--- So glad it's you.
Sometimes we all need some validation. Am I as good a person as I believe myself to be?
Have I succeeded in my goal of being a decent sort? Am I doing my job with excellence?
Am I diligent and dedicated? Or merely dogged?
Alot of HealthCare professionals and para-professionals forget to validate each other. Perhaps I would be one of them if not for some very good training by my battle-axe Nursing Instructor. I drank in every word she said thirstily, understanding that her decades of experience counted for __much__ where I knew little.
It can be hard to find nice things to say to some people who may not measure up to my expectations of what I believe their job to be, but knowing I likely do not measure up to theirs either, I can always find something to say of a positive nature.
A woman I work with at a difficult assignment noticably tenses while we work. She told me after we finished and had exited the home that she did not think our client liked her much, and that she believed he liked me only a little more. I knew that. He can't stand either one of us. He likes little and cute women who flirt with him to do his care. He does not like strong women who do their job capably and without his input. He needs to keep control of something. It does not bother me much as I know that next year I will not be going to this gentleman as he will be in other realms. As long as I am not the one in the wheelchair I can afford to be gracious. I kill them with kindness. Sometimes I almost choke on it but I do it anyway. It is an important thing for me to do. To be kind. To always be kind. To always be a little kinder than necessary.
Believe me, humble pie is not my favoured dish on the menu.
26.4.07
24.4.07
The Gay 90's
This is the day that everyone on my rotation is in their 90s.
It is rather affirming to see people that age doing well. Happily living in their own homes.
Just requiring minimal assistance with a few basic tasks.
Client 1 was 97
Client 2 93
Client 3: 94
Client 5 : an incredibly good looking 96.
Client 6: 93.
A great way to look at it is this:
One of our former clients lives on in a facility at the grande age of 109. She turns 110 very soon. That means that 30 years ago she was about to turn 80- an age that many people consider to be a great one.
Sobering no?
And best of all she is a healthy 110 to be. She has 90% of her marbles.
She lost some hearing and her knees are shot but mostly she is a sassy smart self-actualised old lady. Go girl go!
----------
Do not resent growing olde: Most are denied the privilege.
It is rather affirming to see people that age doing well. Happily living in their own homes.
Just requiring minimal assistance with a few basic tasks.
Client 1 was 97
Client 2 93
Client 3: 94
Client 5 : an incredibly good looking 96.
Client 6: 93.
A great way to look at it is this:
One of our former clients lives on in a facility at the grande age of 109. She turns 110 very soon. That means that 30 years ago she was about to turn 80- an age that many people consider to be a great one.
Sobering no?
And best of all she is a healthy 110 to be. She has 90% of her marbles.
She lost some hearing and her knees are shot but mostly she is a sassy smart self-actualised old lady. Go girl go!
----------
Do not resent growing olde: Most are denied the privilege.
20.4.07
Standing down
It has been a wonderful few weeks. After so many things that taxed my energy reserves, a little sun peeked through. Basking in the beams, I am unwinding and relaxing. MMMmmmm.
I love my life.
I love my life.
9.4.07
In Which I Scare Children and other small animals
So few are the people in my inner circle, their preciousness is beyond all measure.
No one is more important to me than my beloved evil twin.
My errant brother came to visit this weekend.
I love my brother. I want him near me. No matter what happens in life I want my brother to be there.
Evil twins being what they are, we would always support each other no matter what. Alas time and injury have taken from me what perhaps he could most wish to have --- hours in my presence. My days of work are just that. Work and a few hours in which I try to interact a little before crashing. Altho he knew I have the parasomnia thing going on this weekend was his first up close and personal experience.
Apparantly my eyes roll back in my head and my speech is garbled.... almost unintelligible and I stand staring at something invisible. A pretty picture. Apparantly the dog stays well away from me at these times.
Hearing this at dinner in a restaurant in front of other family was difficult.
But on the positive side, it takes the pressure off him. I am the official git of my clan.
When you are grafted from a tree that produces nuts, I suppose it is unrealistic to expect to wake up a cherry blossom.
