Today, we can wear blue at work. Previous to this, nothing that REMOTELY looked blue-ish would get you sent home because the gunners supposedly couldn't tell free staff from inmates is we had on stiletto heels, black slacks and any color that looked as if might possibly be blue.
I solved the problem by wearing black. We couldn't wear white either, since some inmates wear white jumpsuits. (We can't wear orange, either but since I would have to be half dead alongside the road to wear orange, that was never an issue.)
But today, the new memo says that when the officer checks you out at the first check point (they check your ID and search your handbag), said officer has to take into account your entire outfit and decide if you REALLY can POSSIBLY be mistaken for an inmate.
Since I work inside the electric fence AND the exercise yard is fenced off as well AND I never go hot footing it across the yard when inmates are out....well, I think it is safe to say that the gunners can tell me from an inmate.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
The sun is out and I feel better
I am not cut out for weeks of Seattle weather. My friend 'Nusan and Marji both love this kind of soggy weather, but I think that's because they aren't big dirt diggers. I would rather dig in the dirt than clean house any day...and if it's MY IDEA to clean, I really like it. I just don't like being reminded that I have a full time job that I get paid for and another full time job that I don't. And I get down right surly when the people with whom I live think they are the boss of me.
But the sun is shining, which means I can open the windows upstairs at least and air out the bedrooms, which smell of eau d'cigarette.
I know. He was a smoker before we got married and I should have known what I was getting into. That's what the entire world says after the fact....you should have known. Exactly how was I supposed to know?
It's like when you have a baby who doesn't sleep for, oh, three years. You should have known. Well, unless you were subjected to days with no sleep, how the heck would you know? I remember going weeks with one or two hours of sleep and that whole portion of my life was just zombie-like. I worked at a big school in LA and most of us were young mothers; I would bet somebody was having a baby every month of the 8 years I worked there. The whole bunch of us were exhausted. We never argued or fussed with each other because we were trying to stay awake.
So off I go to strip the rest of the bed (I did the quilts yesterday). I have a quiche cooling for breakfast and I went outside to check to see if it was dry enough to weed...it's not. We've gotten so much rain you'd think I was living on a sponge.
Then I have to vac the bedroom again, I have white carpet and three dogs. I should have known.
But the sun is shining, which means I can open the windows upstairs at least and air out the bedrooms, which smell of eau d'cigarette.
I know. He was a smoker before we got married and I should have known what I was getting into. That's what the entire world says after the fact....you should have known. Exactly how was I supposed to know?
It's like when you have a baby who doesn't sleep for, oh, three years. You should have known. Well, unless you were subjected to days with no sleep, how the heck would you know? I remember going weeks with one or two hours of sleep and that whole portion of my life was just zombie-like. I worked at a big school in LA and most of us were young mothers; I would bet somebody was having a baby every month of the 8 years I worked there. The whole bunch of us were exhausted. We never argued or fussed with each other because we were trying to stay awake.
So off I go to strip the rest of the bed (I did the quilts yesterday). I have a quiche cooling for breakfast and I went outside to check to see if it was dry enough to weed...it's not. We've gotten so much rain you'd think I was living on a sponge.
Then I have to vac the bedroom again, I have white carpet and three dogs. I should have known.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Why is it, when I decide to spend a weekend cleaning that's just dandy?
And when OTHER MEMBERS OF MY FAMILY suggest that perhaps the bathrooms are not germ free, I get totally pissed off?
Today is one of the two days of the week I can sleep past 5:30.
However, I was up at 5 because my husband couldn't sleep and wanted some company.
THEN he mentioned that perhaps I would like to wash the bed and get it remade, so it would be all crisp. AND while that was being accomplished by my washer and dryer, I might want to clean the kitchen and REALLY clean the four bathrooms in this house.
Good morning to you, too.
Since this is his day off, of course, he was going to spend it watching Blazing Saddles and Training Day and could I get the bed made in time for his nap? You bet. Me? If I want to take a nap, I think I'll just conk out on the couch. Alone.
So I vacuumed. I moved furniture. I scrubbed floors and toilets. I fixed lunch, I fixed dinner.
I folded clothes. I washed all the lace curtains and rehung them. And no, I was not chipper about any of it. I was downright surly.
And the temperature in this house is hovering around -60 with NO hopes of warming up THIS weekend.
Tomorrow, I plan to spend the ENTIRE day working in the office. I have much to do. I don't need help. I don;t need company.
He can watch television all day. Next week is payday and this is one month that I don't intend to sign the check and give it to him.
I am a VERY expensive maid.
Today is one of the two days of the week I can sleep past 5:30.
However, I was up at 5 because my husband couldn't sleep and wanted some company.
THEN he mentioned that perhaps I would like to wash the bed and get it remade, so it would be all crisp. AND while that was being accomplished by my washer and dryer, I might want to clean the kitchen and REALLY clean the four bathrooms in this house.
