My Honeymoon With Chip and Joanna Gaines

From the first episode of HGTVs "Fixer Upper" I have adored Chip and Joanna Gaines. Her style sense is impeccable and his nonsense antics keep me in stitches. I admire their use of local businesses. And the fact that they include their kids in their daily routine whenever possible warms my heart  Basically,  in my eyes they can do no wrong. (I know that's not true, but years later, despite tabloid reports I'm still in my honeymoon stage with them.)

However, the other morning during "Good Morning Texas" on KXXV, an ABC affiliate broadcasting from their hometown of  Waco Texas,  they aired a segment that showed the couple in a new light.

The segment started off talking about a new phase of the never ending I-35 expansion project. This is the project whose billboard signs have brought me close to peeing on myself because I laughed so hard when I read, "You're gonna love us when we're through." As if that will ever happen in my lifetime.

The news segment went on to discuss  the many years, of adjusting and accommodating that has been required of many groups and individuals that utilize I-35.

The Reporter stated the newest group to be effected is The Church Under The Bridge. They have been meeting under I-35 for the past 25 years. The Pastor and congregation knew the day would come when they would have to relocate--at least for the several year process to upgrade their current location.

The congregation is not stressing over the upcoming move, in part because their new home away from home has already been decided.  It is a quiet and beautiful location-- but what else would you expect from Chip and Joanna Gaines--who have offered the lawn of their Magnolia Silos complex in downtown Waco.

The gracious offer of help Chip and Joanna have extended to this church endears them to me even more. The  honeymoon continues.

Third Time's A Charm

The third time's the charm. At least we hope so.  Two weeks ago Saturday I took Moggy back to the Vet for the third time.

The first time I thought Moggy had pushed his nose someplace he shouldn't and got it scrubbed up. But then the scabs spread to his ears. So I took him to see the Vet.  She thought it was actually a hypersensitivity to bug bites. Specifically fleas.  I could get behind generic bugs; however,  I really didn't think they were fleas--I haven't found a flea on him since the first time I bathed him as a kitten when Bandit and I rescued him almost three years ago. But I conceded, fleas could be the culprits since he goes outside during the day. That visit he received a flea treatment and a steroid injection. He initially responded, but then started to get worse. Back to the Vet we went.

The practice I take the FurBoys to has three Vets and they rotate Saturdays--which are the only days I can make it without taking time off from work. So the second Vet tried a different flea med, gave another steroid injection, and prescribed an antibiotic ointment.  This regimine produced very minimal results initially. We gave it another  month.  There were no further improvements, but it didn't seem to be worsening.

Until the day the scabs started encroaching on his face--getting far too close to his eyes for my comfort.  It was also the day I saw visiable evidence that it was bothering him--his ears were bloody from scratching. This was a drastic change. So off to the Vet we went.

The third Vet saw Moggy this time. He diagnosed it as Pemphigus Foliacaeus, an autoimmune disease, and put Moggy on oral steroids three times a day until it starts to clear, then twice a day for 30 days.  Moggy will eventually require a maintance dose of one pill every other day.

The bad thing about this isn't the fact that Moggy licks his food before he eats. I voiced my concern about him licking the pill and then refusing to take it if he didn't like the taste.
The Vet gave me a really long syringe with a flexible rubbery end to hold the pull--it worked beautifully at the Vets office, but was much more cumbersome when it was just me and Moggy at home.

No, the worst part of this is the fact that excessive sunlight exacerbates the condition. Moggy LOVES being outside. He cries when he can't be outside. 

It's been 2 weeks since we started the prednisone.   He's looking better. I'm keeping him on three times a day because of going outside.  When I see a little more improvement I'll drop back to twice a day. 

On a brighter note, we seem to have hit on the correct diagnosis.

Oh, and Moggy no longer fights me when I give him his medicine. I'm not sure if he realizes it's helping him, if he's resigned to the fact he's getting it, or if it's because I'm becoming extremely competent at pill administration. I prefer to believe it's a combination of all three.

Guacachuck and the Bloody Bandaids

So my new Service at work (same job, just a realignment) had our Halloween themed monthly staff meeting yesterday.

The theme was scary food. I joked and said everything I cook is scary. (This is pretty much true.)

After consulting  Pinterest for ideas, I decided to take Bloody Bandaids (Graham crackers with white icing and a smear of red "blood" icing).  Then I decided I had to make some savory  "bandaids" as well (crackers w/provolone and scraps of thinly sliced salami). 

I had forgotten I already decided on guacamole and chips (I couldn't find a head, and didn't have time to make a jack-o-lantern), so  I used a half mask. 

I called mine guacachuck. 😁
(Nurses have wicked sick senses of humor.)

Some Days Being Organized Just Isn't Enough

Some days it just does not pay to be organized. It took three stickies, one on my bathroom mirror, one on my steering wheel, and one on my phone...but I remembered  Bed Huddle (my morning meeting with the Chief of Staff) was cancelled this morning.  

Since I would start my day on my Ward I wouldn't be entering the building through my normal door. Avoiding that door and the long walk from the adjacent parking lot, meant I could park in a lot closer to the east entrance.

The East entrance  lot has fairly good parking since most employees avoid it due to all the neighboring construction.

Since I wouldn't be in the Teague Tower for that meeting, I also wouldn't be in the vicinity of the Canteen, which meant I would either need to eat breakfast at home (too early for food), pick something up on the way in (lines are unpredictable), or pack something. While  I packed my DDPs and a breakfast shake, I decided to go ahead and pack a lunch as well.  The Mexican leftovers sounded good. My little lunch sack was full so I put my snak (bananna) in the pocket of my rain jacket. I was set.

I actually made it to The Swamp Room (my co-shared office) with time to spare.

Sounds good, right?

I have a decent parking space, I'm ready to work, I'm set for the day. I decided to eat my banana for breakfast and finish off the DDP I left yesterday.  It's a little flat but it's caffeine.

Now I'm  ready for a cold DDP. 

That's  when it hit me.  I left my lunch on my front seat.

And it's raining.

I'm wondering if I can find the app for errand running and send someone to my SUV.

(Actually it's just sprinkling, and I need the steps anyway since I came in the short walk--this was just my funny way to end this post.)

It's 3am--Do You Know Where Your (Fur)Kids Are?

The storm woke me up. Well, the storm, or the Lasix. Or maybe it was that last DDP late in the evening. No matter, I'm blaming it on the thunder.

I usually sleep well through rainy weather and storms of all kinds, but Moggy went outside late (he left the same time as when he usually comes  in for the night).  He was still out, cattin' around, so I was sleeping a little lighter than usual.

First, in a not quite awake, not quite asleep state, I heard the neighborhood souped up,  muffler-less truck engine coming to life, with radio blasting.  As it rolled out of the neighborhood, the choo-choo tooted its early morning "just passing through" warning. Usually I find the lonely sound of a train whistle comforting. However, if one of the boys is outside--even just in the back yard, it fills me with a pervasive uneasy dread that lasts until I lay eyes on them and know they are safe.

Finally, the sound that jolted me completely out of drowsiness acousted my ears:  that of a deafening clap of  thunder. The thunder was impressive even without being  accompanied by lighting strikes. 

And then I heard the tiniest meow.  It was Moggy, but it sounded like it came from the front door rather than the back door.  I have a little roof overhang at the  front door, and he has come in the front on occasion,  but it's usually when he scampers up to greet me after work.  For the most part, Moggy comes and goes through the back door.  However, it is possible Moggy had been lounging on the driveway and the storm caught him unawares.  Unable to reach one of his usual sheltering places, he might take whatever shelter that small front-door overhang provides.

Struggling to get slippers on my feet,  it took me longer than usual to trudge off to the front door. Enroute  I realized I hadn't heard his meow in a few, so I started talking to him through the door. Often this will keep him close by--at least until I can get to  the door.

Not this time. I opened the front door. There was nothing for me to see. And I do mean nothing. No Moggy.  No nocturnal animals. Nothing. What shocked and impressed me though, was the total lack of moisture.

Yep.  The storm was a dream. Moggy was not in danger.  At least not from a storm.

With a lessoned sense of urgency I  made my way  to the back door and opened it. I knew  Moggy wouldn't  be there. He wasn't. I called his name the way I do when it's time for him to come inside. If he's close by and wants to come in, he shoots across the yard.  This time?  Nada. 

Bandit wanted to go potty, so I let him go outside. While he was attending to business, I puttered around doing a few neglected household chores: replacing barely there TP rolls with full rolls. Topping off Bandits water and food dishes. Consolidating all the trash from the small trash cans into one tall kitchen trash can, taking it to the trash bin outside, and relinning the cans with new bags.

After Bandit had a sufficient amount of time to take care of business, I opened the back door and called for him to come back inside. When he came inside,  his brother Moggy joined us.