No one is more important to me than my beloved evil twin.
My errant brother came to visit this weekend.
I love my brother. I want him near me. No matter what happens in life I want my brother to be there.
Evil twins being what they are, we would always support each other no matter what. Alas time and injury have taken from me what perhaps he could most wish to have --- hours in my presence. My days of work are just that. Work and a few hours in which I try to interact a little before crashing. Altho he knew I have the parasomnia thing going on this weekend was his first up close and personal experience.
Apparantly my eyes roll back in my head and my speech is garbled.... almost unintelligible and I stand staring at something invisible. A pretty picture. Apparantly the dog stays well away from me at these times.
Hearing this at dinner in a restaurant in front of other family was difficult.
But on the positive side, it takes the pressure off him. I am the official git of my clan.
When you are grafted from a tree that produces nuts, I suppose it is unrealistic to expect to wake up a cherry blossom.
8.4.07
Not the best day today either....
MHC: 6:1-7 Those are looked upon as doing well for themselves,
who do well for their bodies; but we are here told what their ease is,
and what their woe is.
Here is a description of the pride, security, and sensuality, for which God would reckon.
Careless sinners are every where in danger; but those at ease in Zion, who are stupid, vainly confident, and abusing their privileges, are in the greatest danger.
Yet many fancy themselves the people of God, who are living in sin, and in conformity to the world. But the examples of others' ruin forbid us to be secure.
Those who are set upon their pleasures are commonly careless of the troubles of others, but this is great offence to God. Those who placed their happiness in the pleasures of sense, and set their hearts upon them, shall be deprived of those pleasures. Those who try to put the evil day far from them, find it nearest to them.
who do well for their bodies; but we are here told what their ease is,
and what their woe is.
Here is a description of the pride, security, and sensuality, for which God would reckon.
Careless sinners are every where in danger; but those at ease in Zion, who are stupid, vainly confident, and abusing their privileges, are in the greatest danger.
Yet many fancy themselves the people of God, who are living in sin, and in conformity to the world. But the examples of others' ruin forbid us to be secure.
Those who are set upon their pleasures are commonly careless of the troubles of others, but this is great offence to God. Those who placed their happiness in the pleasures of sense, and set their hearts upon them, shall be deprived of those pleasures. Those who try to put the evil day far from them, find it nearest to them.
7.4.07
Living in the Country (hee-haw!)
Once upon a year or so, I lived in the country. My city friends chortled at the idea and my new neighbours and acquaintences always seemed amused by me and my *city ways*. Left to my own devices in the Country, likely I would starve to death unless there was a grocery store within walking distance. Camping and tenting gets the same enthusiastic yawn from me. No thanks. Send my bags on to the nearest Hotel.
When my travels take me to certain Postal Codes, I have to do deep breathing as I drive into the hinterland. Deep deep breaths, in..... out...... in..... out.....
There is one particular postal code that seems to have a lock on colourful folk. An iron-clad lock with a Chinese puzzlebox around it. Yesterday I was off out and about to that very place. Trepidaciously, I searched for the address. Right road.... right side on road..... no driveway.
It was reachable only from the next street down a little trail marked with a miniature sign stating the address. The trail was overgrown as was the grass surrounding the house. Oh, the house. It was faded clapboard and has grimy windows. Just as an added bonus I had to enter past a cat litterbox with a few very fragrant items in it. A cat, a big black fat cat. Alas, my allergies kicked in immediatly and my little blue puffer made it's first appearance.
My client was sitting at her kitchen table. The table was surrounded by boxes and magazines and letters, cards, shiny things, more shiny things, and yet more shiny things. The window ledges were littered 1/2 inch deep with the corpses of flies, and other things. Mice droppings were evident. Cobwebs everywhere. And at the table sitting straight backed like a Queen was my client. Her hair was most definitly unwashed and her clothes were stained. She had her own teeth and she was mid-bite of some toast with cheese. She declined my offer of a plate.
"Did they tell you how old I am?"
No, they did not but thanks to the new fancy dancy labels the client birthdate is on everything.