Good morning to you, too.
Since this is his day off, of course, he was going to spend it watching Blazing Saddles and Training Day and could I get the bed made in time for his nap? You bet. Me? If I want to take a nap, I think I'll just conk out on the couch. Alone.
So I vacuumed. I moved furniture. I scrubbed floors and toilets. I fixed lunch, I fixed dinner.
I folded clothes. I washed all the lace curtains and rehung them. And no, I was not chipper about any of it. I was downright surly.
And the temperature in this house is hovering around -60 with NO hopes of warming up THIS weekend.
Tomorrow, I plan to spend the ENTIRE day working in the office. I have much to do. I don't need help. I don;t need company.
He can watch television all day. Next week is payday and this is one month that I don't intend to sign the check and give it to him.
I am a VERY expensive maid.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Today at the prison
First, I have to say that this is a pretty amusing place to work.
I had one student request to come to class at 9:30, since coming at 8 am is is just too early. (Nope)
Another inmate wants to have me provide coffee to the students to give them some vim. (Nope)
Another student is racking me up for tacking an on an extra 1 day to his sentence because he slipped out of class to go to a "buda service"...The fact that he is a prison Muslim is not lost on me; however, I don't have the authority to LET him leave class to commune with buda, since this "service" was held by inmates out on the yard. However, he is willing to prosecute me to the full extent of the law, even 'up to and including the highest law of the Union, the Supremo Court." I sorta would like that, I've never been to DC in the springtime. Ya think the state would fly me out there and let me stay in a nice hotel or would I have to bed down in a jail someplace?
Sorry, we don't had a Buddist service on grounds., If the gathering isn't approved and said student is not on the approved list, he doesn't get to go. If he does go, he loses the day and it is added on to his sentence. Of course, when one has 900 years to serve, I'm not quite getting why 900 years and a day would be a huge area of worry.
This is the same student who made all kinds of whacko claims, which were easy enough to disprove. Copy a snippet of his records and surprise! his claims weren't substantiated.
And this guy has been out of my class since AUGUST. I think he needs to get a life.
Oh, forget that. He has 9 lifes AND 900 years and one day. Silly me, He probably has a lot of time to think and study. What care I if he wants to be a Prison Muslim AND a Buda and a Morman, too?
I had one student request to come to class at 9:30, since coming at 8 am is is just too early. (Nope)
Another inmate wants to have me provide coffee to the students to give them some vim. (Nope)
Another student is racking me up for tacking an on an extra 1 day to his sentence because he slipped out of class to go to a "buda service"...The fact that he is a prison Muslim is not lost on me; however, I don't have the authority to LET him leave class to commune with buda, since this "service" was held by inmates out on the yard. However, he is willing to prosecute me to the full extent of the law, even 'up to and including the highest law of the Union, the Supremo Court." I sorta would like that, I've never been to DC in the springtime. Ya think the state would fly me out there and let me stay in a nice hotel or would I have to bed down in a jail someplace?
Sorry, we don't had a Buddist service on grounds., If the gathering isn't approved and said student is not on the approved list, he doesn't get to go. If he does go, he loses the day and it is added on to his sentence. Of course, when one has 900 years to serve, I'm not quite getting why 900 years and a day would be a huge area of worry.
This is the same student who made all kinds of whacko claims, which were easy enough to disprove. Copy a snippet of his records and surprise! his claims weren't substantiated.
And this guy has been out of my class since AUGUST. I think he needs to get a life.
Oh, forget that. He has 9 lifes AND 900 years and one day. Silly me, He probably has a lot of time to think and study. What care I if he wants to be a Prison Muslim AND a Buda and a Morman, too?
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Another Day
Mom is so happy she is singing around the house, She hasn't sung since Marnie left. She has had Ben busy putting her clothes back up in the closet; Mike arranged for our automotive man to go over and fix her automatic bed and all is right with the world.
I, of course, was up all night, fretting over her obvious unease but it is a wonder what a night's s sleep will do for people. I have several ladies already for Mike to interview---he is not as suspicious as I am. The upside of of course, she can stay in her own home. The whole purpose for buying that house which is, granted, too big for just her and Ben, was so that she could have someone to live in with her as long as possible.
I know she is feeling better because she had Ben fix up her video eye, which works sort of like an opagqu projector---she can put a book under it and it is blown up on the television scene. Tomorrow, Dave is taking the big tv from upstairs over to her house. On Tuesday, she is calling to get her hair done---and if you knew my mother, who has never spent a day in her life with her hair in disarray AND no lipstick...you would know the immediate turn around. She has even agreed to let Mike go to the bank with her and be privy to her business.