So it's now a little after 3am and I do know where my FurKids are, so I'm going back to sleep--at least until my morning alarms start to sound off in a couple of hours. 

Pseudo-Sorority Sister Squeal

Much soriety-style squealing, air kissing,  hugging,  and giggling ensued in the basement hallway at work this morning. 

And I was part of it.

I'm not the soriety squealer type; however, the former coworker who saw me is. She has always greeted me in this annoying fashion. Even when we saw each other daily.

And for some unknown reason,  I reciprocate. Every time. Even though I make fun of this silliness in others.

To make matters worse, she was accompanied by three of her new co-workers. Two of them must have been sorority sisters in their former lives, because they joined in, and we became an air-kissing, ear-piercing, frenzy of a spectacle.

Number Three was obviously a Lady of Discernment. She hung back.  At least until I said, "I don't know you, but you're not getting off without joining in the melee."

After we hugged, squealed, and air kissed, someone introduced us.

It was then I realized we did in fact know of each other.  Just this week we had actually skyped several times in the course of performing our respective jobs.

I would like to say the lightbulb of recognition lit up her face a little slowly because she was in dire need of caffeine.  I would also like to say the hallway was blinding by the end of the second phrase of  my brief intro.

However, in our uncaffinated reality, our path remained dim--right up until I spoke the very last word of the final phrase.

Hi, I'm Mary Lou--the 2K PCC...The Troublemaker.

Finally.  I saw the lightbulb light up. It was less than instant recognition maybe--but recognition, none-the-less. 

My troublemaking reputation preceeds me.

Experimental Kitchen

I love watching America's Test Kitchen.  Not only do they experiment until they find the perfect recipie, they also test products and warn me before I waste my time and money on duds that don't deliver what they promise. 

The other night I watched a couple segments about a Spanish rice-based dish I had never heard of before--paella.
 
During the first segment, they  demonstrated cooking paella.  The second segment they reviewed multiple paella pans, and described useful and desirable features. Both segments were informative and interesting. 

I like trying different foods, and thought I might try paella at my first opportunity.   And I'll be honest,  the  socarrat (a golden brown crust that forms on the bottom) intrigued me. I saw the socarrat as an excuse to do something I do regularly--but on purpose--set off the smoke detector. I'm joking, the socarrat is just a golden brown crust nowhere near being burned.  In theory.

I'm not kidding about setting off the smoke detectors. Regularly. Or, at least every time I cook.  Just ask my neighbors. And my new Best Buds at the Fire Department.

Knowing there was no way Moggy was letting me into the house unless I came home bearing cat food, I stopped at my local HEB,  (Texas-based grocery chain) Friday night after work. 

As luck would have it the HEB Chef-in-residence demonstrated paella Friday. A grocerystore grazer at heart,  I did not pass up the opportunity to try a little sample.  It was rather tasty, so I purchased the  pre-packaged authentic paella kit offered.  The kit included Spanish bomba rice, oil, packets of paella spices that include smoked sweet paprika and saffron, and a paella pan.  While the kit may have been authentic, my paella preparation was anything but. ATK are not the only ones with an experimental kitchen.

Frankly, the directions on the kit packaging were lacking. To confuse the matter, the HEB Chef-in-residence cooked his paella different from America's Test Kitchen (they used sausage, chicken, shrimp, and clams for the protien and peas for the veggie, he used chicken, chorizo sausage, peas, and carrots).

When in doubt, I do what I always do. I googled several videos. Including one by my current favorite bad-boy Chef, the incomparable Gordon Ramsey. 

Every paella was prepared differenty. So I did what I have no business doing--in other words, I did what I usually do.  I improvised.  Real cooks can improvise. However, kitchen improvision  should not be attempted by novice food burners.

I used andouille (Cajun) sausage, a small veggie mix that included carrots, sugar snap peas, regular peas, black beans, and edamame.  Since it was a small package,  I supplemented it with the only other small package of veggies in my freezer--asparagus.  Bomba rice soaks up the flavor of the liquid in which it is cooked. Mine took on the flavor of a rich chicken broth. My paella sounded yummy.

I later found out, when I googled the pronunciation--its pah-a-ya by the way--there are many paella, which explains not a single recipe being alike. 

Paella de marisco is a seafood paella. Paella negra is a special seafood paella made with  black cephalopod ink from octopuse.  Squid is also used; however, it's ink is more blue-black.   Cuttlefish, another cephalopod produces brown ink.  Paella de carne is a meat paella. And paella mixta is a Paella with both seafood and meat.

I'm happy to report in my initial attempt at paella de carne I achieved a golden, albeit lighter than ATK, socorrat, without so much as a smoke detector peep.   The neighbors were not at home and will think this claim is an urban legend, or an outright lie,  but I know it's true.

Better yet, Moggy didn't give me the stink-eye, because I also brought home two cases of his cat food. This stash  should last him a day or two.

Bandit was never worried--I stopped at the pet store and picked  up his dog food earlier in the week. Besides, he managed to grab a piece of andouille I dropped. He liked my improvision. But his palet is not exactly discerning.  He happily gobbles up everything.

It's a good thing I liked the paella as well--it made six servings, that look more like twelve.  From the looks of it  I'll be eating paella all week.  If I don't tire of it, I will probably end up freezing some paella in yet another kitchen experiment...

Z is for Zebra: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

Eliana is the fiercest zebra I know.  To be honest, she's also the only zebra I know. They are fairly rare.

April 30th is the last day of the A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018. It's also the last day of Primary Immunodeficiency Awarness Month. Todays blog post is written in honor of Eliana.

Primary Immunodeficiency Disease (PIDD) is a group of over 300 diseases where the immune system is defective. Our immune system is our main defense against infections.  When it it doesn't work properly, simple infections can be devastating, and sometimes even fatal.

The Immune Deficiency Foundation (IDF) website  indicates there are approximately 250,000 people diagnosed with PI in the USA.  Thousands more are undiagnosed.  Diagnosis usually occurs after recurrent infections fail to respond to conventional antibiotic treatments.

Once diagnosed, treatment is targeted toward the specific deficiency and can include preventive antibiotics,  Gene or Stem Cell Therapy, Bone Marrow Transplants, or Intravenous Immunoglobulin (IVIG) Infusion Therapy.

Eliana is treated with IVIG. Like my monthly iron infusions, IVIG takes three (3) hours administration time. I'm a middle-agged woman who tolerates my IV Iron.  Eliana also tolerates her IVIG treatments.  The difference is she is not yet three (3) years old.

What does all of this have to do with zebras?

The IDF adopted the zebra print as their awareness ribbon.  So today, in addition to writing the final post for the  A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018, I'm also sporting a little zebra print. 

Both actions are meant to honor Zebras everywhere ...especially Eliana.

#ThinkZebra #PIawareness #A2ZBloggingChallenge2018

Y is for Yes: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

From the cradle to the grave, yes is one of the words we long to hear.

Yes, when used correctly, can be both  a powerful and empowering word. The yeses we hear from others can influence us from outside ourselves. Unfortunately, those yeses  depend on others, and they can be used to manipulate.  The good news is, the  yeses we tell ourselves can be even more powerful, because we are in control of the influence.  Our internal yeses can become empowering.

Yeses, whether external or internal, when used for good, can grow in us the confidence to dream bigger dreams, act more fearlessly, and achieve higher goals.  Sometimes even previously believed "impossible" goals.

Yes is almost as powerful and empowering as love--almost--but not quite. Because as powerful as it is, yes has limits.

Sometimes yes is mistaken for love. If you love me you'll agree with me...you'll give me what I desire...you'll ...(whatever).  That isn't love. That's manipulation.  Love does the heavy lifting, the hard work. Love disciplines and says, "No," when required. Even when saying no is hard, and the easy way out is to give in by saying yes.

Sometimes yes is erroneously entwined in our self-worth. If I get the job...the contract...the loan...the person...the (whatever),  then I'm a pretty good person ...writer...artist...singer... athlete...student...spouse...(whatever).  But conditions are not, and should not be, the true litmus test for our self-worth.

From the cradle to the grave our yeses can be both powerful and empowering.  It's vital that we are responsible and use our external and internal yeses for good.

X is for Xyst: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

Honestly, I had to check out X-words. I'm on vacation from anything medical this week and I don't play any instruments, so that exhausted my x-ray and xylophone words, leaving the only other X-word I'm familiar with:  xi.

I play xi in Words With Friends anytime I can.  Especially when it lines up with extra word count.  Other than it's a Greek letter I haven't got a clue what it is, so writting a blog post about it is out.

Xyst on the other hand has more word count in WWF.  Besides it has a couple definitions and is a word I can easily pronounce--when I remember the correct pronunciation.

Reading xyst I initially pronounce it zeye-st. Every time. And every time I'm wrong.