1910.
I looked at her expectant face and said:
"According to this book here you are about to turn 97! Congratulations!"
She was delighted to be talking to someone who applauded her decision to live in her own home.
I also noticed a faded diploma hanging above the fridge. This woman was a Public health nurse.
When I asked her where she had Nursed she told me she was in charge of a REGION.
I had to smile. It is unlikely this woman realises how much filth surrounds her but it is equally unlikely anyone can tackle her decades of collections with her consent. The best to hope for would be a friend taking her away for a day or 5 and a cleaning service coming in to clean.
I can also tell you with complete conviction that it will never happen.
That woman will either die in her sleep in her home, living the way she chooses, OR:
she will fall and break something and live out her days in extended care somewhere.
Either way, not bad for 97. Hygeiene aside of course..
When my travels take me to certain Postal Codes, I have to do deep breathing as I drive into the hinterland. Deep deep breaths, in..... out...... in..... out.....
There is one particular postal code that seems to have a lock on colourful folk. An iron-clad lock with a Chinese puzzlebox around it. Yesterday I was off out and about to that very place. Trepidaciously, I searched for the address. Right road.... right side on road..... no driveway.
It was reachable only from the next street down a little trail marked with a miniature sign stating the address. The trail was overgrown as was the grass surrounding the house. Oh, the house. It was faded clapboard and has grimy windows. Just as an added bonus I had to enter past a cat litterbox with a few very fragrant items in it. A cat, a big black fat cat. Alas, my allergies kicked in immediatly and my little blue puffer made it's first appearance.
My client was sitting at her kitchen table. The table was surrounded by boxes and magazines and letters, cards, shiny things, more shiny things, and yet more shiny things. The window ledges were littered 1/2 inch deep with the corpses of flies, and other things. Mice droppings were evident. Cobwebs everywhere. And at the table sitting straight backed like a Queen was my client. Her hair was most definitly unwashed and her clothes were stained. She had her own teeth and she was mid-bite of some toast with cheese. She declined my offer of a plate.
"Did they tell you how old I am?"
No, they did not but thanks to the new fancy dancy labels the client birthdate is on everything.
1910.
I looked at her expectant face and said:
"According to this book here you are about to turn 97! Congratulations!"
She was delighted to be talking to someone who applauded her decision to live in her own home.
I also noticed a faded diploma hanging above the fridge. This woman was a Public health nurse.
When I asked her where she had Nursed she told me she was in charge of a REGION.
I had to smile. It is unlikely this woman realises how much filth surrounds her but it is equally unlikely anyone can tackle her decades of collections with her consent. The best to hope for would be a friend taking her away for a day or 5 and a cleaning service coming in to clean.
I can also tell you with complete conviction that it will never happen.
That woman will either die in her sleep in her home, living the way she chooses, OR:
she will fall and break something and live out her days in extended care somewhere.
Either way, not bad for 97. Hygeiene aside of course..
4.4.07
2.4.07
The Relief Settles In
Neglecting my blog is surely not usual for me.
Neglecting my lovely Arda is even less so.
Relief has settled upon me as I have a six month reprieve against further invasive things done to my own dear self.
The sleeps have been very deep.
The naps frequent.
The tiredness still not quite dispelled.
I shall return. I know it.
Just, not quite yet.
Neglecting my lovely Arda is even less so.
Relief has settled upon me as I have a six month reprieve against further invasive things done to my own dear self.
The sleeps have been very deep.
The naps frequent.
The tiredness still not quite dispelled.
I shall return. I know it.
Just, not quite yet.
1.4.07
21.3.07
Two Hurrays!
Big Hurray #1
Thank you to all those prayed for me. Full glory to God I am not needing any more surgery. Just a check up in 6 months. SO HURRAY and thank you.
Big Hurray #2
More Tolkien coming soon. Ooooo I cant wait for this!
Happy First Day of Spring!
Thank you to all those prayed for me. Full glory to God I am not needing any more surgery. Just a check up in 6 months. SO HURRAY and thank you.
