize all the while continuing our work. We were both excellent workers wasted on bosses who were more interested in their wardrobes than actually making money for the store.

Randy made it his business to know more about Fine China and Crystal than most of his bosses put together and times ten. Instead of mentoring him and advancing him he too was constantly criticized as others advanced. But sometimes life gives you little moments to carry you through adversity. One such event was during a promotion for Hummel figurines. A Million Dollar event with a priceless life-size Hummel accompanying it. A one of a kind priceless 7 foot Hummel which was on display in the China Department.

An audacious very brave pirate sort picked up the display, and departed through an underground mall exit. All this in clear view of thousands. Brilliant, if devious. Jobs and heads on the line, the highly paid managment all went on the hunt. Happily, they got the giant Hummel back safely and then -oopsies- Randy's boss accidently knocked it over and broke it. I think that event was kept top secret until now. (sorry Danny H. for outing you)


We were mainstays of the Vancouver after midnite club for a few years until I reformed and he went on to Higher Things in Other Realms. I sure miss those 4am breakfasts at Doll & Penny's. I sure miss Doll & Penny's! Randy and I almost got married about this time for reasons that will remain shrouded in mystery. (don't you wish you knew!)

Randy's B.Sc. has an Archeology discipline on it, but don't look for him in excavations. His mind so orderly took him to Management with a large chain here in the West until he took himself to Denmark where his amazing diversity led to a career as a highly paid and very respected Technical Writer for a multinational software company. (the bugger!)

In his current incarnation, Randy E. No**an is a Government Employee working for some top secret division or something.....
Or is it a Crown Corporation? It is definitly not China Stock! Randy has a plethora of his very own minions and every time he threatens to quit they give him a vacation and a raise.
Well done!!

SO happiest of happy birthdays Randy dear, and raise a bottle of Bollie for me.

I loves ya handsome!
Happy Birthday! (on the 7th)

**I am posting this on the 3rd so as not to forget.
That is to say, I never forget my dear friend, but I tend to muddle dates and show up at the wrong times.

Events & Passages

The very engaging Martin Sikes died suddenly and very unexpectedly on Christmas eve.
What a loss! -- to so many communities - gaming, engineering and programmers, the DJ-in, HAPPY people and so many, so much more.
Those who know, mourn.
Those who didn't - bend your heads a moment.


Far too soon.

----

Happy New Year to All and Sundry!

A good riddance to 2007.

Come on 2008!

Happy New Year to all.
And to all, a good night.

Ode to Jeffrey

The dragonclaw sits by the bed
ashes split amongst wine drops
The mouthpiece I wipe clean of red
But pillow shams are plummy sops

A corner holds a few bags crumpled
The pitcher an unfinished ale
Four posters hardly even rumpled
The floor however, tells the tale

This whole vignette- this dreadful sight
My party tales do tell on me
Í sigh and pack my well-loved pipe
And coax it to flame most gently.

It makes things right- five farthing blend,
and what of last night shameless glory?
The smoke shoppes closed today my friend
But that, alas's another story!

just thinking about stuff

Coming up to another advancement in the year #. In our Western cultural reckoning:

2008

My already boggled mind boggles more.

----------

Some times when my mind BOGGLES in caps, I go here, and concentrate.



Living with a boggled mind is both a curse and a blessing.
A blessing in that it breeds compassion where indifference may have taken hold.

The biggest struggle in my life is communicating with my own family.
Sounds ridiculous but they are the worst offenders in not recognizing nor honouring boundaries.
--- MY boundaries!
They forget what lies beneath and are reassured by what the surface shows.

I am blessed in that I have never looked my age. This comes in handy as they tell me I have never acted my age either. -and- as more than 2 decades of this life are just things I have learned by rote - I don't feel my age either.

There is always a faint hope that time will dull this maelstrom and chemistry of the aged may offer respite to a tired mind. That is the only part of me that does get tired. My mind.

Perhaps the coming year will hold some peace.
God, I hope so.

Car Rant -- and meds rant --- and and and...

My car is a very sweet little Pontiac Grand Am SE. Although she is getting on in years, she looks pretty damned hot for a 1999. My car is equipped with every extra available for that model that year including the very smart rain guards on all four windows. When you live in the Rain Forest that is one smart option.