It's actually pronounced zist (rhymes with list). Easy-peasy.

According to Collins English Dictionary, a xyst is a long portico.  I already knew a portico was a porch with support columns. But the next part of the definition was news to me--the xyst were used in ancient Greece for athletic events.  No wonder I hadn't a clue--I adamantly avoid anything remotely associated with making me sweat...err...glow.

The good news is, Collins reports a second meaning for xyst (rhymes with list--my reminder to myself).  This definition is much more acceptable to my inner  Southern Belle.  It seems  in ancient Rome, a xyst (rhymes with list) was a covered garden walk--or at least one lined with trees.

Of course, in the south,  tree-lined pathways, gardens, and even streets are in fact covered--especially when the trees are spaced close enough to grow together and form a living canopy. Think of the scene from Forrest Gump, where he's running down that long tree-lined driveway.

So there you have it--xyst, rhymes with list, is a long covered path, which has the capacity for upping your Scrable or Words With Friends word count.  All without making you sweat...errr...glow.

W is for Wandering: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

W.

Wonderfully witty writting words, watching...waiting...waiting...waiting...

Waiting was never my forte.  So I'll write without waiting. 

I'm at use or lose on my leave carryover at work, so I'm on vacation today. It was a random week I chose last October.

VA likes us to declare our leave time for the upcoming year during October of the previous year.  The activities I wanted to attend either had not announced their 2018 dates, or the weeks announced were already taken when I approached the Leave Calender.  So I claimed a couple random weeks.  When my Supervisor reminded me of this week I looked online to see what type of activities were going on and I found a 4-day conference that was perfect.

Well, almost perfect.  It was cost prohibitive. So I contacted Education to see if they had money in the budget for an awesome conference.   I told them about it's perfectness--every session offered is exactly what we discuss in Bed Huddle with the Chief of Staff and Director every morning, and the breakout sessions all delt with innovative solutions to the problems we face on the Ward, as well as during our daily Interdisciplanary Team Meetings. It would have greatly  benefited the VA for me to attend.

Education said I missed the request deadline and denied my request. It's perfectness didn't count to them.

It's so perfect, I considered paying for the confrence  and travel expenses out of my IRS refund, savings, and travel points, and using my vacation time to attend.

And then I thought again. 

Honestly, I've had a couple really hard weeks of only 2-3 people to cover both Temple and Waco campuses. This is on top of the almost 3 years we've been severely short-staffed. So, I decided to be selfish and keep my vacation just for me.

Next year, I'll apply for the conference early.  Of course it will be somewhere not in Texas, and the same topics won't be broached; therefore, unless the topics mirror next year's problems and concerns, it won't be as perfect. What it will be is expensive.  More so than this year, since it likely will be much farther away. Therefore, I will allow  VA to pay for the confrence, my flight, daily expenses, and keep me in pay status. They lost out on their chance to get it on the cheap this year.   Deadlines be d.... Okay, I've indulged myself long enough with the whining (a not so great W-word).

So this week I've been wasting time (awsesome vaycay W-word).  Wasting time is really a misnomer though, I've been quite productive:  I've engaged in house work, the laundry mountain,  caught up with the A to Z Blogging Challenge, bought a couple pair of jeans (on sale, with coupons, and smaller than I usually wear--woohoo!--a wonderful W-word), and spent time with the FurBoys--basically, I've done anything I felt like doing.  When I felt like doing it.  I've made no committments to anyone except The Boys. And I participated in my all-time favorite time-wasting activity today. 

Bandit and I went wandering. 

I love to wander--get in the car and drive aimlessly. The best wandering occurs spur-of-the moment. Up until I actually left, I was going to go by myself. But at the last minute I invited Bandit for a r•i•d•e. He jumped at the chance.  He loves rides. He also loves to have me to himself without The Cat.  Win-win. (Fabulous double W-word).

During one of our stops, I saw a sign that read, Whatever you do, do it with all your heart.  That's a committment I can get behind.

Along our travel route we passed the Big Ass Winery. Although they were referring to their donkey, I LOL a few miles down the road when I ran across Jung Street. I think Carl could have a heyday with the signs of central Texas.

Retirement is still quite a few years away.  I'm not exactly sure where I will be or what I'll be doing, but if I can incorporate wandering, I'll be a Happy Camper (another sign I saw during our wander today). 

I look forward to wasting more time as I wonder where and when I'll next wander.

V is for View: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

The plan:  Drive Devils Backbone, snap a few photos, and write a post about vacation views. I should have looked at the map and checked the weather.

Oh well.  On to Plan B.

I'll still blog about view.  But with a slightly different connotation...

One of my docs once told me an anecdote about 100 blind people being led to an elephant and being asked to describe it.

One described a long tube with a wet end. Another was tickled by a feather at the end of a rope. Another felt the wind from a fan

The descriptions continued one after another. No two descriptions were exactly the same.

Which one was correct?

They all were.

The wet tube was the nose after being dipped into water. The rope and feather was the tail. The moving air  was caused by the flapping of ears. And so on.

The story points to the fact that our experience, knowledge base, and point of view colors our perception. As we experience different things, learn more, and change our points of view our perceptions may also change.

What doesn't change is the elephant.

Truth is like the elephant. Our perception of Truth may be colored by our experience, knowledge base, or point of view; however, although we may change, the Truth remains unchanged.

U is for Undecided: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

I am undecided about today's  topic.

Being in a refective mood, I considered writing about umbrellas and the protection they provide,  and maybe correlating that to the protection that families or God provide. However,  I recently wrote about umbrellas.

Next, I considered comparing and contrasting our unity and uniqueness.  But it started sounding "preachy."

Then I read an article that depressed me. Rather than consider how to combat the problem, I daydreamed about unplugging, going off grid, and living my life away from the invading sickness. But that is avoidance behavior.

So I remain undecided about my U-word. Then I decided that could be my U-word:  Undecided.

I am by nature a gatherer of information.  Usually the information I collect is trivial and only useful in specific situations. For instance, a British boy born aboard a ship is known as a Son of a Gun. The only time I have ever needed to know this was during a game of Trivial Pursuit: Classic Edition. 

Being a gatherer of information, I find the planning of trips and activities almost as much fun as the actual event. Almost.

The downside of gathering information is deciding when enough information has been gathered. Continually gathering information can lead to procrastination, which can be seen as a form of perfectionism.

Which is where I am today--for sure not perfect; however, mired in procrastination and indecision. Not only am I undecided about my topic, I am undecided about my activity after I finish this post.

Luckily tomorrow is an easy letter for which to come up with post ideas....V is for victory.  Or veteran. Or vacation. Or vacillation. Or....

T is for Tresses: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

I've never been a big fan of people touching my hair. No good has ever come from it. 

In Elementry School, Mama immortalized me in a boufont that attracted bees, and crooked bangs that grew shorter and more crooked with every trim thanks to an uncooperative cowlick. 

By the time I was a 7th grader in Junior High, Farrah Faucet and her multilayered flowing shag were popular.  I  allowed Cindys beautician Mom to cut my hair. She must not have watched "Charlies Angels" because my shag consisted of two layers. Two. It's hard to shag or flow with only two layers.

In 9th grade I overheard one of my friends talking about going to the local beauty school. She always had great hair, so off to the beauty school I went.  I lucked out and got a Senior cutting for her final exam. The wedge sported by Ice Skater Dorothy Hamill was all the rage, and although it was much shorter than I was comforrable with,  I allowed her to cut my hair in a wedge.  Her evaluater was a  helicopter examiner that hovered and made us all nervous. When she finally finished, my hair looked awesome; however, it had taken all afternoon. We were frazzled.

Later, when Karen commented on how good my hair looked, and I told her where I went, she gasped. She never actually had her hair done at the beauty school--She had just considered it. I realized I had dodged a bullet on that one.

Over the years my blonde hair darkened and became more dishwatery. The summer before my Senior year in High School, my best friend and I decided we would be blonde again and we died our hair. Ourselves. We were stunning. At least at first.

I envisioned my senior portrait as an angel  with flowing blonde lockes. At least that was the plan:  I would wear a black v-necked drape in front of a black velvet backdrop. The contrast would produce a lovely glowing aura.

My Senior Portait has a contrast alright, but brass is slightly less than angelic. I swore off hair color for life. But it could have been worse...

Besty, was back to her natural hair color for Senior Portrait Day, but only after an unfortunate chlorine pool incident turned her hair green, necessitating a trip to the beauty salon for a professional hair color do-over. 

BIG hair rolled around and found me rolling my hair for home perms during the eighties. I'd had tried two, maybe three perms at beauty salons previously, but always ended up looking like a poodle. I remembered Mama giving herself home perms, so I decided I would do it myself. I used slightly larger rods, left the solution on a few minutes less than recommended, and my home perms actually looked less poodlish than the professional ones for which I had paid big bucks.

