It is always nice to be remembered on your birthday.
It is always nice to remember someone's birthday too!
Today was two of my client's birthdays. I was only to see one of them.
I was the first person to convey birthday greetings and she was very happy to receive them too with one little proviso: She wanted to know exactly why I was wishing her Happy Birthday on the 27th of November. Nothing I could say could convince her otherwise. Her family called to wish her the same while I was there and she asked them the same thing.
"First you change all the clocks around here and now it's the calendar."
She really has temporal confusion.
I wish her health and happiness and serenity in the face of irrationality.
-=-
30.11.05
29.11.05
Is it still Monday....?
I love cooking because I enjoy eating.
Naturally, this makes me an excellent cook, as my stomach can silently attest. It is round and full and beautiful.
My general routine is to finish my short shift, zip through the Thrifte and then come home and cook/eat dinner. My energies start to wane around 16:00 hours. A good little tasty and delicious dinner warms my body and soothes my soul, improves my mood with well-made food.
Oh, how I enjoy my dinner.
Cooking on all four burners, while roasting something or other, it was apparant that some calamity had befell my stove. T'was the breaker and in a trice I was once again cooking. The digital display was mocking me with flashing 8888888's. I set it. I remember the time.
T'was 3:21. How can I be so certain? Let us just say it was portentious.
Finishing my meal with a smile and a satisfied sigh, I decided to read.
Two books and a bath later I noticed it was 23:00 hours. This is most unusual for me to be up on a work night, so I went to bed, still feeling incredibly good.
The realm of sleep being what it is, I was out and about in the Universe, care-free and visiting elsewhere and whens. An annoying sound seemed to be accompanying me. It was alien to the dreamscape. It troubled me so greatly I woke up. It sounded like a very muted smoke detector. Same obnoxious decibel range. Was I on fire? Was someone else in my complex? I went downstairs and awakened fully when I realised that it was coming from the area of my stove. Looking at the stove clock I noticed it was ( --da da dum-- ) 3:21 in the a.m. hours.
Apparantly in my cooking delirium, I had set the alarm and/or timer for this time. BAH.
Could I return to sleep?
Of course not.
By this time it was closer to 4 a.m.. I naturally awaken at 05:00 and I was not sleepy enough to effortlessly fall back into a sleep. The obvious solution was to go out for breakfast. Tasty bacon and eggs, toast and coffee. Yes yes, it was a fine start to the day.
Around 14:00 hours when I was pulling into my parking space, it was somewhat obvious I need my eight hours so greatly, that even getting out of my car was wearisome. Naturally I had dinner. It was delicious simmered steak and gravy with winter squash baked with brown sugar, baked potatoes, and leek and onion sautee. Yummy.
My friends came to visit around 16:00 hours and found the front door standing open, dishes all over the kitchen, my work papers scattered about the floor and me, comatose and fully clothed in my bed.
They had thought perhaps I had been burgled until the one who knows me best thought to rouse me sufficiently to answer questions, in my sleep of course. They left me a note and locked my door as they left.
Dreaming of all sorts of interesting and exciting things, I was lost in layers of nonsense when again, a strange sound awakened me. It was my radio, which had been blaring the CBC for hours. The subject matter of the programme explained immediatly why I had been dreaming I was a geisha.
What time was it? What was this note pinned to my shirt? Why did I had gravy all over my beloved books?
It was 21:00 hrs, the note was from friends and the gravy was from myself. The slumbering gourmet. I cleaned my bed up, went downstairs and ate some crackers and cheese, picked up the papers, fretted over sleeping the entire afternoon away, and then promptly reascended the stairs to my room and laid back down, still fully clothed and instantly fell back into sleep, radio still blaring.
It was 5a.m. and I awakened feeling marvellous.
Apparantly some of us absolutely MUST have our 8 -10 hour sleeps.
Or fourteen.
What day is it?
Is it still Monday?
Naturally, this makes me an excellent cook, as my stomach can silently attest. It is round and full and beautiful.
My general routine is to finish my short shift, zip through the Thrifte and then come home and cook/eat dinner. My energies start to wane around 16:00 hours. A good little tasty and delicious dinner warms my body and soothes my soul, improves my mood with well-made food.
Oh, how I enjoy my dinner.
Cooking on all four burners, while roasting something or other, it was apparant that some calamity had befell my stove. T'was the breaker and in a trice I was once again cooking. The digital display was mocking me with flashing 8888888's. I set it. I remember the time.
T'was 3:21. How can I be so certain? Let us just say it was portentious.
