been soooo bad!

Yeah, I end blog posts with lines like, "more to follow!" then drop off the face of the World Wide Earth for several days. I've probably lost all three of my loyal followers... the ones not related to me ;-)

So, to sum up:

Disney is pretty damn cool when you go with kids. Yeah, I know you beleaguered parents out there are snorting a laugh, saying, "well, she CLEARLY doesn't not have kids." Yes, Parents of Difficult Ones, I see you. I hear you. I am perpetually stuck behind your slow-moving double-wide strollers at every theme park. I know the woe, really I do. I especially see you out-of-town parents, the ones who scrimped and saved for the Great Family Vacation, the ones who push the strollers like deranged holiday shoppers, clenched fists and jaws, determined to HAVE FUN even if the kids are cranky, tired, and hungry. By God, we traveled all this way and spent all this money, so we will have fun and ride every ride, dammit!

Thankfully, I went with Shannon, who may have been pushing a stroller but not slowly, and totally willing to work with her two twin boys who are barely hitting a year old. And we did all the rides that only two little ones can ride on. Let me tell you, going on It's a Small World with adults - you make fun of the animatronic, world-holding-hands glee of it all, you mock the hokey cultural homogeneity, you roll your eyes at every pause and look forward to getting on to things like Space Mountain. But when you climb in that little boat and the two boys are all starry-eyed with wonder, and then they start waving their little arms crazily in some instinctual, herky-jerky toddler dance because they just love the music... your heart just flows over and you can't help but laugh in wonder, and you want to ride that ride all day just to watch them love it. That's what Disney is for.

I will say that while I couldn't stop adoring on them all day, the novelty of The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy wore off after about an hour. I spent most of that time holding Matthew, the slightly chubbier of the two munchkins. And you know I'm all about chubby goodness. And he was all about me, kind of, at least until fatigue and hunger set in, and then he was all like, get this crazy lady away from me, I need some Mommy Love. The chubbiness was Denied. Good thing I'm cool like that: I get it, I do. At a year old, I don't think I would want to hang out with The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy for very long, either, particularly if my twin brother is hogging Mommy a mere two feet away.

They lasted about four hours, which may not seem like a long time to those of you unaccustomed to the habits of little ones, but it was a heroic feat, believe me. I was proud of them. We drove home with two snoozing munchkins in their car seats. Every now and then, one of them would wake up and cry, and since Shannon was driving, I reached my hand around to hold one of theirs. They're still in the rear-facing car seat age, so they only saw a hand, not whose hand it was... and they'd hold on tight and fall right back asleep, comforted and feeling safe. They had no idea they were holding on to the hand of The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy. Hee hee. The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy felt pretty good.

And the postlude to that warm, fuzzy moment is not really dramatic or Chicken Soup-ish or even really related to the above anecdote, but maybe just a warm fuzzy all on its own to fill out the week and my tremendous blogging gap. Other than the Munchkin Travels on Wednesday, it hadn't been a great week. In fact, it sucked major butt. There are several reasons for the suckage, reasons I don't feel up to publishing at the moment, except to say that at least none of them involved yet another pregnancy loss, but it still made for a topsy-turvy week, emotionally. So I was looking forward to getting back to Disney today, where reality can sometimes be suspended indefinitely, and spending some time with good friends and family. We rode rides and enjoyed all the wholesome theme park goodness, but the highlight of the night was seeing the Candlelight Processional Show at EPCOT. It's an awesome show: the Christmas story set to some really awesome music, featuring an orchestra (composed of many old friends of mine), a huge choir, and a celebrity guest narrator. Tonight, I heard the awesome Gary Sinise (you know... Lieutenant Dan) read a passage I know and love and have heard so many times. And though parts of the show had to be toned down a bit spiritually - part of that whole cultural homogeneity thing - I was comforted and reminded that the God I know is bigger than any bad circumstance, the God who created me and knows me intimately, came first as the original Cute Munchkin. A munchkin who saved the world.

Wanna know the real meaning of Christmas?

embarking

I am about to go to Disney's Magic Kingdom with my friend Shannon and her two 11-month-old twin boys.

Full report to follow...

a nurse's fantasy vs. reality

When I first entered nursing school, I had gleaming visions of myself, slim and cool in fashionable-yet-comfortable scrubs, gliding from one patient to another with overflowing compassion and empathy. I would never, ever be behind with anything, including charting, medications, and any and all general nursing care. I would diagnose and treat all illnesses, and watch my patients recover so quickly, with remarkable progress, and I would go home each night satisfied that I made a difference, cook a fantastic dinner for my husband and myself, and look forward to my next shift, arriving at said next shift refreshed and ready to go again.

Instead, as a nurse, I find myself running wildly between my patients, hair falling out of whatever contraption I've used that day to hold it up/back, wearing something unknown that looks like spit-up on my scrub top, praying frantically that NOTHING ELSE WILL GO WRONG, staring blankly at beeping/alarming patient monitors, and generally feeling like I am keeping my patients only one step from total catastrophe. I sometimes chart my 0800 assessments at 1700 (that's 5pm for you non-military-time types...). I go home completely disheveled and exhausted. I eat cold cereal, mumble only unintelligible words to my husband as I collapse into bed. I hear the alarm sounds of the unit in my dreams. I roll out of bed 5 minutes before I need to leave for work, only taking one quick look in the mirror to guarantee I am not completely offensive, and run out the door.

Do I love it? Yeah. Totally.

Would I trade the reality for the fantasy? Naw. How boring. Well, except maybe the slim-and-fashionable part.

christmas love/hate

LOVE:
Christmas cookies - all kinds! Especially the yummy homemade kind...

HATE:
Muffin top over my jeans that comes from the cookies, appearing just in time for the New Year


LOVE:
"Merry Christmas"

HATE:
"Merry Xmas"


LOVE:
Sending out Christmas cards

HATE:
Sending out Christmas cards (it's complicated...)


LOVE:
My boss filled her candy bowl (which is always full, by the way) with these yummy new Hershey's kisses - "Hot Cocoa" and this white chocolate peppermint kind. They are SOOO delicious!

HATE:
30 minutes later after gorging over her candy bowl, I feel like I need the hospital bed...


LOVE:
Driving in my car singing along to Christmas carols - fa la la la la!

HATE:
Hearing Mannheim-freakin'-Steamroller come on for the umpteenth time while a pimped out car cuts me off on I-4, then gives me the finger.


LOVE:
That Jason and I have a fantastic excuse not to fight with our ginormous, many-limbed, inherited fake Christmas tree this year: no room! Ha!

HATE:
Eh, so it doesn't really look festive around here without a tree up...


LOVE:
Eating homemade corned beef hash on Christmas morning at my mom's. Really. It's quite delish, and we only make it one day of the year. It's our Irish twist on the holidays, I suppose. No cabbage, though.

HATE:
Doing the holiday shuffle between all our parents, trying to spend equal time with everyone as best as we can... can't we all do a destination Christmas or something?

for anyone who has ever loved a pet...

This made me bawl, and I'm not even a dog person - all I could think of was Missy. Thanks, dooce.

friday is meme day

For me, anyway. Thanks, Amy, for sending me this one.

What have you done?