Although my car looks fantastic it has a teeny tiny issue with brakes. Ok it is a big fat issue.
It goes through front brakes one set per year.

The last time I got the brakes done, I paid extra for the top of the line callipers and rotors and blah blahsie blah and yes, here we are one year later and AGAIN with the brakes. (grrrr)
Apparantly this is a recall issue in the U.S of A. but not here in Canada.
Always a price for paradise.
----------

rant 2 is the tired old brain meds one.
About once every three months I get a very nasty side effect and one that is potentially fatal. I throw up in my sleep. I have been lucky. I wake up a micro second beforehand.

So yes once again I am considering this cruel reality.

The Best of Both Worlds

A wonderful thing about working for the Government in Health Care is that someone else does the intakes, the administrative work and writes the cheques.

A wonderful thing about working for myself is that I can work full scope. Before you start thinking I am a wanton giver of catheters and enemas, a big nooooo to that. Working privately you can actually voice an opinion with your name attached to it. When you work for the Government your voice is only about the task involved. That is it. You may think as you choose but watch what you say as you represent our Health Care system. I like to tell my (government) clients:

" I am just the hands. You need to talk to the brain."

Works every single time.

I am kinda choosey about private care. I get the most satisfaction from Palliative Care so that is primarily what I do. I am not particularly interested in privately bathing and dressing people. I like a challenge.

This coming year I am considering a change. A big change. I am thinking I would like to renew my license and work full scope. This would mean working a set number of hours to keep my license. Remember, this is how I lapsed it - not working full scope.

To renew I have to go to school again. Upgrade.

There is a big huge part of me that wants to go back to being the BIG boss. Must be my age.
What to do?

A Boxing Day Zopiclonic

Zopiclonic you ask?

It is a therapeutic treatment - Like a colonic but less anal and more hypnotic.
More later.

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

A Boxing Day listening bit of BBC fun - here

I always had a soft spot for Siouxie Sue.

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

This being on my own experience has turned into a bonding extravaganza with my man, Tuckerkinz. He was a teensy bit disappointed that my idea of a perfect Christmas was to come home from work, take him for a walk, have a nap, take him for another walk and go to bed.
The very best part of that was the unplugging of my telephone and turning off my cell.


There you go, obligatory warning label. Off to bed with the last of the blues.

Our Christmas Present from Neil

You know you really should link off his site but ---

click HERE

Now tell me there is no Santa!
OOooooo thank ye web-gods and goddesses

Very Merry and Bright

Pre-Christmas blahs have set in around Paradise. It is the great expectations of the propagandized generation.(s) Lower the expectations and voila - stress falls off.

No expectations here - I am working Christmas and happily so. There is no one to put a stocking up for, no sitting down for a meal with family, no nadda. How wonderful! Being a Christmas elf for others suits me far better. As always, in helping others I can forget myself - those maudlin parts.

Before there was a label for it, I was a Goth in a world of Beach Boy wannabes. An Elvira before Midnite Theatre aired in my area. A big weirdo my sisters said. Altho the kids now think of me as boringly straight and staid, it still is an effort to get up and out that door every day. Left to my own devices, I would not venture far. I DO NOT venture far. For Christmas Day, I can do it with no effort at all. That is what Christmas is for me - doing something of value for someone else.

Of course I do get double overtime. But I would do it anyway.

Thus endoth Birthday Week

It was not a banner birthday. In fact it rather stunk as birthdays go. The week, however was rather nice and I took much pleasure in NOT BLEEDIN WORKING AT ALL!

Alas fair Lady D is in despair as Chemotherapy treatment number 1 did not agree with her at all. Nausea set in before her anti nausea drugs took hold and she was world class retchingy ill. I admire that she could undergo the intravenous chemo at all. For me, it would not work. My reactions to needles are so catastrophic it would be worse than the disease. I would likely keel over from the shock. The pills I can do. The radiation I can do. The other.... no way. D doesn't believe me that I admire her for it but I do. I am lucky I wont be losing my hair.

Finding out that her hair will definitely fall completely out within a month was hard for her. We went to the Cancer Society to choose among their wigs for something that would suit. It was awesome to see hundreds of wigs there along with scarfs and hair bands, bandannas and other headgear all for free. At no cost to the borrower I should say. It ain't free.

