She strides into my office and sits on the green vinyl upholstered stool, the one with the wheels. She is dressed immaculately in black shirt and black pants with a bold floral print. Worn over it all is her white lab coat.

"I'm bored," she announces as I look up from the Prior Authorization I am doing, the third one of the day. Several smart ass retorts come to mind, but I leave them censored and reflect back to her, "You're bored." "Yep."

She sits and stares at me while I do my work. Doesn't she have patients to see? No shows have laced her schedule with open holes where evidently she needs to seek entertainment.

She leaves and I hear the nurses in the back talking and laughing. No Shows have made some room in their day for levity. I'm tethered to my desk by paperwork. I sneak a little time to find Hugh Laurie on the Web. A little surfing to break up the monotony of entering yet another patient's medication data from the ED or a specialist's note.

On a totally different note, I've planted potatoes and peas. I didn't plant the onions last night as Rachel came to the house to watch the Sox rain delay with Erik and me.  We had dinner together and waited, a little frustrated with the weather. Rachel went home, eventually. Erik went out to investigate a  fire and I stayed home cuddled up with LoraBoraLabraDora listening to the Sox on the radio.

Life is pretty quiet. Blessings abound.

What is it about cleaning that feels so therapeutic? Some comet and a little elbow grease and a grungy sink sings white again. Compostables in the bucket, gray water down the drain gives a feeling of life being manageable. Laundry in the washer, the whites and colored clothing separated, orderly not like the tangled jumble in the hamper. 

Music from the CD influences mood. Bob Dylan sings of Idiot Wind, and matches my mindset about myself.  A few moments later and the drums throb through Susan Herrick and Thunder. Meanwhile, I look for more little things I can control.

Lately, at work, it feels as if we're having a redneck marathon. We've a new LPN who is a shade too flippant and ready with the quick answer.  She reminds me of myself before censorship took a bigger toehold in my brain. A little scary, to see my younger self there. I can still be flippant, but I've learned to curb it at work. This is the second time we've brought in someone who is an MA or LPN, who has a grudge, I guess would be the right word, a chip on her shoulder at being directed by an RN or more experienced LPN teaching her the intricacies that are involved in office nursing. She's lacking that obsessive compulsive mechanism that seems to be part of being a nurse, that fear that making an error will somehow jeopardize a patient's well-being. Yes, I get that we are not the Intensive Care Unit, or the OR or ED, but we are in a venue where patients can be hurt by a lackadaisical attitude.  

Back to scrubbing the sink after the next soaking, here is something I can control here is something not as big as my appetite, not as scary as my fears not as shame provoking as my judgements of others. I am finding lately that I am horribly judgemental and I do not like seeing more of this side  of myself. It is easier to judge others than to mind my own business and try to control me. I hear the laundry agitating in the washer, and I feel something agitating in me. I am having growing pains and I do not know what to do with them. I am a coward when it comes to confronting the fear in me that leads to judgement and self denigration. "Feel the Fear and Do It anyway, " my teacher once said to me. I am tired of feeling the fear. I am more aware of it, but it is by no means gone. I want to have it gone, want to dismiss it and have it be gone somewhere where it doesn't have access to me or me to it. But as I age I am more aware of it, more aware of the more subtle signs that tell me I am falling head over heels for fear again. Fear of what? Fear of so many thing and and fear of No Thing. Will tapping my head, my heart, my hands render Fear impotent? Why does it feel as if the acknowledgement of fear makes it seem to swell with power before it becomes small and manageable, a Tiger shrunk into a mewling kitten?

Time to scrub again, find some new surface to rub clean with the power of emotions. Feel the Fear and Clean It Anyway, could be the new motto.

What does one do with a being so old, his hearing and sight is faded beyond use, yet a keen sense of smell compensates for both? A being whose hind legs will not support him when he is excited or trying so hard to stand for that tasty Enob that comes after the ten in the morning outing?  Spike is eightteen. Yesterday I was horrified when he gathered himself up to leap onto the porch step and fell short by about eighteen inches. His head made a bit of a thud as he missed with his legs.  He didn't cry out, didn't make a sound. About half an hour later I put together the missing hair found on the floor and his shaking his head: He had an inch and one half laceration where his widow's peak marking used to be found. Now it is pink flesh and healing.

I don't know what to do about or for this dog. I've never had a dog this old in my life. He lays asleep for long periods of time and then awakens, paces and pants until he is either fed or led outside.   It's not unlike having a newborn in the house. One goes by their signals of waking and sleeping. Feeds them when hungry.  Luckily, we're not into diapers yet. However, ignore his circular pacing at your own peril: once in a while there is an accident when we don't catch the signal. Each time it has been squarely on the human being to make sure he gets outside. He has given plenty of warning.

