Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Choices
I've switched to night shift. The house manager asked me to train a young boy, acknowledging that the woman working with him on night shift is horribly impatient and she is afraid that they will lose the young boy. She feels that he has a good heart, and can become a good person to have on staff. I said yes. Mostly being tired of dealing with the immaturity of second shift.
Imagine my shock to go on nights and discover that the boy that I'm supposedly training has jumped ship to days, and I am now working with the horribly impatient woman on third shift.
She's awful. She swears constantly, and throws things. I'm kind of boggled that she gets away with this behavior, but she has. Mostly because there is no one else to fill her position, I reckon.
It's been interesting.
My first impression was that she was simply frustrated with the second shift people who simply do not do what they are supposed to do. Despite meeting after meeting, nothing changes. The attitude was summed up by their joy that I was leaving. There was fist pounding and the comment was made, to general hilarity, that it was 'their house, their rules.' That sums it up I guess, and telling them that it is NOT their house isn't going to solve anything.
I have been with the company for three months now, and at each of our monthly meetings, I've listened to my new partner blast second shift. Privately, I felt she was right, but the fact is, she was far more abrasive than she needed to be. Now that I am working with her, I see how it is: no one in the house can do things to her satisfaction.
I know that I am a hard worker. I take pride in this. I am a level headed person who has learned to measure her words. I'm kind of proud of that. I reported to my new shift, and I was not concerned. Except she has become bitterly angry that I do too much. I was flabberghasted by this. I work four 10 hour shifts, from 10 at night until 8:30 the next morning. I keep alert by keeping myself busy. There are plenty of things to do in a house, and so between patient care (which is far less at night), I keep the washer going, and the dryer going. I clean like hellzapopping. I was happy that the adjustment to third shift was easier than I anticipated.
Imagine my surprise when she threw a laundry basket and snarled, "This fucking bullshit ends tonight!" and stormed out of the room. I tried to reason with her, but she just refused to discuss it. It has steadily gone down hill. Lots of cursing and slamming, sarcasm, and unprofessionalism. I discussed this with management who readily acknowledges that she has a problem (she threw a walker at another coworker). They asked me to document.
It is an uncomfortable situation, being alone in a house with a woman who has no self control, and I am carefully documenting things. Everyone is assuring me that I am not the problem, but I certainly have one.
Yesterday, a boss called to check in. She was encouraging, and telling me to hang in there, that I am a great asset, etc. etc. It came to me clearly that what she was looking for was some sort of affirmation that I would not leave my job, and suddenly, it hit me. The truth of it came as a big shock.
For 55 years, I've been working at dead end jobs. I did them because I had no choice. I did them because I was a single parent with three children. I continued to do them to make ends meet when Tim and I married and suddenly were dealing with the expenses of a single household and five children. There were braces, and college educations. We both worked, and we worked hard, and we often worked more than one job. I had no choice but to deal with tough work environments because I had no skills.
I listened to my boss, and I realized what she wanted to hear, and suddenly it occured to me. Like a bolt out of the blue, I realized that I have a choice. I am working an entry level job for a crack at a professional job. I have also begun to apply for OT jobs. I listened to my manager, and I knew what she wanted me to say and suddenly it occured to me that I did not have to say it.
That is the value of education. You have a choice.
I did not say those words.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
How do you spell relief?
I took my certification exam last week. The website went down yesterday to load the results. It did not come back up until sometime this morning.
I've was pretty confident when I walked out the door of the testing center, and I've never really been afraid, but I'm not a girl to count her chickens before they hatch. I passed the certification exam. I'm now a Certified Occupational Therapy Assistant.
*whew!*
I spell relief COTA.
I've was pretty confident when I walked out the door of the testing center, and I've never really been afraid, but I'm not a girl to count her chickens before they hatch. I passed the certification exam. I'm now a Certified Occupational Therapy Assistant.
*whew!*
I spell relief COTA.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Lowe's
Well, last night I went to Lowes. My beloved had bought 3/8 x 6 in carriage bolts and discovered that he needed 3/8 x 8 in carriage bolts. We are (he is?) currently in the process of replacing the second story deck on the back of a house overlooking the river, so one can see that going to the store to exchange the bolts was vital to the success of this mission. (Yes. I watched 'Act of Valor'.)
Tim gave me a five and asked me to get a water for him. Off I went.
I walked into the store, and the little woman at the return desk took my receipt and there the trouble began. The receipt and the bolts did not match. She got out her little book and she began to mutter. Seems that my bolts were galvanized and the bolts that I'd been charged for weren't, and furthermore, they'd charged me for the wrong size bolts, so it appears that Tim got quite a bargain on the first set of bolts. Since he'd bought a bunch of other hardware, I'm pretty sure that he did not notice that he had saved about $1.50
She flipped through the book to show me the differences in the prices even as I stared thinking, 'Well, surely you are not going to pay me the higher price for the return, so what does any of this matter?' She said very briskly, "I'm not going to take these back at the higher price."
I said, mildly, "Well, I don't expect to receive any more than I spent," thinking 'My God! If I were pulling some sort of scam, I would have not come back in the door with my receipt.'
But she processed the rest of the return, handed me my $2.33.
I hied myself swiftly to carriage bolts (yes, I knew exactly where to go). Along the way I met a former coworker from Tractor Supply, one who'd left some months before me. He asked how my new job was going. "Good," I said. We talked about Tractor Supply a bit, the latest scuttlebutt, about the new assistant manager (the old one quit at the same time I did, and ironically works for the same employer I work for now.) I said, "Well, I enjoyed that job..." even as he said, "The whole company was founded on flawed principals, a corn pone idea that doesn't work in today's world." I gaped a little bit, I'm sure.
I walked away, thinking. Perhaps that's my problem, right there. Those corn pone ideals? The ones that don't work? Don't fit in today's world? The truth of it is this: I believe in them. I was raised to believe in them. They are at the core of who I am.
I walked to the register clutching my two carriage bolts and wondering about this all.
Luckily, I met a very funny cashier. She got out her little price book as we blabbed. She flipped to 'Galvanized Carriage Bolts' and I said, "These are 3/8 x 8." At about that moment, the returns woman happened by to say, "Make sure you're charging her for galvanized bolts...she was not charged for galvanized bolts the last time." The cashier said, "I am," pointing to the heading at the top of the page. I thought, "This woman thinks I am dishonest."
As she sped away, satisfied, the cashier and I continued our transaction. She was a talker, like me. She was funny, like me. Before it was over, we'd shared a good giggle about brooms, and about husbands, and all sorts of stuff that had nothing to do with the carriage bolts and the bottled water.
I walked across the parking lot feeling reassured that goodness and humor and hard work are not completely out of the picture. I got into my green truck and drove back home.
I answered Tim before he could ask. "That return took a bit longer than I thought, because those bolts were priced wrong. And then I ran into some people..."
He took a long pull on his water. After 15 years, he's just about used to me.
Tim gave me a five and asked me to get a water for him. Off I went.
I walked into the store, and the little woman at the return desk took my receipt and there the trouble began. The receipt and the bolts did not match. She got out her little book and she began to mutter. Seems that my bolts were galvanized and the bolts that I'd been charged for weren't, and furthermore, they'd charged me for the wrong size bolts, so it appears that Tim got quite a bargain on the first set of bolts. Since he'd bought a bunch of other hardware, I'm pretty sure that he did not notice that he had saved about $1.50
She flipped through the book to show me the differences in the prices even as I stared thinking, 'Well, surely you are not going to pay me the higher price for the return, so what does any of this matter?' She said very briskly, "I'm not going to take these back at the higher price."
I said, mildly, "Well, I don't expect to receive any more than I spent," thinking 'My God! If I were pulling some sort of scam, I would have not come back in the door with my receipt.'
But she processed the rest of the return, handed me my $2.33.
I hied myself swiftly to carriage bolts (yes, I knew exactly where to go). Along the way I met a former coworker from Tractor Supply, one who'd left some months before me. He asked how my new job was going. "Good," I said. We talked about Tractor Supply a bit, the latest scuttlebutt, about the new assistant manager (the old one quit at the same time I did, and ironically works for the same employer I work for now.) I said, "Well, I enjoyed that job..." even as he said, "The whole company was founded on flawed principals, a corn pone idea that doesn't work in today's world." I gaped a little bit, I'm sure.
I walked away, thinking. Perhaps that's my problem, right there. Those corn pone ideals? The ones that don't work? Don't fit in today's world? The truth of it is this: I believe in them. I was raised to believe in them. They are at the core of who I am.
I walked to the register clutching my two carriage bolts and wondering about this all.
Luckily, I met a very funny cashier. She got out her little price book as we blabbed. She flipped to 'Galvanized Carriage Bolts' and I said, "These are 3/8 x 8." At about that moment, the returns woman happened by to say, "Make sure you're charging her for galvanized bolts...she was not charged for galvanized bolts the last time." The cashier said, "I am," pointing to the heading at the top of the page. I thought, "This woman thinks I am dishonest."
As she sped away, satisfied, the cashier and I continued our transaction. She was a talker, like me. She was funny, like me. Before it was over, we'd shared a good giggle about brooms, and about husbands, and all sorts of stuff that had nothing to do with the carriage bolts and the bottled water.
I walked across the parking lot feeling reassured that goodness and humor and hard work are not completely out of the picture. I got into my green truck and drove back home.
I answered Tim before he could ask. "That return took a bit longer than I thought, because those bolts were priced wrong. And then I ran into some people..."
He took a long pull on his water. After 15 years, he's just about used to me.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Sleepless
I've begun job hunting.
I didn't expect that, but what I am finding is that I am very interested in focusing on behavior modification. I do have that capability of moving into that eventually, but where I currently work needs people in my position and you have to stay in that position for six months after hiring on. I saw jobs posted in the field that I am interested in, but they require a year with the company.
Do I lock myself into a difficult position for one year? My knee jerk response was to do just that, but I realized this: we spent a lot of money to get me to this point. I'm currently working a job that requires a high school education. Nothing more. It is a low paying job, and staying in this job adds nothing to my resume that is not already there. I've done this kind of work for a great portion of my life in a wide variety of settings.
I am working nights now, and yesterday afternoon I woke up to go to the...well...I woke up. Never you mind. But when I came back to bed, I tossed and turned, sleepless. I was making a decision. Bob commented a while back that I was doing 'God's work', and I agreed with him. I still do. The small moments when you 'break through to a client', when a nonverbal man stops screaming and looks you square in the eye, or when a man who sits in corner muttering to himself comes over to mutter to you, well, I wouldn't trade them for anything. I feel like I'm making a difference and that is all that I ever thought that I wanted to do.