Me. Well, she still hasn't decided to speak to me but will deign to relay messages vis Ben and Mike. Oh, well, I know I'm doing the best I can and I guess working at the prison has given me the most amount of armour I'll be needing. Everyone hates me there, too, so I'm used to it.
In the meantime, I'm still working on the chocolate brown cat hair afghan for Lisi. I will never knit with alpaca again and brown is OFF. MY. LIST.
And I still think I have a better than average chance of becoming a lunatic somewhere in the next 45 years. Last night, it felt like the date had been moved up 44.4 years, but today is better.
And Ben is coming over to keep me company. And Lisi will be home.
I, of course, was up all night, fretting over her obvious unease but it is a wonder what a night's s sleep will do for people. I have several ladies already for Mike to interview---he is not as suspicious as I am. The upside of of course, she can stay in her own home. The whole purpose for buying that house which is, granted, too big for just her and Ben, was so that she could have someone to live in with her as long as possible.
I know she is feeling better because she had Ben fix up her video eye, which works sort of like an opagqu projector---she can put a book under it and it is blown up on the television scene. Tomorrow, Dave is taking the big tv from upstairs over to her house. On Tuesday, she is calling to get her hair done---and if you knew my mother, who has never spent a day in her life with her hair in disarray AND no lipstick...you would know the immediate turn around. She has even agreed to let Mike go to the bank with her and be privy to her business.
Me. Well, she still hasn't decided to speak to me but will deign to relay messages vis Ben and Mike. Oh, well, I know I'm doing the best I can and I guess working at the prison has given me the most amount of armour I'll be needing. Everyone hates me there, too, so I'm used to it.
In the meantime, I'm still working on the chocolate brown cat hair afghan for Lisi. I will never knit with alpaca again and brown is OFF. MY. LIST.
And I still think I have a better than average chance of becoming a lunatic somewhere in the next 45 years. Last night, it felt like the date had been moved up 44.4 years, but today is better.
And Ben is coming over to keep me company. And Lisi will be home.
I filled up an entire bag in Mr. Vaccy
Seriously. AND I took the drain thingy off in the shower and fished out almost as much gunk. Where does all of this stuff COME from? Tomorrow, all the clothes and linens I washed, dried, hung/folded go upstairs. All the wood gets another dose of oil and I tackle the office. I already got Ben to agree to tote books upstairs to the library for me. I am sure he has NO IDEA how many trips we are talking about.
We to see my mother today....she is old and frail and had informed me (well, via my sister) that she was moving out at the end of February. So here it is almost moving out time and she wants to wait until March or maybe April. She can barely care for herself but the thought of moving to a nursing home is most upsetting to her. (We have had several dramatic talks about this, all ending with her crying, throwing her hands up in the air and sobbing " I have nothing! Nothing!")
So Darling talked her into staying until May--he will find someone to come in and stay with her during the day and do light housekeeping and cooking. She was so relieved. There is a nice senior living place here that she has already tried (she hated it) and the idea of going to a nursing home and not even having her own personal bed just un-nerves her. She keeps saying that she wants to die, so we had to take away her gun. My Da did the same thing. What the heck is wrong with these people? I am beginning to think that they found ME on the side of the road, because I know for sure I.DO.NOT. ACT. LIKE. THIS.
Then Ben, Darling and I tried to talk her into giving up driving.
Honestly, she is not safe on the road. She got all het up and huffy over THAT. I told her I was going to call the DMV and she got so furious that she said she would never speak to me again.
Too late. Both my parents have NSTMA numerous times and it never killed me. I wish I had a nickle for every time they threatened to NSTMA. I'd be so rich that the Rockerfeller's would want to borrow cab fare. My Da wouldn't speak to me once for seven years, then when he did, he didn't know who the heck I was. He thought I was Wendy Jones' wife, Marie.
So I am not all that impressed with this not speaking nonsense. If the house was on fire, she'd speak to me.
We bought a house across the street from the grocery store so she WOULDN'T HAVE to drive; Ben LIVES with her so he can run these little errands for her....oh, but once a year, she has to go to the bank and she doesn't want anyone to know her business.
See what I have to look forward to?
Lunacy.
Complete and utter howl-at-the-moon lunacy.
She is furious because my sister (Judy the beautiful) is on a cruise and didn't get permission. Judy is 53 years old.
She has four grandchildren.
She has four ADULT children.
And I can tell you, at 53? James and Inez weren't asking permission from anyone for anything.
I can see lunacy on the horizon, waiting for me like a big fat toad. Hopefully, in FORTY years they'll have some kind of drug for it because I refuse to carry on like this.
Actually, my children wouldn't stay in the same room long enough for me to go all old-lady-crazy and without an audience, what would be the point? And my brother Clark and best- friend -since- I- was- 13 Marji would knock me upside the head and then where would I be?
Alone, crazy, with a headache.