Finishing my meal with a smile and a satisfied sigh, I decided to read.
Two books and a bath later I noticed it was 23:00 hours. This is most unusual for me to be up on a work night, so I went to bed, still feeling incredibly good.
The realm of sleep being what it is, I was out and about in the Universe, care-free and visiting elsewhere and whens. An annoying sound seemed to be accompanying me. It was alien to the dreamscape. It troubled me so greatly I woke up. It sounded like a very muted smoke detector. Same obnoxious decibel range. Was I on fire? Was someone else in my complex? I went downstairs and awakened fully when I realised that it was coming from the area of my stove. Looking at the stove clock I noticed it was ( --da da dum-- ) 3:21 in the a.m. hours.
Apparantly in my cooking delirium, I had set the alarm and/or timer for this time. BAH.
Could I return to sleep?
Of course not.
By this time it was closer to 4 a.m.. I naturally awaken at 05:00 and I was not sleepy enough to effortlessly fall back into a sleep. The obvious solution was to go out for breakfast. Tasty bacon and eggs, toast and coffee. Yes yes, it was a fine start to the day.
Around 14:00 hours when I was pulling into my parking space, it was somewhat obvious I need my eight hours so greatly, that even getting out of my car was wearisome. Naturally I had dinner. It was delicious simmered steak and gravy with winter squash baked with brown sugar, baked potatoes, and leek and onion sautee. Yummy.
My friends came to visit around 16:00 hours and found the front door standing open, dishes all over the kitchen, my work papers scattered about the floor and me, comatose and fully clothed in my bed.
They had thought perhaps I had been burgled until the one who knows me best thought to rouse me sufficiently to answer questions, in my sleep of course. They left me a note and locked my door as they left.
Dreaming of all sorts of interesting and exciting things, I was lost in layers of nonsense when again, a strange sound awakened me. It was my radio, which had been blaring the CBC for hours. The subject matter of the programme explained immediatly why I had been dreaming I was a geisha.
What time was it? What was this note pinned to my shirt? Why did I had gravy all over my beloved books?
It was 21:00 hrs, the note was from friends and the gravy was from myself. The slumbering gourmet. I cleaned my bed up, went downstairs and ate some crackers and cheese, picked up the papers, fretted over sleeping the entire afternoon away, and then promptly reascended the stairs to my room and laid back down, still fully clothed and instantly fell back into sleep, radio still blaring.
It was 5a.m. and I awakened feeling marvellous.
Apparantly some of us absolutely MUST have our 8 -10 hour sleeps.
Or fourteen.
What day is it?
Is it still Monday?
27.11.05
Sunday
The sun graced us once again this wintery morn with a cool kiss.
Sitting at the beach, sipping my coffee, all around me other sunrise watchers in their cars. This is unusual for a winter sunday morning at 06:45. Perhaps it was an influx of visitors come for the huge Crafte Faires that are all over the place this weekend. They surely were not dog-walkers, nor joggers, nor other Community Nursing staff.
Delightfully, a visit to ole feisty was in order. She did not remember until almost the very end of our time together. She really is the limit.
I remember vividly the morning she called me AT HOME at 05:00---
how did she get my #? Never say clients are not resourceful. She read my schedule where my name, address and telephone # are printed across the top.
What did she want at that ungodly hour?
Lithium.
Here I am. , client pimp (pharmaceutical division). Apparantly noone in the whole big wide world could get her meds but me. Like many with bi-polar depression, she was very skilled at getting what she wanted. Unlike many, once successful she did not know where to draw the line.
She just kept on going. I stopped visitations because she refused to quit smoking in my presence. Today I went because I heard she no longer smokes. She was her usual scrappy self. She tried to insult me a few dozen times but of course I actually enjoy that verbal sparring as I was weaned by the Bodaciea of vocal blood sports. Comparatively speaking, she is a lite-weight.
"Are you actually trained in Morning Care protocal?" she asked distainfully. (ooo there is a protocal?)
I smirked. Couldn't help it.
"It aint Rocket Science" I said, "but yeah. And hey: it says you direct your own care. So boss: what direction?"
"OH that stupid piece of paper. Is that what you are on about? I read them the riot act at your Office. I called them up and I blasted them. I gave them complete holy hell... well moderatly speaking that is."
--heee hee
I am sure she did.
She's bored and brilliant and has burned waaaaaay too many bridges.
But God bless her. I love her.
(long as I don't have to go there daily)
-=-
HAIKU!! bless you....