I found myself torn between doing right by those clients, and doing right by myself. I lay awake feeling selfish and ashamed. If I'm doing God's work, then I should trust that I will wind up doing what I'm meant to be doing. On the same token, why in the world did I spent all that money if I can't bring myself to break away from what I know and use that degree?
I wrestled with that for several hours and came up with this: I will apply. I'll begin looking for jobs that are directly in my field working towards the direction I want to head with this career of mine. I'll see what doors open. I'll make a decision then.
But, man, do I feel guilty.
Behavior modification is what I'm interested in...and think that this creature of habit needs to look at modifying her own.
I didn't expect that, but what I am finding is that I am very interested in focusing on behavior modification. I do have that capability of moving into that eventually, but where I currently work needs people in my position and you have to stay in that position for six months after hiring on. I saw jobs posted in the field that I am interested in, but they require a year with the company.
Do I lock myself into a difficult position for one year? My knee jerk response was to do just that, but I realized this: we spent a lot of money to get me to this point. I'm currently working a job that requires a high school education. Nothing more. It is a low paying job, and staying in this job adds nothing to my resume that is not already there. I've done this kind of work for a great portion of my life in a wide variety of settings.
I am working nights now, and yesterday afternoon I woke up to go to the...well...I woke up. Never you mind. But when I came back to bed, I tossed and turned, sleepless. I was making a decision. Bob commented a while back that I was doing 'God's work', and I agreed with him. I still do. The small moments when you 'break through to a client', when a nonverbal man stops screaming and looks you square in the eye, or when a man who sits in corner muttering to himself comes over to mutter to you, well, I wouldn't trade them for anything. I feel like I'm making a difference and that is all that I ever thought that I wanted to do.
I found myself torn between doing right by those clients, and doing right by myself. I lay awake feeling selfish and ashamed. If I'm doing God's work, then I should trust that I will wind up doing what I'm meant to be doing. On the same token, why in the world did I spent all that money if I can't bring myself to break away from what I know and use that degree?
I wrestled with that for several hours and came up with this: I will apply. I'll begin looking for jobs that are directly in my field working towards the direction I want to head with this career of mine. I'll see what doors open. I'll make a decision then.
But, man, do I feel guilty.
Behavior modification is what I'm interested in...and think that this creature of habit needs to look at modifying her own.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Nostalgia gum and other nonsense
On our big trip to Erie, I took my sister out for breakfast, to thank her. As we stood at the register, paying for our meal, I saw this.
Immediately, I thought of what an exciting thing this was back in the day. Gum that squirted. I loved this gum and chewed it all the time. I had no idea that it was still around, but there it was. I bought a pack immediately, and was excited about it.
I have the slightest quarrel about the whole thing. There was a big sign: "Nostalgia Gums." Beeman's is a nostalgia gum. And Teaberry gum. I mean my dad chewed those gums when he was a young man, and he's been gone for many years. But to stick Freshen Up gum there, I mean, well...I remember that. From my youth.
Which means that it sure as heck does not fall under 'nostalgia gum'.
I have the slightest quarrel about the whole thing. There was a big sign: "Nostalgia Gums." Beeman's is a nostalgia gum. And Teaberry gum. I mean my dad chewed those gums when he was a young man, and he's been gone for many years. But to stick Freshen Up gum there, I mean, well...I remember that. From my youth.
Which means that it sure as heck does not fall under 'nostalgia gum'.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Wrong.
Well, as it turns out, I'll know pass or fail next Thursday, not today. My understanding was that you had the initial pass/fail the following day, although you would not know your actual score for a week. That information was incorrect, and I will find out the 8th or 9th. I'm just don't feel anxious.
Today was a quiet day, with cleaning.
Tonight is my first night shift, and I curled up with a book to read myself to sleep. I read about Corfu and smugglers and William Shakespeare until I fell asleep. Except that I did not fall asleep blast my luck. Anyone have a guess as to what I was reading?
Today was a quiet day, with cleaning.
Tonight is my first night shift, and I curled up with a book to read myself to sleep. I read about Corfu and smugglers and William Shakespeare until I fell asleep. Except that I did not fall asleep blast my luck. Anyone have a guess as to what I was reading?
Yesterday
Yesterday, I got up and got ready for the big exam. I was dead calm and practically sick at the same time. (How is that possible? I don't understand it myself.) Tim drove "the good car" to work because I was meeting my sister who would be driving me to Erie. I would be leaving my car in a crowded Walmart parking lot for the day.
The first snafu of the day? My cell phone was not in my pocket. With a sick feeling, I realized that I'd tossed it on the seat of the car I'd driven home from work. Which was, coincidently enough, NOT the same car I was driving to meet my sister in. That car was enroute to Tim's work, with Tim in it.
I called my sister from my kitchen and said, "Don't rush, I was looking for my cell phone, and I'm leaving 15 minutes late," in a very exasperated voice. She said, "Oh, thank goodness. I woke up 35 minutes late!" Out the door I charged, at 6:45.
I drove the 45 minutes to where I was going to meet her, and on the trip, managed to get myself in a tizzie. For some reason, I became convinced that I had forgotten something. I drove while sorting through the paperwork in my purse. I needed 2 forms of ID, one with a picture. (Being a bit anal about things like this, I had five things, including my birth certificate and marriage certificate. Check. I had my test authorization with the all important number. Check. But still the panicky feeling persisted. I pulled into the parking lot, and found my sister immediately. I transferred everything to her car and locked mine up. "Anna," I said, "I'm about sick here. I've forgotten something, I just know it." And she began to tick things off. "Got that. Yup. Got that..." I answered. She looked at me and said, "You've got everything, relax." Suddenly, I pushed the paperwork back at her. "It starts at nine, right? I have to be there at nine. I haven't made a mistake there, right?" and she laughed at me. "It says nine. You're good."
So we drove the next 45 minutes together. I fretted. I'd made a conscious decision not to take any books. Everything that I'd read indicated that it was not a good idea to try to cram, last minute. It just made you feel stressful and panicky. So I'd put my books away at 1 PM before I went to work the previous day, and I steeled myself to leave the house without anything but the requirements for the test. The two of us chatted as she drove, and I drank my coffee, and she assured me that I felt no differently than she had felt when she headed out for her nursing boards the previous year. It was good to have her expertise.
We got to the test site. We located the test center, which was not yet open. We had a full 1 1/2 hours before the test, and so I took her out to breakfast with fresh baked granola and a yogurt parfait to go with the eggs and turkey sausage. The black berries in the yogurt were huge, the size of my thumb and we marvelled at it, even as I ate one and tasted summers long gone, when my siblings and I would spend afternoons picking blackberries.
Then it was time to head to the test center, where she dropped me off. She could not go with me. Security is tight at these places.You go through tons of security, finger printing, photo ID, social security card, and then you lock up everything you brought. You must take off any big jewelry, and you are 'wanded' with a metal detecter before you are led to your computer in a separate room to begin the test, holding nothing but your locker key.
They take their security seriously. I found out how seriously. I'd heard that the room is kept cold for the computers, and someone said that they'd nearly frozen to death while taking the test, because they were dressed in light summer clothing. So I wore a tank top, but had layered it with a light sweater. Part way through my test, I was too warm, so, never taking my eyes from the computer screen, I shrugged the sweater off absentmindedly and read on. I just about jumped out of my skin when a woman immediately came in and said sternly, "I'm sorry..." (*aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!~!! My gosh, you scared the wits out of me!) and she said, "I'm sorry. I'll have to take that sweater." (I assumed she didn't mean for keeps, because it is one of my stylish sweaters, so I let her take it.)
In any case, the test was 200 questions long. I had five hours. I figured that I could manage 40 questions an hour, so I wasn't all that worried about time. I began, one at a time, taking my time, thinking carefully. We could mark questions we were doubtful about, and come back to them at the end of the test.
At the end of the test, I went back two think on the two questions that I'd marked, and then sat there. I thought, "I probably should just begin at the beginning and go through those questions again to check my answers." Another part of me said, "NO! Don't! All that does is cause you to doubt yourself. You always wind up changing your answer." I wavered, and then decided to go with my first instincts on this test. My finger hesitated, and then I clicked "End test" even as my brain screamed "Nooooooooooooo!!!! I changed my mind....I need to double check my answers..." I walked out of the computer room, and collected my things, (including my confiscated sweater), and I was fingerprinted and my photo ID was checked once again. It was shocking to me that I'd spent less than two hours in the room, and that made me all the more certain that I'd rushed through the test and made mistakes. I should have double checked those answers.
I went out into the sun, and sat down to wait for my sister. I could not call her, not having my cell, but you know, I needed a chance to process it all. I sat down in the grass, and I waited to see what I felt next. What I felt was...glad...just so glad to be sitting in the grass, to have that test behind me. Most astonishingly is that I felt certain that I had nothing to worry about. There was no fear. I sat there surprised and marvelling. This was not what I expected to feel at all, but I was glad for it. I looked down an beside me was a tiny gold finch feather. I picked it up and studied it, my own heart so light that I felt as if I too could fly.
When my sister pulled up, I got in the car still holding my little feather. She had something to show me, and so we hied off to a second hand store. She showed me a telephone stand she'd found and she could envision it in our front hall. She really thought I should get it. I looked at the woven seat, and the little table, and well, I felt so lighthearted, I DID buy it. To treat myself.
I also found a framed picture from an art gallery, painted in the style of the Wyeths, a painting of a huge landscape, with billowing clouds and in the center, three small scale cows drinking from a lake as a rowboat goes by out far out in the water. I stood there looking at that for some time. I have been lost in this big, big world, and sometimes, I have been a cow on the shore. Other times, I've been able to row off in that boat. I wanted that big painting quite badly. So I got it. I've been thinking to take a screwdriver to the modern metal frame to see who the artist is, but haven't gotten around to it. It is a numbered print, which is interesting.
Anyways, my sister and I shopped and talked, and I said, "You know, this day trumps graduation hands down. It's just amazing to me not to have anything looming. I never felt like I could relax. Even when I was doing a relaxing thing, I felt guilty about not studying..." Suddenly we stopped in front of an old dresser. It was a tall thing, with four drawers, and square in the middle of those drawers were two doors that opened up revealing a compartment for sweaters or bulky items. We'd never seen a dresser quite like that, and we studied it. Anna said, "Oooh. That IS nice..." and I said, "The paint would have to go," in a musing sort of way as Anna looked at the wood inside the drawers. "It's solid," she said, in the same musing voice that I have.
Suddenly, a woman who'd just previously made quite a fuss over the telephone stand I'd loaded on to my cart darted in front of us. "OOOOOOOOOh, no! No you don't! That's MINE!!!" and she snatched the tag from atop the dresser and RAN. Two sisters looked at each other and burst out laughing. "That's THAT then," and we headed out glad that the decision had been wrested from us. Had the woman not intervened, one of us would have been buying that, and worrying about how we'd explain that to our respective husband.