We to see my mother today....she is old and frail and had informed me (well, via my sister) that she was moving out at the end of February. So here it is almost moving out time and she wants to wait until March or maybe April. She can barely care for herself but the thought of moving to a nursing home is most upsetting to her. (We have had several dramatic talks about this, all ending with her crying, throwing her hands up in the air and sobbing " I have nothing! Nothing!")
So Darling talked her into staying until May--he will find someone to come in and stay with her during the day and do light housekeeping and cooking. She was so relieved. There is a nice senior living place here that she has already tried (she hated it) and the idea of going to a nursing home and not even having her own personal bed just un-nerves her. She keeps saying that she wants to die, so we had to take away her gun. My Da did the same thing. What the heck is wrong with these people? I am beginning to think that they found ME on the side of the road, because I know for sure I.DO.NOT. ACT. LIKE. THIS.
Then Ben, Darling and I tried to talk her into giving up driving.
Honestly, she is not safe on the road. She got all het up and huffy over THAT. I told her I was going to call the DMV and she got so furious that she said she would never speak to me again.
Too late. Both my parents have NSTMA numerous times and it never killed me. I wish I had a nickle for every time they threatened to NSTMA. I'd be so rich that the Rockerfeller's would want to borrow cab fare. My Da wouldn't speak to me once for seven years, then when he did, he didn't know who the heck I was. He thought I was Wendy Jones' wife, Marie.
So I am not all that impressed with this not speaking nonsense. If the house was on fire, she'd speak to me.
We bought a house across the street from the grocery store so she WOULDN'T HAVE to drive; Ben LIVES with her so he can run these little errands for her....oh, but once a year, she has to go to the bank and she doesn't want anyone to know her business.
See what I have to look forward to?
Lunacy.
Complete and utter howl-at-the-moon lunacy.
She is furious because my sister (Judy the beautiful) is on a cruise and didn't get permission. Judy is 53 years old.
She has four grandchildren.
She has four ADULT children.
And I can tell you, at 53? James and Inez weren't asking permission from anyone for anything.
I can see lunacy on the horizon, waiting for me like a big fat toad. Hopefully, in FORTY years they'll have some kind of drug for it because I refuse to carry on like this.
Actually, my children wouldn't stay in the same room long enough for me to go all old-lady-crazy and without an audience, what would be the point? And my brother Clark and best- friend -since- I- was- 13 Marji would knock me upside the head and then where would I be?
Alone, crazy, with a headache.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Plans for my weekend
I left my knitting in my carpool vehicle, so this weekend will be up close and personal with the vacuum cleaner, cleanser and mop. I haven't REALLY cleaned in the longest time that oddly, I am kinda sorta looking forward to this! It's not that I like cleaning all that much, but I really like the aftermath. And this weekend is supposed to be "spring like" so I can leave the doors and windows open and air the house out.
Darling is staying home to work on the 450SL---he needs to sand it down because the color coat is starting to peel. I think he's afraid I'll be climbing ladders and falling on my head. (No chance).
One huge chore I do need to get out of the way is cleaning the office...I've been postponing THAT for almost three years. Everything is in tidy piles; I just need to get the piles put away! I have boxes of books that I need to drag upstairs to the hotel---the library is totally finished and I can put the books away and then drape them in plastic. So part of the cleaning is going to be toting the boxed books downstairs and talking Ben into putting them in the car and toting them upstairs.
I'm even thinking of taking in my really big sectional (pink plaid and SO comfortable) and having it recovered in something chenille-y. Or wide wale corduroy. I guess I need to go in to Hart's Home with Marji and pick something out for the couch and the drapes. I think she has better taste than I do...I'm too portervillified.
I have a ton of bulbs in a cold frame and if all goes well and the weather is nice on Monday, I think I'll manage to get them into the ground in the front flowerbeds. I really like digging in the yard...just not when it is cold/wet/muddy/hot--most of the time.
Darling is staying home to work on the 450SL---he needs to sand it down because the color coat is starting to peel. I think he's afraid I'll be climbing ladders and falling on my head. (No chance).
One huge chore I do need to get out of the way is cleaning the office...I've been postponing THAT for almost three years. Everything is in tidy piles; I just need to get the piles put away! I have boxes of books that I need to drag upstairs to the hotel---the library is totally finished and I can put the books away and then drape them in plastic. So part of the cleaning is going to be toting the boxed books downstairs and talking Ben into putting them in the car and toting them upstairs.
I'm even thinking of taking in my really big sectional (pink plaid and SO comfortable) and having it recovered in something chenille-y. Or wide wale corduroy. I guess I need to go in to Hart's Home with Marji and pick something out for the couch and the drapes. I think she has better taste than I do...I'm too portervillified.