One of my crowing achievements during Nursing School was learning to French Braid my hair.  During the nineties my tight French Braids and buns loosened up and worked themselves into messy buns and simple pony tails.  When my nursing focus became less bedside clinical, the pony tails became simple headbands.

In my 40s readers replaced the headbands. The grey I had been ignoring was no longer easily hidden. During a last minute unplanned vacation, I walked into an Ulta store for a spur of the moment hair cut that ended up sending me back down the hair color isle.

The cut ended up being a longer version of a bowl cut. She didn't have time for color but we discussed my long ago summer experience. She recommended I stay away from warmer colors--especially ash tones.  She also suggested I combine several colors to pick up high and low lights. I chose a dark, non-ashy blonde, added 1/3-1/4 light brown, and a touch of pale auburn.  It turned out to be my favorite combintion, and for over a decade that's what I did.

In my fifties I decided to cut my hair shorter. I tried a couple bargan places but the stylist turnover was high and I rarely saw the same person. I even watched you tube videos  and tried cutting my hair myself. I revisited ponytails until the cut lines were less obviousit done by a non-professional.

For a year or so I followed the  stylist of a  friend.  When I say followed, I mean actually followed her from one salon to another. I eventually changed to another stylist, but she dropped her newest clients  when she became the manager.  So I was stylist shopping again.

A couple years ago I exited my  credit union and saw one of those "winner of best..." signs hanging over the door of the posh boutique across the way.  On a whim I stopped in and met my favorite stylist.

Tawnie listened. She remembered. She cut beautifully. But she was pricey, so I continued my home color until I decided to go natural. To make the skunk-root transition less stinky, I decided to just do very blonde highlights using a cap and crochet hook.  My highlights looked awesome.

After seeing Tawnie a few times, I told her I wanted to go shorter. Knowing my aversion to short hair we eased into short hair over several sessions. Each cut received raves. The second to last time I saw her when she asked "What are we doing today?"

I asked for a recommendation.

She said, "Your hair would look nice stacked."  

On a whim I said, "Let's go for it."

We decided to ease into the stacks. She did such a great job, total strangers commented on my hair. I told everyone to go see Tawnie.

Then she moved. Out of state. Not even a neighboring state, so there would be no chance of hair-do road trips.  I asked for a stylist recommendation...

I've had my first cut with Kayla, and Tawnie was right--she's great. We are gradually going shorter with my stacked bob.  So far I'm loving the look and ease of styling.

My hair and I have come a long way over the decades. I've become more trusting and actually enjoy trips to the salon. As I've grown more trusting I've also started considering being a tad bit more daring.

In fact, I haven't told Kayla yet, but I'm toying with adding some peek-a-boo color.

The bright multicolor rainbow I really want to do might be a bit much, but don't be surprised to see me with purple peek-a-boo hair this football season.

Go Cru!

S is for Saturday: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

Saturday.  My only day to sleep late. And usually the day I wake up early without any of my seven (yes, seven--don't judge) alarms.

I had big plans for today: housework, yard work, wash and gas up the SUV, shopping (a couple coupons are expiring),  and a chickflick with a couple friends.

I saw the movie, drove the SUV through the car wash, and partially filled it up.  Only partially because the temperature dropped to downright cold  and the  wind picked up and almost knocked me over.

The rest of the to do list remains. Sounds like my Sunday will be busy.

R is for Rainy Days: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

Rainy days. It's Saturday and I'm supposed to be blogging S. I'm behind. No shocker there.

Back on task:  It's a rainy day. I am reminded of the Carpenters hit, "Rainy Days and Mondays, Always Get Me Down."  I loved that song.  But it does not reflect my thoughts about rainy days, Mondays, or life in general.

I love rainy days. Mondays?  Not so much.  But rainy days are great days for recharging. Rebooting. Replenishing. Recovering. Snuggling with The Boys. Sorry. I couldn't come up with another R-word appropriate to them.

Oh wait--Relaxing with The Boys. That's what I'm doing today.

And catching up. On to the letter "S."

The Q-word: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

I'm not superstitious about black cats crossing my path, walking under ladders, the relationship of broken mirrors or open umbrellas and luck, or even most other things....I  even like Friday the 13ths--most of the time.

However, I do have a healthy respect  for full moons and the Q-word.

Psych Wards, Emergency Rooms, and Labor and Delivery all see a rise in activity during the full moon. It has something to do with  the gravitational pull of the moon or tidal waves, or something scientific.

Saying the Q-word has a similar effect, only it has no  scientific basis, and it's not limited by dates, time, or  the aforementioned hospital areas.

I have never said, or heard someone say, the Q-word without also watching plans falter, stable patients crash, and every piece of technology either go bonkers, or worse--freezing--incapacitating everyone and everything relying on it.

I have been known to scold educate total strangers who use the Q-word in my presence, on my Ward. The scoffers soon learn. Sometimes they learn right away. For others, it takes a few times uttering the Q-word and reaping the consequences of  really bad days, before they learn the connection.

But eventually they learn.

I think the Q-word phenomena is isolated to the hospital.  I hope it is.  Listening to a local Traffic Report I've frozen in my tracks and actually shuddered and winced when the Q-word was used to describe the morning commutes on Highway 190 and Interstate 35. Both highways are problematic on good days. It's so bad, TexDOT, in the guise of I-35, has taken out billboards telling us, "You're going to love me when I'm done."   I laughed outright and told the billboard to prove it to me.

That was several years ago. The construction congestion continues. And the new sections of roadway are already showing signs of wear and tear in need of repair.

It.will.never.end.

For instance, Highway 190 is almost always slowed by accidents--many of which are deadly.   And I-35, along with most of the surrounding streets, is in constant construction congestion, complicated by accidents, and flooding.

I really have to wonder at the intelligence behind performing all needed road work on all the major roads in the city at the same time--in addition to coinciding with the highway construction.

I avoid the highways and construction laden roads and take the long scenic route to work. I only have to contend with slowpokes, and two-lane no-passing zones.  If road construction begins on my route, or the Traffic Reporters start using the Q-word in conjunction with it, I may have to helicopter in to work.

No use tempting fate.

P is for Procrastination: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

P is for procrastination--which is why this post is late.

During my last round of catch-up writing. I had plenty of time to prepare an advance post or two.  I even had a couple ideas. I knew I should write them up because this year I'm writing more late posts than ever, due to working 3-4 hours overtime daily.

Wah, wah, wah.  Everyone has obstacles to overcome. So enough with the excuses.
Truth be told, I'm a procrastinator. Plain and simple. I make professional, work-related, and legal  deadlines. But personal deadlines? Maybe. Maybe not.

Some of it is tied to perfectionism. Some is lack of motivation. Some is laziness. And from time to time there might even be a touch of melancholy.

I think Oscar Wilde may have penned the Procrastinaors Credo when he said, "Why do today, what you can put off until tomorrow?"

I'm not quite that blatant. I usually have a reason to wait. Usually.

But sometimes the reason is pretty flimsy.

Did you know there is a "National" Procrastination Week? It's celebrated sometime during the first two weeks of March. Of course, late celebrations are honored--and maybe even encouraged. 

Not to be outdone by procrastinators, there is also a Fight Procrastination Day.  It's September 6th. It's supporters urge Procrastinators to claim and fight their procrastination problem. 

I saved that article. 

I'll read it later.

O is for Only: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

The A2Z Blog Team prompt word is only. They took the high road with only, as in there are only a few more days of the challenge left. 

I tend to not take the high road when it comes to only.  I view only as negatively as I view justa.

Yeah, I know justa is not a word. Just a is really a phrase or fragment, but I don't like just a because it usually is linked with an excuse for the inability to accomplish a task....I can't because I'm just a girl...I'm only a nurse..a kid...a mom. You probably have your own only or just a.

In this context there is no just a.  There is no only.  You are enough as you are. There is nothing justa or only anout you.

Stop making excusses. With determination, hard work, and time you can accomplish reasonable goals you set for yourself. 

Maybe the goal takes longer--that doesn't make it any less amazing or inspirational. It may even make it more so to the bystanders observing your progress. Especially the ones who know your struggles.

Just make sure to set SMART goals.  SMART goals are:

Specific.
Measurable.
Attainable.
Realistic.
Timebound.

For example, I'm going to lose weight, is a common goal; however, it is not SMART.

A SMART goal might be:
Before my High School Reunion July 15th, I will lose 15 pounds by drinking a protien shake for breakfast, eating a salad at lunch,  snacking on a small Apple and 1Table spoon of peanutbutter, eating no more than 3oz lean meat at dinner, and walking 2 miles each day. 

It has all the requirements.  It's also more restrictive than what I follow, which is why I likely will not make that particular weight loss goal.