1. Bought everyone in the bar a drink
2. Swam with wild dolphins
3. Climbed a mountain
4. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
5. Been inside the Great Pyramid
6. Held a tarantula (hey, you didn't say it had to be alive)
7. Taken a candlelit bath with someone (they are the best kind!)
8. Said “I love you” and meant it (every day, I do)
9. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea
13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise (while writing papers, yes)
14. Seen the Northern Lights
15. Gone to a huge sports game (and survived the crush afterwards)
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars - in the Dominican Republic, where you could see every star
20. Changed a baby’s diaper
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
22. Watched a meteor shower
23. Gotten drunk on champagne
24. Given more than you can afford to charity
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
27. Had a food fight
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger
30. Had a snowball fight
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. Held a lamb
33. Seen a total eclipse
34. Ridden a roller coaster
35. Hit a home run
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39. Had two hard drives for your computer
40. Visited all 50 states
41. Taken care of someone who was drunk - pretty much every day that I work, yes
42. Had amazing friends - ahem, HAVE amazing friends, thank you.
43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country - DR
44. Watched wild whales
45. Stolen a sign
46. Backpacked in Europe.
47. Taken a road-trip
48. Gone rock climbing
49. Midnight walk on the beach
50. Gone sky diving
51. Visited Ireland
52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love - but I wasn't really in love, in retrospect
53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them
54. Visited Japan
55. Milked a cow
56. Alphabetized your CDs – what’s wrong with that?
57. Pretended to be a superhero – Wonder Woman Underoos!!
58. Sung karaoke
59. Lounged around in bed all day
60. Played touch football
61. Gone scuba diving
62. Kissed in the rain
63. Played in the mud
64. Played in the rain
65. Gone to a drive-in theater
66. Visited the Great Wall of China – I’m assuming this does not mean the Chinese restaurant in the strip mall?
67. Started a business
68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken - see #72
69. Toured ancient sites
70. Taken a martial arts class
71. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight
72. Gotten married
73. Been in a movie
74. Crashed a party
75. Gotten divorced
76. Gone without food for 5 days
77. Made cookies from scratch
78. Won first prize in a costume contest
79. Ridden a gondola in Venice
80. Gotten a tattoo
81. Rafted the Snake River
82. Been on television news programs as an “expert”
83. Got flowers for no reason
84. Performed on stage
85. Been to Las Vegas
86. Recorded music
87. Eaten shark
88. Kissed on the first date
89. Gone to Thailand
90. Bought a house
91. Been in a combat zone
92. Buried one/both of your parents
93. Been on a cruise ship
94. Spoken more than one language fluently
95. Performed in Rocky Horror
96. Raised children
97. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge
102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking
103. Had plastic surgery
104. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived
105. Wrote articles for a large publication
106. Lost over 100 pounds
107. Held someone while they were having a flashback
108. Piloted an airplane
109. Touched a stingray
110. Broken someone’s heart
111. Helped an animal give birth
112. Won money on a T.V. game show
113. Broken a bone
114. Gone on an African photo safari
115. Had a facial part pierced other than your ears
116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol
117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
118. Ridden a horse
119. Had major surgery
120. Had a snake as a pet
121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
122. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states
124. Visited all 7 continents
125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
126. Eaten kangaroo meat
127. Eaten sushi – mmm!
128. Had your picture in the newspaper
129. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about
130. Gone back to school
131. Parasailed
132. Touched a cockroach
133. Eaten fried green tomatoes - my stepmom's are totally delicious
134. Read The Iliad
135. Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read
136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
137. Skipped all your school reunions
138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
139. Been elected to public office
140. Written your own computer language
141. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream
142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
143. Built your own PC from parts
144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you
145. Had a booth at a street fair - sort of, with my church
146. Dyed your hair
147. Been a DJ
148. Shaved your head
149. Caused a car accident
150. Saved someone’s life - I try to every day I work!

felinity

Ways I Am Like My Cat, Missy:

1. Napping is crucial.

2. I have been known to be crabby most times but then sweet and loving if I want to get my way.

3. Sometimes I want to snuggle.

4. Sometimes I don't.

5. But most times, I sleep much better when I am snuggled up next to the person I love most.

6. I have some extra cushioning.

7. I am a very finicky eater, and I love treats.

8. I get irritated when I am not the center of attention.

9. When I am center of said attention, particularly when there are several people around, I have been known to do some embarrassing things, completely unaware.

10. I believe I am Queen of My House, yet stepping outside into the world can, at times, be scary.

11. I don't like change, but I'll eventually get used to it.

12. Loud noises make me jump.

13. Sometimes I'll wake up from a bad dream and cry (her: meow) a bit, then fall back asleep.

14. Most days, I am disinclined to move, though occasionally I will tear around the house like a mad(cat)woman.

15. I like looking at myself in the mirror.





Ways I Am NOT Like My Cat, Missy:

1. I do not sleep approximately 23 of the 24 hours of the day.

2. Though I've been known to embarrass myself in public, it is NOT because I have marched in the center of the room, lifted my leg most ungraciously, and proceeded to lick my privates in front of mixed company.

3. I do not poo onto litter, step in it, then proceed to track it across the house.

4. I do not drink water from a bowl.

5. I also do not find panties, hair elastics, and socks, and drop them into said bowl to make tea or soup.

6. I do not eat plastic.

7. I do not chase the beams of light that scatter across our bedroom when cars drive by, nor do I meow in protest when I can't seem to "catch" them.

NaBloPoMo: a reflection

Wow. I'll certainly never underestimate the power of a daily blog again.

I started out eager enough, excited to share my little corner of the world with all of cyberspace on a daily basis. But it got tough pretty quick. When I've had a bad day, I don't really feel like broadcasting it, but I can't think of anything else to say. Or, I can't think of a funny, witty, creative way to say it. It's a thorny rose, being told you have a way with words: it raises the bar every time you try to put your heart onto the page (or the screen, as it were).

And I had my share of bad days. I also had my share of awesome days, and because I was reveling so much in the awesomeness of the day, I'd forget to share it with you. And then I'd find myself trying to play catch-up four days later, cursing the computer and Having a Bad Day. (And then I'd start all my sentences with "and", and end them all with a preposition).

I also met some really awesome bloggers, people who make me wish I could see these people on a daily basis, talk with them, and soak up their marvelous creativity. They inspired me greatly. I hope I did the same for them.

All in all, it's been a interesting journey, NaBloPoMo. Next November, I'll be a little more prepared for you, ready with some cute stories, better pictures, and less video clips. For now, though, I'm gonna take a nap. You wore me out.

God is under the bed

My dear friend Kelly lost her brother Kevin to colon cancer this past Monday. Though I did not know him well, just the few brief moments I had with him told me that he saw the world through eyes I wish I had: trusting, loving, childlike. His faith in Jesus was just as pure: he talked with Jesus as though he was talking to his best friend, right in the room with him.

I grieve for my friend today: we all know Kev is at home with Jesus, and we're happy about that, but still, losing your brother is like losing a piece of your heart, and it's hard to bear someone you love so much going through that much pain.

Tomorrow is his memorial service. I know the focus will be on celebrating his arrival home, but I know there will be tears, too. I know I'll want to hold on to my friend and her husband and their handsome, precious boys and tell them how I'll do anything, anything at all for them if it will somehow bring them comfort. I also know I'll want to run away when I see them, too, because it hurts and it's awkward and I don't know what to do with it. I know I'll thank my Lord for giving us human angels like Kevin, and I know I'll cry and wonder why it has to be at such a cost.

I think that no one captured his spirit better than his sister, my friend, Kelly. With her gracious permission, here is a story she wrote about Kevin, years ago as a college writing assignment. (I won't need to tell you what an extraordinarily gifted writer Kelly is, or that nothing has brought out her gift as much as writing about him):


God Lives Under The Bed!

My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one night. He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped outside his closed door to listen. Are you there, God?" he said. "Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed." I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room.

Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in. He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult. He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will.

He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas, and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them. I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life? Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, returning to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.

The only variation in the entire scheme are laundry days, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child. He does not seem dissatisfied. He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work. He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores. And Saturdays - oh, the bliss of Saturdays!

That's the day my dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside. "That one's going' to Chi-car-go!" Kevin shouts as he claps his hands. His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

I don't think Kevin knows anything exists outside his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips. He doesn't know what it means to be discontent. His life is simple. He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. He recognizes no differences in people, treating each person as an equal and a friend. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be. His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it. He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax. He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. His heart is pure. He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue. Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere.

And he trusts God. Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God-to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an "educated" person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion. In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity, I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith. It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions. It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap......I am.

My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not submit them to Christ. Who knows if Kevin comprehends the things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of the Lord.

And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.

Kevin won't be surprised at all.

cuttin' the chunkies out

I had surgery today. That word makes it all sound so grave: surrrrgery.

Really, it was quite nice.

I have to admit that I was a little nervous. You see, there was this chunky, silver-dollar-sized lump on my arm. Had it biopsied a few months ago, went to see an oncologist and a dermatologist, sought a surgeon. They said it wasn't cancerous, wasn't malignant... but other than that, they didn't know what it was. Speculation rests on some sort of bug bite or other "trauma" that just started going wacko and forming all this dense, fibrous scar tissue.

Wow. A part of my body overreacting? UNHEARD OF.

Anyway, they decided it was best to take it out. And it kept getting itchy and worrying me, that maybe it was the colonization of a distant planet, a new race of life starting in my upper left arm. I mean, I'm all for the birth of civilization, but not in my left arm. Sorry. I wanted it out, too.

I went in today, filled in a few forms, signed my life and a significant part of our savings account away, and in return, I received a huge, 1980's mauve hospital gown that naturally did not close in the back, paper booties, a stick in my hand, and a heart monitor screen, where I was delighted to see my heart occasionally skipping beats and making weird squiggly lines on the screen. Fantastic. The anesthesiologist said that those squigglies were probably the result of my nerves. "Once I give you these drugs, they should disappear." Well, then, give them to me!

Ahhhh, drugs. Most days, I resist taking a Tylenol for even the worst headache. However, being on the wrong end of a scalpel makes you reconsider the whole just-say-no policy you've clung to all this time. So, I got one drug that took away pain, another one that made me forget anything that happened to me, and yet another that had me blissfully asleep. One moment, I was telling the nurse I felt a little woozy; the next, I was waking up with a big honkin' bandage on my arm. I felt pretty relaxed. Hungry, but relaxed.

The nurse said not to eat anything too heavy. I left the surgery center starving. We ate hot dogs and fries and washed it down with some soda. It was freakin' fantastic.

And then I got to go home and have my husband take care of me and sleep a lot.