Sitting at the beach, sipping my coffee, all around me other sunrise watchers in their cars. This is unusual for a winter sunday morning at 06:45. Perhaps it was an influx of visitors come for the huge Crafte Faires that are all over the place this weekend. They surely were not dog-walkers, nor joggers, nor other Community Nursing staff.
Delightfully, a visit to ole feisty was in order. She did not remember until almost the very end of our time together. She really is the limit.
I remember vividly the morning she called me AT HOME at 05:00---
how did she get my #? Never say clients are not resourceful. She read my schedule where my name, address and telephone # are printed across the top.
What did she want at that ungodly hour?
Lithium.
Here I am. , client pimp (pharmaceutical division). Apparantly noone in the whole big wide world could get her meds but me. Like many with bi-polar depression, she was very skilled at getting what she wanted. Unlike many, once successful she did not know where to draw the line.
She just kept on going. I stopped visitations because she refused to quit smoking in my presence. Today I went because I heard she no longer smokes. She was her usual scrappy self. She tried to insult me a few dozen times but of course I actually enjoy that verbal sparring as I was weaned by the Bodaciea of vocal blood sports. Comparatively speaking, she is a lite-weight.
"Are you actually trained in Morning Care protocal?" she asked distainfully. (ooo there is a protocal?)
I smirked. Couldn't help it.
"It aint Rocket Science" I said, "but yeah. And hey: it says you direct your own care. So boss: what direction?"
"OH that stupid piece of paper. Is that what you are on about? I read them the riot act at your Office. I called them up and I blasted them. I gave them complete holy hell... well moderatly speaking that is."
--heee hee
I am sure she did.
She's bored and brilliant and has burned waaaaaay too many bridges.
But God bless her. I love her.
(long as I don't have to go there daily)
-=-
HAIKU!! bless you....
26.11.05
Saturday...
It's sunny outside!
Beautiful winter day here in Paradise.I have paid tribute to it by taking myself out for breakfast with the codgers.Even when my parent does not accompany me, I am an honourary olde fart.
Tasty and delicious french toast and bacon. Yummy yum.
Naturally, my route took me past YE THRIFTE and, equally naturally, I went inside where a waterfall dresser at $39.99 awaited me. It is being delivered on Wednesday. (for ten bux more)
A resolution of moderation is milling about in my mind.--mill, mill, mill.
I have one more large bookshelf to build in. I have two *lazy susans* to install in my useless corner kitchen cupboards. And the big one: I have a closet to build in the second bedroom. Perhaps selling some of these lovely things will fund it. I dont think so. But perhaps.
=--=
Tonight is the Silent Auction for the local School I endorse.I am kitchen crew.woohooAnd I wont WILL NOT be spending any money.It all went on the dresser anyway.
Happy Saturday.
Beautiful winter day here in Paradise.I have paid tribute to it by taking myself out for breakfast with the codgers.Even when my parent does not accompany me, I am an honourary olde fart.
Tasty and delicious french toast and bacon. Yummy yum.
Naturally, my route took me past YE THRIFTE and, equally naturally, I went inside where a waterfall dresser at $39.99 awaited me. It is being delivered on Wednesday. (for ten bux more)
A resolution of moderation is milling about in my mind.--mill, mill, mill.
I have one more large bookshelf to build in. I have two *lazy susans* to install in my useless corner kitchen cupboards. And the big one: I have a closet to build in the second bedroom. Perhaps selling some of these lovely things will fund it. I dont think so. But perhaps.
=--=
Tonight is the Silent Auction for the local School I endorse.I am kitchen crew.woohooAnd I wont WILL NOT be spending any money.It all went on the dresser anyway.
Happy Saturday.
25.11.05
oo the another shiny.....
I recovered from the Thrifte where it was mouldering on a tray with other jewellery objects of lesser import, a Scottish brooch. (Two dollars and fourty-nine cents)
"Oh dear, it is not real Silver. But you might be able to shine it up a little."
The Hallmark is 1840.
Its Beautiful. It took less than 5 minutes to restore it to lustre befitting it.
THE EMPRESS is in the building.
Oh yeah!
-=-
"Oh dear, it is not real Silver. But you might be able to shine it up a little."
The Hallmark is 1840.
Its Beautiful. It took less than 5 minutes to restore it to lustre befitting it.
THE EMPRESS is in the building.
Oh yeah!
-=-
Rosary
Just because I think the idea of ritual is important to the Human Psyche...
here is the Rosary for those who know it not.
Introduction
Are Catholics shiny?