This year.

Remember, you can attain realistic SMART goals. It's a process. A journey. The most avoidable stumbling block you face is the foot between your ears.

In fact, if you believe in yourself, apply yourself, and work hard you might even realize an impossible goal or two along the way.

N is for Neked Boy: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

Neked Boy.  The Bald One. The BaldOne Brother (play on the Baldwin Brothers).  BanditBoy.

These are all nicknames for my soon-to-be 13 year old Chinese Crested. I've had Bandit since he was 18 months old. He travels with me on all my vacations.

Every year we visit Friends in NOLA and have walked in the Barkus Parade many times. At least once a year we travel to Northwest Flordia for my High School Reunion Dinner  and Family visits. He's been to  NYC and Maine a couple times. And we've driven most of Route 66 and coastal Hwy 1 up to Oregon.

We don't just travel.  He's also attended Bark in Park and cheered the Atlanta Braves multiple times. During our first game he was spotlighted on the Jumbotron and I was picked to play a trivia game for a trip. 

We've also attended several  Texas Rangers Dog Day games. During one of those games I received a text from a friend saying they saw Bandit on the nationally televised game.  I was not aware he had made it on the jumbotron. During another game I was interviewed by an out of state newspaper reporter for the Durant Daily Democrat. 

We haven't limited ourselves to the majors--we've also attended Baylor University baseball in Waco and Jackalopes Ice Hockey in Odessa.  I'm still waiting for Cowboys and Saints to host a dog event...hint, hint.

During two different Barkus parades I was interviewed by local radio and tv stations. The best tv  interview actually happened on the parade route, but the interview  was preempted when the Saints won the big game that evening. I didn't mind because the impromptu celebratory parade in the Quarter was AWESOME!

One of my favorite events though was competing in The Ugly Dog Contest in Petaloma California. I told the judges we came to lose and prove to the nonbelievers that Bandit is not ugly. And we accomplished the goal of losing because Bandit was truly the cutest dog there.

On the social front, Bandit had a DoggySpace page before I had a Facebook page--he even hit 100 friends before I did! And he's recognized even when I'm not--even hundreds of miles from where we met a "fan." At festivals and street fairs I  frequently hear,  "there's Bandit!" A little girl we met during a rest area potty break walked down the street of a town a hundred miles away a day or two later and I over heard her excitedly exclaim to her mom, "there's the girl with the dog!"  The Mom, who had had not been with the Dad and Daughter, said "Oh, honey it's not."  I recognized the little girl, so I interrupted their conversation and told her Mom I was in fact "the girl with the dog." The little girl was thrilled I remembered her.

Before Bandit became part of my life, I never talked to strangers.  But  as I answer questions about the Chinese Cresteds, and educate strangers to the breed with "personality plus," Bandit, my Neked Boy is stripping away the vestiges of my normally intoverted shyness.

M is for Mama: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

The A2Z Blog Team prompt for M is Music and Memories, but I am straying and writing about my Mama.

Mama is the strongest woman I know.  She is a product of the Great Depression. Her Daddy was a migrant worker and Mama and her siblings lived in Tent City. When times were at the worst, they had to leave  school to pick cotton for a nickle a day--and they had to fight to be paid that nickle.

Because she didn't have much, she learned to make do.

I was born six weeks premature in the days prior to premi-clothes. Mama deconstructed a dolls outfit and made a pattern for my clothes and diapers.  For a good part of Daddy's career in the US Air Force, Daddy's pay put us below poverty level. Mama and Daddy refused to go on welfare or get food stamps, so Mama took a job at the Levi Stause factory sewing jeans.

When Mama didn't sew our clothes, she bought seconds from factories or at secondhand stores. When she didn't have money to pay for car maintance, she did it herself. Every year she and Daddy climbed on top of the trailer to reseal the roof.

After she and Daddy divorced, she bought her first house and decided to install ceiling fans. She couldn't afford an electrician, so she installed them herself. And she climbed trees to trim limbs hanging over the house.

When she retired and moved into the country, the County told her she had to have a drainage ditch. They said they couldn't help. She began digging by hand. After a week of digging, they got wind of her efforts and someone with a backhoe showed up.

That's my Mama in a nutshell--she's a tenacious can do woman.

Growing up her frugal country ways embarrassed my bratty self. Now, I appreciate all that she sacrificed for my Sister and me. 

Every time I find myself doing or saying something she has done or said, I smile and tell myself,  I'm just like my Mama. There is no higher compliment I can receive.

I don't tell her nearly enough, but I love my Mama dearly. 

I'm gonna stop writing now, so I can go tell her.

L is for Learning to Just Write: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

The A2Z Blogging Challenge for L is Learning to Just Write.

It's a lesson I need to ingrain. A lesson to drive away the excuses for not writing. 

But my computer is down for the count. Just Write. Paper and pen, smart phone, typewriter--all are available. Just Write.

But I won't be able to participate in the challenge if I write off-line.  Just Write. You can use the computer at the public library, your alma mater, work (after work hours), or an internet cafe  to post what you wrote off line.  Just Write.

But my spell check has started giving my previous typos as "correct" spelling--making editing a nightmarish chore. Just Write.  You still have a hard copy dictionary. Somewhere. So what if it takes longer. Just Write.

It takes time, practice, determination, and perseverance to learn anything. Writing well is no different. Take classes, attend workshops and conferences, join others with like minds. What ever you choose to do, Just Write.

But I'm behind. Again. And I just don't have the time. So catch up.  Make the time. Write a haiku waiting in the grocery line. Get up an hour early. Go to bed an hour later. All it takes is to...Just Write.

But I don't write well, or the conten is drivel--or any or any other "It's not good enough" thoughts.  Just Write. Do you honestly think everything has to be as weighty (and boring) as The Illiad?  There are so many genres to choose. Pick one. Or two. Make up your own. Turn Drivel into a genre. Just Write.

K is for Kitchen: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

Actually, K is for Klutz  in the Kitchen.

I don't like to cook, but I have a few go-to, no-fail dishes I cook well. Until recently.

In the past two months my best dish--a flavorful taco soup was tasteless, and I've set off my fire alarm.  Multiple times.

The latest debacle involved my instapot. I love cooking with my crock pot, so I thought the instapot would be a cinch.

Nope.

Don't get me wrong.  I like it, but it's different.

I found an all in one instapot recipe for mashed potatoes and meatloaf. It sounded wonderful. At the last minute I decided to change to sweet potatoes. Since I wanted them oven baked I decided to pop the meatloaf in the oven as well. I had just taken a dump cake out of the oven so it was still hot.

Unfortunately, the dump cake was made in a dish too small because the correct sized dish was in use (another dump cake I took to an event). The second dump cake bubbled over. Just a little.

Rather than cooling and cleaning the oven, I went ahead and popped the meatloaf and sweet potatoes in for the cook.  A few minutes into the cooking, I thought my eyes were strained.  No. The room was getting smokey. About the time I realized it, the alarm sounded.

Not a problem.  Well, except it was 10:30 pm. I turned off the screeching alarm, turned on the exhaust fans, and opened the windows to air the place out.

The food was about half cooked. Again, not a problem. I popped the potatoes in the microwave and decided to finish off the meatloaf in the instapot. The meatloaf was still in the original handformed shape for the instapot so I just popped it in, set the time, and  left the room.

A couple minutes later I came back and checked the instapot. It said, "burn." That was when I realized I hadn't added the liquid. It wasn't burned.

After adding the liquid and resetting the time I actually ended up with the best, moistest, most flavorful meatloaf I've ever made. 

Unfortunately, I don't think I could reproduce the recipe. My neighbors are probably glad.  They like to sleep.

J is for Jumble: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

J is for jumble. That's what I call the mess that comprises the thoughts in my head at any given time.

It amazes me when those jumbled thoughts make connections and spark ideas that rearrainge themselves and evolve to become cohesive, streamlined, and goal-directed.

Writing the jumble helps me make sense of it. I think that's the charm of writing.

But what I really love is cut and paste. Cut and paste, and undo, are my go-to editing tools.  I used to also rely heavily on spell check, but for some stupid reason, spell check adopts my mis-spells and typos, and offers them back to me in place of correctly spelled words.

Not good.

Incorrect misspells are infinitely worse than the original jumble. 

I is for Imagination: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

Imagination. It's often  a misunderstood skill. Some people in authority, like parents, teachers, and bosses, mistakenly strive to restrict, containt, regulate, and in extreeme instances, abolish it.

There is a time and place for everything. That includes working the right side of our brains by exercising our imagination through  day-dreaming. In those relaxed periods anything from problem solutions to masterful works of art  can be conceived. Even if nothing of seeming importance is imagined, that most coveted of all commodities:  down time,  can act as a brain reboot, which may ready an analytical mind for the solution or masterpiece hidden within.