I have a ton of bulbs in a cold frame and if all goes well and the weather is nice on Monday, I think I'll manage to get them into the ground in the front flowerbeds. I really like digging in the yard...just not when it is cold/wet/muddy/hot--most of the time.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Putting my life back together
The meds are working (even though I had to get a shot yesterday) and I am slowly getting my life back. I'm looking at my blog and it looks like it just stopped in November, except for the whining. I am still knitting on Girlie's afghan (chocolate milk brown with alpaca. I think alpaca is French for cat hair). I'm about half done.
Next on the needles is a cardigan for Darling. I bought the buttons almost a year ago AND I still know where they are. It is just plain, since I like a lot of stockinette. I have a pattern (sort of) but am really just using a cardigan he has and using that to figure off. I used to do the same thing with sewing, so I'm hoping that it will work the same way.
On the sewing front, I'm working on the oriental fabric for the bathroom upstairs. I found some sheer fabric with an antique gold plaid to go in the middle of the drapes. I don;t have quite enough to make the curtains as full as I wanted. This plaid will fill it up and the whole window won't look quite so skimpy.
I have a whopping cold (could not talk all day) but got out in the sunshine to weed a little. I have four days off for President's Day (new contract...no idea why, because I would prefer TWO three day weekends, which adds up to SIX days, instead of just four days.)
Did I mention that I both found and REPAIRED some massive mistakes at work? They were so huge, so earthshaking that I am surprised that the great, grand and glorious state could even go on functioning with these glaring mistakes. (My job and thus my reports are VERY IMPORTANT.)
Took me about 30 minutes. I have three other reports that are in the very same shape. The one good thing about me is that I will rat myself out in a heartbeat. Because in my business, once you know, someone else will find out and rat you out, so it is just better all the way around to tattle on your own self.
Now for a scary piece of news:
The gal who cuts my hair got an unsolicited letter from an inmate. One of those 'I saw your picture in the newspaper and you so sexy" letters. Wanted to know what to do. Write a letter to the warden and ask that this inmate NEVER contact you again. Prisons take this VERY seriously, cause inmates are seriously scary, most of the time. Then it becomes a condition of their parole (should they get parole). THEN, if they contact you again, you contact the warden and they get popped for a parole violation.
Really.
They can't be writing you civilians unsolicited letters. You don't want him to show up on your doorstep or worse, have his buddies show up on your doorstep. There are plenty of women who WANT a penpal in prison that those inmates do not need to drum up business in the free world.
And if the big stamp on the envelope that says MAILED FROM A STATE PRISON doesn;t clue you off, the lined paper and the repeated phrase "very, very, very" should. Most inmates write like fourth graders trying to fill up a page for teacher.
Next on the needles is a cardigan for Darling. I bought the buttons almost a year ago AND I still know where they are. It is just plain, since I like a lot of stockinette. I have a pattern (sort of) but am really just using a cardigan he has and using that to figure off. I used to do the same thing with sewing, so I'm hoping that it will work the same way.
On the sewing front, I'm working on the oriental fabric for the bathroom upstairs. I found some sheer fabric with an antique gold plaid to go in the middle of the drapes. I don;t have quite enough to make the curtains as full as I wanted. This plaid will fill it up and the whole window won't look quite so skimpy.
I have a whopping cold (could not talk all day) but got out in the sunshine to weed a little. I have four days off for President's Day (new contract...no idea why, because I would prefer TWO three day weekends, which adds up to SIX days, instead of just four days.)
Did I mention that I both found and REPAIRED some massive mistakes at work? They were so huge, so earthshaking that I am surprised that the great, grand and glorious state could even go on functioning with these glaring mistakes. (My job and thus my reports are VERY IMPORTANT.)
Took me about 30 minutes. I have three other reports that are in the very same shape. The one good thing about me is that I will rat myself out in a heartbeat. Because in my business, once you know, someone else will find out and rat you out, so it is just better all the way around to tattle on your own self.
Now for a scary piece of news:
The gal who cuts my hair got an unsolicited letter from an inmate. One of those 'I saw your picture in the newspaper and you so sexy" letters. Wanted to know what to do. Write a letter to the warden and ask that this inmate NEVER contact you again. Prisons take this VERY seriously, cause inmates are seriously scary, most of the time. Then it becomes a condition of their parole (should they get parole). THEN, if they contact you again, you contact the warden and they get popped for a parole violation.
Really.
They can't be writing you civilians unsolicited letters. You don't want him to show up on your doorstep or worse, have his buddies show up on your doorstep. There are plenty of women who WANT a penpal in prison that those inmates do not need to drum up business in the free world.
And if the big stamp on the envelope that says MAILED FROM A STATE PRISON doesn;t clue you off, the lined paper and the repeated phrase "very, very, very" should. Most inmates write like fourth graders trying to fill up a page for teacher.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Yes, it IS all about me
After a year of waiting, I finally was seen by some real doctors--okay, that is a little harsh; I guess doctors who practice IN San Francisco, AT the UC/SF Medical Center AT a medical school....well, I guess they function a little differently. I know that when I've had a student teacher, my game was a little more professional.