Being the Empress of Shiny thing Collectors.... bred to the bone, trained as a jeweller and appraiser from the dandled knee of my gloriously festooned Mother, I bestow my largesse upon my Empire of glitz. Also emperically, I seek new territories of sparkle, to populate with my grande self. OOooooh! Shiny shiny things!!
I was having my hair *styled* today when I saw from the window an overly large amount of customers entering the Salvation Army Thrift Store. I had promised myself to relinquish the Empress title and downgrade to Queen, my abdication meaning fewer trips to the shoppes weekly, but naturally in the face of temptation I caved. Once I completed the trek there, it was only natural and indeed correct that I complete the circuit. I came home with many many more shiny things.
Perhaps I was Catholic in a prior incarnation. It certainly seems that relics attract me. Today an ebony and silver rosary called to me. Beside it were armbands with a tag that said "antique copper armbands". They are 9kt gold. Go me! There was a little ziplok baggie of *scrap silver* that had beautiful earrings in it. About 8 beautiful earrings. And two thick chains.
As I stood in line to purchase my shiny things, a little woman came up to me and touched the rosary. "You use that to pray dear," she said solemnly, and thank she kissed the rosary. Did I mention I was wearing it? She smiled up at me and said: "But you have to believe."
It is offensive to me that religious items are in the Thrift. Spiritually I take offense. Is there noone in the clearing out process of things that would treasure a rosary? I got two more holy water fonts as well - Forty-nine cents each. It is not the item that is holy, it is the energy with which it has been embued. It is the property of a Soul connected to the Great Soul.
Books: I bought "Emotional Alchemy" by Tara Bennett-Goleman
-and-
"The Key to the Kingdom" which is an enchanted deck. They are beautifully painted.
Playing cards with poems and rhymes. Four dollars and ninety-nine cents.
My mother used to get crazy when even as a small child I was fascinated by symbols.
I wanted my own crucifix but all I got was lectures on leaving Christ on the Cross.
Apparantly as a Baptist or Brethren, you can have a simple Cross, but the moment you have a figure on it, there lies an IDOL.
My grandmother was never comfortable with playing cards, nor is my father's sister, still Brethren, in her late 80s. I do not believe she has crosses around either.
My book accompanying the Enchanted Deck has an introduction which begins:
' "The Playe of Cards is an invention of the Devil, which he found out, that he might the easier bring in ydolatrie amongst men," wrote an early commentator. ' The first decks appeared in Italy in the 13th century. Like so many inventions of that time, they were said to have arrived from the East, and were associated with magic and divination.
all righty; on go the armbands and out comes the Silver cloth to polish the sterling bookmark. Did I mention that? Seventy-nine cents.
I realise I should really go back to the Antique and Funque Junque business but alas: I spent all my ill-gotten AND all my hard-work-years-on-end gains and would require a partner. The last time I took a partner on it cost me two hundred thousand dollars and my business. I did get a child out of the bargain so it was cheap; indeed my greatest deal.
When I die I hope someone has the brains to research every single thing I have extended my domaine to encompass. I have an exceptionally good eye, much to the annoyance of the local dealers who stride the aisles in the Thrifte beside me.
I don't know why I do it. A compulsion? A calling? A talent?
I will honour this rosary. And the rest of my holdings will also prosper.
-=-
The men resent a woman getting any honour in what they consider is essentially their field. Men painters mostly despise women painters. So I have decided to stop squirming, to throw any honour in with Canada and women. Emily Carr (another great Sagittarian)
24.11.05
Searching...
okay...
type in "pink floyd audio clip" in parantheses even... in a google search...
Can you believe it?
A zillion porn sites come up.
Something is amiss.
type in "pink floyd audio clip" in parantheses even... in a google search...
Can you believe it?
A zillion porn sites come up.
Something is amiss.
Simply Glorious
I love living here.
La-la-love.
Happy Thursday!
May all your days and dreams include something as beautiful to you as this be to me.
-=-
And THIS is winter in Paradise
Is this not beautiful?
Too bad the last few days have covered this glory in fog. Not today though... not today.
Life in Paradise
THIS is why we live here.
It is the best place in the world.
This is a cool winter sunset.
The birds in the water are freeloading seagulls. They are waiting for me to produce breadcrumbs or better!
I love my paradise.
Hope you get a feel of it from this.
*~* Thankful Thanksgiving ~*~
A healthy happy Thanksgiving to all beneath the 49th parallel.
In my moaning about cars and repair bills, in my fearfulness of what MIGHT have been had I been on the Highway when my car broke, front end first, I had an excellent opportunity for a reality check.