By that time, it was noon, and I called Tim on my sister's cell. It was his lunch break. He did not sound all that surprised that I felt good about the test. He was full of news of his own. A house was going up for sale, a mansion not far from us. Something far bigger than what we already have, which is already far bigger than anything I thought I'd ever have. I'd wanted to see it, just because...well...I wanted to see what it looked like on the inside, being enthralled with the wrought iron and leaded glass and the over grown garden on the outside. I just wanted to see it, and Tim was quite excited to see it as well. Unfortunately, I caught on rather late that he was of a mind to try to buy it if we could, and we've been debating the issue for a couple weeks now, sometimes with a fair bit of emotion involved (mine). He'd finally gotten hold of the person he needed to talk to, and was very grumpy when he told me the price of the thing. He wasn't paying THAT, he said, and there it was again: a huge sigh of relief.
I ended the call, and said to Anna, "Well, by golly, this is working out to be the best day EVER!"
We drove back home talking about this and that, in a very contented and comfortable way, and inside, I kept marvelling at the lightness of my heart.
She treated me to an ice cream to celebrate, and then we said our goodbyes and headed off in our own direction.
When I got home, I putzed, making Tim a nice supper (for a change), and finding homes for my new things. I talked to Mary on the phone who was waiting to hear news.
After Tim got home and we had supper, we walked down town for a few groceries. Passing by one of the apartments, we saw the windows thrown open in a previously empty apartment. We did a double take and said simultaneously, "Our Kelly's back!" She'd had cancer treatment, and had moved back home to be cared for by her family when the treatments got extreme. We said, "Go. Don't worry about the apartment. It will be here when all this is done, and your life begins again. As it will." She's such a lively girl that it just made me sad to see her apartment quiet and dark with no lights or noise for those weeks. We'd received an e-mail saying that she'd been given the all clear, and that she was intending to build her body back up and get to her own little cozy apartment as soon as possible. Once again, we had soothed, "Don't worry about it. Everything's fine...it will wait..." And now she was home again! We bolted in the front door, greeting Linda as she headed out with her girls. Up the stairs we went, and knocked on the door. Kelly answered, looking tanned and fit and strong, and I said, "Oh, you're back, you're back! I'm so very glad!" and I was. She was preparing to go for a run, and I marveled at her. She's been through such a lot, and there she was, just as spunky as ever. I almost cried.
Our greetings exchanged, we headed out once again, stopping to blab on the way. Stopping to blab on the way home.
Coming home, the church bells began to strike the hour. And then they began to play a hymn. I found myself singing along in my head "Aaaaaaaaaaaa-le-looooooooooo-ya!!!!" I looked over at Tim and said, 'the bells are singing what I feel'.
Just like those bells, I wanted to ring out the good news. We rang the doorbell on Rachel's big old house, but she was not at home. I walked back down town for a meeting, calling out, "Knock knock" from the front yard where Susan and her husband sat eating their supper on their front porch. I visited from the sidewalk and we all laughed together. The meeting was full of laughter and talking and planning, and then I walked home once more, turning into my own driveway where the solar lights glowed softly, and I thought once again, 'what a perfect day this has been!' and the church bells chimed 9 o'clock.
I felt like I couldn't bear to be more happy than I was that very moment.
NEXT MORNING:
*nibbles fingernail*
Do you think that I should be concerned that I am so unconcerned about that test?
*meh!*
I'll find out for sure today, but really...I'm still feeling pretty good.
The first snafu of the day? My cell phone was not in my pocket. With a sick feeling, I realized that I'd tossed it on the seat of the car I'd driven home from work. Which was, coincidently enough, NOT the same car I was driving to meet my sister in. That car was enroute to Tim's work, with Tim in it.
I called my sister from my kitchen and said, "Don't rush, I was looking for my cell phone, and I'm leaving 15 minutes late," in a very exasperated voice. She said, "Oh, thank goodness. I woke up 35 minutes late!" Out the door I charged, at 6:45.
I drove the 45 minutes to where I was going to meet her, and on the trip, managed to get myself in a tizzie. For some reason, I became convinced that I had forgotten something. I drove while sorting through the paperwork in my purse. I needed 2 forms of ID, one with a picture. (Being a bit anal about things like this, I had five things, including my birth certificate and marriage certificate. Check. I had my test authorization with the all important number. Check. But still the panicky feeling persisted. I pulled into the parking lot, and found my sister immediately. I transferred everything to her car and locked mine up. "Anna," I said, "I'm about sick here. I've forgotten something, I just know it." And she began to tick things off. "Got that. Yup. Got that..." I answered. She looked at me and said, "You've got everything, relax." Suddenly, I pushed the paperwork back at her. "It starts at nine, right? I have to be there at nine. I haven't made a mistake there, right?" and she laughed at me. "It says nine. You're good."
So we drove the next 45 minutes together. I fretted. I'd made a conscious decision not to take any books. Everything that I'd read indicated that it was not a good idea to try to cram, last minute. It just made you feel stressful and panicky. So I'd put my books away at 1 PM before I went to work the previous day, and I steeled myself to leave the house without anything but the requirements for the test. The two of us chatted as she drove, and I drank my coffee, and she assured me that I felt no differently than she had felt when she headed out for her nursing boards the previous year. It was good to have her expertise.
We got to the test site. We located the test center, which was not yet open. We had a full 1 1/2 hours before the test, and so I took her out to breakfast with fresh baked granola and a yogurt parfait to go with the eggs and turkey sausage. The black berries in the yogurt were huge, the size of my thumb and we marvelled at it, even as I ate one and tasted summers long gone, when my siblings and I would spend afternoons picking blackberries.
Then it was time to head to the test center, where she dropped me off. She could not go with me. Security is tight at these places.You go through tons of security, finger printing, photo ID, social security card, and then you lock up everything you brought. You must take off any big jewelry, and you are 'wanded' with a metal detecter before you are led to your computer in a separate room to begin the test, holding nothing but your locker key.
They take their security seriously. I found out how seriously. I'd heard that the room is kept cold for the computers, and someone said that they'd nearly frozen to death while taking the test, because they were dressed in light summer clothing. So I wore a tank top, but had layered it with a light sweater. Part way through my test, I was too warm, so, never taking my eyes from the computer screen, I shrugged the sweater off absentmindedly and read on. I just about jumped out of my skin when a woman immediately came in and said sternly, "I'm sorry..." (*aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!~!! My gosh, you scared the wits out of me!) and she said, "I'm sorry. I'll have to take that sweater." (I assumed she didn't mean for keeps, because it is one of my stylish sweaters, so I let her take it.)
In any case, the test was 200 questions long. I had five hours. I figured that I could manage 40 questions an hour, so I wasn't all that worried about time. I began, one at a time, taking my time, thinking carefully. We could mark questions we were doubtful about, and come back to them at the end of the test.
At the end of the test, I went back two think on the two questions that I'd marked, and then sat there. I thought, "I probably should just begin at the beginning and go through those questions again to check my answers." Another part of me said, "NO! Don't! All that does is cause you to doubt yourself. You always wind up changing your answer." I wavered, and then decided to go with my first instincts on this test. My finger hesitated, and then I clicked "End test" even as my brain screamed "Nooooooooooooo!!!! I changed my mind....I need to double check my answers..." I walked out of the computer room, and collected my things, (including my confiscated sweater), and I was fingerprinted and my photo ID was checked once again. It was shocking to me that I'd spent less than two hours in the room, and that made me all the more certain that I'd rushed through the test and made mistakes. I should have double checked those answers.
I went out into the sun, and sat down to wait for my sister. I could not call her, not having my cell, but you know, I needed a chance to process it all. I sat down in the grass, and I waited to see what I felt next. What I felt was...glad...just so glad to be sitting in the grass, to have that test behind me. Most astonishingly is that I felt certain that I had nothing to worry about. There was no fear. I sat there surprised and marvelling. This was not what I expected to feel at all, but I was glad for it. I looked down an beside me was a tiny gold finch feather. I picked it up and studied it, my own heart so light that I felt as if I too could fly.
When my sister pulled up, I got in the car still holding my little feather. She had something to show me, and so we hied off to a second hand store. She showed me a telephone stand she'd found and she could envision it in our front hall. She really thought I should get it. I looked at the woven seat, and the little table, and well, I felt so lighthearted, I DID buy it. To treat myself.
I also found a framed picture from an art gallery, painted in the style of the Wyeths, a painting of a huge landscape, with billowing clouds and in the center, three small scale cows drinking from a lake as a rowboat goes by out far out in the water. I stood there looking at that for some time. I have been lost in this big, big world, and sometimes, I have been a cow on the shore. Other times, I've been able to row off in that boat. I wanted that big painting quite badly. So I got it. I've been thinking to take a screwdriver to the modern metal frame to see who the artist is, but haven't gotten around to it. It is a numbered print, which is interesting.
Anyways, my sister and I shopped and talked, and I said, "You know, this day trumps graduation hands down. It's just amazing to me not to have anything looming. I never felt like I could relax. Even when I was doing a relaxing thing, I felt guilty about not studying..." Suddenly we stopped in front of an old dresser. It was a tall thing, with four drawers, and square in the middle of those drawers were two doors that opened up revealing a compartment for sweaters or bulky items. We'd never seen a dresser quite like that, and we studied it. Anna said, "Oooh. That IS nice..." and I said, "The paint would have to go," in a musing sort of way as Anna looked at the wood inside the drawers. "It's solid," she said, in the same musing voice that I have.
Suddenly, a woman who'd just previously made quite a fuss over the telephone stand I'd loaded on to my cart darted in front of us. "OOOOOOOOOh, no! No you don't! That's MINE!!!" and she snatched the tag from atop the dresser and RAN. Two sisters looked at each other and burst out laughing. "That's THAT then," and we headed out glad that the decision had been wrested from us. Had the woman not intervened, one of us would have been buying that, and worrying about how we'd explain that to our respective husband.
By that time, it was noon, and I called Tim on my sister's cell. It was his lunch break. He did not sound all that surprised that I felt good about the test. He was full of news of his own. A house was going up for sale, a mansion not far from us. Something far bigger than what we already have, which is already far bigger than anything I thought I'd ever have. I'd wanted to see it, just because...well...I wanted to see what it looked like on the inside, being enthralled with the wrought iron and leaded glass and the over grown garden on the outside. I just wanted to see it, and Tim was quite excited to see it as well. Unfortunately, I caught on rather late that he was of a mind to try to buy it if we could, and we've been debating the issue for a couple weeks now, sometimes with a fair bit of emotion involved (mine). He'd finally gotten hold of the person he needed to talk to, and was very grumpy when he told me the price of the thing. He wasn't paying THAT, he said, and there it was again: a huge sigh of relief.