Incidentally, the drugs they gave me were the exact same drugs (minus one) that I give to my burn patients when I go to do dressing changes. I thought they were delicious (the drugs, not the patients). So the next time one of my patients wonders what the drugs will feel like, I can totally start humming some Pink Floyd and say, "Enjoy the ride, man." Because I'm all trippy like that.

you know what happens when you assume...

Hmmmm... is it morning yet?

Mmmmmm....

Wow. I actually feel rested. This never happens when I have to get up for work.

Mmmmmm.

Rested. At 5:30 in the morning. Mmmmmm.

(yawn)

(stretch)

(scratch)

Mmmmmm...

(suddenly realizes that sun is a bit too bright in the room to be so early, sits straight up in bed)

Honey, what time is it?

him: mmmhbmblfmmm... uh... ohmygoditssevenoclock!

SEVEN O'CLOCK! It can't be seven! I had to be at work half an hour ago! Didn't you set the alarm?

him: NO. Didn't YOU set the alarm?

(sound of breaking glass, cat screeching, general pandemonium)

oh dear

It hath struck: blogger's block.

I think I can safely say that NaBloPoMo is officially kicking my creative ass.

(plus, I'm tired, and hey, look at the time!)

letting go

I grew up with a mom who was constantly taking pictures. Most of my childhood is chronicled in a never-ending series of albums and shoeboxes filled with snapshots. In fact, most of the major events or memorable moments of my life before age 18 have a corresponding picture, which is a fantastic aid to my somewhat patchy memory. Remember the time when you pulled out all the carefully-arranged magazines out of that cabinet and crawled in, only to look so surprised and innocent when found? There's a picture to jog your memory, or else supply your imagination to fill in the details.

Even more memorable than the actual pictures themselves was the process of obtaining said pictures. Remember, children, these pictures were taken before the digital age, so you couldn't just snap pictures at random and delete the ones you didn't like. Lo, you only had 12 or 24 (or, if you were daring, 36) exposures on that roll, and so you'd better get it right the first time. Mom would come upon some adorably cute candid moment to snap the photo... and 5 minutes later, we would still be frozen in that "candid" pose, smiles held, cheeks burning, while we heard, "Okay... just a second more... lemme adjust this lens..."

(Side note: I know my family is reading this. Don't tease her any more about the photo-taking process. It's a dead horse, beaten many times over...)

But even though the process might have seemed a little contrived, the pictures that resulted were amazing. And I see the pictures you get from a disposable camera, or even a digital camera that takes, I don't know, eons to think about whether it wants to take the picture or not between the moment you press the button and the actual taking of picture. Not the same. In my head, I've connected raising children and fantastic photography. I love houses full of photos of their family.

So, now that Jason and I are (hopefully) embarking upon the Raising Hell Family stage of our lives, what would be the number one item on my registry list once I found out I was preggers? A camera:



(I know. Completely shocking for someone who has a complete lack of personal photos on her blog. But I'm trying to correct that, see?)

We've been saving money. I was all set to make this Christmas the Christmas Of The Camera. Jason's been looking on eBay and Amazon for great package deals. I've been looking forward to a home full of pictures, even if it is not a home full of little feet... yet.

And then I went to church. You can listen to what I heard today here - just click on "A Thanksgiving Message". The temptation, when hearing that God blessed you with all that He has so that you can bless others (that it's not for your own glory), is to write a large check, drop it guiltily into the offering basket, and skulk home, hoping the message next week will be something a little milder, a little less convicting. But that wasn't the point. Who wants something given out of guilt? No. Giving out of the overflowing joy of your heart - those are the kind of gifts you want to give. And receive.

I am letting go of the camera for Christmas. The money saved is not going to us but somewhere yet to be determined. Listening in on Sunday... I didn't feel guilty. I just saw what I really, truly want, and it has nothing to do with a camera and everything to do with refocusing my heart, to invest in others the way the same way in which I've been invested.

Father, I want to know Thee, but my coward heart fears to give up its toys. I cannot part with them without inward bleeding, and I do not try to hide from Thee the terror of the parting. I come trembling, but I do come. Please root from my heart all Those things which I have cherished so long and which have become a very part of my living self, so that Thou mayest enter and dwell there without a rival. Then shalt Thou make the place of Thy feet glorious. Then shall my heart have no need of the sun to shine in it, for Thyself wilt be the light of it, and there shall be no night there. In Jesus' name, Amen.

PS - I am not pregnant.

not fair

Jason and I helped my brother move into his new apartment in DeLand yesterday. He used to live in one of the areas that was ravaged by a freak tornado this past February, and his neighbors living there are not the greatest: late-night screaming matches, guns, all that fun stuff. He has since found friends who have this gorgeous storefront apartment in downtown historic DeLand, the top floor above a bicycle shop and a rare coin dealer. Don has always lived in pretty modest places, as he has spent the last decade or so as either a grad student or a public school teacher. So, when we loaded up the U-Haul truck to take his belongings to his new apartment, we weren't expecting what we saw:


Ignore the furnishings and try and see how freakin' HIGH that ceiling is...


The kitchen. Yes, that is a mannequin in the back. She's holding a welcome home sign. She kind of creeped me out.

Original, beautiful hardwood floors. 1700 square feet of them. Ceilings that appear to reach to the sky. Fresh paint job. Huge windows looking out onto a courtyard. Big open spaces. The kind of living room that any self-respecting singer would salivate at, because the acoustics are of the type that make your voice sound 100 times bigger than it is, round and full and rich. And for this echoey vastness of an apartment, he's paying, like, two dollars a month or something. (Okay, I exaggerate, but I will say it is less than what we pay per month for our 1000-sq ft apartment in a not-nearly-as-desirable area.)

To top it all off, the coin shop downstairs is the next door neighbor of a fabulous Irish pub where we had dinner: fish and chips, burgers, apple crisp. Across the street: a chi-chi nail salon. Behind the building: a cute little boutique with fantastic dresses displayed in the front.

Needless to say, I am completely, totally jealous. Inspired, but jealous.

I can't believe I never watched this movie before last night...

This is Spinal Tap

happy thanksgiving

Thanksgiving dinner was a great success. I am stuffed, happy, surrounded by my family and blessings. Things I've learned from today:

--that roasting a bird (chicken, turkey, or other) breast side down doesn't look as pretty, but the meat comes out fall-off-the-bone tender.

--that cooking dinner is good enough. No need to wow them even more with lunch, too. (Although that was pretty tasty)

--whoever first decided to combine cinnamon and sugar is my hero.

--whoever first decided to sweeten roasted cacao beans with sugar, I LOVE YOU. Really.

--that it's okay to go a little overboard in the name of celebration. Just not every day.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Hope you all had as wonderful a day as I did.

the lineup

Tomorrow's food will be:

LUNCH
Mimi's Corn Chowder (you can get the recipe here)
Monkey bread
Fruit with creamy vanilla-y topping

SUPPER
Roast chicken (hey, there's only four of us)
Mashed potatoes
Stuffing
Green beans
Yeast rolls (the kind you have to let rise, too)
Chocolate Mousse Pie

I'm hungry already. And because I'm such a doll, here's the ultra-yummy and easy recipe for the Monkey Bread:



MONKEY BREAD

2 1-lb packages pizza dough
4 oz. butter, melted (plus more for the pan)
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

Directions: Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Mix the sugar and cinnamon together in a shallow bowl. Pull off the pizza dough into 1-2 inch balls. Dip each ball in the melted butter, then roll the ball in the cinnamon sugar mix. Put each ball into a buttered bundt pan. Any butter left over should be poured over the top of the, er, balls, and the remaining cinnamon sugar sprinkled on top. Stick it in the oven for about 40 minutes, or until the top is all nice and golden brown. Take out of the oven, let sit for about 5 minutes, then flip over onto a plate. Guests can just pull the bread apart with their fingers... but be forewarned: it's mega-gooey!

..........

So freakin' tired. Want to fall over into bed. Mental process absent. Writing only because I signed up for NaBloPoMo and, well, I gotta. This nursing thing is great, but it wears me out.

Peace out. More mentation tomorrow. Maybe.

afraid to fall

I can totally relate to this. It made me laugh, but it's so true. Props to my hubby for first posting this on his blog:

I did it

Today, I took all three patients on my own. Well, not on my own completely: my preceptor was there to help me out if I needed it, and she did help me quite a bit. Because she is a rock star.

I did have one very memorable guy under my care today: a motorcycle accident that left my patient with this huge chunk taken out of his arm. He's resting in bed, having been informed over and over again that his arm will never work again and needs to be amputated or else will become so infected that he would die from the infection. He roundly refuses each time. Instead, he sports a huge dressing and a metal rod fixator. He is covered with all sorts of interesting tattoos: naked people in acrobatic poses, swastikas, weapons, you name it. He's pretty weak from everything, but he still growls at you when you walk in. Here's my favorite conversation with him today:

"Hi, Mr. ____. Do you want some more of your Gatorade?"

(slurred) "You're all trying to kill me, I know it." (then motions for Gatorade)

"No, we're trying to get you better so you can go home. But you know we can't let you go home just yet, right? There's a big metal fixator coming out your arm to keep it still."