Big Hurray #2
More Tolkien coming soon. Ooooo I cant wait for this!
Happy First Day of Spring!
20.3.07
Out of Sequence
A horrifying hour in the Chair today. Thinking it was a minor appointment, there were no thoughts of implements of torture in my mind as they lay me back. Alas alas.
My Oral Surgeons are very kind and capable. The biggest problem is that my injuries were repaired out of sequence. Cosmetics were the issue in the beginning as bloody mouths, jagged bones and hanging tissues are not socially acceptable. The Insurance Companies suckered me as I had no idea about future complications or alignments of bones. I just wanted my mouth to be normal.
After my inner jaw was *relined* and mu gums reattached, I had crowns done one by bloody one. This was NOT covered by the Insurance Claim but necessary as the broken teeth snapped, fell out or cracked one by maddening one. THAT was the mistake. I should have had my jaw realigned them, but noone told me.
Now I am nearing the end of this hell. The wires mostly do not show anymore as they work to bring the back jaw to a stable position. Some of my teeth had to have brackets on them however because of the crowns, the brackets do not stay on. They snap off at the most annoying times. This is an improvement from the first wires which were on a total of 72 hours when I had a seizure. Lovely, no?
Today was a hard go in the chair.
And hey--- I paid big money for this too.
Remember: if you have an accident jaw, teeth, or any part of your face is broken, get a tough as nails lawyer and sue for big money. You are going to need it. Of course if you can ignore breaking teeth, migraines, popping and clicking and eardrums crunching don't bother.
Mostly right about now I wish I had enough money for a massage. It would be so nice to relax totally and bliss out.
okay, where's the Advil.
19.3.07
Connections
An addition to the day was welcome. After all, between the many kilometers travelled in vain, and
the lack of practise of skills, a definite feeling of uselessness enmired me, the futility factor was
in play. There is a strange quirk in my personality; one among dozens, nay-hundreds, that makes me desire above all things to make a difference to someone every day of my life. Some people have suggested this is a co-dependence trait and that in caring that my needs are met. Whether it matters much means nothing to me. I do what I do because I love to do it.
My addition turned out to be a retired Nurse who lives in one of the many waterfront communities.
She was delightful. At one point in our most interesting conversation she stopped suddenly and
looked at me strangely. "I don't know why I am telling you all this."
I hear that exact phrase alot. This is my true skill - pulling from people memories that they hold
dear. The care is incidental really. People tell me all sorts of things all the time and I
appreciate it immensely. In memory we live forever. It is an honour that I carry them with me.
My client told me that she had been an Army Nurse in the Second World War, During her training she was injured rather badly in a training accident. She was very gracious in her recollections although she did say that the Officer involved should have been court-maritalled. After listening to her, I was inclined to think that was too minor a consequence for what he did. And what did he do? He pulled the pin from a live grenade and threw it at her feet.
The blast threw her 20 feet and after she got up from it, noone seemed to know what to do. She
was in a group of 1500 trainees and noone had the presence of mind to do anything sensible. Instead she had to WALK a mile for treatment. And then, the Army Doctor said to her: "Hmm, phosphorous, hmmm." And he looked it up in his Medical dictionary.
Thanks to a very interested involved and engaged family, she now gets a pension from Veterans
Affairs. They had to help her apply for it as the myriad of paperwork was daunting. Amazing that
until that time, she got nothing at all. Just 4 months off to recover from the burns, and then she
was shipped overseas where she met the love of her life. A rainbow at the end of a bad storm.
It would be a great pleasure to be called back to that place. I would love to be helpful to her.
She deserves it and more. At the very least.
---*
the lack of practise of skills, a definite feeling of uselessness enmired me, the futility factor was
in play. There is a strange quirk in my personality; one among dozens, nay-hundreds, that makes me desire above all things to make a difference to someone every day of my life. Some people have suggested this is a co-dependence trait and that in caring that my needs are met. Whether it matters much means nothing to me. I do what I do because I love to do it.
My addition turned out to be a retired Nurse who lives in one of the many waterfront communities.