I ended the call, and said to Anna, "Well, by golly, this is working out to be the best day EVER!"
We drove back home talking about this and that, in a very contented and comfortable way, and inside, I kept marvelling at the lightness of my heart.
She treated me to an ice cream to celebrate, and then we said our goodbyes and headed off in our own direction.
When I got home, I putzed, making Tim a nice supper (for a change), and finding homes for my new things. I talked to Mary on the phone who was waiting to hear news.
After Tim got home and we had supper, we walked down town for a few groceries. Passing by one of the apartments, we saw the windows thrown open in a previously empty apartment. We did a double take and said simultaneously, "Our Kelly's back!" She'd had cancer treatment, and had moved back home to be cared for by her family when the treatments got extreme. We said, "Go. Don't worry about the apartment. It will be here when all this is done, and your life begins again. As it will." She's such a lively girl that it just made me sad to see her apartment quiet and dark with no lights or noise for those weeks. We'd received an e-mail saying that she'd been given the all clear, and that she was intending to build her body back up and get to her own little cozy apartment as soon as possible. Once again, we had soothed, "Don't worry about it. Everything's fine...it will wait..." And now she was home again! We bolted in the front door, greeting Linda as she headed out with her girls. Up the stairs we went, and knocked on the door. Kelly answered, looking tanned and fit and strong, and I said, "Oh, you're back, you're back! I'm so very glad!" and I was. She was preparing to go for a run, and I marveled at her. She's been through such a lot, and there she was, just as spunky as ever. I almost cried.
Our greetings exchanged, we headed out once again, stopping to blab on the way. Stopping to blab on the way home.
Coming home, the church bells began to strike the hour. And then they began to play a hymn. I found myself singing along in my head "Aaaaaaaaaaaa-le-looooooooooo-ya!!!!" I looked over at Tim and said, 'the bells are singing what I feel'.
Just like those bells, I wanted to ring out the good news. We rang the doorbell on Rachel's big old house, but she was not at home. I walked back down town for a meeting, calling out, "Knock knock" from the front yard where Susan and her husband sat eating their supper on their front porch. I visited from the sidewalk and we all laughed together. The meeting was full of laughter and talking and planning, and then I walked home once more, turning into my own driveway where the solar lights glowed softly, and I thought once again, 'what a perfect day this has been!' and the church bells chimed 9 o'clock.
I felt like I couldn't bear to be more happy than I was that very moment.
NEXT MORNING:
*nibbles fingernail*
Do you think that I should be concerned that I am so unconcerned about that test?
*meh!*
I'll find out for sure today, but really...I'm still feeling pretty good.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Test
Today, at 1 PM, I will put all my text books back on the shelf. I will fold up the table that has been a part of the livingroom for several weeks now, and I will put that back in the office. I'll dust off my hands and head to work. I will be leaving early tonight. I did not expect that, but the house manager asked if I would like to, and I said, "Well...yes...actually." It will help insure that I get a good night's sleep for that certification exam tomorrow.
Am I ready? Heck. I don't know. I studied yesterday, and by the end of it all, things were no longer making sense to me. That was very frightening there. This test is one of those where you can look at the answers and think that they're all right...but the goal is to pick the answer that is most right. Most. Right. That's what bites me. I failed these sorts of tests in a practice setting, one right after the other. I would think them out, and pick the one that I felt to be most right, and wouldn't you know...there was always another one that was more right, and invariably, I was never able to see how to quantify right. Less right? More right? The teacher advised me that I was overthinking, and to just put down the first answer that came to my mind. I did that. I flunked that test too. Hardly the stuff that makes you flush with confidence.
So, I studied yesterday, and I tried to break it up into chunks and take breaks, but by 8 last night, things were no longer making sense, so I stopped studying.
I'll study today after my coffee. Must have coffee coursing through my system to study properly. I'll brush up on the METS scale, the Allen Cognitive levels, the levels of spinal injury, and the primitive reflexes.
And then I'm going to stop. That will be the hardest part. I will put the books away.
Tomorrow, I will head out early, meet up with my sister, who is driving me to the test site which is 1 and 1/2 hours from here. She will wait for the five hours, and then she will pick me up. She's done this sort of thing before with the nursing certification exam. She walked out of the building, got into the car with her husband, and said, "I've failed." (Apparently everyone thinks that they have.) It broke her heart, and when she said that to me, I said, "You did NOT fail," in a very practical voice. I knew that she did not. You do not graduate at the top of your class, summa cum laude and flunk the nursing certification exam. She did not.
I'm glad that she'll be there to speak to me in a practical voice. I'll be glad that this test will be over, but I also will be dying a little until the results are posted online sometime Friday.
I'm taking the rest of August off (figuratively speaking). I will still be working of course (I start my first night shift on Friday, will work four tens and and have 3 days in a row off, which will be quite a blessing.) We'll be getting a new roof on our house, and Tim will be installing central heat, so I'll be involved there. I was invited to try out for a play, and I was thinking about it, but decided, finally, no. I need time that is not tangled up with a bunch of stuff I NEED to do. I want time to visit with friends, and to read for the pleasure of it. Take in a couple estate sales, maybe. Tim and I will have snuggle time on the couch. Walk. Write. Get the ironing done, finally. Make nice meals. Enjoy the waning summer.
I'm looking forward to looking back at the test. Having it looming just on the horizon has gotten tiresome.
Am I ready? Heck. I don't know. I studied yesterday, and by the end of it all, things were no longer making sense to me. That was very frightening there. This test is one of those where you can look at the answers and think that they're all right...but the goal is to pick the answer that is most right. Most. Right. That's what bites me. I failed these sorts of tests in a practice setting, one right after the other. I would think them out, and pick the one that I felt to be most right, and wouldn't you know...there was always another one that was more right, and invariably, I was never able to see how to quantify right. Less right? More right? The teacher advised me that I was overthinking, and to just put down the first answer that came to my mind. I did that. I flunked that test too. Hardly the stuff that makes you flush with confidence.
So, I studied yesterday, and I tried to break it up into chunks and take breaks, but by 8 last night, things were no longer making sense, so I stopped studying.
I'll study today after my coffee. Must have coffee coursing through my system to study properly. I'll brush up on the METS scale, the Allen Cognitive levels, the levels of spinal injury, and the primitive reflexes.
And then I'm going to stop. That will be the hardest part. I will put the books away.
Tomorrow, I will head out early, meet up with my sister, who is driving me to the test site which is 1 and 1/2 hours from here. She will wait for the five hours, and then she will pick me up. She's done this sort of thing before with the nursing certification exam. She walked out of the building, got into the car with her husband, and said, "I've failed." (Apparently everyone thinks that they have.) It broke her heart, and when she said that to me, I said, "You did NOT fail," in a very practical voice. I knew that she did not. You do not graduate at the top of your class, summa cum laude and flunk the nursing certification exam. She did not.
I'm glad that she'll be there to speak to me in a practical voice. I'll be glad that this test will be over, but I also will be dying a little until the results are posted online sometime Friday.
I'm taking the rest of August off (figuratively speaking). I will still be working of course (I start my first night shift on Friday, will work four tens and and have 3 days in a row off, which will be quite a blessing.) We'll be getting a new roof on our house, and Tim will be installing central heat, so I'll be involved there. I was invited to try out for a play, and I was thinking about it, but decided, finally, no. I need time that is not tangled up with a bunch of stuff I NEED to do. I want time to visit with friends, and to read for the pleasure of it. Take in a couple estate sales, maybe. Tim and I will have snuggle time on the couch. Walk. Write. Get the ironing done, finally. Make nice meals. Enjoy the waning summer.
I'm looking forward to looking back at the test. Having it looming just on the horizon has gotten tiresome.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Shoes
You know, I shop in Goodwill a lot. I saw an adorable pair of clogs. Brown. I always wanted a pair of adorable clogs. I picked them up and saw that there were no signs of wear on the soles. These looked like brand new shoes. Did I mention that they were adorable?
So I bought them, and I was feeling like a very fortunate woman indeed.
Then I came home and put them on, and it was like my feet had died and been sent to hell.
I've decided that I need to go shopping with other people. I need someone who can see past the whole "ooooh...clogs!...I like clogs..." People who will say things like, "Well, yes, moron, but did ya ever stop to wonder why an adorable pair of shoes like that would wind up in a Goodwill? Did you ever stop to wonder about why an adorable pair of shoes would show no sign of wear? Did you ever stop to wonder if, maybe, just MAYBE, these might turn out to be the most deucedly uncomfortable shoes known to all mankind?"
I need someone who will say, "Hold on a minute right there, sistah! Sit down and try those shoes on. You NEVER buy shoes without trying them on." I do know this little factoid, but sometimes, when shoes are speaking to me, I forget about it. This brings me to another important point: My shopping friend will have to speak louder than shoes.
I cannot tell you how many times I fallen under the spell of a pair of purty shoes simply because they look brand new. I just never seem to learn.
So I bought them, and I was feeling like a very fortunate woman indeed.
Then I came home and put them on, and it was like my feet had died and been sent to hell.
I've decided that I need to go shopping with other people. I need someone who can see past the whole "ooooh...clogs!...I like clogs..." People who will say things like, "Well, yes, moron, but did ya ever stop to wonder why an adorable pair of shoes like that would wind up in a Goodwill? Did you ever stop to wonder about why an adorable pair of shoes would show no sign of wear? Did you ever stop to wonder if, maybe, just MAYBE, these might turn out to be the most deucedly uncomfortable shoes known to all mankind?"
I need someone who will say, "Hold on a minute right there, sistah! Sit down and try those shoes on. You NEVER buy shoes without trying them on." I do know this little factoid, but sometimes, when shoes are speaking to me, I forget about it. This brings me to another important point: My shopping friend will have to speak louder than shoes.
I cannot tell you how many times I fallen under the spell of a pair of purty shoes simply because they look brand new. I just never seem to learn.
Monday, July 30, 2012
The Sound of Silence
It has been a busy time. I'm doing the last minute cramming for my test. (3 days away, but who's counting?) I've reached the point where I've stopped being anxious about it and am just wanting it done. Big things always tend to devolve to that. I find myself wearily looking at the thing close up and thinking, 'No matter what, at the end of the day, this will be behind me, and I'll be glad for that.'
In the midst of all of this, I've been helping Cara move, which was useful, because it gave me the fodder for my next column which I was able to sit down and tap out in an evening. I was feeling pretty good about it, and went to close it out, and somehow managed to click on 'don't save changes,' and lost the whole thing. It was the groan heard round the world. I wrote it again, while it was still fresh in my mind, and wound up staying up later than I wanted to.