The anylitical work of the left hemisphere of the brain is enhanced by the imaginative and emotive right hemisphere.

And the expressively artistic right hemisphere needs the systematic  orderliness of the left hemisphere.

The hemispheres are not meant to be in opposition to each other.  They are meant to work together.

Just ask any Disney Imagineer.

H is for Haiku: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

h is for haiku
five seven five poetry
elusive season

Haiku is challenging for me, but it remains my favorite form of poetry. I know the Japanese count sounds that are not present in the English  language, so the pure 5-7-5 count does not really translate--but I still like the 5-7-5 count that most people, mistakenly or not, view as Haiku.  A well written Haiku is much more involved.

In addition to the syllable count, there is no title or punctuation--including capitalization.
But more important than the form, is the content.

The Haiku poem evokes the feeling of a season or time of year,  and after the cutting word--which acts as an audible punctuation mark--marrys two seemingly unrelated thoughts.

Unfortunately, I just don't get the kigo--seasonal component. I also don't get the kireji--the cutting word that acts as the verbal punctuation.  Sometimes I don't even get the grammatical or imagacal (that's not even a word--but you know what I mean) juxtaposition of the two different thoughts expressed.

But I still love the 5-7-5 count.

Senryu, another Japanese form of poetry,  is probably a more correct term for 5-7-5 poetry since Senryu has no requirement of  a seasonal reference. But more people are familiar with the term Haiku, so that's the term I use most. When I say I like 5-7-5 poems, if people don't get it, I have said, "it's kind of like Haiku--but without the season."  It's not strictly accurate; however, people seem to understand that description.

Writing Haiku is challenging. I don't write it well.  But I still live it.  And I'm slowly  learning and improving.  At least I hope so.  I'm basing my growth on the fact that I'm begining to recognize the need for the  contextual components. 

Now I just need to learn how to add them to the form...

haiku poetry
seasonal symbolism
challenge accepted

G is for Glassblowing: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

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F is for Friday! A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

F is for Friday! Five days late. Yep. I still haven't caught up. Getting behind just one day in the A2Z Blogging Challenge can snowball out of control.

Friday was an interesting day. I usually refer to Friday as Dump Day.  It's the day most of  the providers seem to favor for discharging the patients. My Ward has the highest patient flow any day of the week, and Friday's are no exception. 

Part of my job is to foresee potential  roadbkocks to discharge and fix them.  Even when I ask point blank questions, and I'm given point blank answers, curve balls still manage to be pitched at me every discharge day of the week.  Especially Friday.  Although, since I've been preemptively striking the most common roadblocks, the average length of stay on my Ward had dropped dramatically.

This past Friday, for once, everything fell into place beautifully.  No curve balls. No surprises. It was a good thing. It was my B12 Friday.

Once a month I have to have a B12 injection. I could self-administer them; however, I choose to use sick leave and schedule it at the end of the workday on the First Friday of the month.  That way, at least once a month I am assured of leaving work at a decent time. Because the sheer volume of work is so heavy, I almost always work an hour or more over-time every day.  Actually, anything less than 2 or 3 hours overtime still feels like a short day. 

Friday was a First Friday and we were cookin' with gas. The puzzle peices were clicking into place.  As Tony the Tiger says, it was a "grrrreat day!"

Until 10:45 am.

That's when we have our daily Interdisiplany Team Meeting.  During IDT the various disciplines discuss the progress of each patient, the road blocks to care and discharge disposition, and predict more formal  discharge dates.

Last Friday it all ground to a screeching  halt when my favorite doctor and I could not seem to communicate. She asked how to accomplish a specific task over the weekend, with limited weekend resources. I told her what to do. She did not want to do it. I reiterated the process. She again voiced resistance. Finally, I decided to allow her to attempt it her way and I stopped talking. When I stop talking, everyone knows I'm not pleased.

Later in the day, just before I left for my B12, my doc came to me, took me by the hand, and asked if we were okay. I reassured her were were fine. She noted my red-rimed eyes and said, "But I've upset you--you've been crying."

And because I am my Prankster-Mothers Daughter, I commenced to wailing and sobbing. 

There is the tiniest of possibilities that I was overly dramatic.

Okay, I laid it on so thick people came to The Swamp Room to see if I was okay. I talked it up a good 30 seconds, and would have kept it up, but her looks of horror caused me to have mercy.  I'm not sure if the hooer was a result of my acting, or she believed me.

"Its allergies." I confessed through my giggles.

The result:  My Doc and I are still good. She attempted to accomplish her weekend goal her way, and while she was eventually successful, it was at a much higher cost of time and frustration expended than if she had just done as I had suggested.

And,  while I worked half an hour into my sick leave, I finished all my tasks and made it to  my First Friday B12 injection just before the end of the day. Which meant I was able to make it to my hair appointment by 5:45--well before I normally get to leave work on a "normal overtime until 6 or 7 pm" day.

Yep. Last week, Friday was a grrrreat day.  And I'm expecting another great day.  Everyday!

E is for Everything and Everybody: A to Z Blogger Challenge 2018

I'm still playing BlogChallenge CatchUp.  Using the A2Z Blog Challenge Team prompt, here is the post I should have written Thursday....

E is for Everything and Everybody.

Everything and Everybody sounds all-inclusive.  Unfortunately I've yet to see anything or anybody truely all-inclusive.

Liberals say, "Be tolerant" of everything. Yet they don't tolerate a mindset or moral code different from their own. I'm not judging whether they are right or wrong.  I'm just sayin' they aren't as tolerant as they expect others to be.

But liberals aren't the only ones.

Christians say, "Come as you are--everybody is welcome." Then they teach change. Again, I'm not saying change is not warranted--I believe it is warranted.  But the desire to change comes from the conviction our spirit feels from the prompting of the Holy Spirit, not other people.

We say everything and everybody,  but we don't really believe in inclusiveness. That would mean the abolishment  of cliques and hierarchies.

It would mean I believed your way of thinking is just as good as mine.

It would also mean you belived my way of thinking is just as good as yours.  

I just don't see that happening.  I think what we really mean when we say everything and everybody, is:  everything and everybody--as long as they line up with what I believe.   

We may think we are inclusive, but we are not.  We may not mean to be judgemental. We may not even realize we are judgemental, but we are.

Will there ever be a day when E really is all-inclusive?  And do we really want it...

D is for Do-over: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018D

D is supposed to be for Debut if I were following the AtoZ Team prompts like I said I was going to do; however,  I'm being another D-word--one that aptly describes me: Difficult. 

Okay, so I'm not being difficult, I'm just having a difficult time writing about debut. So I'm deviating (another D-word) and  using my own D-word.  It's one of my favorites:  Do-over.

I believe in second chances. I believe people can change. I believe in do-overs.

I first heard the term listening to the audio book,  "The Red Hat Club" by Haywood Smith.   In the book she described the twelve traditions by which the characters abided. Well, except the MYOB tradition (#5, "mind your own business," which everyone ignored). For those of you that have read the books, that's sort of a paraphrased quote from the book.

The Do-over tradition is much like the church's teaching of repentance and forgiveness: once you have realized you have done wrong (sinned), you repent (turn away and refrain from repeating the offense), ask forgiveness, and are viewed--at least by God--as justified (just as if you'd never sinned).

And that's how their do-overs worked.  When one of the characters tread too close to the edge of no turning back, rather than proceed forward and risk ruining a relationship, they would call a do-over, and everyone involved had to abide by the rule that no one brought up the incident again. Just as if it'd never happened.

This actually could have been an F-word post:  Forgive, be Forgiven, Forget the offense.  Since I used it here in the Do-over explanation, I probably need , to come up with something  different if I'm not fond of tge F-prompt.

Back to the D-word here's a pseudo-haiku about do-overs:

don't sweat the small stuff
forgive and be forgiven
call a do over

I'm gaining on my catch up posts.  Next stop:  E

C is for Catch-up: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

So much for following the lead of the A2Z Team.  Their C prompt was Challenge or Can Do.

I just couldn't decide which way to go with the post. I started four different posts. I didn't like any of the posts--well, I did like the one where I described myself as being challenging. But I didn't want the whole post to be just about me. That's just too narcissistic.

But the really bad thing about my indecision on C--it carried over to D-day. 

Actually, it's now E  F and I didn't even look at D. So it's really catch up day.

And because I'm still in haiku mode, here's a pseudo-haiku on catching up...


writing three posts now
due to procrastination
my daily challenge


Now, on to D and E.

And F.

B is for Beginning: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

"B" is for beginning, or,  in my case, "B" is for  boo-boo.

Shocking as it may seem I am fallible:  In my haste to register for the A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018, I made a mistake. A boo-boo.

I'll tell you I didn't read the instructions because I was trying to register before the A2Z registration link expired.  My registration rank of #696 out of 697 registrants would bear that statement out.