(scowls)"I know that."

(pause while I mess with his IV pump)

"Look honey... c'mere. Listen to me. I mean, really listen to me. I've got $300 right here in my pocket," (motions to bare ass) "and it's all yours if you just drive me home, okay? Drive me home."

"Hmmmm. No, I don't think so."

(look of disgust and shock) "Well, why not?"

"I'm not that cheap, sir."

the outcome

Up 1.2 pounds. Ugh. I'm not beating myself up but instead choosing to blame it on PMS hormones, water retention, and building up muscle, which weighs more than fat. Starting afresh today, right after I finish these chocolate-covered walnuts and meatball pizza slices. Right.

Shower was lovely. Really. It's kind of touching and funny, watching a mom used to all boys get showered with lots of pink ruffly lace things, and then watching her melt over and over, realizing that she's really having a girl, and how that little girl will change everything. In a good way.

I made it through intact. I smiled through tears. I felt genuinely happy for her. I still prayed a lot. And then I went home and took a long nap. Sometimes, you just need to rest.

celebrate

Not a whole lot to say tonight - this NaBloPoMo thing is getting harder than I thought. Originally, I envisioned this great blog coming out of my fingertips onto my computer screen, full of original witticisms and gorgeous pictures. Kind of like dooce and her daily hilarious adventures being a mom of one adorable toddler, and who just remodeled her already-gorgeous website and now includes a new stunning picture of herself with glass-cutting cheekbones. Alas, I do not have such cheekbones. Nor do I have the website. Nor the toddler. Nor the daily hilarious adventures. At least, not the kind I actually sit down, remember, and write about.

Anyway...

I have two big challenges tomorrow: weigh-in and a baby shower. The weigh-in might be a special challenge because this week, though I have run and Jazzercised and worked on my body, has been full of little goodies, like tidbits from the Food and Wine Festival at Epcot, a tasty or two from Starbucks, and perhaps slightly larger helpings of foods that should be in slightly smaller quantities. Hmmm. I'm proud of myself for not getting neurotic over it - I have struggled mightily with my brain short-circuiting in the past when I've realized I've eaten too much over the past week, and then I find myself trying to not eat anything the day before I weigh in, only to get too hungry in the end and consume whatever I can lay hands on first, a lot of it. So, I didn't do that this week, at least not the neurotic aspect. But, tomorrow may not be the numbers I want. C'est la vie, ma belle, I must say.

The baby shower is a different story. It's a dear friend of mine who, unexpectedly, is finally getting to add a sweet bundle of pink to her Bruiser Farm. Both parents are completely delighted. I want to be so excited for them, and I am, I really am, somewhere inside of my heart, I really am. I happily spent too much money at Target yesterday to buy them lots of pink little lovelies, and half of them I had wished came in adult sizes because they were just that cute. I mean, what self-respecting girl would not want a huge bedspread of cabled pink chenille, even if her husband might heartily object? Tomorrow, I know, will be a great shower of pinkness. I love pink. I love girly stuff. I adore babies. But taped up on my refrigerator next to my friend's stylish shower invitation is an appointment card for my reproductive endocrinologist, and it just gives me pangs and the tears start up in my eyes and I just silently pray Dear God, please, DON'T FORGET ME. And I think about both times Jason and I got all excited, wondering whether to decorate our spare room in blue tugboats or pink butterflies, only to end up wondering what the hell happened and why my body decides to be fickle and change its mind.

Tomorrow, I want to celebrate for all the reasons I can.

jazzin' it up

I decided to try something new tonight: my friend Joslyn has been encouraging me to come with her to Jazzercise, and tonight, I did. The first class is free, she told me, and I could come try it out. I'll admit: I had visions of shuffling around, barely getting the heart rate up, surrounded by the geriatric set. The last I'd heard of Jazzercise was when I was a kid in the 80's and aerobics were all the rage. I think I half-expected those spandex bodysuits to show up - you know, the thong bodysuit over tights. I never understood that, giving yourself a wedgie intentionally. Hmmm.



Well, back to Jazzercise tonight: I had a great time! It was not the geriatric set by far, and Joslyn and I were not the only young'uns there. (To be fair, the average age of participants was around 40, but that ain't old, folks.) Nor were there any be-thonged spandexed ladies (praise God). No Olivia Newton-John 80's action. And even though tonight was not a traditional dance workout but a strength-training set, you better believe I was sweatin'! I'd gone for a run before I went, thinking I needed to do something to get my heart pumping... and ended up doing just that for another hour when I went to the class. (Hey, it can only help, right?) Thank goodness I'd had the presence of mind to change clothes between the two workouts and freshen up a bit. No one needs the Grand Master Funk, y'all.

I think I might go back. We did get to do a little dancing at the end, and it was sweet: cool enough for me to enjoy it, easy enough for any klutzo to follow along. Even better was that I wasn't racing to get the workout in before the sun went down - always an advantage of working out indoors.

dear santa

Okay, I did it. I made up my list for Santa this year. I'll admit it: I LOVE Christmas. I love getting gifts, and I love giving gifts. I love the joy on faces when they open a gift that I got for them. It gives me quite a thrill. And, for as much as I try not to, I still love getting stuff. Particularly thoughtful, meaningful stuff.

I've also found that the best way to ensure good relations among family and friends during gift-giving times (such as Christmas and one's birthday) is to provide a detailed, comprehensive list of wanted goodies. There's expensive stuff for people who want to splurge on you. There's inexpensive stuff so that even your friend who subsists on Ramen noodles can get you a little something you want and not feel like a schmuck. It takes the stress off of others when creating their to-buy-for list for the holidays. I mean, it's all about keeping the peace, my peeps. I'm just saying.

So, in the spirit of joy and love and keeping peace and relieving stress, I've taken all the guesswork out of giving me some gift lovin' this Christmas. Behold, the list:



Happy Holidays!

the sweet spot

I'm not sure why I ever stopped running. Earlier this year, I was on a roll: I ran 4-5 days a week, about 18-20 miles. I know many runners who do more than that, but for a girl who used to barely huff and puff her way through a half a mile, well... it was a freaking miracle, right up there with fishes and loaves and the Red Sea parting. Even better was that it was not 18-20 miles of sheer torture a week. Lo, I enjoyed each day I got to run. I felt empowered, unstoppable, even if I wasn't a speed demon. Rawrrrrr.

Maybe I got lazy, or bored, or overwhelmed by my last semester of nursing school, but I dropped the ball. Big time. I stopped running and promptly became more stressed, not as much fun to be around, and about 25 pounds heavier (not just from not running, but from a horrible downward spiral of my eating habits). Ugh.

So, at the beginning of October, I started running again. And eating right. There was some instant gratification from the eating: you feel good almost immediately, even if there are some residual cravings, like a really unexplainable desire for Chicago-style hot dogs. (Okay, I still have those cravings.) But picking up running again after you haven't ran in nearly 6 months isn't quite as easy at first. I ran a mile that first day, and it was about as enjoyable as having my teeth cleaned. Dude, was I SLOW. I am really not exaggerating when I say that a pair of senior citizens easily passed me on the trail, and they were walking. But I kept going.

Within a few weeks, I was still running, getting close to the two mile mark, not a whole lot faster, but not overtaken by the over-70 demographic. And I knew that I would get back to where I used to be, fitness-wise. It was a better experience: definitely not the fabled runner's high or anywhere close, but I wasn't shouting colorful expletives and twitching anymore, either.

Pretty soon, it started getting easier. I started getting a little faster. My stride got a little longer. I ventured farther and farther. As a side bonus to complement my better eating habits, I dropped a dress size and 8 pounds.

Tonight, I ran a 5K in length on the trail, and I felt like I was gliding. There were the usual aches and pains at the beginning of the run, my body reminding me that I spent the day in a classroom and not walking around to get warmed up, but after about a half a mile, they were gone. Other runners passed me. I didn't care. I enjoyed all 45 minutes of it (see? not a speed demon) and came home, stinky, sweaty and happy, wondering why I'd ever stopped running in the first place.

Can I inspire any fellow couch potatoes out there? It's not impossible to do it, enjoy it, and want to do it again the next day. Go Team!

*yawn*

So after this amazing weekend, I am still totally exhausted. After spending Friday running around the ICU, then Friday night jumping up and down for 3 hours, then Saturday ALL DAY jumping around and shouting and crying and dancing and singing and full of joy, then having the most powerful experience at church Sunday, well... I went to work today and came home, went to take a short nap, and CRASHED. I'm still sleepy. I didn't run, and I heated up a Lean Cuisine for dinner because anything else required too much effort.

So, excuse my laziness. Since the conference, I've fallen in love with Brooke Fraser's music all over again. And because I think my brain might implode and then leak out of my ears if I tried to write anything more than a few sentences, I'll leave you with yet another video. (Are ya tired of the videos already?)

Love,
me

bliss

Do you ever have one of those days where everything comes together, the planets are aligned, the sun shines just a little brighter than normal, and you feel the reason why you were set on this earth?

Today was one of those days.