You know, we've been having some wicked storms lately. Lots of tree damage. On the way to Cara's, I saw a mobile home that had three large trees fall on it. That's a bad day, there, when three trees fall on your home. We've been lucky. We have two very massive trees in our back yard that we've been contemplating. They keep the entire yard very dark, but they are ancient and huge, and they will cost a fortune to take down. Still, in violent weather, when they are thrashing and limbs are dropping off (one landed, like a spear into the ground, and stood there at attention) we find ourselves thinking once again, "What on earth should we do about those trees?"
Coming home from Cara's, travelling due north through the center of Pennsylvania, the mountains go on and on until they turn into nothing more than the very distant blue hint of mountains extending on into infinity. It was breathtakingly beautiful to watch the far away storms from that perspective, giant jagged streaks of lightning shooting straight down into those blue mountain shadows. All around me, wherever I looked, I could see dark dramatic clouds and far off lightning. I loved that trip home.
It got me to thinking about how I love to sit in my quiet house and listen to the rain trickling in the eave spouting, the hiss of a hard rain on the pavement. The rumbles of thunder. The sound of the wind. I haven't had a radio in the car for some time now, and in the quiet, I have rediscovered the joy of small sounds. I have discovered the joy of listening, and hearing. That pleasure has extended outside my car, and into my home. I rarely turn on the television or the radio, preferring instead to hear the small sounds that have always been there, but somehow managed to get lost in the noise.
The Amish regularly go by with their clip clopping horses and the rattle of wagon wheels, and I like that. It gives you a moment where you feel as if you shut your eyes, you might open them and discover yourself in another time.
I like the sound of train whistles in the night. They give you a moment where you feel as if you shut your eyes, you might open them to discover yourself in another place.
I like to lay in bed and hear the church bells downtown chime the hours through the open window even as my own clock in the hall chimes the hours as well. I must admit that happy synchronicity happens infrequently, because my clock has the habit of rushing on ahead, and I'm always slowing it down. Usually, my clock in the hall chimes, and then a couple minutes later, the church bells sonorously intone their correction.
I like the ticking of clocks. I don't know why. I always have loved that sound even as a young girl. Maybe that's the pleasure in it, the memory of other clocks in other places in other times. I have the keywound in the hall, but I also have a small key wound alarm clock in the bathroom. I lose track of time easily being a daydreamer, so I need a clock there, but I like getting ready for work with the ticking in the background, soothing me but keeping me mindful of the time as well.
I like the sound of windchimes. I have a giant set of them that sound like churchbells. I have hung them on the back porch where the wind doesn't stir them much, just enough to make them whisper to themselves, so that they sound like the echo of distant church bells.
I found a small odd box at the Goodwill. I was intrigued with it. It has a magnet in the top of it, and it is filled with steel bb's. You turn the box upside down, and the bb's stick to the magnet. When you set it down, one by one, the bb's drop onto some horizontal tubing and makes the tiniest chiming noise you ever heard. It took me a time to figure out its purpose, but when I did, I was plainly delighted with it, standing there with a silly smile on my face as I listened to it in the crowded store. I could not wait to show everyone at home, and for a buck ninety-nine, it seemed like an affordable luxury. (For the record, everyone at home looked at me as if I were foolish.)
It IS a foolish post, I know, but I was listening to the quiet, and I wanted to capture it, what it sounded like to be me in my place, in my time.
In the midst of all of this, I've been helping Cara move, which was useful, because it gave me the fodder for my next column which I was able to sit down and tap out in an evening. I was feeling pretty good about it, and went to close it out, and somehow managed to click on 'don't save changes,' and lost the whole thing. It was the groan heard round the world. I wrote it again, while it was still fresh in my mind, and wound up staying up later than I wanted to.
You know, we've been having some wicked storms lately. Lots of tree damage. On the way to Cara's, I saw a mobile home that had three large trees fall on it. That's a bad day, there, when three trees fall on your home. We've been lucky. We have two very massive trees in our back yard that we've been contemplating. They keep the entire yard very dark, but they are ancient and huge, and they will cost a fortune to take down. Still, in violent weather, when they are thrashing and limbs are dropping off (one landed, like a spear into the ground, and stood there at attention) we find ourselves thinking once again, "What on earth should we do about those trees?"
Coming home from Cara's, travelling due north through the center of Pennsylvania, the mountains go on and on until they turn into nothing more than the very distant blue hint of mountains extending on into infinity. It was breathtakingly beautiful to watch the far away storms from that perspective, giant jagged streaks of lightning shooting straight down into those blue mountain shadows. All around me, wherever I looked, I could see dark dramatic clouds and far off lightning. I loved that trip home.
It got me to thinking about how I love to sit in my quiet house and listen to the rain trickling in the eave spouting, the hiss of a hard rain on the pavement. The rumbles of thunder. The sound of the wind. I haven't had a radio in the car for some time now, and in the quiet, I have rediscovered the joy of small sounds. I have discovered the joy of listening, and hearing. That pleasure has extended outside my car, and into my home. I rarely turn on the television or the radio, preferring instead to hear the small sounds that have always been there, but somehow managed to get lost in the noise.
The Amish regularly go by with their clip clopping horses and the rattle of wagon wheels, and I like that. It gives you a moment where you feel as if you shut your eyes, you might open them and discover yourself in another time.
I like the sound of train whistles in the night. They give you a moment where you feel as if you shut your eyes, you might open them to discover yourself in another place.
I like to lay in bed and hear the church bells downtown chime the hours through the open window even as my own clock in the hall chimes the hours as well. I must admit that happy synchronicity happens infrequently, because my clock has the habit of rushing on ahead, and I'm always slowing it down. Usually, my clock in the hall chimes, and then a couple minutes later, the church bells sonorously intone their correction.
I like the ticking of clocks. I don't know why. I always have loved that sound even as a young girl. Maybe that's the pleasure in it, the memory of other clocks in other places in other times. I have the keywound in the hall, but I also have a small key wound alarm clock in the bathroom. I lose track of time easily being a daydreamer, so I need a clock there, but I like getting ready for work with the ticking in the background, soothing me but keeping me mindful of the time as well.
I like the sound of windchimes. I have a giant set of them that sound like churchbells. I have hung them on the back porch where the wind doesn't stir them much, just enough to make them whisper to themselves, so that they sound like the echo of distant church bells.
I found a small odd box at the Goodwill. I was intrigued with it. It has a magnet in the top of it, and it is filled with steel bb's. You turn the box upside down, and the bb's stick to the magnet. When you set it down, one by one, the bb's drop onto some horizontal tubing and makes the tiniest chiming noise you ever heard. It took me a time to figure out its purpose, but when I did, I was plainly delighted with it, standing there with a silly smile on my face as I listened to it in the crowded store. I could not wait to show everyone at home, and for a buck ninety-nine, it seemed like an affordable luxury. (For the record, everyone at home looked at me as if I were foolish.)
It IS a foolish post, I know, but I was listening to the quiet, and I wanted to capture it, what it sounded like to be me in my place, in my time.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Storm
Yesterday, we had a string of violent weather. I was in a class and the lightning struck so close it looked as if it struck in the parking lot. Driving home, I could see that the wind had done a lot of damage.
I got home and Cara was wild eyed. She got her new (to her) car the day Wednesday evening. She's very proud of it. Power everthing, and a working air conditioner and CD player. Plus it is shiiiiiiiiii-ny. She decided that she did not want to pull it in our driveway, afraid that the little hump where the side walk is might cause her to scrape bottom a little, so it was along the street in front of our house when the storm hit.
Much to Cara's horror, a large branch fell from one of the big trees across the street on to a car, which sent Cara running hell bent for leather in the bucketing down rain screaming a little to move her car which was opposite the downed limb. The streets were flooded, so she drove it to the parking garage, where she parked it next to the two nicest cars she could find, a guarantee of sorts, since bad things do not happen to the well to do. She then ran the 10 blocks back home to make sure the house was secure.
The power had gone out, and a window had blown in, but did not break, oddly enough. The basement was flooded, but we know that this will continue to be a problem until we get the new roof and rain gutters on this month. Cara did not know this little factoid and was quite upset.
All's well that ends well. No damage to the house, and her little blue car is just as perfect as it was when the storm began. Plus it was a perfect excuse to go out to dinner, grabbing the neighbor kid as we headed out.
I got home and Cara was wild eyed. She got her new (to her) car the day Wednesday evening. She's very proud of it. Power everthing, and a working air conditioner and CD player. Plus it is shiiiiiiiiii-ny. She decided that she did not want to pull it in our driveway, afraid that the little hump where the side walk is might cause her to scrape bottom a little, so it was along the street in front of our house when the storm hit.
Much to Cara's horror, a large branch fell from one of the big trees across the street on to a car, which sent Cara running hell bent for leather in the bucketing down rain screaming a little to move her car which was opposite the downed limb. The streets were flooded, so she drove it to the parking garage, where she parked it next to the two nicest cars she could find, a guarantee of sorts, since bad things do not happen to the well to do. She then ran the 10 blocks back home to make sure the house was secure.
The power had gone out, and a window had blown in, but did not break, oddly enough. The basement was flooded, but we know that this will continue to be a problem until we get the new roof and rain gutters on this month. Cara did not know this little factoid and was quite upset.
All's well that ends well. No damage to the house, and her little blue car is just as perfect as it was when the storm began. Plus it was a perfect excuse to go out to dinner, grabbing the neighbor kid as we headed out.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Irony
Just kind of strange that days after I wrote that last post, we find that one of our boys is trying to find a new apartment for his girlfriend. She liked her old apartment well enough, but they came home from the races to discover that the landlord (who lives downstairs from them) had shot his wife, who was lifeflighted out of town to a big medical center.
Makes the fact that yesterday I witnessed what was almost certainly a drug deal happen right in the kiddy playground seem like nothing.
Makes the fact that yesterday I witnessed what was almost certainly a drug deal happen right in the kiddy playground seem like nothing.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Fearmongering
That whole shooting in Aurora Colorado was just awful, wasn't it? Some folks went to a midnight 'Batman' premiere, and somehow, 12 people end up dead. 58 wounded.
The shooter was a gifted science student who inexplicably dropped out of college. He'd been planning the whole thing for months, ordering ammo and explosives from the internet, stockpiling, purchasing weapons.
I don't get it. Like a great many other things that happen in this world, I don't get this. How can someone do such a thing. But he did, and now there are grieving families, and traumatized victims, and funerals being planned, lives changed simply because a group of innocent people decided to go to a movie.