As I signed the register, there was a bad moment where Diana's eyes went down to the paper and saw the entry above ours. ((*deceased*)) yikes. It was pelting with rain so we did not investigate the big city as much as we would have liked. We did take luncheon at the Dorchester Hotel where our server was obviously hung over. The food was great. Being treated less well than the half male party beside us was less so.

It broke my heart to hear Diana say: "I already feel ugly enough..."

It is awful to know she means it.
Bloody cancer.
Does it leave anything?

Going to bed with Neil Gaiman

oh yummy what a tasty thought THAT is....
so very tasty that my cunning sleepytime plan failed.

The audiobook of Stardust in my possession is both written and read by Neil Gaiman.
Since I gallivanted about with my Father today and braved the shopping mall crowds, my return home was to a lite meal and bedtime. The storytime was but a bonus.

Having gone to bed with Neil Gaiman, I am now awake without him. The book is finished and even the interview with the author has been heard.

PIty I have to work tomorrow. I bet I could sleep in.

Learning to Live.

I'm learning to live.
This new way, this medicated restrained way, has become my new normal. Finding out it has been over one year - ONE YEAR - amazed me. Part of the change is that strange indifference to time. Strange new kind of indifference. Time is a topic that does not benefit from written dissection.
When you have lived so many years in an altered state, something new is not only challenging, it is downright weird.

Life in the very very weird Pepperland has some perks.
Insight.
Small joys.
And this unending quiet rebellion against time.

Some things never change.

It's so quiet. (sshh! sshh!)

OOooooo I have the place to myself for a few weeks.

-----woohoo!------

And what does this mean for me?

Guilt-free HGTV viewing!

A CLEAN HOUSE!

teeny tiny bit of loneliness

-and-

NO TAKING THE NIGHT MEDS!

Oh thank ye God.

My Birthdayness

Opening my eyes to my birthdayness, I allowed it to settle upon me.
Once ensconced in it, my hand flew to my mouse to check my Gmail.
Yes yes I know.....

There was a message from he_who_works_for_Uncle_Sam. Sorry he cant engage in felicitations but he leaves this morning at 1030 for Iraq. Strange he would be deployed on my birthday.
Wonder who chose THAT flight.

Apart from my feelings on the whole Iraq-America conflict, I have a horror of anyone I know entering war zones. He does not believe himself to be much at risk despite the fact of his uncommon height. Large target. I have bad feelings about this....

Back to the birthdayness-
Also in the Inbox was a cute E-Card. Very nice indeed.
I then took myself out for breakfast, went and bought myself a heavy winter coat for dogwalking in colder weather, and stopped in on the Office Christmas soiree. I gave the Union sponsered party a pass last night. I dont do nights well, if at all. So fully loaded on delicious treats I came home to:

A dozen roses from my evil twin brother. Beautiful red roses. He is so thoughtful.

A three course Japanese food dinner followed by gooey cake.
I feel sick@!^%$%#@

Whilst at my fathers, where aforesaid gooey cake resided, I idly picked up the Church bulletin from last week and noticed a memorial service for Vern Dahl.
I had to sit down.
I love Vern.
Now THERE went a gentleman.

Vern is another uncommonly tall man. He retired from a fabulous job in the RCMP to Paradise here and lost his beloved wife not long after. I met him at a Church function. We continued our friendship at the local A & W our Thursday breakfasts. And sometimes Fridays too! Over the last 3 years we developed a mutual affection. He was too olde for me but we had a good flirt. We were doing just that not 3 weeks ago.

Apparantly Vern had prostate cancer and did not know it until too late. Diagnosis was 3 weeks before death. THAT is a shock and a loss. No wonder our date didnt pan out. (!!)

So another year older.
---bah

Requiem for a deleted post.

This space stays in honour of a man who used his wife's potentially fatal illness as the basis for insulting her.
This means you M.L.

Have to be circumspect about the name thing but -
you still get the shit of the year award.

Birthday Week!

Oh ho it is birthday week. MY birthday week.
This year not only did I take my birthday off but five more days around my birthday too.
Woohoo!

What do I want for my birthday?
True love & romance.