So, what I have is an "area of interest". It is too little and too deep to monkey with and since it is just an odd little thing, these doctors decided to leave it alone and just treat my headaches with drugs. I'm in a migraine clinic and will be making the trek to SF every month while the elusive "we" gets the meds all in order. (Not the royal "we"...I have little to nothing to do with it.)
So, what I have is an "area of interest". It is too little and too deep to monkey with and since it is just an odd little thing, these doctors decided to leave it alone and just treat my headaches with drugs. I'm in a migraine clinic and will be making the trek to SF every month while the elusive "we" gets the meds all in order. (Not the royal "we"...I have little to nothing to do with it.)
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Oh, yeah. I'm terrified
A little information is sometimes NOT such a good thing. It will multiply your questions exponentially. Then I got to see the walking wounded on the Nuero floor and I can tell you right now, nobody is doin' ANYTHING like that to me. I think if the idea is to scare you, they are doing a dandy little job there.
Because it scared me senseless.
So I have a cartload of tests tomorrow and then Dr. Spook decides what direction is the best way to go. I am hoping for the pharmaceutical direction. In fact, tonight I would welcome a cartload. Give it to me with one of those big bore rusty needles. I don't. I need some help from Orpheus.
Having something really wrong with your brain really helps to put things into perspective.
Because it scared me senseless.
So I have a cartload of tests tomorrow and then Dr. Spook decides what direction is the best way to go. I am hoping for the pharmaceutical direction. In fact, tonight I would welcome a cartload. Give it to me with one of those big bore rusty needles. I don't. I need some help from Orpheus.
Having something really wrong with your brain really helps to put things into perspective.
Bloggers Silent Poetry Reading that marks the Feast of St. Brigid.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Whereas I Go to UC/SF and snoop around
I do not like San Francisco.
I do have to say that the people working there must have been used to wide eye-and-silent "I'M not going!!" looks on their patients faces, since I did not disturb them in the least. The good thing is that I don;t have an AVM or a tumor. I see the gamma ray doctor on Monday (Boy-o will go with us, just because Boy-o never gets to go anywhere). This new doctor will decide with going in with the gamma rays to sizzle out such a small deep spot that isn't cancerous is worth it. Said small spot is the size of a thumbtack. I am sure Dr. Spock would have been able to manage this on Stark Trek. My bet is that it is too small and too deep to dig around for, so they will treat it with drugs. Which is fine by me, as long as most of it goes on anywhere NOT in San Francisco.
I would see a huge dog park from the 8th floor. I imagine those dogs have never been off leash, never have had a chance to stretch their legs and run like a greyhound like Tank does. I doubt
that Rocket would be allowed to dig for hours after gophers and then just sit, her ears barely visable above the dirt and watch the cars go by.
There are tons of really gorgeous, well kept Victorians to look at--all the different (and pricey) color combos, gingerbread and fancy carvings. The damp takes it's toll on their pristine looks just as the heat does here at home. It takes a LOT of money to keep a Victorian in top condition and a lot of work. They don't stay clean by themselves and those old windows leak in the dust.
I like the IDEA of San Francisco, just not the place itself.
Too many people. All trying to go where I'm going.Except they KNOW where they are going and I don't.
The medical center sent a NARRATIVE map..not a real map, just written directions. I guess that worked just fine, since we got there and back but still, I like looking at a map and guessing where it is that I'm at. Just as aside, I was so scared OUT my mind that I didn;t bring my knitting nor do I try to find a store that sold yarn.
On the way home in the planet's worst rainstorm, we drove forever and were just in Campbell. Campbell isn't close enough to home to even COUNT. We got home at 11 and were up for work the next day.
We did find a great little burger place on Carl and Cole, just above the Haight and below the medical center. Found a parking place. It had a bathroom, which counts for a lot in San Francisco, since not every place has them. (It is my personal irritation when one is OBVIOUSLY a customer and one asks for the bathroom and one is told that there are no public bathrooms available. Well, this one is not the public, obviously, since this one is spending money. That would make this one a customer and therefore eligible for the bathrooms. Would not one think? Not in San Francisco. Or Visalia, either, come to think of it.)
I do have to say that the people working there must have been used to wide eye-and-silent "I'M not going!!" looks on their patients faces, since I did not disturb them in the least. The good thing is that I don;t have an AVM or a tumor. I see the gamma ray doctor on Monday (Boy-o will go with us, just because Boy-o never gets to go anywhere). This new doctor will decide with going in with the gamma rays to sizzle out such a small deep spot that isn't cancerous is worth it. Said small spot is the size of a thumbtack. I am sure Dr. Spock would have been able to manage this on Stark Trek. My bet is that it is too small and too deep to dig around for, so they will treat it with drugs. Which is fine by me, as long as most of it goes on anywhere NOT in San Francisco.