The horror of this man's actions cannot be ignored. It's talked about endlessly, everywhere. The television. The radio. The internet. The newspaper. Magazines. No escaping it. This terrible awful thing happened. No matter how much reporting is done, though, the one thing that will never change is this: I don't get it. I don't understand his actions, his thinking. I don't understand why he did what he did. I don't understand what he thought his actions were going to achieve.
But here's something else I don't get. I don't get the mindset of people who live half a country away from this, breathlessly following every new update while mournfully pronouncing "It's not even safe to go to the movies anymore," as their little audience clucks and agrees about how dangerous our world is.
What the hell?!!!
The fact of the matter is this: This is not everyday life for most of America, thank God. It IS safe to go to the movies. Just that one awful day, in that one awful theater, something awful did happen, and believe you me, my heart breaks for those people and their families. But I don't understand people who are so quick to take a catastrophe and make it their own, to personalize it, to turn it into their own life changing event. That's just craziness, idle talk of the over dramatic.
I just have no patience for people like this. We are perfectly capable of realistically watching the news, and accurately assessing a tragedy like that as a terrible thing that happened, something that is not likely to happen on a regular basis, but a truly horrific event for those involved. We might decide to do something to help those people. We can avoid fearmongering. We are intelligent people, aren't we?
Aren't we?
*crickets*
The shooter was a gifted science student who inexplicably dropped out of college. He'd been planning the whole thing for months, ordering ammo and explosives from the internet, stockpiling, purchasing weapons.
I don't get it. Like a great many other things that happen in this world, I don't get this. How can someone do such a thing. But he did, and now there are grieving families, and traumatized victims, and funerals being planned, lives changed simply because a group of innocent people decided to go to a movie.
The horror of this man's actions cannot be ignored. It's talked about endlessly, everywhere. The television. The radio. The internet. The newspaper. Magazines. No escaping it. This terrible awful thing happened. No matter how much reporting is done, though, the one thing that will never change is this: I don't get it. I don't understand his actions, his thinking. I don't understand why he did what he did. I don't understand what he thought his actions were going to achieve.
But here's something else I don't get. I don't get the mindset of people who live half a country away from this, breathlessly following every new update while mournfully pronouncing "It's not even safe to go to the movies anymore," as their little audience clucks and agrees about how dangerous our world is.
What the hell?!!!
The fact of the matter is this: This is not everyday life for most of America, thank God. It IS safe to go to the movies. Just that one awful day, in that one awful theater, something awful did happen, and believe you me, my heart breaks for those people and their families. But I don't understand people who are so quick to take a catastrophe and make it their own, to personalize it, to turn it into their own life changing event. That's just craziness, idle talk of the over dramatic.
I just have no patience for people like this. We are perfectly capable of realistically watching the news, and accurately assessing a tragedy like that as a terrible thing that happened, something that is not likely to happen on a regular basis, but a truly horrific event for those involved. We might decide to do something to help those people. We can avoid fearmongering. We are intelligent people, aren't we?
Aren't we?
*crickets*
Friday, July 20, 2012
Cents and Sensibility
Sometimes, people will say things in a comment that set me to thinking, and Laura Jane did it this time. She said, "One day you will overcome your thrifty self and spend a few dimes more on that kind of soap, and lather up in memory of your mom." I spent the day pondering my thrifty self. Is there such a thing as being too thrifty?
I'm a very practical person. I grew up in a family where self-indulgence was considered a shameful thing. I grew into a woman who did not have the opportunity to spend on herself. Money was very tight. The children came first. Now I am 55, and I am in a strange place. I am at a place in my life where Tim and I are comfortable. We do not have to worry about every dime. We don't worry about every dime. At work the other day, I listened to a woman explain that she works because she needs the paycheck, and for the first time, I realized that is not the reason that I work. It was quite a moment.
Tim and I are not rich, not by any means, but we are comfortable. The reason that we are comfortable is due, in part, to the fact that we have been very careful stewards of whatever money we had. We were careful in our spending. We don't buy new, for the most part. That has been the backbone of our financial success, and it never ceases to amaze me what people sell. They sell a perfectly good couch because they are going with a different look. Or they rip out a perfectly good kitchen because they want a new kitchen. They upgrade their cars when the cars are in perfectly good shape. And yes. When one bath soap is 20 cents cheaper than another, I buy the other soap.
Being thrifty can be a bad thing, I suppose, but I really do have a good time with it. I stop into the op shop a couple times a week just to see what they have. I may not buy anything, but sometimes, I find quite remarkable things that are just what I needed.
One of the things that I've been needing for some time is a cushion set for my wicker furniture. (Yes, it is the same black painted wicker furniture that was sitting in a yard with a free sign). I've been loathe to spend $50 on cushioning, and so I haven't. But I went into the Goodwill and was shocked to smitherines to discover just what I needed, a settee cushion and matching chair cushion. I have never seen such a thing in that store before, but there it was. For a total of less than $4. I got what I'd been looking for right along. I love the thrill of discoveries like that, and it was fun to find accessories to match the cushions because they were not the color that I'd been looking for, and that required a few changes. Because I'd only spent four dollars, I felt entitled to spend the extra for the accessories. Total price of that entire little reading nook? About $35, including the white 5 x 7 rug, the wicker furniture, the cushions, and the white paint we sprayed that old furniture with. I already had most of the pictures for the wall, and a friend, knowing that it was meant to be a quiet place to read to small children gave me another picture of a small boy in a big chair sitting in a large open room engrossed in a book. It was the perfect final touch. I love that little space.
I'm assembling the other rooms like that too, seeing things that will fit. The guest room upstairs is slowly coming together, each purchase bringing it closer to completion. Tim's 'man cave' is done, with the exception of maybe a buffalo skin rug for the floor. We're still good naturedly arguing on that point. He's excited about his buffalo head, and he wants the rest of him on the floor. Me? I think they're ugly, and can you even vacuum a buffalo hide?
We've had a fun time, filling the house with things that we have searched out and bought carefully. Tim's as involved in this process as I am, and it tickles me because I never would have guessed that he was like this. He is though. I realized it when he painted the kitchen three times until it was just the color he wanted. The lines of a antique chair will draw him, and he will be the one who nudges and cannot bring himself to leave it behind, especially if the price is right.
Because we are careful, it allows us to be very generous with the kids on holidays, and we are. It allows us to help others, and we do. It allows us to go out to dinner once a week now. It allows us to plan for a trip to Australia. It allows me to buy the expensive soap, if I want it. Sometimes I do want the expensive soap, and I will buy it.
I guess that I look at it like this...if I have always had those things, it would not feel as remarkable to have them now. I would not be 55 and thinking myself the luckiest woman on the face of this planet. I would not marvel at my good fortune each and every time that I walk in the door of my house. I would not do my job for the pure satisfaction of it. If I used lavendar soap each and every day of my life, it would become ordinary and unremarkable.
Cara came home yesterday for a few hours. She's just gotten her first 'very own' apartment, a studio. She's very careful about what she wants. Tim and I are giving her a desk for graduation, and she knows exactly what she wants. As soon as she actually finds one that meets her exacting standards, we will buy it for her. But we went out and did some shopping. Bought some rugs. A toothbrush holder. Got more ideas than stuff, actually. It was a fun afternoon.
As she was leaving to head back, she went to drop something in the garbage. "What's THIS?!!!" she exclaimed. "It's a one dollar coupon for toilet paper! THE GOOD TOILET PAPER!!" She was getting louder as she fished it out. "Gees, you people get your fancy house, and your fancy stuff, and suddenly you're throwing away dollars in the trash can!" It made me laugh.
Thriftiness is a tool, one that has opened doors to things that I never would have dreamed possible. I suppose that it can be overdone, as Laura Jane pointed out. Thriftiness could suck the pleasure right out of life, but after thinking it through, I realized that I never have truely deprived myself. Sometimes I defer my small pleasures, but in the end, I lead a very pleasant life.
I'm a very practical person. I grew up in a family where self-indulgence was considered a shameful thing. I grew into a woman who did not have the opportunity to spend on herself. Money was very tight. The children came first. Now I am 55, and I am in a strange place. I am at a place in my life where Tim and I are comfortable. We do not have to worry about every dime. We don't worry about every dime. At work the other day, I listened to a woman explain that she works because she needs the paycheck, and for the first time, I realized that is not the reason that I work. It was quite a moment.
Tim and I are not rich, not by any means, but we are comfortable. The reason that we are comfortable is due, in part, to the fact that we have been very careful stewards of whatever money we had. We were careful in our spending. We don't buy new, for the most part. That has been the backbone of our financial success, and it never ceases to amaze me what people sell. They sell a perfectly good couch because they are going with a different look. Or they rip out a perfectly good kitchen because they want a new kitchen. They upgrade their cars when the cars are in perfectly good shape. And yes. When one bath soap is 20 cents cheaper than another, I buy the other soap.
Being thrifty can be a bad thing, I suppose, but I really do have a good time with it. I stop into the op shop a couple times a week just to see what they have. I may not buy anything, but sometimes, I find quite remarkable things that are just what I needed.
One of the things that I've been needing for some time is a cushion set for my wicker furniture. (Yes, it is the same black painted wicker furniture that was sitting in a yard with a free sign). I've been loathe to spend $50 on cushioning, and so I haven't. But I went into the Goodwill and was shocked to smitherines to discover just what I needed, a settee cushion and matching chair cushion. I have never seen such a thing in that store before, but there it was. For a total of less than $4. I got what I'd been looking for right along. I love the thrill of discoveries like that, and it was fun to find accessories to match the cushions because they were not the color that I'd been looking for, and that required a few changes. Because I'd only spent four dollars, I felt entitled to spend the extra for the accessories. Total price of that entire little reading nook? About $35, including the white 5 x 7 rug, the wicker furniture, the cushions, and the white paint we sprayed that old furniture with. I already had most of the pictures for the wall, and a friend, knowing that it was meant to be a quiet place to read to small children gave me another picture of a small boy in a big chair sitting in a large open room engrossed in a book. It was the perfect final touch. I love that little space.
I'm assembling the other rooms like that too, seeing things that will fit. The guest room upstairs is slowly coming together, each purchase bringing it closer to completion. Tim's 'man cave' is done, with the exception of maybe a buffalo skin rug for the floor. We're still good naturedly arguing on that point. He's excited about his buffalo head, and he wants the rest of him on the floor. Me? I think they're ugly, and can you even vacuum a buffalo hide?
We've had a fun time, filling the house with things that we have searched out and bought carefully. Tim's as involved in this process as I am, and it tickles me because I never would have guessed that he was like this. He is though. I realized it when he painted the kitchen three times until it was just the color he wanted. The lines of a antique chair will draw him, and he will be the one who nudges and cannot bring himself to leave it behind, especially if the price is right.