So, this weekend, Friday night and Saturday all day, I was at the Hillsong United Conference here in Orlando. It wasn't a gathering of sedate, prim-and-proper Christians, as one might expect if you haven't experienced Hillsong United. Imagine a space jam-packed with about 6000 high school and college age people, hair colors of the entire rainbow spectrum, body surfing, mosh pits, and every voice singing at its loudest, and you might get an idea of what it was like. It was completely incredible. I spent most of the weekend jumping up and down with arms raised. I was on some sort of adrenaline kick. Moreover, I got the spiritual kick-in-the-ass refresher I'd been hoping for. You know those days when your spiritual walk just gets... lackluster? The relationship is not so much there any more on your end? You open up your Bible and feel... dry? That was a good summary of the past few months for me. I hate feeling that way. It makes for some very hollow-feeling Sundays, particularly when you are supposed to be leading others in worship.

Saturday night, post-conference, my body begins to realize that I am not 18 years old any more. (Okay, I'm not 80 years old, but still.) From all of my jumping, I had massively sore calves. From all my hand/arm-raising, I had very sore shoulders. And from the complete lack of sleep and the emotion of the past 24 hours, I was simply spent. Even a stop at the 'Bucks couldn't get me going again.

Morning comes. I am toast. I was even later than normal to get to church for morning worship rehearsal. I nearly passed out from exhaustion during sound check. I didn't know how the service was going to go: there were several of us who had been at the conference, and we all looked equally whipped. When our levels are low, the crowd feeds right off of that.

Ah, but I worried in vain.

That morning was one of the best worship experiences I have ever had. The rest of the team - and the church, in fact - felt the same way. Everything flowed exactly as it should. We weren't just playing the chords and singing the words - we were in the zone. People came up to us after the service, not to say "oh, you sang so pretty" or "that guitar solo rocked" but "I really felt it today" and "the worship brought me to a new place". And I walked out of there with my heart full and hands high, thinking this is what it's supposed to be like.

Sundays are my favorite days.

unbelievable

Jason and I went to the Hillsong United Conference this weekend - it was incredible. It's really the most amazing experience to be among 6000 other believers (most of whom were under 25) and everyone is singing with all their heart, raising their hands in praise, jumping up and down.

I'm spent in so many ways, so this will be a short post and not nearly worthy of how amazing the entire experience was, but I will leave you with a little glimpse of what the weekend was like:

please, my friends

I spent the day in the trauma ICU at the hospital where I work, just down the hall from my own floor. Please, dear reader, if you take away nothing else from the words I write, please hear this and never do these things:

1. Ride a motorcycle without a helmet, even if it is legal
2. Drive or ride in a car without a seatbelt, even if you are only going across the road to the supermarket
3. Cross the street without looking both ways
4. Get high, drunk, or both and do any of the above activities
5. Let your health go to crap, and then do any of the above activities

Friends, I do not want you as my patient.

I do not want to have to hold your mom's/dad's/child's/lover's/friend's hand while they try to deal with this person they once knew who is hooked up to a million machines and, while still alive, will never, ever be the same again. I do not want you to wake up and find that no, you are not dead and in heaven, but instead are a quadriplegic, permanently dependent on a machine to help you breathe. I do not want you to be riddled with life-threatening injuries and even more life-threatening regret and remorse.

Years ago, I was riding in a car with coworkers to go for a luncheon across town. In the front passenger seat, one of my coworkers, a crotchety, old-beyond-her-years lady refused to buckle up. When I asked why, she scowled at me, "I'm not afraid to go home to heaven." And I thought of her words when I see these patients, whose families are only sometimes facing the decision on whether to withdraw life support or having to say goodbye. More often, they are left with a loved one not quite at the pull-the-plug stage, but are instead riddled with permanent injuries, facing a lifetime of complicated medical treatment, constant threat of infection or further injury, and an unimaginable road of emotional turbulence.

I know it sounds preachy. I know you've all heard it before. But if it wasn't such a violation of privacy and against the law, I would conduct daily tours through that unit. Please be safe.

these are the reasons...

...why one must never, ever pry into my brain. Or why one should never post a comprehensive video set of a fictional character's musical oeuvre:

"Hey, are you okay? You seem a little distracted."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a song stuck in my head."

"Oh, I hate that when that happens! Right?" (pause) "So, what's the song?"

(blushing) "Nothing. It's really stupid. Forget it."

"No, tell me. Stupid songs are always the ones that get stuck in your head. What is it?"

"Naw...."

"Come on..."

"Well... okay." (clears throat and begins to sing) "And a crusty old man said, 'I'll do what I can,' and the rest of the rats played maracas!" (shakes body in disturbing manner)

(long pause)

"Duuude. Gotta change out the rotation on the iPod now and then, okay?"

I is ur nurse, thinkin' smart thoughts...

I started as a graduate nurse (and soon after, a bonafide RN) on the trauma stepdown unit at my hospital about 6 weeks ago. Walking on the floor as a newly licensed nurse is about as reassuring as having to skirt by a bonfire when you are doused with gasoline and having someone say, "Oh, you'll do just fiiiiinnne." Uh-huh. You realize how dependent your patients are on you to recognize when they are going downhill, how very little those physicians hang around for you, how little those brand-new residents know, how little you know. You end up asking a lot of questions that you think are totally inane and stupid of your preceptor, your coworkers, the janitor, whoever. You second- and third-guess yourself constantly. You deeply envy those nurses who, only having been a nurse a year longer than you, seem confident in what they can do. You pray a lot. A whole lot.

During the last three of those six weeks, I've been in a critical care class as part of my job - presumably to equip me with essential skills and remove some of that deer-in-headlights look I must have every minute I'm caring for a patient. In many ways, it's been like a regular class from nursing school: lectures, homework, midterms and a final, clock-watching, and the inevitable Loudmouth. There is at least one Loudmouth in every class or group learning situation. You know exactly who I mean, too: the person who decides that each lecture is, in fact, a one-on-one conversation between herself and the instructor about irrelevant details, personal anecdotes, or just general verbal crap interjections. There's one in every class. In my case, we actually have two of them, making for a white-knuckling, eye-rolling, apoplectic experience each and every class day. I feel like writing to the federal whomever and telling them to scrap waterboarding and try this technique.

Despite the Loudmouths, I do enjoy learning the useful information, presented in a what-you-need-to-know fashion, and the instructors are pretty good at what they do. So good, in fact, that I feel ever so much more confident about coming back onto my floor in a couple of weeks. That's good. I mean, I'll still ask questions of everyone, only second-guess myself all the time, and shake in my shoes when the unexpected happens. I know how to ask for help and when, at least. And one day I know I'll be a seasoned, go-to type of nurse, and I'll see new grads shaking in their own shoes and enduring their own Loudmouths and see just how far I've come.

In the meantime, I leave you, on request, with the second half of the clip of the show I miss so much:



PS - NaBloPoMo freakin' ROCKS. Fussy, if you happen to read this, you are completely awesome. To everyone else: thanks for the comments! (You guys are awesome, too.)

i so miss this show...

short, brief

Hmmmm. Can't think of much to write, except that I am so loving the weather outside. For the majority of the year, walking outside in Florida is like walking in a badly-decorated steam room. It's hot, it's muggy, it's just not fun. It makes me twitch and long for snow-capped mountains and seeing my breath. Only this weekend, it was completely wonderful: high 70s, breezy, sunny, beautiful. Jason and I spent a lot of time outside. Right now, the windows are all open, and the cool night air is floating through our apartment. Glorious.

Still running. It's nice to exercise outdoors and not find yourself a puddle of sweat afterward.

major landmarks of the world

Conversation between a six year old girl and my friend Katie while waiting for a Disney show to begin:

girl: "What's your name?"

K: "Katie."

g: "Where do you live?"

K: "In Orlando."

g: (look of awe) "So you don't have to go to a hotel when you leave?"

K: (Katie smiling)"No... I get to drive back to my house. What town do you live in?"

g: "Pace."

K: "Where is Pace? I don't know where that is."

g: (long pause, face scrunched in thought) "Um... it's by the Walmart."

down a pound!

AND it's a gorgeous day outside. Jason and I celebrated by going to the Food and Wine Festival at Epcot - where else can you purchase two potstickers for $4, or an 8-oz beer for $12? Still, I haven't eaten a soft pretzel as good as I did tonight, even if it was a bit overpriced.

In fact, we went so far as to buy annual passes to Disney. It was a splurge of magnificent proportions, I must say: I think I had heart palpitations when I saw Jason hand over the debit card to the friendly, pimply-faced Disney ticket cashier. But a few weeks ago, we had received an anonymous gift from a member of our church. It was sent to us with a simple thank you that said "we're glad you are here". As gift money, I had a feeling that maybe we weren't supposed to piddle it away on daily necessities or even something as level-headed and practical as paying off a credit card or padding our savings account. No, we decided to give ourselves a year's worth of dates and invest in us.