This black car you see to the right up there belongs to the aforementioned Wid's brother and sister-in-law. It seems their two daughters, who drive small cars, were on their way out but neither had alot of gasoline in their vehicles. The obvious solution: take Mom's car.
On their way along the highway, a Honda Civic hydroplaned and ploughed into them head-on. What you see is the remains of Mom's Volvo. God bless Volvo. One daughter broke her leg, the other was battered and bruised.
The young woman driving the Honda did not survive.
Happy thanksgiving.
Drive safely.
-=-
And Saul studied under Gamaliel himself
Thus spake Wids.
-=-
No matter what your claim to fame, no matter who your teachers, regardless of your degrees and certifications, awards and citations, it matters NOT AT ALL.
Acts 22
1"Brothers and fathers, listen now to my defense." 2When they heard him speak to them in Aramaic, they became very quiet.
Then Paul said: 3"I am a Jew, born in Tarsus of Cilicia, but brought up in this city. Under Gamaliel I was thoroughly trained in the law of our fathers and was just as zealous for God as any of you are today.
Wids asked me if I had ever heard of Larry Nelson. I had not.
He is a professional golfer.
He was won many touraments including the Masters.
He taught Wids how to play golf.
Wids says despite his excellent golf teacher, he is lousy.
Who teaches us is not as important as what we do with the gift we are given.
23.11.05
Vacations.... sort of
Day off.
Not really what I want. Just what you have to do when you don't have transportation.
whee!
-=-
Not really what I want. Just what you have to do when you don't have transportation.
whee!
-=-
21.11.05
Image is everything
Blogspot must have had me in mind when they enabled the upload images feature.
I never could have figured it out any other way.
Still...
all my images go to the top of the post. Not quite right but better than naught.
"I perceive"
templar-time
its like taco-time but oh so much cooler!
Anytime is templar time! I often tease my sister about those who are *sinclair-ier than thou*, especially since the Da Vinci code became a best seller. We all want to be Sinclairs now.
I have clients who are very much into the Clans and friends who are newly so.
Personally, I never understood it but then I came from the background of a Canadian born mother of British maternal descent and Scottish paternal... who thought of herself as exclusively Scottish and 100% Sinclair. It meant nothing to me -until-
*Wham* templar time.
it is strangely fascinating to read all these theories about who is guarding what and why.
Do you really think Jesus was the historical figure crucified or did he live his days out in Scotland with Mary Magdalene? I mean really! Does the world turn on these notions?
Apparantly for some, it does.
I just browsed a dot org site devoted to looking out for freemasonry. Looking out as in guarding against. What alot of energy invested there. And images. Lots and lots of images.
It seems to draw links to everyone and everything whilst casting suspicion on all.
It's more fun to read Ecco and try to pretend you understand it.
;)
-=-
No. 3 (still stealth smartie-pantsin)
There is swarmy stealth and there is discretion stealth.
I am not swarmy.
I have two clients who like to drink a little too much a little too often.
It should not be any of my business, but alas, people talk.
In my heart I believe that if these were male clients, noone would say anything.
As they are female it gets bandied about, and discussed to death.
Sometimes, a trip to the liquor store and a shot of vodka sitting on the counter get documented by people who really should mind their own business.
Someone made the mistake this last week of asking me about a client's drinking habits.
I do not know any of my clients well enough to comment.
They tell me their secrets and hopes and dreams, but still, I only see them a tiny sliver of time and in a very intimate way. People all cope with forced intimacy differently. I begrudge noone their dignity.
Somehow, I do not believe I will be asked that particular question in that turn of phrase ever again by that person.
-=-
..More Cleverness (concealed)
Situation no.2:
Bedridden client. Deemed *imminently palliative* almost 4 years ago now.
Maximum service in place.
Client very manipulative and attention seeking.
Hours in place for personal care, bathing and serving pre-made meals.
Client high-jacked the system early on, and has the workers doing elaborate and ritualistic food prep. Client refuses care unless *ready*. Client has been successful in maintaining service at an outrageous rate for an extended period of time. Client is an inappropriate placement and does not meet the criteria for our service in home.
Upon my arrival, client refused to open eyes. Client had vomit on her shirt. Client had slurred speech. Client refused to assist workers. Ambulance called. Client taken to emergency against client's wishes as paramedics also thought client was unwell.
Client assessed with a urinary tract infection but otherwise fine. Client brought home same day. Client miraculously now speaking clearly, no longer vomiting food, and helping workers perfectly.