Because we are careful, it allows us to be very generous with the kids on holidays, and we are. It allows us to help others, and we do. It allows us to go out to dinner once a week now. It allows us to plan for a trip to Australia. It allows me to buy the expensive soap, if I want it. Sometimes I do want the expensive soap, and I will buy it.
I guess that I look at it like this...if I have always had those things, it would not feel as remarkable to have them now. I would not be 55 and thinking myself the luckiest woman on the face of this planet. I would not marvel at my good fortune each and every time that I walk in the door of my house. I would not do my job for the pure satisfaction of it. If I used lavendar soap each and every day of my life, it would become ordinary and unremarkable.
Cara came home yesterday for a few hours. She's just gotten her first 'very own' apartment, a studio. She's very careful about what she wants. Tim and I are giving her a desk for graduation, and she knows exactly what she wants. As soon as she actually finds one that meets her exacting standards, we will buy it for her. But we went out and did some shopping. Bought some rugs. A toothbrush holder. Got more ideas than stuff, actually. It was a fun afternoon.
As she was leaving to head back, she went to drop something in the garbage. "What's THIS?!!!" she exclaimed. "It's a one dollar coupon for toilet paper! THE GOOD TOILET PAPER!!" She was getting louder as she fished it out. "Gees, you people get your fancy house, and your fancy stuff, and suddenly you're throwing away dollars in the trash can!" It made me laugh.
Thriftiness is a tool, one that has opened doors to things that I never would have dreamed possible. I suppose that it can be overdone, as Laura Jane pointed out. Thriftiness could suck the pleasure right out of life, but after thinking it through, I realized that I never have truely deprived myself. Sometimes I defer my small pleasures, but in the end, I lead a very pleasant life.
Note for Local Readers
According to the buzz on my facebook, the Westboro Baptist Church is planning to come and picket a military funeral here in Warren. This is unverified, since the funeral is not listed on their website, but I think that it is important to be there if you can, so that if they do show up, there is a solid wall of people between their hateful signs and the soldier's family and friends.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Soap
I studied and then I headed into the bathroom to take a shower. I reached into the shower, and got the water running. I was about to highstep into the clawfoot tub when I realized that I needed another bar of soap.
When I went through the things at my mother's house last month, I took her soap. Sounds funny, doesn't it? It was a brand I like, but when I buy it for myself, it is generally something I do to treat myself. It's more expensive then the soap I usually buy. She had bought a six bar package of it. Two bars were missing. Impulsively, I took the package with the remaining four bars of soap.
I've been using that soap, and I've been thinking of my mother. Today, when I realized that I needed to grab soap, I stepped back from that tub and reached for the shelf. When I grabbed that package of soap from the bin, I realized that there was one bar left. One.
I stood holding it as the bathroom steamed up. I thought, "Mom bought this soap never dreaming that she would not live to use it up." For some reason, that made me sad. I threw away the plastic wrapping that the six bars of soap came in, but I put the box with the last bar of soap back in the bin. I grabbed a bar of aloe soap, highstepped over the clawfoot tub, and took my shower.
I don't know if I can bring myself to use that last bar of soap. And for the life of me, I don't know why.
When I went through the things at my mother's house last month, I took her soap. Sounds funny, doesn't it? It was a brand I like, but when I buy it for myself, it is generally something I do to treat myself. It's more expensive then the soap I usually buy. She had bought a six bar package of it. Two bars were missing. Impulsively, I took the package with the remaining four bars of soap.
I've been using that soap, and I've been thinking of my mother. Today, when I realized that I needed to grab soap, I stepped back from that tub and reached for the shelf. When I grabbed that package of soap from the bin, I realized that there was one bar left. One.
I stood holding it as the bathroom steamed up. I thought, "Mom bought this soap never dreaming that she would not live to use it up." For some reason, that made me sad. I threw away the plastic wrapping that the six bars of soap came in, but I put the box with the last bar of soap back in the bin. I grabbed a bar of aloe soap, highstepped over the clawfoot tub, and took my shower.
I don't know if I can bring myself to use that last bar of soap. And for the life of me, I don't know why.
Friends.
Mary and Danny came to visit, and we drafted Danny to help us wrassle the buffalo head to the wall. The poor thing had been lying on a reload table that had been hauled into the library for that very purpose. It's been what? Three months now? and the reload table was showing every sign of becoming a permanent part of the decor.
So Mary and Danny stopped by to return the cell phone that I'd accidently left behind at their house when I went to spend the day with Mary. I did not leave that phone there for the purpose of getting them to our house so that Danny could help wrassle a buffalo head to the wall, but it's pretty cool actually when things work out, isn't it?
Mary and Danny are both hunters and have a home filled with taxidermied things. Mary was anxious for Danny to see the buffalo, because she thinks that it is pretty cool herself, and that gave us the perfect segueway. "Danny!!! Old friend!!! You can help us hang a buffalo!!!" Danny is always up for the chance to do something he's never done before, and lucky for us, he'd never hung a buffalo, so he was enthusiastic. Kind of rare when you draft someone to help you and they're enthusiastic too. It's pretty cool when things work out, isn't it?
In any case, we heave'd and we ho'd and Mary had to take a miss on all the entertainment being on postsurgical restrictions. She sat on the couch and supervised, and the buffalo was slowly moved into place.
It's been quite an ordeal because the darn thing is so heavy. The buffalo was hung before, and quickly unhung because it was evident that the hook was not sturdy enough. Tim then created his own hook out of rebar and reinforced that. He did some work on the actual back of the mount, where the blacksmithed metal hanger had given way.
This time, the buffalo went up, and (miracles of miracles) he stayed there. We stood gazing at him, holding our collective breath a bit, but he showed no signs of wandering off. We heard no ominous sounds that the wall was about to give way. Emboldened, Danny reached up and plucked the curtain valance off his horn.
Tim said, "I did that wrong." I said, "What?!!!" Tim said, "Well, I centered the hook on the wall. I should have put the whole thing about a half foot to the right to account for the curtains. Long pause. Nobody said anything. We knew he was right, but the idea of wrassling that buffalo back down off the wall was a bit more than any of us was willing to think on at the moment.
I also knew that if that head came down, it would be placed back on the reload table, and it would sit there for another several months, because Tim would have to remove his homemade hook, with all the reinforcement. He would have to patch the damage to the wall. He would have to paint the wall. He would have to reinstall the hook. He's a busy man, and I hate to nag him because I know how hard he works, but still. Oh...still!...I was darn sick of that table.
In the end, he decided that we would leave it that way. For now. That's the way he puts things. "For now." It leaves his options open.
We trooped back to the kitchen and had cold drinks. Danny was entertaining Tim with a story about how he had a groundhog in his yard, and they've been doing quite a bit of damage to the garden, so he got excited, grabbed a 30.06 shell and a gun and went flying out the back door, loading as he went. Unfortunately, in his excitement, he'd grabbed his bear gun. He pulled the trigger and the shell exploded inside the gun, spraying his face with debris. He's really quite lucky to be telling the story with two eyes. He also got a dandy souvenier out of it: the shell casing with a jagged tear about 1/3 of its length.
Mary wanted to see the gravy boat that I'd gotten, and I pulled a chair to the cupboard to reach it down from the top to take over to the table. She examined it, and Danny looked over from his story. "That's a gravy boat?" I said, "Yes." He said, "And the gravy pours out its mouth?" Once again, I said, "Yes." He said, "Hmmm," and studied it before coming to the conclusion that it would be one heck of a lot more funny if gravy poured out the other end of the bugling elk. We about fell on the floor.
Danny and Mary came to visit. I got my cell phone back. We also ended up with a live version of Comedy Central in the kitchen and a well hung buffalo in the library.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Today
I've been stressing a little over this upcoming certification exam...coming up August 2nd. I'm studying for it, but I am tired of studying too. I want to do other stuff, *whine* but I've spent too much money for to get signed up for this test to not take it. At work, I need to take a med-passing course that will allow me to work without direct supervision. Originally, this was planned for mid-August, but suddenly, they wanted it done ASAP. They need me to have that certification to move into my next postion, and now, I'm taking this course next week. NEXT WEEK! Before my big test, not after. There's pre-requisites, everything's top priority. (*pant, pant, puff*) Suddenly, everything is about books and studying, and...well...ACK!~ Just ACK!
This morning I got up stressing about the deadline on a column. No real ideas on what to write about, just a few half thought through notions. There on the front page of the paper was my inspiration. I sat down and wrote that column out in one hour. I believe that it was a record for me.
Unexpectedly, I received the message that a sale for a Lane cedar chest had fallen through. I'd put my name in line for the item, but never figured that I would get it. I leapt into the shower and left the house with wet hair. I got it. For $20, believe it or not.
I got home and sat down to study for my allotted two hours.
It's all the time that I had. I have to head out to meet a lady. I'd made another on line purchase earlier in the week. Two of the coolest antique chairs that I'd ever seen. $10 ea/$20 for the matched pair. I already know where I want to put them.
I'm working hard, but all that stress and pressure I felt has eased back from this morning. What I feel, instead, is...well...productive.
Two other exciting notes. The buffalo head is finally hung, and my library is put back to rights.
I have begun taking pictures of the house, in full light. Unfortunately, right this minute, I don't have time to assemble them into a post. You've all been so patient...I hope you will give me two more weeks.
This morning I got up stressing about the deadline on a column. No real ideas on what to write about, just a few half thought through notions. There on the front page of the paper was my inspiration. I sat down and wrote that column out in one hour. I believe that it was a record for me.
Unexpectedly, I received the message that a sale for a Lane cedar chest had fallen through. I'd put my name in line for the item, but never figured that I would get it. I leapt into the shower and left the house with wet hair. I got it. For $20, believe it or not.
I got home and sat down to study for my allotted two hours.
It's all the time that I had. I have to head out to meet a lady. I'd made another on line purchase earlier in the week. Two of the coolest antique chairs that I'd ever seen. $10 ea/$20 for the matched pair. I already know where I want to put them.
I'm working hard, but all that stress and pressure I felt has eased back from this morning. What I feel, instead, is...well...productive.
Two other exciting notes. The buffalo head is finally hung, and my library is put back to rights.
I have begun taking pictures of the house, in full light. Unfortunately, right this minute, I don't have time to assemble them into a post. You've all been so patient...I hope you will give me two more weeks.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Fireworks.
Our county contains a number of small towns. Some of those towns have a great civic pride, and their people work very hard to promote the place that they live.
Tim's a preacher's son, and when he was growing up, the church moved the ministers every couple of years, so Tim has lived around the western part of Pennsylvania, but the place that he calls home is the last place he lived as a boy. Sheffield is about 20 minutes from us, and it is one of those towns whose citizens are very proud to live where they live. It is a small town, and they graduate maybe 40 kids from their highschool every year. It is a place where people seem to have lived for years.