I love taking Jason to Disney because it is similar to taking a young child to Disney for the first time. I don't mean that he is childish at all, but he grew up in Michigan, and had previously been to Disney just once, briefly, and saw very little. Taking him to the different parks was a bit like sharing my own childhood with him: I grew up going to the Magic Kingdom, walking around Epcot, and I loved every minute of it. I still do. Even going on the rides that are completely hokey and outdated - like the "Carousel of Progress" where the world of "tomorrow" is replete with Luke Skywalker bowl-cut 'dos and green-screen computers - makes me feel all happy and giddy inside. Sharing that with the person I love most in this world is ten times the joy, especially when I get to see him discover all of the cool Disney things for the first time.

Our legs and feet are tired, but our hearts are full. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts, Anonymous Happiness Spreader, wherever you are.

life in the ED

I spent the day in the trauma bay at the emergency department of the hospital where I work. It's not exactly like ER, mostly because I never saw George Clooney walking around purposefully and rescuing patients with excellent plot outcomes. Things I did see and experience:

--overheard between two residents: "Um, to put in that NG tube... yeah... the thingy goes in there, I think." Fear should strike one's heart at the words "thingy" and "I think" from a doctor's mouth.

--a man with a self-inflicted gunshot wound who made himself into a quadriplegic needing breathing support

--several nursing home falls and two nonagenarians among them

--a bicyclist vs. semi with nary a broken bone or internal bleeding

I think the highlight of my day, other than the many times where I jumped in and did actual nursing interventions, was a two year old girl who came in with her mom. Both were in a car collision, and both were unhurt but visibly shaken; the mom was 36 weeks pregnant and fearful for her unborn baby's health. They brought her two-year old daughter into the trauma bay with her since there was really nowhere else for her to go, and the little girl was strapped in her car seat still, solemn, wide-eyed, and looking very unsure about her new surroundings. I crouched on my feet next to her and started talking to her softly: about her shoes, the candy she still clutched in her hand, her pretty dress. Slowly, she started to speak, mostly to ask "where's momma" ("the doctor is helping her get better"). Eventually, she let me pick her up and take her to her mom; she clung to my neck and played with my name badge, where I had a Sharpie pen and flashlight attached to keep her pretty occupied until her "oma" came to pick her up.

Of everything I did that day, helping a child to feel less scared and more safe was the best thing I did all day. Seeing her smile - even as small a smile as it was - made my heart swell.

NaBloPoMo

Welcome to National Blog Posting Month! I heartily accept the challenge to write a post every day... which means some days are going to be thoughtful and deep, and yet others will be, well... THERE. I haven't written a post a day ever, so we'll see how this goes.

Off to rehearsal!

momentum

This week was not a huge success by numbers only: weigh-in revealed I had not lost, not maintained, but had somehow managed to gain half a pound, even after running four days last week. Of course I was pissed off: all that hard work seemed to be for nothing. I wanted to boast another great week and inch ever closer to that pie-in-the-sky goal of mine. Not this week, apparently.

Mike talked to the congregation this morning about momentum, and how to maintain that spiritual momentum: trust, obey, and humble yourself. Simple words, but so difficult to do sometimes, especially if you've been conditioned to buck at the word "obey" like I have. Spiritually and physically, it's really hard to maintain momentum when things are not going your way. Why did I gain this week? Why did work have to be so hard? Why did we have to lose two babies in a row while everyone else seems to be growing them in droves? I don't know the answers, but I know how I slow down and want to quit moving when those things happen.

Being healthy is so much more than the running I do or the foods I eat. It is becoming a spiritual discipline, an act of trusting God to run the show when I've tried to do this by myself so many times before. I cannot expect to move forward if I do not, well, actually move forward. No one will move my legs for me. On those days when it is overcast and I am really feeling tired, I don't want to move. On those days when I have not planned well, I don't want to take the extra 5-10 minutes to pack a healthy meal for myself. I do not want to make the small steps to move forward. But I hear Him calling to me, giving me everything I need to do what I need to do: the energy, the skill, the basic coordination of one foot in front of the other, the abundance of healthy options.

A lot of people have expressed their admiration to me that I run; I usually get a comment like "I could never do that". I spent so many years thinking that exact same sentiment: I was weak, I was disinclined to anything athletic. I was the one who got picked last for teams, who went terrified to every P.E. class. I never joined a team or athletic club. Of all the many sports that remained foreign and undoable, running was pretty much at the top of the list of Things I Cannot Do. I told myself that I wasn't able to do anything more than the occasional fast walk or lap in the pool, and I certainly wasn't disciplined enough to do any of that on a regular basis, I thought. I completely and utterly believed myself.

So to find myself doing the very thing I thought most impossible - running on a regular, disciplined basis, and doing well at it and enjoying it - is no small miracle. I can hardly believe that I can call myself a runner, but I can. The little girl inside of me - the one who was always picked last - is crying with delight when I think about what I can do. I do not run fast and I do not run far, but I always, always keep going. I hear God telling me that I am so much more than I believed myself to be, and that creates my momentum.

I'll leave you with a movie clip that Mike shared with us and that struck a chord in my heart: God, I won't give up on you. I'll run until I finish this great race, and you are there right next to me the whole way.

my morning routine

Side note: I lost 2.6 pounds this week for a grand total of FIVE. I'm also running faster and my jeans are fitting much better. The muffin top disappeareth.

Anyway, here's a glimpse of my morning:

if you really want to fly...

"Hope for the Flowers" is the story of a caterpillar named Stripe who watched fellow caterpillars climbing and stepping on and over others with no idea about what was at the top. When he asked others what was at the top, the answer was, "No one knows, but it must be awfully good because everybody’s going there."

Stripe tried for a while and even met a lovely female caterpillar named Yellow, and they tried together and gave up together. Stripe tried again, and one day, as Yellow was waiting for Stripe to come back, she discovered a grey caterpillar struggling to get out of a cocoon. She offered to help, but the grey caterpillar said, "No, I have to do this to become a butterfly."

Yellow asked, "What is a butterfly?"

The grey caterpillar replied, "It is what you are meant to become. It flies with beautiful wings and joins the earth to heaven. It drinks only nectar from the flowers and carries the seeds of love from one flower to another. Without butterflies, the world would soon have few flowers."

Yellow asked, "How does one become a butterfly?"

The grey caterpillar replied, "You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar."




I thought about that story today as I went down the running trail. How easy is it for us to get stuck in a rut, follow the same old routine, and stay on the ground, wishing we could fly but being unwilling to undergo the metamorphosis? Beautiful butterflies are not born that way. They become. They give up the relative safety of living on solid ground to take a risk and reach higher, become more beautiful than they have ever been.

It's been a better week for me. I've eaten healthier - not on a diet, thank you - and made myself move more and found some very useful ways to let off steam and anxiety that do not involve peanut butter M&Ms. I found out this morning I let go of two and a half pounds over the past week, which a friend gleefully reminded me is ten sticks of butter. I was torn between my celebratory mood at having dropped the weight and disturbing visions of my body made completely out of butter (with bar-shaped chunks now removed).

I want to fly. I do. I know I'm going to need to resist the urge to buck against the cocooning process: there are some areas of my life that need to be altered, and I just don't like change that much, even good ones. I need to stop treating living healthy like a phase, which I've done time and time again. I'm going into this with a lot of faith and a not-so-great track record - I'm acutely aware that there is an entire congregation of people (literally) who witness the amazing yo-yo effect I do every 8-9 months, and it's a little unnerving to me, feeling like the Great Fluctuation.

So, here's to one more day of the butterfly effect. And one after that, and another after that. For now, though, I'm just working on today's cocoon.

melts in your mouth, not in your hand

Every now and then in my life, I get these stunning reminders that I cannot do life all by myself. I don't mean "all by myself" like a desert island dweller or hunch-backed hermit, but, you know, independent, on top of my game, smooth and unblemished. It's probably not a coincidence that peanut butter M&Ms have been a fixation of mine lately. Hardy candy shells are good for those M&Ms I've downed lately, not human beings or their hearts.

I submit the following evidence to you:



I really hate this picture. I shouldn't, because it was taken just a couple of days ago, and I have not radically altered my appearance since then, so this is pretty much me as I present myself to the world each day. I don't want to say I hate how I look. But I do. I look large. I feel large. I'm not bedridden or waddling or struggling to walk down the hall, but it's a direction I could go. I had this picture taken on purpose: sometimes you need to see exactly where you are to help define where you need to go and how you need to get there.

There's more under the surface, too. I have been anxious. I blamed it on school, the constant threat of homework and shifting schedules and unfair exams for the past 15 months. When I miscarried, I blamed it on my uterus. When I miscarried for the second time this year, I blamed my God. When I graduated, I blamed it on boards. All those things are done, and I'm still worked up. I could blame it now on starting a new job, the upcoming holidays, unrest in the Middle East, Orlando traffic, El nino, whatever. I'm starting to realize that there will always be something. And my God, I cannot keep feeling like a wind-up toy that's been wound too far. It makes me want to eat a lot and hide under the covers. It makes me not call my friends, and I felt so lonely tonight that I just broke down and cried after I couldn't get a hold of one of my best friends that I haven't spent quality time with in, I don't know, forever.