I would see a huge dog park from the 8th floor. I imagine those dogs have never been off leash, never have had a chance to stretch their legs and run like a greyhound like Tank does. I doubt
that Rocket would be allowed to dig for hours after gophers and then just sit, her ears barely visable above the dirt and watch the cars go by.There are tons of really gorgeous, well kept Victorians to look at--all the different (and pricey) color combos, gingerbread and fancy carvings. The damp takes it's toll on their pristine looks just as the heat does here at home. It takes a LOT of money to keep a Victorian in top condition and a lot of work. They don't stay clean by themselves and those old windows leak in the dust.
Monday, January 28, 2008
I drink juice at work now
Becuase I have enough caffiene jammed into myself and I think maybe some cran-something will purify me. So I buy one and drag it into myclassroo, where I can take dainty little sips, whenever I want to.
Mr. W asks every day if he can have my juice container. He almost salivates when he talks, ever so quietly at my desk. I can almost see him rubbing his hands and clicking his heels with glee. He wants them because I can get them and he cannot.
He can't get them on the yard or at canteen, so they would be quite a sought after commodity. Yes, he could make hooch (we call it pruno) and the be able to individually bottle it and sell it packaged quite nicely. Or he could judt sell this really great container and let others worry about what it would be used for. The golden rule here is grab the gold and don;t get greedy or caught.
So after 2 weeks of :Are you done with that juice? Boy, it sure takes you a long time to DRINK that juice....I am disqualificating myself from the 2008 Juice olympics and ratting him out.
The setting is right at the door....the doorway is filled with the bulky bodies of the sarge and my officer, while Mr. Juice is cooly trying to unobtrusibly slip past them, I, in my best Donna Reed impersonaltion say,"Oh! I am so glas all three of you are right here! Perhaps you could clear up this little question I have." Pick up my cranberry bottle and turn it so that the sponsers label is clearly scene. Mr. W has been asking me for weeks no if I would give him my bottle when I am finined. Is that going to be okay or it that against the rules.
The two c/o's did this immediate ugly face at him and he attempted to tell them "oh, she craazy! I never said that!"
I gasped and hissed "¡Mentiroso! ¡Usted perro de mentira! ¡Ahora no le creerÃa si vino su lengüeta certificado ante notario! ¿Que usted puede INCOMODARME y después mentir sobre ella? Eso apenas prueba que una mentira y la verdad son interchangable para usted. USTED, mi amigo, me ha demostrado su carácter verdadero hoy. Usted es no mejor que un cur, un perro salvaje pero usted finge ser un hombre, usted es un niño de mentira. Me lavo las manos de usted y limpio el polvo de usted de mis pies."
It loses much of it's veneom in English but roughly, I said " Liar! You lying dog! I wouldn't believe you now if your tongue came notarized! That you can BOTHER me and then lie about it? That just proves that a lie and the truth are interchangable for you. YOU, my friend, have shown me your true character today. You are no better than a cur, a wild dog and yet you pretend to be a man, You are a lying child. I wash my hands of you and wipe the dust of you from my feet."
Then he got slammed and spent the rest of the day in a cage. We take manipulation very seiously here,
Mr. W asks every day if he can have my juice container. He almost salivates when he talks, ever so quietly at my desk. I can almost see him rubbing his hands and clicking his heels with glee. He wants them because I can get them and he cannot.
He can't get them on the yard or at canteen, so they would be quite a sought after commodity. Yes, he could make hooch (we call it pruno) and the be able to individually bottle it and sell it packaged quite nicely. Or he could judt sell this really great container and let others worry about what it would be used for. The golden rule here is grab the gold and don;t get greedy or caught.
So after 2 weeks of :Are you done with that juice? Boy, it sure takes you a long time to DRINK that juice....I am disqualificating myself from the 2008 Juice olympics and ratting him out.
The setting is right at the door....the doorway is filled with the bulky bodies of the sarge and my officer, while Mr. Juice is cooly trying to unobtrusibly slip past them, I, in my best Donna Reed impersonaltion say,"Oh! I am so glas all three of you are right here! Perhaps you could clear up this little question I have." Pick up my cranberry bottle and turn it so that the sponsers label is clearly scene. Mr. W has been asking me for weeks no if I would give him my bottle when I am finined. Is that going to be okay or it that against the rules.
The two c/o's did this immediate ugly face at him and he attempted to tell them "oh, she craazy! I never said that!"