She was delightful. At one point in our most interesting conversation she stopped suddenly and
looked at me strangely. "I don't know why I am telling you all this."
I hear that exact phrase alot. This is my true skill - pulling from people memories that they hold
dear. The care is incidental really. People tell me all sorts of things all the time and I
appreciate it immensely. In memory we live forever. It is an honour that I carry them with me.
My client told me that she had been an Army Nurse in the Second World War, During her training she was injured rather badly in a training accident. She was very gracious in her recollections although she did say that the Officer involved should have been court-maritalled. After listening to her, I was inclined to think that was too minor a consequence for what he did. And what did he do? He pulled the pin from a live grenade and threw it at her feet.
The blast threw her 20 feet and after she got up from it, noone seemed to know what to do. She
was in a group of 1500 trainees and noone had the presence of mind to do anything sensible. Instead she had to WALK a mile for treatment. And then, the Army Doctor said to her: "Hmm, phosphorous, hmmm." And he looked it up in his Medical dictionary.Thanks to a very interested involved and engaged family, she now gets a pension from Veterans
Affairs. They had to help her apply for it as the myriad of paperwork was daunting. Amazing that
until that time, she got nothing at all. Just 4 months off to recover from the burns, and then she
was shipped overseas where she met the love of her life. A rainbow at the end of a bad storm.
It would be a great pleasure to be called back to that place. I would love to be helpful to her.
She deserves it and more. At the very least.
---*
18.3.07
Mojo, Our Lady of the Colourful Metaphors
It has been years since I saw Mojo. I stopped going to her because of the smoking. Mojo is another chain-smoker who has a nicotine fit if more than 10 minutes go by without a puff. Trust me, it is never more than 9. I had forgotten she was a smoker or I would likely have said no to her but once in it is rather too late. I carry emergency puffers for this exact reason.
Mojo was as always. She goes for the shock value. You walk in and see an 89 year old woman in a muumuu. She gives you a lovely smile. You ask her what she is up to and she tells you she is off to "take a crap."
Mojo had a career as a Nurse back in the days when they did those bad lifts. Her back is very painful, and her gait is unsteady. She lives alone, in a very nice ocean view apartment with rather minimal help to stay independent. She has kids and grandkids and great-grandkids but noone ever comes by. One of her sons calls every now and then. She thinks he is just checking to make sure she didn't die and leave it all to someone else. She has given up on her family completely and spends most of her time with her hired help. Her best friend is her cleaning lady. Naturally the Son(s) do not approve but also do not visit.
"Haha, he doesn't know but I did get a big inheritance. And I spent it all. I planned out ten years of trips and fun and I spent it all. And he can have what's left. Sweet bugger all. The fucker."
Today, Mojo told me that recently there have been alot of stories in the news about teenagers assaulting old ladies. She now keeps her doors and windows locked at all times. She made it to 40 minutes and then she said she HAD to have a ciggie so I had to go.
Mojo walked me down the hall to lock the door behind me.
"Isn't it sad that I have to do this? I worry about someone breaking in and stealing my stuff. Or raping me. Actually I wouldn't mind a good rape but it would have to be consensual."
Another one off.
Mojo was as always. She goes for the shock value. You walk in and see an 89 year old woman in a muumuu. She gives you a lovely smile. You ask her what she is up to and she tells you she is off to "take a crap."
Mojo had a career as a Nurse back in the days when they did those bad lifts. Her back is very painful, and her gait is unsteady. She lives alone, in a very nice ocean view apartment with rather minimal help to stay independent. She has kids and grandkids and great-grandkids but noone ever comes by. One of her sons calls every now and then. She thinks he is just checking to make sure she didn't die and leave it all to someone else. She has given up on her family completely and spends most of her time with her hired help. Her best friend is her cleaning lady. Naturally the Son(s) do not approve but also do not visit.
"Haha, he doesn't know but I did get a big inheritance. And I spent it all. I planned out ten years of trips and fun and I spent it all. And he can have what's left. Sweet bugger all. The fucker."