For now, life is taken in little one-minute bites. I've started eating better this week. It's hard, but it does feel better. I'm looking for someone to help me (professionally) sort out all the jumbled emotions I've squashed over the past two years, trying to be in control and not all messy and untoward. I'm getting out the running shoes - walking first for a while - because I remember feeling calmer and clearer when I did that. I'm calling friends. I'm praying a whole lot. I'm trying to shed the hard candy shell.

ah... you were right all along

I passed!

These last few days have been torture, although a special bravery award should be given to my dearest husband for marrying a woman who has an exaggerated flair for melodrama and possesses an overactive imagination and sense of self-doom. Really, I was frightfully intolerable, and he was wonderful, pouring peanut butter M&Ms and Strongbow directly down my throat upon command and giving me lots of snuggly hugs without expecting any nookie in return.

And yes, I have Learned My Lesson, folks: it ain't over 'til the Fat Lady at the Florida Board of Nursing office sings. No matter how convinced I was of certain failure, let's face it: a girl just can't be right all of the time, you know? I was wrong. Never have I been so happy to be wrong in my life.

A special side note for all my friends still waiting to take their exams: yes, it really did suck that bad. But expect the suckiness. Embrace it. Snuggle with it. It probably means you passed. Go to the mall after the exam and blow some money.

And a huge thanks to everyone who knew better than I did and had faith in me, even if I did put on a pretty convincing boo-hoo act after it was all over.

Picture of navy scrubbed-me forthcoming.

patience, grasshopper...

Yesterday, I took my board examination, the NCLEX-RN. I can honestly say that it was the worst testing experience, if not one of the worst overall experiences of my life so far. Despite all of my previous vows to remain the epitome of calm and Zen, despite my repeated prayers leading up to and during the exam, I still became so anxious that I cried in the middle of the test. I walked out, certain that I had failed. I am remembering snippets of questions and realizing in my calmer, post-exam state that I likely got those wrong.

I am waiting for results now. I am told that I can check a website by tomorrow afternoon and know if I passed or not, though I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't peeked on the website to see if I made it or not. The official letter will come sometime during the middle of next week.

It's hard to describe how I feel right now, because the emotion changes every five minutes: fear, relief that it's done, sorrow, panic, agitation, anger, hope, despair, envy at friends who passed, sympathy for those who didn't and comfort that if I don't pass, I'm not alone. Most of all, I find myself confused and frustrated: this is just the latest of a series of events that has left me feeling wounded and hurt over the past couple of month, and I wonder, "Why this, God? Why now? What are you doing to me?" I know am certainly not the first, nor will I be the last, to ask that question. I know God is big enough, as my friend Tiffany says, to handle my anger and frustration. But there are still many moments of being overwhelmed, tears of fear (no, not Tears For Fears), and praying for miracles and grace.

I am trying not to think about having to go back to work, demoted from graduate nurse to clinical tech, in maroon scrubs and a constant stream of questions like, "why are you not in your navy scrubs?" and "how did the test go?" I'm trying not to think about having to repeat the awful experience in two months, to go through all that anxiety and hell again. I'm trying not to think, period.

For everyone who has given me encouragement and good wishes, thank you. I hope that all those people who said, "I'm sure you did fine" are absolutely right...

dreams do come true

Today was my first day at work as a graduate nurse at ORMC. It was a little surreal at first, walking onto the floor in navy blue scrubs. Up until now, I'd been working as a student nurse (in my awful student uniform scrubs) or as a tech (clad in maroon or teal blue). Wearing navy was a tangible, visible sign that I had graduated to a whole new level of employment. I've dreamed of wearing navy scrubs for years now, of finally seeing my long-held dream come true. However, once I got on the floor, I spent the day doing just paperwork, computer work, watching orientation videos... no actual patient care. And so, it was easy to forget that I'd begun a new role in an otherwise familiar environment.

I met Jason at Moe's after work for some queso love - there ain't none better, folks - and since it was both two minutes from our church AND kids' night, it was like a Tuesday night Grace Fellowship gathering, topped with pico de gallo. We ran into a family from the church; Jason had met them before, so he introduced me and we all exchanged the usual pleasantries about where we live and what we do. The wife, Jamie, asks me what I did at the hospital, and without a pause, I replied, "I'm a nurse." And it hit me, right after I said that, as Jamie was asking me where in the hospital I worked, that I am, in fact, a nurse. Granted, I could have done my usual routine where I introduced myself not as a nurse but as a graduate nurse, gone into the long explanation of what that term meant, and explained that once I took my boards, I would be a real registered nurse. But I didn't. I simply said "nurse". It gave me little zings up and down my spine. I felt proud. I smoothed out my navy blue scrubs and stood just a little taller.

And as I drove home from dinner, speaking those words aloud reminded me how faithful and good God is. I find that even among my Christian friends and family, the credit is so often given to my perseverance, my hard work, my ambition, my intelligence, my sacrifice. And yet, I wouldn't be feeling the warm glow of today without Him. For lots of reasons I'll keep a mystery, life has been rough lately, rough in ways that have made me doubt the presence of a God who loves me intimately and has plans for my good and prosperity. I still face more hurdles, most notably the hurdle of board examinations next Monday, where the worth of my entire nursing education boils down to my critical-thinking skills over a 2-3 hour period. I'll admit it: I'm pretty nervous. I don't want to face the possibility of failure, or worse yet, how that possible failure might further shake my already-shaken faith. But then in the middle of all these trials and nerves, there's a rock-solid reminder of how far He's carried me, how solid and unshakable He is, how much He loves me.

It's my navy blue scrubs.

universal marriage gripe #23

Put the laundry in the laundry basket. Good.
Took the laundry to the laundry room. Good.
Put laundry into washing machines. No complaints here.
Took laundry out of washing machine and into dryer. Excellent.
Brought laundry back to apartment and into bedroom. Again, excellent.

Left warm laundry scrunched and smashed down in laundry basket until cool, thereby preserving scrunchy wrinkled state. Huh?!?



But I wouldn't trade him for all the clean folded laundry in the world. I'm just saying is all...

run, do not walk

...and get thyself to your local CD shop (or iTunes) and listen to Leeland. Jason and I got to catch them live at Night of Joy, and holy mother of God, are they good. I mean really, amazingly, kick-ass good, not just "positive hits" good, the kind of bland good that I've come to expect from our local Christian radio station where knowing Jesus must mean that you are always supposed to focus on the positive. The music Leeland puts out can simultaneously announce that God is indeed good and that life really sucks sometimes AND that it is entirely appropriate to praise God with loud guitars and Coldplay-esque musicality. Which is probably why our local radio station hardly plays their music in favor of early 90's Michael W. Smith and Rebecca St. James ad nauseum.

(If you're really bored, take a minute and go to our local Christian radio station's website and count how many times the word "positive" is used... even just on the first page. Mind-numbing, isn't it?)

Plus, the talent on this guy (the lead singer for whom the band is named after) is mind-blowing: half of these songs were written before he sprouted his first chin hairs.

So, a preview:



Enjoy. Seeing him live was one of the musical high points of my entire life, even if he did look eerily similar to Bryce Dallas Howard. Well, minus the make-up, anyway.

I gots em

My letters, anyway: one from Pearson Vue saying that I have their authorization to take the NCLEX, and one from the Florida Board of Nursing saying that I may being as a graduate nurse. Together in hand, I will present these to the hospital HR office, and my life is officially signed over to them.

It's been nice during this past month, getting to sleep in most of the days of the week, working here and there, studying for boards, and generally having an open schedule. Jason even had a week off in there, too, and until I cut it short by flying last-minute to Pennsylvania, it was sweet to have us both at home, arranging our schedules as we saw fit.

When I bring those letters to HR, though, it means that for the next three months, I work whenever my preceptor is working. My days working will be 12 hours of running around, alternately sweating and freezing, multi-tasking, ADD-fighting days. It will be a huge change from sitting on the couch, idly wondering whether you should watch Ellen, Oprah, or just flip back and forth on commercial breaks. I think I was re-developing soft spots on my skull.

And yet with all of the above comes the job for which I have been dreaming, working, studying, sometimes slaving, and hoping for six years now, when the idea first entered my head that maybe, just maybe, instead of running around from audition to audition (note: I have always hated auditions!), I could rekindle that childhood dream of being a nurse and enjoy what I do.


graduation day with wendy and shannon

My pay gets doubled. My job satisfaction multiplies exponentially, even with the frustrating, teeth-gnashing days I know will pop up now and then. Plus, I get to wear scrubs instead of polyester-blend something with pantyhose. I don't like pantyhose. I like pajama-like workwear.

he came over to the dark side

The dark side of blogging, anyway: my dear husband is beginning his own blog. In good wifely form, I will shamelessly plug it every chance I get.