However, truth be known, I rarely read tech instructions--even when I have the time. They frustrate me. They give me a headache.  They use words and terms that mean nothing to me.  In Nursing Diagnosis, I have a Knowledge Deficit related to Technology. And, although it's part of my job as an RN  I don't care to develop a care plan to address it.

In my rush to register I mistakenly thought the initial post prompt was:  A for Awesome.
Desiring  to get ahead of the upcoming Monday post, I spent the better part of Sunday afternoon looking for the prompt list for the remaining days of this month-long challenge.

There isn't one. 

There is a calendar with the daily post links. But neither the calendar nor the daily links say what the prompt is for the letter each day.  When I finally broke down and read the directions, I learned  there are no prompts supplied other than the letter of the day. 

I may choose my own theme for the challenge, and my theme plus the letter of the day, is my prompt. Or, I may  chose no theme at all, and that case, the letter of the day alone is my prompt.

What I mistook for the prompt of the day, was actually part of the title for the A2Z Team post.

Since I've begun the challenge without choosing a theme, and I have too many interests that I could choose from as my theme, I'm choosing to not choose my own theme at all.  

Instead, I'm makeing up my own rules. I plan on continuing to use the daily prompt word or phrase of the A2Z Team as my daily writing inspiration--at least as long as their prompts work for me.

At this point, I feel I must provide a disclaimer:

I am in no way part of the A2Z Challenge
Team. Please do not judge them by my posts.

Getting back to their "B" prompt of Beginnings, I have crafted  a haiku about beginnings. I realize haiku starts with the letter "H" but when you read my haiku on beginnings, you'll notice it's a bad-haiku. Bad-haiku is my specialty.  So haiku  really starts with a "B"--at least in my world.

Besides the letter "B" what do beginnings, boo-boos, and bad-haiku all have in common?

Me.

I say that in jest. But it's also true--and I'm okay with it.  When it comes to tech-stuff I'm a boo-boo rich environment. But it doesn't stop me from blogging. 

And when it comes to haiku, I love the 5-7-5 form, but I don't understand the seasonal reference rule.  But that doesn't stop me from writing bad-haiku. 

In fact, bad-haiku is my crack. I'm a bad-haiku addict. When I read or hear a 5-7-5 rhythm, I start counting syllables--and I count them for days. Subconsciously I craft responses in 5-7-5.

the rhythym got me
haiku  replies in my head
i cant make them stop


(That wasn't it--it was just a 5-7-5.)

Here it is...

thirty days to post
bloggers baring heart and soul
blooming in their craft

And because I'm me, here's another...

a to z  challenge
writers blogging every day
giving life to words

(I warned you, once I start I have a hard time stopping.)

A is for Amazing: A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018

Well, I've done it again.  I've signed up for the A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018. I first participated a couple years ago when I stumbled upon the challenge--the day it started.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I just knew I wanted to write more, and felt the accountability of a month long challenge might get me into the habit of writing more consistently.

During that challenge, my on-again-off-again blog began to be read by a couple people, and even gained the first follower.   I  was thrilled a total stranger wanted to read what I wrote enough to follow the blog. And I was  terrified. Most of what I write about is drival. How could I make it interesting to anyone else? My blog posts are like Seinfeld--a whole lotta words 'bout nuthin'.

Back then my blog posts were mostly centered around my spoiled rotten Chinese Crested, Bandit. IMHO he could do no wrong. Even when he did.  Today, although we have aged a few years his rotten-ness,  and my blindness to his faults, remain unchanged.

However, the  blog posts have  branched out a little.  Since then we've rescued a Domestic Short Haired cat, Moggy. You would think a rescue would be grateful. He's not. He's got an entitlement attitude.  Since I tend to spoil The Boys I can deal with that.  What I won't allow are his antagonistic shenanigans and fight picking against Bandit The Perfect. I've had "the talk" with Moggy several times. He merely flicks his tail, stares me down, then bites me before scampering just outside the reach of the short arm of the Mommy.  Where's a long armed officer of the law when you need one?  Moggy's not afraid of being homeless again. However,  he does clear my path and runs for cover when he hears The Mommy Voice. 

Although I frequently entertain readers with the riviting stories of The FurBoy antics, I also put pen and ink to innane musings about loftier topics.  Nothing too  controversial mind you--but I occassionally write about politics, religion, relationships gone bad, and sex--you know, safe, non-button-pushing, first-date type topics. 

LOL. Rest easy, those heavyweight topics are far and few between on my blog. When I'm in a reflective mood I post a warning so readers aren't blindsided. If light and fluffy is what you want and expect, I want you to return and be happy reading my nothing posts.  Remember, it's the Seinfield of blogs.

So here I am participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018. Appropriately,  I signed up in the wee small hours of April Fools Day.  I know a little bit more than last time, but not much--and right off the bat, the first topic is, "A is for Amazing."

I'll reiterate: my blog posts are about everyday nothing--they are no way amazing. Like The Bard,  I write to the cadence of my own lexicon, making up words and employing creative spelling. Unlike ol' Will,  my words are not lyrical and will have no staying power. They will have no social impact.  My words will  not be taught in Creative Writing, Contemporary American Lit, or Honors English--although they might make it into Remedial English as examples of "What Not To Do."

Content-wise and technically my blog is average at best. Having  proclaimed this, the pressure to be amazing is now bannished and I can enjoy an amazing a2z month.

Actually,  that's  what's amazing--the Challenge. The growth in wordsmithery. The reading of other blogs. The community of encouragement, despite the auto correct typos I will fail to see until after I've published--no matter how many times I proof-read. These are just a few of the amazingness that is the A 2 Z Blogging  Challenge.

So  I raise my pen and proclaim "Happy blogging to everyone participating--or just lurking and reading.  May we all have an amazing month!"

Who knows, maybe I'll double my 40-ish readersip and even gain a second follower. Now that would be amazing.

My World: An Alternate Reality?

Doubting my sanity I could almost hear Rod Serling speaking a voice over while the theme song from The Twilight Zone played in the background during my recent routine follow-up appointment with my Hematologist...

MD: “Why didn’t you have your labs drawn?”

Me:  “I did have the labs drawn.”  She and her nurse looked at me as if they thought I am delusional enough to believe I could lie to them and get away with it.  I reminded them my insurance requires me to use Quest labs, or the insurance refuses to pay. Then I reminded them I asked them to FAX the lab orders to the Killeen Quest location--which until recently was the closest--even thought it's 45 miles away. The looks of disbelief remained, on their faces, so I started scrolling the calendar on my 'droid for a confirmatory appointment, as I continued to remind them, “Remember, I initially had you FAX the lab request to the Killeen lab center but when I looked them up on the internet so I could call them to make sure they received the orders, I found out Quest now has a new lab center here in town.  So I asked you to reFAX the orders to the Temple location."  You would think, they would remember two requests for the same thing. 

Nurse: “Quest? Here? In Temple?  Where is it located?”

Me: "Right across the street. At Quiznos.” I realized I sounded crazy when their looks of dubiousness turned to outright skepticism.  Who gets their labs drawn at a sandwhich shop?  Yet again the 'droid let me down. The absence of an appointment on its calendar didn't help my cause. "It's not really in Quiznos--it's in the Quiznos strip mall--next to Papa Marans--the take and bake at home pizza."  So now I really sound like a moron.  Because "Papa Marans"  actually Papa Murphys. And now, a week later as I edit this, I realize my moronship is confirmed--Quest is between Papa Murphys and Schlotzk's.

Nurse:  “I’ll see what I can find out.”  She looked pointedly at my hematologist before she left. I didn't see her eye roll or finger twirls.  But I felt them. 

Me:  “I even wrote down the tests so I would know if they drew everything.” They frequently leave something off the list—including my iron levels—which is the entire reason for the doctor visit.

Nurse:  “They said they never drew your blood.” She stated as she reentered the room. And shared yet another “look” with the doctor.

Me:  “They did too!  I promise they did! The Lab Tech was a girl, and she was very good. My veins are shy sometimes and like to play hide-n-seek, but she found an outgoing vein on the first try. Quest has only been in the Temple location since December. There were no other people in the waiting room. In fact, the Lab Tech was the only other person in the office. I only had three time slots from which to choose when I made the appointment, so I thought it would be busier—like it was in Killeen.”  I continued my impression of a brook:  babbling.   “The sign on the door between the lab and the waiting area read, " 'Remember:  Do NOT lock the door when you leave—It's NO fun crawling through the window if you get locked out of the lab!' "  I could hear the frantic timber of my voice and even I started to doubt myself. I will check my Sick Leave Requests at work and get the exact time and date, I thought before inspiriation hit, “I wonder if the Lab Tech or the Clerk at the Irving Processing Center sent my results to your Killeen office?  The Lab Tech was confused when I told her my appointment with you is here in Temple. Maybe the the processing Clerk pulled up your name and only saw your Killeen office.  Maybe one of them sent the results to your office in Killeen.”  Like a drowning man I grasped for a lifebuoy. 