What am I likely to get for my birthday?
Good wishes and a gooey cake.

I am giving myself a present this year.
I will let you know if I like it.

Obligatory Rant on Brain Meds.

Risk versus benefit.
The cruelty of beneficial medication for brain problems.

Nevermind the Short Term Memory Loss.
Nevermind the acid reflux.
Never even mind the scary notion that in ten years or less my liver might be so damaged it won't matter what shape my mind is in - this is what irks me about brain meds:

Having grown up with a pharmaceutical junkie, that is someone who took dozens of pills daily for everything but the real problem- I was always opposed to the use of prescription drugs unless direly indicated. Climbing aboard the good ship brain medications was only done when my own ship capsized for the umpteenth time. before I was cognizant that I had a brain injury. Years of neglect and absentee parents had left me psychologically scarred, but I did not yet know that I had a traumatic brain injury in my past. The informed mind over matter thing, despite being incredibly interesting did not work for longterm management.
All that information.
All those therapies tried.
No regrets - I learned more about the workings of the mind than I could have in two Doctorate theses. Interesting.

Succumbing to a brain accident or stroke was becoming more and more probable. I did not sleep more than 2 hours a night for weeks on end. Once every 4 to 5 weeks I would crash. This had been my pattern for as far back as I could remember. Nothing - not alcohol, drugs or unending sexual pursuits had calmed this pattern. I also had the ability to think about many things at once; way way too many things, and combined with my hypersenses made life in the big city almost unbearable. Almost because I wore light sensitive glasses and wore earplugs.

Finally, it came to an end. I was done. Grudgingly, kicking and screaming all the way, I consented to try brain meds.
The difference after 3 months was flabbergasting. I slept. SLEPT!
The sleep debt got paid off in little bits. It was fabulous. Now I truly understood what other people took for granted - normalcy of a kind was mine. Heaven for awhile.

Five years into Brain Meds I had a seizure. Or five.
Always a heavy dreamer, a parasomniac, nighttime became a terror for those around me. Sleepwalking. Sleeptalking. Sleep SCREAMING.
Then I blanked out during the daytime. The weirdness had arrived.

This was the PTSD diagnosis.
I still have trouble saying that. But it is true.
So I have new meds. Different meds.

I am one year into this treatment.
This is what life now is:
I have a new body. It is 25 pounds heavier than my olde one.
I have a slower mind. A new ability to sleep ten hours with minimal yelling.

Is it worth it?
Well -
(heavy sigh)

I am still alive. I have not stroked out.
But I am profoundly depressed over side effects. The same medication that has kept my brain in check has also sucked my ambition and enthusiasm. I have gone from freakishly off the charts high energy levels to very low energy. I have acid reflux. My short term memory is suspect.

So we are back to the start of the rant.
This cruel choice. The trade-off.

The Cancer Clinic

(cue creepy music)

Driving down ye olde highway into the sunrise.
Normally, I am already at work by now. Normally doesnt figure much anymore.
It is a cold day and all I can do is pray there is no snow on the Malahat.

The anglo saxon coming fast and furious from my mouth hints as to my state of terror. The other person in the car - Lady D., has just completed her part in our long discourse on whether or not using the f word constantly in sentences means you are a comfortable inhabitant of the working class (her contention) or just plain lazy in your speech (mine). In an eerie echo of my Edwardian grandmother I hear myself say: "It sounds so common."

Aha! It is out. I am a snob reveal-ed.
A language snob at that. An unarmed language snob I think to myself.

We wonder on to the topic of my cruel trade-off which of course is one of my trademark rants.
The Brain Medication rant. I suppose I nurse curse AND rehearse that one.
It is a cruel trade-off though. I miss my metabolism, my smaller self and my multi-tasking. I do not miss the inability to sleep and the hyperactivity. I want middle ground. Sadly, not possibly. So say goodbye to more of my liver but a happy decade of roundness is mine.

We soon arrive in the Garden City and find the Royal Jubilee Hospital very easily.
Our destaination, The Cancer Care and research place, sits just behind.
The Centre is a newer building. As we enter, I am instantly aware that this is very probably the very best building/ work site our Health Authority has. It is open and airy and has windows that can let in fresh air. I have some serious workplace envy happening.