One of the biggest events that they do is a benefit for the fireman. This thing has grown through the years getting bigger and bigger every year. The culmination of this benefit is a fireworks display that knocks the socks off of anything that I have ever seen in my life. We live in Warren, and they have a good July 4th display, but this show goes well beyond that.
Tim and I rarely miss this, and this year we got there a bit later than usual. We still had time to sit on our blanket and people watch.
I watched a rough looking tattooed biker guy carrying a huge ice cream in the semidark, his head turning this way and that in a confused way. He seemed to get his bearings, and strode off purposefully, his long hair flying behind him, to give that cone to a hugely pregnant woman sitting uncomfortably in a lawn chair. She smiled at him as she took it, and he knelt in front of her as she ate it, and they talked, and there was no one else there.
I saw two men, Native American, probably brothers, sitting by each other, and they talked non-stop. I watched their long pony tails swish back and forth as their heads inclined to each other again and again. Never knew that men had so much to talk about.
I saw an old bearded fellow asleep on a blanket, and his wife sat patiently, cross legged on the blanket. He woke up when the fireworks started, and their teenage boy came, and the three of them sat close.
I saw a woman who used to come into the Tractor Supply all the time. She'd come in a hour before we closed, and then proceed to try on every John Deere tee-shirt we had, asking our opinion on how she looked, how it fit her. We'd have to tell her, every single visit, "We closed 15 minutes ago..." and every single visit she'd answer..."Oh. I did not know you closed at 8," and then head to the register, taking her time, stopping to peruse the items on the promo table on her way. She sailed past carrying a blanket, with a man that I also saw regularly at the store, although I never saw the two of them together. He was carrying two lawn chairs and struggling a bit in the dark, stumbling. She stopped and looked back at him, and under her white cowboy hat, I could see that she was not happy. Her tone was sharp although I could not hear the words.
Small children cried in frustration, tired from a long day of carnival rides, up past their bedtimes.
Big children ran through the crowd. They'd taken two or three of those glow in the dark necklaces and linked them together to make great big glow in the dark hoops that they were throwing like frisbees, trying to 'ring' each other.
There was the fireworks display, and once again, it was the best display I'd ever seen, once again surpassing the fireworks display that I'd seen the year before. The crowd applauded and whistled and cheered their appreciation.
When it was done, Tim and I walked back to our car hand in hand so as not to lose each other in the crowd, and we watched a fellow on a motorized mobility scooter for the handicapped. He darted in and out of the heavy traffic. He had no lights, although Tim said he saw some small flash lights on the front. He managed to not get himself hit (we'd have read about it in the paper.)
Around us, up in the mountains and in town too, illegal fireworks continued to go off sporatically. People knew that the police were too preoccupied with traffic control right that very minute to do anything about them, and so they took full advantage.
The crowd began to thin out the farther we got from the fireworks site, and by the time we reached our car, we could, once again, notice the friendly flickering of the fireflies in the tall grass.
We did not get home until after midnight, and when I got up to go to work less than five hours later, I was a tired puppy. But it was totally worth it.
Tim's a preacher's son, and when he was growing up, the church moved the ministers every couple of years, so Tim has lived around the western part of Pennsylvania, but the place that he calls home is the last place he lived as a boy. Sheffield is about 20 minutes from us, and it is one of those towns whose citizens are very proud to live where they live. It is a small town, and they graduate maybe 40 kids from their highschool every year. It is a place where people seem to have lived for years.
One of the biggest events that they do is a benefit for the fireman. This thing has grown through the years getting bigger and bigger every year. The culmination of this benefit is a fireworks display that knocks the socks off of anything that I have ever seen in my life. We live in Warren, and they have a good July 4th display, but this show goes well beyond that.
Tim and I rarely miss this, and this year we got there a bit later than usual. We still had time to sit on our blanket and people watch.
I watched a rough looking tattooed biker guy carrying a huge ice cream in the semidark, his head turning this way and that in a confused way. He seemed to get his bearings, and strode off purposefully, his long hair flying behind him, to give that cone to a hugely pregnant woman sitting uncomfortably in a lawn chair. She smiled at him as she took it, and he knelt in front of her as she ate it, and they talked, and there was no one else there.
I saw two men, Native American, probably brothers, sitting by each other, and they talked non-stop. I watched their long pony tails swish back and forth as their heads inclined to each other again and again. Never knew that men had so much to talk about.
I saw an old bearded fellow asleep on a blanket, and his wife sat patiently, cross legged on the blanket. He woke up when the fireworks started, and their teenage boy came, and the three of them sat close.
I saw a woman who used to come into the Tractor Supply all the time. She'd come in a hour before we closed, and then proceed to try on every John Deere tee-shirt we had, asking our opinion on how she looked, how it fit her. We'd have to tell her, every single visit, "We closed 15 minutes ago..." and every single visit she'd answer..."Oh. I did not know you closed at 8," and then head to the register, taking her time, stopping to peruse the items on the promo table on her way. She sailed past carrying a blanket, with a man that I also saw regularly at the store, although I never saw the two of them together. He was carrying two lawn chairs and struggling a bit in the dark, stumbling. She stopped and looked back at him, and under her white cowboy hat, I could see that she was not happy. Her tone was sharp although I could not hear the words.
Small children cried in frustration, tired from a long day of carnival rides, up past their bedtimes.
Big children ran through the crowd. They'd taken two or three of those glow in the dark necklaces and linked them together to make great big glow in the dark hoops that they were throwing like frisbees, trying to 'ring' each other.
There was the fireworks display, and once again, it was the best display I'd ever seen, once again surpassing the fireworks display that I'd seen the year before. The crowd applauded and whistled and cheered their appreciation.
When it was done, Tim and I walked back to our car hand in hand so as not to lose each other in the crowd, and we watched a fellow on a motorized mobility scooter for the handicapped. He darted in and out of the heavy traffic. He had no lights, although Tim said he saw some small flash lights on the front. He managed to not get himself hit (we'd have read about it in the paper.)
Around us, up in the mountains and in town too, illegal fireworks continued to go off sporatically. People knew that the police were too preoccupied with traffic control right that very minute to do anything about them, and so they took full advantage.
The crowd began to thin out the farther we got from the fireworks site, and by the time we reached our car, we could, once again, notice the friendly flickering of the fireflies in the tall grass.
We did not get home until after midnight, and when I got up to go to work less than five hours later, I was a tired puppy. But it was totally worth it.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Doubting Debby
I've been studying for the certification test. Two hours a day is what I try to stick to. I've been using a manual. It has 300 practice questions. I answer the questions, and if my answer is wrong, I look the topic up in one of my text books, and I summarize vitually everything about the topic. It is a time of memorizing the Rancho Los Alamos scale, the spinal cord injury information, what damage happens at what level, manual muscle testing scale. It is reading and writing about the complications of diabetes and cerebral palsy. What part of the brain controls what. Every day I open those books, and I get a little sickish, because there is so much in there. I am familiar with it, but how familiar do I have to be? Most astonishingly, I find references to things that I must have studied, but don't remember at all.
I will be taking the test on August 2nd. We are given five hours to finish it. I have paid $500. to take this exam, and if I fail it, I'll have to wait 45 days, and then give them another $500. I wasn't too worried about it until I heard that a friend had failed it. Ack! My heart dropped, because really, of all the people in the class, I figured she'd be one of the ones who sailed on through it. Immediately, my brain went into "Oh MY GOD!!!! I'm gonna fail this test, and I will be working my hind end off for nothing, and I'll have to tell Tim that I need to take $500 MORE and then..."
I went up and spent the day with a friend who'd just had surgery. She was my scrabble partner during those dark cancer days. We spent a lot of time together then, and this was my chance to pay her back, at least in part. So we were playing scrabble and talking about God, and about our lives, and our husbands and our kids. We were talking about feelings. I told her about my test anxiety.
She looked across the table at me and she said, "You always do that." ("Do what?") and she said, "You always look at big thing and you say, 'I'm going to fail,' but you never do, and you're not going to fail this."
I studied her. "Really?" You see, my friend knows me better than anyone on this planet, even Tim, because believe you me, Tim does not want to talk about feeeeeeeeeelings. Her husband's the same way, really. We are each other's confidant, and we have been so since we were 12 years old. Now we are 55. She smiled at my own doubt.
Yesterday, I was studying, away, and I found myself feeling a little hopeful. Superstitiously, I thought, "Don't get over-confident," and tucked that away. I wonder sometimes if my own doubts are the key to my own success?
Oh, and although it means nothing, I beat my friend at scrabble that day, big time. I even had a seven letter word that fell on a triple word. She said to me, "You wouldn't beat someone who felt like I do, would you?" I laughed and said, "Don't pull that on me, sistah! I remember getting my butt beat in the chemo chair for crying out loud!" And we laughed ourselves stupid. Because we could.
I will be taking the test on August 2nd. We are given five hours to finish it. I have paid $500. to take this exam, and if I fail it, I'll have to wait 45 days, and then give them another $500. I wasn't too worried about it until I heard that a friend had failed it. Ack! My heart dropped, because really, of all the people in the class, I figured she'd be one of the ones who sailed on through it. Immediately, my brain went into "Oh MY GOD!!!! I'm gonna fail this test, and I will be working my hind end off for nothing, and I'll have to tell Tim that I need to take $500 MORE and then..."
I went up and spent the day with a friend who'd just had surgery. She was my scrabble partner during those dark cancer days. We spent a lot of time together then, and this was my chance to pay her back, at least in part. So we were playing scrabble and talking about God, and about our lives, and our husbands and our kids. We were talking about feelings. I told her about my test anxiety.
She looked across the table at me and she said, "You always do that." ("Do what?") and she said, "You always look at big thing and you say, 'I'm going to fail,' but you never do, and you're not going to fail this."
I studied her. "Really?" You see, my friend knows me better than anyone on this planet, even Tim, because believe you me, Tim does not want to talk about feeeeeeeeeelings. Her husband's the same way, really. We are each other's confidant, and we have been so since we were 12 years old. Now we are 55. She smiled at my own doubt.
Yesterday, I was studying, away, and I found myself feeling a little hopeful. Superstitiously, I thought, "Don't get over-confident," and tucked that away. I wonder sometimes if my own doubts are the key to my own success?
Oh, and although it means nothing, I beat my friend at scrabble that day, big time. I even had a seven letter word that fell on a triple word. She said to me, "You wouldn't beat someone who felt like I do, would you?" I laughed and said, "Don't pull that on me, sistah! I remember getting my butt beat in the chemo chair for crying out loud!" And we laughed ourselves stupid. Because we could.
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