Jason Vermeulen's blog

Go check it out.

she's okay

Before I left to fly to Pennsylvania, the doctors there seemed as though death was imminent for my grandmother, and advised any and all family members to come quickly to see her. By the time my plane landed and I was whisked directly to the ICU where she was, she was sitting up in bed, feisty as ever, pink in her cheeks. Apparently, the shock to her heart righted a lot of wrong things that were happening, and the end is not near anymore. The biggest issue now is finding an appropriate rehab facility/nursing home for her to go after leaving the hospital: her heart is okay for now, but her strength has been zapped, and her left arm is still broken, and she just cannot live unassisted anymore.

Never let it be said that any visit to my family is a wasted visit - I'm glad I got to see Nana and spend time with family. However, the flight out was both expensive and inconvenient, and I missed some really valuable study/class time. My mom and her three brothers were all there, and it was emotionally exhausting, seeing them all stressed and worn out beyond capacity. Plus, it would only be too soon if I never laid eyes on a Bob Evans restaurant again. Just the sight of yeast rolls is enough to inspire permanent heartburn. Chambersburg, while growing steadily, is pretty much a small town still, and there's just not much around besides restaurants: Cracker Barrel, Bob Evans, Country House, etc. Things with a lot of butter.

I'm back now. Tonight, I'm missing yet another Kaplan class to go celebrate my husband in his new job and his birthday (tomorrow)over dinner. Needless to say, we are NOT being taken to Bob Evans! I'm just really tired and pretty certain that I gained about 5 pounds on this trip, but I have no energy to correct that. Sigh. Still, I am so grateful to be home. I missed Jason something terrible - I had no idea how lonely I would feel with just 5 unexpected days away from him. When he picked me up at the airport, I thought my heart was going to burst, and I wanted to surgically attach my body to his, just to be that close.

calling out to you

For those of you who are patient enough to still follow my poorly-kept blog, please keep me and the family in your prayers. My Nana was admitted to the ICU a few days ago; the staff could not stabilize her heart, and she kept rocking back and forth between extremes, both with blood pressure and pulse rate. Her attending MD told us we should come right away, so away I go: I take a flight into DC, and a short drive into southern PA to Chambersburg, where Nana and most of my mom's family lives. My mom is there now - she called not too long ago to report that the staff had performed a planned shock on Nana's heart (synchronized cardioversion, for my RN friends/family), and her heart rate has now stabilized. This is not a promise, just a current status report. No one knows what will happen from here.

Nana is my last surviving grandparent. I am entering an extremely unstable situation on so many levels. I am not too sure what to expect. I may have a very nice visit with my grandmother. I may be attending a funeral. I may do both. For many very good reasons, Jason cannot come with me, and I'm nervous to go alone.

I'll be home Monday.

shamelessly stolen from kathleen

1. Explain what ended your last relationship?
I liked him a lot more than he liked me. Thank God.

2. When was the last time you shaved?
last night

3. What were you doing this morning at 8 a.m.?
"Check, check, one, two, check, check, hellohelloooo, check, one, two..."

4. What were you doing 15 minutes ago?
Watching a very creepy cartoon dog sing "Never Gonna Give You Up". Bad 80's flashbacks...

5. Are you any good at math?
Ummm, BASIC math, yes. I can add in my head, also subtract, and multiply and divide to a point. Anything beyond that...no. No. No.

6. Your prom night?
Alas, I was the rebel that didn't go to prom. I went to Disney with my best friend instead and had a much better time.

7. Do you have any famous ancestors?
Probably some infamous ones back in Sicily, I'm sure.

8. Have you had to take a loan out for school?
Ugh. Let's not talk about it.

9. Do you know the words to the song on your myspace profile?
I do.

10. Last thing received in the mail?
A letter from the state Board of Nursing stating that they can't tell if I have graduated my degree yet. Let's not talk about that, either.

11. How many different beverages have you had today?
Coke, coke, more coke. One, I guess.

12. Do you ever leave messages on people's answering machine?
About half of the time.

13. Who did you lose your CONCERT virginity to?
Classical: National Symphony Orchestra when I was 9 years old. Rock: Gin Blossoms and Toad the Wet Sprocket when I was 15 - totally awesome.

14. Do you draw your name in the sand when you go to the beach?
Not really.

15. What's the most painful dental procedure you've had?
A dental hygienist getting overzealous with the scraper-thing and, later, floss. OWWWWW.

16. What is out your back door?
Warped wooden planks. A nice barbecue grill. A parking lot.

17. Any plans for Friday night?
Hmmmm - probably dinner and a movie, possibly at home. We'll see what the finances provide.

18. Do you like what the ocean does to your hair?
Turns my hair into a tangled, dreadlocked mess? Absolutely.

19. Have you ever received one of those big tins of 3 different popcorns?
I agree with Kathleen - caramel is best. Plain is OK. Cheese - eh.

20. Have you ever been to a planetarium?
Yes.

21. Do you re-use towels after you shower?
I think everything gets reused around here...

22. Some things you are excited about?
Oooh... okay:
--starting as a graduate nurse as soon as the state can verify I'm graduated
--not being in abject poverty and being able to make rent
--becoming a mom... SOMEDAY ;-)
--my friend K getting a HUGE promotion that she totally, completely deserves
--joining Netflix (they ROCK!)
--my husband starting a cool new job in a week... and, in the meantime, taking a week off to be at home with me
--catching up on reading good books

23. What is your favorite flavor of JELLO?
Mmmm - strawberry with Cool Whip on top

24. Describe your keychain(s)?
Too many keys, several store coupon tag thingies, and an old 10% goal WW keychain (hah!)

25. Where do you keep your change?
Where do I NOT keep my change? It's everywhere!

26. When was the last time you spoke in front of a large group of people?
Does singing count? About 350-400 people this morning.

27. What kind of winter coat do you own?
Charcoal grey pea coat, dark red London Fog raincoat

28. What was the weather like on your graduation day?
Every time, it's been hot as hell. That's what graduation is like here in the Sunshine State.

29. Do you sleep with the door to your room open or closed?
Open - otherwise, we'd be subject to incessant caterwauling from my cat all night. Perhaps that's why it's called "CATerwauling"? She does it well.

i am cheap, large, and topped with sour cream

Jason and I went to our local Bennigan's last night for dinner. We probably could have eaten at home just as easily and for less expense, but I was tired, hungry, a bit sore from standing on my feet all day and helping 300+-pound patients walk around, and I was not in the mood to cook dinner. Apparently, neither was Jason, so out we went.

We're creatures of habit: I ordered a "Turkey O'Toole", which is pretty much a hot turkey sandwich on a sliced soft pretzel, minus the salt sprinkles and with a little bit of honey mustard added. He orders Chicken Tenders. We both order a loaded baked potato as the side.

(Already, you might read into a lot of things about what I ordered. Healthy broccoli as a side? Hell no! Anyway, I digress...)

The food comes out after an okay wait, and our loaded baked potatoes? Tiny. Well, they seemed quite tiny to us, anyway. Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows how cranky I get when I am hungry, especially when you add being tired into the mix. I ask the waiter, "What's up with the tiny potatoes?" Waiter Dude shrugs and says, "I dunno. I guess potatoes come in different sizes. Sorry about that," and walks away.

I begin to FUME.

I keep staring at this potato, fuming because it is roughly 3/4 the size of my fist (and mind you, my hands are quite small) and nowhere near the size of the potatoes I'm used to getting from Bennigan's: big, butter-drippy, cheesy, bacony taters that are meals unto themselves. I'm fuming because of the size and over the Unfairness Of It All that I am paying about $9 for a turkey sandwich and a measly potato-wannabe.

Then, it hits me: this is EXACTLY the sort of thing for which I should be grateful. Why? Because I've grown up watching portion sizes get bigger and bigger. I've also watched my waistline get bigger and bigger (especially lately) because I, too, look for bigger and better and cheaper all the time. Sure, I'll lament over the Biggie-Sizing of restaurant and fast food meals, but when you actually listen to me and replace the monstrous portions with more reasonable ones, I kick and scream and sob, "It's not fair!" like a socialite getting sent back to serve the rest of her prison term.

In the end, we told the waiter we were dissatisfied, left a note expressing as much on our credit card receipt, and vowed to go someplace where the portion sizes were bigger for less money. That wasn't our exact thought, but it was the sentiment, for sure. We bellyached on the ride home about how the cost of one of our dwarf-sized meals at Bennigan's could have bought an entire feast of gooey queso and tortilla-wrapped goodness at Moe's instead. But inside my head, the wheels were turning.

I'm wondering why I pay money every month to places like Weight Watchers to help me lose weight, when I am also running around town, searching like a starved rat to find food that is both cheap and large. You know the expression: "you are what you eat". Does this mean I am both cheap and large? Well, um... YEAH. It's heading that way, anyway.

I'm thinking a lot today about this. I'm missing the open trail, which I haven't seen now for about 4 months. I'm thinking about smaller potatoes and better food and learning that "stuffed" is not an option to treat myself the best way I can. I'm thinking about a lot of these things.

More to follow. Me thinks there is a huge turn-around happening.