It was a game.
I hate games like that.
-=-
Some things we can change. Some things we have to live with.
Some things we refuse.
I refuse.
-=-
20.11.05
what you get vs: what you want (oh Botheration!)
oh botheration!
The height of cleverness is to be able to conceal it. (Francois Duc de La Rochefoucauld.)
I know that!
These last few days, I have been struggling to keep it concealed.
Situation #1:
The client is a tough assignment but not always. The gf of the client is not supposed to be in the room with us while we attend to her partner. She hovers. She makes redundant suggestions. She *trains* us in critical tone. She knows everything of course.
And who is she anyway?
She is an angry bitter woman who hooked up with her dead friends' husband.
Too bad that just a year or so into this new playtime, he had a devastating illness.
He has the cash, so she does the care. She would not phrase it that way. It is the truth though.
She puts on the Lady Bountiful face and volunteers here, there, and everywhere.
She rarely mentions her rage and frustration outside the home.
It builds up and she blows. She blows and then he blows. And we get the crossfire.
She is always angry with something or someone and has endless stories about this business or that person. The moral high ground is hers. Of course.
I would really rather not be involved in that situtation but I am there. It is a small thing to ask she not be involved with our care. Too big for her though. She is a righteous pain in the ass.
I was looking at my schedule and saw the name a few too many times. It just left me flat.
I knew I had to change my attitude so I wrote in permanent marker on my workbook:
"Never believe that a few caring people cannot change the world, for indeed, that is all who ever have." I vowed to look at it a few times a day so I would forget what a pain she is.
While at that assignment my co-worker asked me what my book said so I told him to read it.
I mentioned it was one of my favourite quotes. She picked up my book and made a show of straining her eyes at it.
"What does that third from the last word say? I cannot read it! Look at it! What letter is THAT supposed to be? When I went to school we had to learn how to write properly...."
and on she went blah blah rant blah blah
Talk about missing the point.
Obviously it was far more important to her to ridicule my writing than to ponder the meaning of a quote meant to uplift.
When I left today, she was sitting at her kitchen table telling my co-worker about a cruise she and her daughter are planning to go on. Her partner is sitting at the other end listening.
I do not believe he is invited. Oh, that's a caring companion. And so very classy.
She really believes we are much less competant than she is. In every way.
She truly thinks of herself as a nuturer.
Interesting.
But stupid.
-=-
The height of cleverness is to be able to conceal it. (Francois Duc de La Rochefoucauld.)
I know that!
These last few days, I have been struggling to keep it concealed.
Situation #1:
The client is a tough assignment but not always. The gf of the client is not supposed to be in the room with us while we attend to her partner. She hovers. She makes redundant suggestions. She *trains* us in critical tone. She knows everything of course.
And who is she anyway?
She is an angry bitter woman who hooked up with her dead friends' husband.
Too bad that just a year or so into this new playtime, he had a devastating illness.
He has the cash, so she does the care. She would not phrase it that way. It is the truth though.
She puts on the Lady Bountiful face and volunteers here, there, and everywhere.
She rarely mentions her rage and frustration outside the home.
It builds up and she blows. She blows and then he blows. And we get the crossfire.
She is always angry with something or someone and has endless stories about this business or that person. The moral high ground is hers. Of course.
I would really rather not be involved in that situtation but I am there. It is a small thing to ask she not be involved with our care. Too big for her though. She is a righteous pain in the ass.
I was looking at my schedule and saw the name a few too many times. It just left me flat.
I knew I had to change my attitude so I wrote in permanent marker on my workbook:
"Never believe that a few caring people cannot change the world, for indeed, that is all who ever have." I vowed to look at it a few times a day so I would forget what a pain she is.
While at that assignment my co-worker asked me what my book said so I told him to read it.
I mentioned it was one of my favourite quotes. She picked up my book and made a show of straining her eyes at it.
"What does that third from the last word say? I cannot read it! Look at it! What letter is THAT supposed to be? When I went to school we had to learn how to write properly...."
and on she went blah blah rant blah blah
Talk about missing the point.
Obviously it was far more important to her to ridicule my writing than to ponder the meaning of a quote meant to uplift.
When I left today, she was sitting at her kitchen table telling my co-worker about a cruise she and her daughter are planning to go on. Her partner is sitting at the other end listening.
I do not believe he is invited. Oh, that's a caring companion. And so very classy.
She really believes we are much less competant than she is. In every way.
She truly thinks of herself as a nuturer.
Interesting.
But stupid.
-=-
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