We see a series of people. Firstly a Client Care Aide. Excellent information compassionatly delivered. (Thank you Terry) Then we see a Radiation Oncologist. Another wonderful influx of information. But weighty, and oh so serious.

We stagger out under the weight of tmi to find a funkie lunch spot. We agree on the Parsons Cafe, and two thumbs up on that! YUMMY! Now is it Parish Cafe? Rectory Cafe? Parsons?
well buggerit all but it was tasty. Organic food grown locally. Cooked beautifully. Priced moderatly.

Back for round two: Chemotherapy 101.
Now we are getting somewhere. This is the suggested immediate.
We are fully loaded now with options a go-go.
After agreeing to be part of a test study, it is off for blood samples and then out to the car and homeward bound.

It is Lady D at the wheel. She does not take well to my suggestions of driving below the posted speed on the icy road. She believes that the posted speed is just an indicator and it is best to keep up with traffic. I bite my tongue so as not to mention the other drivers are in cars more winterized- we dont even have snowies on.

So again we rant our way home. Rant on her crazy ex- husband, on my ongoing war on mess in the home, and blah buggery blah blah.

The truth is we are both processing the information that in ten years time 20% of women just like us die of the cancer. The truth that even with chemo AND radiation it is still 7% that cannot be helped. The truth that we hate cancer and we hate these salesmen of treatment.
Yes they are salesmen. They are selling a product that likely we will feel obliged to buy.

That will be one round of chemo over 18 weeks thanks.... hold the radiation for now.
And the Tamoxifen 5 yr plan for dessert.

Lovely. Just bloody lovely.

The Pain of Enduring.

Another exercise in grace.
Another series of object lessons.

I sat in a room of 14 people all who work with me in the field.
I listened to the concerns and voiced a few of my own.

I work with some wonderful people. Almost all of my coworkers are people I would not hesitate to trust my life to. Amongst the pearls there are a handful of ten year+ employees that have something else going on.

The something else is a strange disconnect between what the Policy and Procedures of our region are and what they actually do in their practice. It is all about safe practice.
For me there are only two issues : Health and Safety --- is it safe? is it aseptic?T

These people of the something else never report incidents that put their co-workers at risk unless forced to.

So the meeting continue. We address the regional no lift policy.
No, they have no concerns.
My eyebrow goes up.

Interesting because in the room are two of the something else who several times a week violate the regional no- lift policy. They consider it to be stupid to call in another worker for a 3 minute transfer. They take the risk. But when they are not available and someone new is sent in, the new person is now at risk. And the new people get hurt.

These two of the something else never bothered to report 5 serial incidents where their client took a swing . They agreed that he really did not mean to hurt anyone.

We are all different.

I sat across the room watching.
They contribute __Nothing__ say __Nothing__

Where do we get these people?
Did they actually go to College?
Or were they *grandfathered* in?
Is it coincidence that they are supremely confident that they know best?


Sometimes when I get pissed off on the job, I have been know to say: I am not your boss. I am not your supervisor. I can only be my own best person, just as you must be for yourself. If you have some problem report it to your supervisor. I aint your supervisor. But for heaven's sake report it.

This post was prompted by finding out that two of my coworkers were injured in a place where the no lift policy was violated. Repeatedly.

RIP Hubert

Hubert, our fish, lived in an outsized brandy snifter on the dresser in the other bedroom.
Hubert was decidedly low maintenance. Seemingly content with his lot he lived a loved life.

I came out of my long lovely hot shower to a screaming roomie.
"Were you in my room? Did you touch my door? Did you slam something?"
A few more questions and I asked what was going on.

The snifter lay shattered on the floor. Hubert lay quietly dead.

I think the sudden cold low temperatures caused the glass to contract too suddenly . I think.
I once had a man make me an etched glass mirror in Art Noveau style for my December birthday. He had worked on it for a few months and it was breath-takingly lovely.

I brought it home in my car, and hung it up on the wall. The night was cold, the wall was an outside one and the next morning there was a huge crack right across the mirror. A pattern destroying one. To this day he thinks I dropped it carelessly.

Bye bye Hubert. That was an ignomious way to go.
*sniff

and yeah - roommate suspects I slammed a door.