MD:  “Now that’s a thought. I’ll ask my nurse to check.”

I'm still not sure if she believed it plausable, or if she just sawba way to escspe the room with Lady Loco.  While she went to talk to her nurse,  I Googled Quest and started scrolling through the locations—and could not find one in Temple.   What if the new office was a front for some nefarious blood stealing ring. Or worse—a figment of my imagination. After all, everything was new. There were no other people in the waiting room. There were no other staff members to unlock the door between the waiting area and the lab if anyone locked themselves out. Is this the start of Alzheimer’s? Or...am I living in an alternate reality? 

Doo-doo-do-do.

MD:  Popping her head in the doorway, “Do you mind if I see my next appointment while my nurse calls the Killeen office to check? Or would you rather reschedule?”

Me:  “I can wait. We need to make today’s visit a productive one.”

MD: “I agree.”

In the meantime, the Nurse finally called the TEMPLE location and they Faxed her the lab results—which she left on the examroom desk.  In plain sight.  I snuck a peek while I awaited the return of my hematologist.   My labs did exist.  And they were all excellent. 

MD:  “Our phone notes indicate your lab request did in fact go to two different labs—one in Killeen, and one on the morning of the lab draw: to Quest, right here in Temple.” 

Me:  “Yep. Your Nurse brought them in.  They are right here on your keyboard.” And then, because I do not seem to have the ability to not confess, I confessed:  “I have reviewed them. They look good.”

She agreed.

Alzheimer’s remains at bay. And I am gratified to have confirmation that I continue to be a sane resident of this dimension—the Rod Serling voice-over and The Twilight Zone Theme Song are once again silenced…at least for the time being...

Doo-doo-do-do.

Revelation

I like a cold Diet Dr Pepper (DDP) with my meal. That's not the revelation.

If I'm drinking a DDP that's grown warm, and it's meal time,  I'll start a new one--even before I've finished the first DDP.  Still not the revelation.

It was a stressful day Tuesday. Residents by the drove followed me down the hallway and hit me up with tasks and questions before I even sat down.  That was the good part of the day.  No revelation there. Just par for the course, albeit I usually am allowed to settle in prior to the onslaught.

On stressful days my desk is frequently cluttered with multiple partial DDPs.  Tuesday evening, as I gathered my stuff preparing to leave, I counted five partials and two fulls.  The trashbin held the empties--at least the ones I consumed since the trash had been removed earlier in the day.  Did I mention Tuesday was stressful?

Since there was less than an inch in each partial,  I decided to consolidate. I started pouring one bottle into another and tossing the empties.  When I heard a plop my tummy soured. There was no way that partial sat on my desk long enough to have started to grow something.

Curious as to what was in the DDP,  I poured it back onto the original bottle.  There it was again. But this time I was pouring slowly and expecting it, so I saw what it was when it crested the rim.

I shrieked with laughter as I remembered earlier in the day I had poured in a couple handfuls of peanuts.

I'm a forgetful dufus. That's the revelation. But you already knew that so it's not really a revelation.  It's confirmation. 

As if you needed it.  

This is a Test--Only a Test.

I apologize upfront for using you in this test; however, thank you, in advance,  if you choose to participate.

I read a Pinterest graphic that indicated the best and worst times to post on various social media in order to drive readers to your blog. 

I am skeptical of a few of their time-frames.

According to the pin the best times to post on Pinterest are between  the hours of 2-4pm  and again between 8-11pm.

Hummm...

Between 2-4pm kids are getting home from school, stay at home parents are likely preping for dinner, and dayshift working parents are likely still at work. Between 8-11pm, parents of small children are struggling with new math and other forms of homework torture, dinner clean-up, and and fighting the bath-time fight,  while parents of older kids are likely attending  (or chauferring minivans full of not-yet-driving teens to) activities which showcase the talents and abilities of the rotten little apples of their eyes--the degree of their success will be elevated to genius and professional all-star status by the time these chaufers pen their own blog posts and Christmas Brag Letters.

The worst times to post on Pinterest are between the hours of 1-7am, and again between  5-7pm. I would agree with the 5-7pm time slot. Unless you are posting epic up-to-the-moment-Pinterest fails of the "fool-proof" dinners and crafts which may inadvertently (or, as my skeptical self sometimes wonders, on purpose) omit information essential for success.  As for the 1-7am time slot, presumably the household is sleeping.  While everyone else sleeps may be the ONLY time working moms, single heads-of-house, or party-going singles have time to read your blog.


According to the pin, the best and worst times to post on Facebook are similar to Pinterest: 2-5pm  and again between 6-8pm are best, while the worst time is between 10pm-4am.


Tweets it seems are a little less flexible with the best time being 1-3pm and the worst being 8pm-8am.

And LinkedIn is only good for the hours directly preceding (7am-8:30am) and following  (5pm-6pm) the business workday, while the workday itself (9am-5pm) is worst.

Unless your blog is a headhunting blog advertising available positions you are seeking to fill, I would agree with the business workday time slot as being the worst time to attempt to drive your readership up. 


Since I only post links to my blog on Facebook and Twitter, I'm going to attempt to have this post proofed and ready to post on FB by 8pm (end of the Best Time).  Then, at 10pm I'll check the reads and tweet the link. I'll check the reads at midnight (two hours after the link) which is during the worst time bracket. 

And at the end of the day I will have learned absolutely nothing about the reading habits of my readers--because I'm too cheap to pay to see a breakdown of from whence my readers hail.

But, I'll recheck tomorrow morning (10 am) and tomorrow afternoon (2pm) during my workday breaktimes to see if additional readers pop up.

By then my little test may confirm what I already believe:  most of my readers read me in the evening hours. No matter what time of day I post.

So, thank you in advance, for participating in this unofficial, unscientific, spur of the moment test.

Warning Signs: Blowing My Heart

(Part Three:  The conclusion  of my recent trip to The Salado Glassworks Studio and Gallery.) 

Even though I sensed it was coming, and knew it would be painful, I still cried out in shock, disbelief, and more than a little pang of discomfort as my heart was squished. The end came  much too soon.  I wasn't ready.  I wanted more time--not much--just a little.  But then, is anyone ever ready for their heart to be flattened like a pancake?

Okay, it really wasn't heart-shaped yet; but, my Hottie, Michael and I spent quiet a bit of time heating, twirilling, and blowing as the gather was transformed into a hollow sphere that would soon become my glass heart.

(In case you've forgotten, or did  not read the first two posts in this series of three, I'm not being sexist--Hottie is the nickname of the Glassblowing Artists at Salado Glassworks.)

Once the sphere was roughly flattened, Michael began the process of refining. This of course required more trips to the glory hole followed by more shaping with the paddle. However, the constant twirlling motion became an intermittent side to side flipping motion. 

When the sides were deemed smooth enough, my Hottie heated it up once more, and creased the top to begin the process of shaping the cleft. I'm happy to report I did not hyperventilate during this delicate process.  Even when Michael warned me of the possibility that my fragile heart could easily burst if the cleft crease was too drastic.

Once the cleft was completed, without breaking, it was time to heat it up again.  But this time my Hottie used a blow torch when he cut my heart off the blowpipe with oversized nippers.

Then Michael used the blow torch to form and attach a glass curly-q to the top of my heart.  The curly-q acts as a hanger.

Once the blown heart  was totally finished heating, Michael placed in an  annealing oven for the long cooling process. The temp starts about 960°F, and over the next fourteen or so hours it gradually reduces to room temperature. This lengthy cooling allows for even cooling, which reduces breakage. After it's cool, the Hottie or other staff members grind the cut edge so it's safe and smooth, then polish the glass heart to a beautiful shine.  And voila', my heart was complete. Although it required many trips back and forth between the fire and the table, and it's taken me three posts to describe the process, it really only took us less than half an hour.

Blowing my heart was an interesting, educational, fun,  and potentially dangerous process.  My Hottie worked the counter Sunday after Church when I picked up my cooled heart, and he told me after my appointment one of the other Hotties sustained a burn and was unable to participate in the Date Night Event that night.

That burn could very easily have been mine since I have a tendency for disregarding warning signs--as I had in the Gallery.   But once I entered the Studio, I actually remembered and followed the safety rules and warning signs:  I wore close-toed shoes, no drapy-swingy clothing, sat in the viewing stand until my turn to stand on the "x", and most importantly, I followed the verbal instructions of my Hottie.   As a result I avoided injury while I safely blew my heart out.


As always, thanks for the read.  I hope you had fun and maybe even learned something.