Today, Mojo told me that recently there have been alot of stories in the news about teenagers assaulting old ladies. She now keeps her doors and windows locked at all times. She made it to 40 minutes and then she said she HAD to have a ciggie so I had to go.
Mojo walked me down the hall to lock the door behind me.
"Isn't it sad that I have to do this? I worry about someone breaking in and stealing my stuff. Or raping me. Actually I wouldn't mind a good rape but it would have to be consensual."
Another one off.
17.3.07
16.3.07
Hillbilly Guy
Another change to the ol' schedule necessitated my driving to an adjoining little area. A rental building on a main street where my client waited at his front door. He ushered me in.
We chit-chatted mindless silly stuff you say to distract the person from what you are really doing to them, and he prattled on about his life. Prattle is the wrong word. But it is close. He spoke in homilies and strange little sentences that made me wonder if he had experienced a stroke or if he was just unschooled. The home was dingy. The towels were dirty. The supplies were ancient.
He had an extra bedroom where a Roland electric keyboard was hooked up to a Fender amp.
A microphone lay strewn about.
"Yeah me and my Rose used to play at the Army and Navy 4 times a month. She never sung in front of anyone but the mirror when I met her and after 5 years I had her up to 200 songs."
Rose died a few years ago. She smoked herself to death he told me.
I had asked him something about the pictures of the pretty young blonde girls that may be grandkids and he said to me:
"Oh Rose was not my wife. I had two women."
He looked at me triumphantly. This was really something to him.
Then he smiled and leaned back a little.
"Yeeeup. Rose, I never married her but she was my woman for 14 years. The wife I had before we had the kids but it was no good. Rose was great. I bought her a '75 Ford Van and fixed it up and we had ourselves a Coffee Wagon. Went all over town selling. Made darned good money too."
Of course I had him play me a tune. Buffalo Gals and Secret Love and Please Release Me, and a couple of country tunes I had trouble identifying.
"SO are you married?"
-cough-
I gotta tell you, the answer to that question is always, emphatically YES. No matter what. The answer is YES.
He did mention as how he was going to be at the certain restaurant at a certain time if I was interested perhaps and then told me about this woman he met for breakfast every Friday who was 45 and so on. A player. A Hillbilly player.
I found some geriatric soap and did the dishes that were absolutely mouldy. I even scrubbed the toilet when he wasn't looking. I just couldn't stand all that drab. But damn it all if he didn't put his same old grimey clothes back on after we finished his dressings.
Ah well.
I know this guy. I remember him. A long time ago I was in a little cafe in the boonies. I remember the band because it was appallingly bad, in a strange and endearing way. I remember this little man because he has a facial deformity that is not visible if his hat is on. His hat is almost always on. I remember Rose too. She sort of yodelled as she sang.
Right on Rockabilly Hillbilly Guy.
Right on.
We chit-chatted mindless silly stuff you say to distract the person from what you are really doing to them, and he prattled on about his life. Prattle is the wrong word. But it is close. He spoke in homilies and strange little sentences that made me wonder if he had experienced a stroke or if he was just unschooled. The home was dingy. The towels were dirty. The supplies were ancient.
He had an extra bedroom where a Roland electric keyboard was hooked up to a Fender amp.
A microphone lay strewn about.
"Yeah me and my Rose used to play at the Army and Navy 4 times a month. She never sung in front of anyone but the mirror when I met her and after 5 years I had her up to 200 songs."
Rose died a few years ago. She smoked herself to death he told me.
I had asked him something about the pictures of the pretty young blonde girls that may be grandkids and he said to me:
"Oh Rose was not my wife. I had two women."
He looked at me triumphantly. This was really something to him.
Then he smiled and leaned back a little.
"Yeeeup. Rose, I never married her but she was my woman for 14 years. The wife I had before we had the kids but it was no good. Rose was great. I bought her a '75 Ford Van and fixed it up and we had ourselves a Coffee Wagon. Went all over town selling. Made darned good money too."
Of course I had him play me a tune. Buffalo Gals and Secret Love and Please Release Me, and a couple of country tunes I had trouble identifying.