I guess we live as we are and let him be. He's an amiable being.  Not too much trouble and seems pretty happy most of the time.

I didn't go to the five and fifty last night. By four thirty I was running a low grade fever and knew it was not prudent to attend. We watched the Red Sox and the Yankees trade leads on television and were happy to see the Sox prevail. Rachel was here for some of that time and we had a companionable time. This is her last weekend off as she readies herself for a month of work at the Farm. She leaves them in June and returns to Islesboro. I will miss her. It's been nice to get to know her a little better and to spend time with the less toxic members of my family.

I feel stuck in my life right now. Granted, being sick isn't helping.  There is so much I feel I must do, should do, but I am unable to act consistently in a fashion that would be helpful to me. Right now, the big bugaboo, the thing making me most miserable is tied between my job and my weight. Which truly brings me down to the point that the thing making me most miserable is me. More often than not I am driven by the impulse to over eat, to stay still and not smile. I feel flat. I've been tapping, working with an EFT practitioner and what came up was how much I hate me job. And that I don't want to lose weight. How do I live with that even as I've gained enough weight to make me have trouble repositioning? Hmmph. 

Blessings abound

I've had a bit of a sinusitis/bronchitis bug over the last week and with the help of antibiotics am on the upswing. Later today, my neice is coming over to watch the Sox with me. For now I am alone with the dogs and wondering what I do next. I've putzed around the house a little, gone into town to get presents for a co-worker's baby shower and come back to feel the warm breeze blow through the windows on a day where mercury meets eighty and the frogs sing from the thawed pond behind the house. LoraboraLabradora is stretched out on the couch near me. I'm supposed to go to a friend's 5 & 50 party later this evening. In honor of her fiftieth birthday and her fifth year cancer free, she is having a benefit for the Rutland Humane Society. At my phlegmy best, I'm not sure going is such a good idea. I really want to go, but feel as though I should be home resting and drinking fluids. And then tomorrow is the baby shower and a pot luck supper afterwards. It's a busy weekend. My better half is off at Fire School. Every year, the last weekend in April and the first weekend in May are devoted to training for the volunteer departments all over the county.

That's enough for now. I think it's time to take the hammock chair out to the apple tree and read. Not that that will get the potatoes in the ground, but it will get me out in the fresh air. And I need that more than sitting at a computer, I think.

Blessings abound

Here's to eighteen years with the man who digs my garden.

Happy Anniversary, Erik

My feet are freezing.  I ache all over. There is seven inches of snow on the ground. Fluffy, cloying sugar snow. The sun is trying to emerge to force it into the liquid state, but I think it will take a warmer day to make the ground brown again.

I'm so excited! I found Red Rohan seed potatoes yesterday! Bought a few Kennebecs for good measure. Yellow onion sets, I have one hundred twenty. Red onion sets, forty. Now if only I had some arable ground in which to plant. That will come soon enough.  I'm very eager to make the garden a good spot this year, not one where I wistfully wish for the time and physical strength with which to till it and tend it. Of course, Erik has a little more time than I do to help get it tilled and going, so I will be depending on him to help get us off to a good start. Otherwise, I dream of beans both bush and pole, cucumbers that turn into pickles and the dill grown at home with which to turn them into said pickles.  Zucchini squash and patty pan, good eating all! I'd also like to put in a few more blue berry bushes to add to the available permaculture.

This morning we went up to the neighbor's house for home made cream cheese. Their goat is fresh and producing tasty milk, about a quart a day. We had half a dozen tasty bagels to eat, won by me on a radio trivia quiz. The cream cheese was soft with a smooth spread that was not hampered by the chill of the cheese.   Ceredwyn topped off the cream cheese with homemade strawberry jam. Delicious!

I'm looking forward to producing our own food. And while it could be tempting to house a goat, I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of commitment. I'll stick with veggies and raising chickens with Ceredwyn. Life is good. Blessings abound

Happy 24th Birthday, Beloved Firstborn!

It's not unusual to have patient's in a medical practice die. True, the percentage dying is smaller than that one might find in as a nurse in, say, a hospice practice. Usually, I can wish the deceased good luck as the journey continues and it doesn't ding my consciousness in an emotional way. Death is a part of life and I've gotten used to it. Or so I think.

Over the last two or three months, more friends have experienced or are experiencing the dwindle and demise of their own parents. Today one of the lab techs was weeping over the circumstance of having to place her mother in a nursing home and waiting and watching as she fades and dies where she does not want to be. Alas, her husband cannot handle his wife dying at home and so she was placed in the nursing home. As this woman wept over her mother's diminishing health and the inability to bring her home, I felt myself wishing that I could feel that way about my own mother in her journey. I cannot bring myself to weep for her. She's found a way to adapt at her home and as things fall down around her there is nothing she will allow my sister and I to do for her. I find myself wishing that I loved my mother the way my friend the lab tech seems to love hers.

And then there is the devoted Red Sox fan who died this weekend as complication after complication occurred after surgery for a cancerous tumor of the esophagus. I always enjoyed conversing with him on the phone or in person. He was kind. He was also two years younger than me. His kindness reminded me of my husband.  I realized tonight on the way home that I was more surprised by his death than I usually am with other patients.  I'd seen some of the reports coming back from the hospital where he was recuperating. I could see things weren't going well. Still, I was surprised to learn he had moved on.

There are so many things of which I could write today, and none of them seem to grab me, to say, here I am! Here are the details! Write Me! Write Me!  Last weekend's trip to Maine was good. And yet, I felt something missing in myself when I was with my sister and my neices. All three are young women in their twenties and I was acutely aware that I am no longer twenty and beautiful with a body that will do what I want it to when I want it to. The girls were vivacious, animated and happy to be with each other. My sister and I, we looked old next to them. Katherine had chosen the restaurant for Saturday night. The general consensus made by my sister, Sandy, and the two older girls was that we should have a limo take us to and from dinner so no one had to worry about driving under the influence. It was a nice idea, but failed in the execution.  There was a lot of tossing of heads, one neice threatening physical violence on the limosine (read : Van) driver. After the driver failed to materialize, I toddled off and got my car. We barely made it to the restaurant before they were going to let our reservation go.

The interior of the restaurant was dark and well furnished. The service was very good, though not impeccable, but the server was kind and quickly remedied any thing that was amiss. Still, dinner was expensive and no matter how much fun it was to go with my family, one time is enough.

I think I spent a lot of time observing my relatives and their behavior. My sister and her daughters act a lot like my mother at her worst: foul of mouth and annoyed at a lot of things that go wrong. And instead of taking responsibility for either their part in it, or finding within themselves the remedy, they complain. I see how I might have been had I not moved away and found a good therapist.   Not so much tongue in cheek, I just don't see how I might have been happy had I stayed the way I was. Is this calm or disconnectedness? I think it is calm, for I connect with the beauty around me. I feel well connected to my husband and do not lump him in with that species called MEN with whom my family members lump their mates. I carefully exam myself to see if there are any feelings of smug superiority inside me, and I don't think there's any there. At any rate, dinner was good.  I had some conversation with my oldest niece, Kim, that made me feel connected in a positive way.   Later, the girls went for a swim while my sister and I sat together in the suite, watching bull riding with the sound turned down and enjoying each other's company.

I feel as though I am digesting something about myself. I know this is all connected to how I feel about myself and my weight. I wonder where it will lead.

Blessings abound

Someone at work has a new nephew. We kept getting updates on how the newbie was progressing down vaginal lane as he made his way into the world.  Such a short trip, but it takes a long time. Or so it seems at the time as everyone waits for the new baby to emerge into the world. I find myself waxing nostalgic for babies and pregnancy. I liked newborns, loved nursing and feeling richly gravid. Sometimes I wonder if the size of my abdomen is in any way indicative of my craving for the third pregnancy I never had.

At the same time that I wax poetic about the joys of childbearing, I hear another's voice in my ear, lowly chastising me for all the damage I probably did to my kids even as I tried not to emulate their maternal grandmother. I think I did a good enough job with the boys, but sometimes I wonder. It's nothing big or obvious that I feel I can say  If they are x then my mothering was neglectful.  Still, I think we have a good relationship.

This weekend I am going to Portland to meet with my sister and her three daughters. One of the daughters is riding over with me, so there'll be companionship in the car. This young woman is about to turn twenty on Saturday. The casual weekend my sister and I had planned now includes her girls and it will be one big estrogen fest. I am taking the day off from work (Yee HA!) and plan a leisurely day. I guess I'm glad of the time change as we'll have a little more daylight as we drive south east to Portland. My friend, Marci, is putting us up for Friday night ( that is, my neice and me).  Saturday night we will congeal like so much family jelly at a suite in Portland. I've just had a glance on line at the restaurant at which we have reservations on Saturday night and I'm hoping I have enough $ to make it through the door. Evidently, expensive tastes run in the family.

Taxes are almost done. Blessings abound