"SO are you married?"
-cough-
I gotta tell you, the answer to that question is always, emphatically YES. No matter what. The answer is YES.
He did mention as how he was going to be at the certain restaurant at a certain time if I was interested perhaps and then told me about this woman he met for breakfast every Friday who was 45 and so on. A player. A Hillbilly player.
I found some geriatric soap and did the dishes that were absolutely mouldy. I even scrubbed the toilet when he wasn't looking. I just couldn't stand all that drab. But damn it all if he didn't put his same old grimey clothes back on after we finished his dressings.
Ah well.
I know this guy. I remember him. A long time ago I was in a little cafe in the boonies. I remember the band because it was appallingly bad, in a strange and endearing way. I remember this little man because he has a facial deformity that is not visible if his hat is on. His hat is almost always on. I remember Rose too. She sort of yodelled as she sang.
Right on Rockabilly Hillbilly Guy.
Right on.
14.3.07
Happy Pi Day
its 3.14
Happy Pi day
Pi Day and Pi Approximation Day are two unofficial holidays held to celebrate the mathematical constant π (Pi). Pi Day is observed on March 14 (3/14 in American date format), due to pi being equal to roughly 3.14. Sometimes it is celebrated on March 14 at 1:59 pm (commonly known as 'Pi Minute'); if Pi is rounded out to five decimal places, it becomes 3.14159, making March 14 at 1:59:26 pm being 'Pi Second.' Pi Approximation Day may be observed on any of several dates, most often July 22 (22/7 - in European date format - is a popular approximation of π).
Happy Pi day
Pi Day and Pi Approximation Day are two unofficial holidays held to celebrate the mathematical constant π (Pi). Pi Day is observed on March 14 (3/14 in American date format), due to pi being equal to roughly 3.14. Sometimes it is celebrated on March 14 at 1:59 pm (commonly known as 'Pi Minute'); if Pi is rounded out to five decimal places, it becomes 3.14159, making March 14 at 1:59:26 pm being 'Pi Second.' Pi Approximation Day may be observed on any of several dates, most often July 22 (22/7 - in European date format - is a popular approximation of π).
12.3.07
Happy Birthday Wids!
Happy Birthday Widdy.
Wishing you health, happiness, joy and humour.
(You too, 'Clue)
Speaking of humour:
click here
Wishing you health, happiness, joy and humour.
(You too, 'Clue)
Speaking of humour:
click here
10.3.07
8.3.07
Pieces of Me
Perhaps when this is over I should request my bits back and sell them on EBay.
Get it first! Harmony's cervix! Uterine lining only slightly used!!
-meh-
It makes me crazy to think pieces of me are being sampled and prodded and tested while I sit on tenderhooks waiting. tic-tic-tic
Hurry bloody up.
Get it first! Harmony's cervix! Uterine lining only slightly used!!
-meh-
It makes me crazy to think pieces of me are being sampled and prodded and tested while I sit on tenderhooks waiting. tic-tic-tic
Hurry bloody up.
6.3.07
A New and Entirely Unexpected Pleasure
We take our joy where we find it. Lately my joy has been something that I always loved but had forgotten. It is reading. Being read to. I love to be read to. This came to me at one of my regular ladies where an audiobook cassette lay by a CNIB machine.
At home, I decided to try a search for AudioBooks on my favoured file-sharing program and was bowled over by the results. I must admit to adding about 25 names into my filters list. Harry Potter and Zig Ziglar and so on. I also added the phrase "self help" and the words "hypnosis" and suchlike betterments. It is not self-definement I require. It is the comfort of a voice reading me a story. Now, Neil Gaiman's stories don't seem to come up--how annoying-- but Agatha Christie's certainly do. I spent my adolescence reading every Agatha Christie book I could get my hands on. I think I own most of them still in leather bound volumes in my library. So downloads-a-go-g0 it has been on my personal machine.
All this last time of hospitals and tests and Doctors, I have spent my evenings being read to. Poirot and Miss Marple and the usual cast of upperclass twits and gossipy villagers. Strangely enjoying.
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