I gasped and hissed "¡Mentiroso! ¡Usted perro de mentira! ¡Ahora no le creerÃa si vino su lengüeta certificado ante notario! ¿Que usted puede INCOMODARME y después mentir sobre ella? Eso apenas prueba que una mentira y la verdad son interchangable para usted. USTED, mi amigo, me ha demostrado su carácter verdadero hoy. Usted es no mejor que un cur, un perro salvaje pero usted finge ser un hombre, usted es un niño de mentira. Me lavo las manos de usted y limpio el polvo de usted de mis pies."
It loses much of it's veneom in English but roughly, I said " Liar! You lying dog! I wouldn't believe you now if your tongue came notarized! That you can BOTHER me and then lie about it? That just proves that a lie and the truth are interchangable for you. YOU, my friend, have shown me your true character today. You are no better than a cur, a wild dog and yet you pretend to be a man, You are a lying child. I wash my hands of you and wipe the dust of you from my feet."
Then he got slammed and spent the rest of the day in a cage. We take manipulation very seiously here,
Monday, January 21, 2008
Up in the middle of the night
Got a headache last night...poor pathetic me. Marji got one, too. All she had was aspirin. I had a whole crazy hot mess of things, which I threw up. Even puke stop. Couldn't keep 7-Up down. We were watching ER (one of the many seasons we have) and I was looking at the mayhem that goes on and was thinking, nope, I hurt more than that. Hurt more than that. Sure hurt more than THAT.
So I'm up in the middle of the night, trying to decide if I need to go to the ER or if I can just take what I have and keep it down. I HATE going to the hospital in the middle of the night. You never know how long you are going to have to wait or if you are going to get some jerk of a doctor who thinks some tylenol is going to work. Hey! My head is going to blow UP. If tylenol worked, I would be at Rite Aide.
Marji can't get drugs and I think I know why. She has that competent, educated librarian face that looks like she has it all under control. Her husband has that competent,unruffled engineer face that looks like he has it all under control. They look like thoughtful, reasonable people.
I, on the other hand, look like a dandelion on crack with huge black circles under my eyes. I am crying and Darling looks like a bad Johnny Cash who has been up for 100 years. Huge bags under his eyes and he paces like a caged bear. WE look like a couple who not only does not have it together; we are rapidly spiraling out of what little control we have. And my blood pressure is something like 250/190 (which usually makes the nurse dash out of the room with a stricken look on her face) and then it is big ass needles and vats of drugs.
The first time that happened it REALLY scared me. I mean, medical personnel are supposed to be able to calmly handle everything, no matter how icky. So when your nurse says something like,"Hmmmm" you can think, well, maybe this is a tad odd. However, when she says, "Jesus, Mary and Baby Jesus!" and whirls out of the room, it makes you think....well, by that time, you aren't doing a lot of thinking besides "YIKES!"
Once upon a time, I was in a huge pile up in the fog and I ended up under an 18-wheeler with the top of my car peeled off. Upon impact, I crawled into the foot well of the passenger seat, since i knew for a fact that I was going to get smacked more than once, since this truck was across the road and there was another car jammed underneath it on the other side. It took six hours to cut me out, mainly because the kid in the other side was in a really bad way. I was just cold and scared.
During that whole thing, the EMTs and the firefighters and the cops were calm, calm calm. Someone was with me the whole time. Somebody gave me a phone so I could call work and my folks and my kids, but I wasn't alone. And I never got that sense of urgency that i was in trouble. (And besides having to get my car cut apart to get me out, I WASN'T). It was almost surreal, it was so calm.
And if I can manage to hang on and go in to my regular clinic, it is pretty calm, too, since they know me.
It's going to the ER that I hate. Especially over here. I know where it is but Darling doesn't. Well, he knows where it is in the daytime but not at night. So I am just at that little balance point where I'm looking at the clock and wondering if I can hang on until around 6:30 or if I am going to have a stoke right now.
Because this 250/190 shite is nothing to fool around with, Which is why I have drugs and Marji has a headache and Tylenol.
So I'm up in the middle of the night, trying to decide if I need to go to the ER or if I can just take what I have and keep it down. I HATE going to the hospital in the middle of the night. You never know how long you are going to have to wait or if you are going to get some jerk of a doctor who thinks some tylenol is going to work. Hey! My head is going to blow UP. If tylenol worked, I would be at Rite Aide.
Marji can't get drugs and I think I know why. She has that competent, educated librarian face that looks like she has it all under control. Her husband has that competent,unruffled engineer face that looks like he has it all under control. They look like thoughtful, reasonable people.
I, on the other hand, look like a dandelion on crack with huge black circles under my eyes. I am crying and Darling looks like a bad Johnny Cash who has been up for 100 years. Huge bags under his eyes and he paces like a caged bear. WE look like a couple who not only does not have it together; we are rapidly spiraling out of what little control we have. And my blood pressure is something like 250/190 (which usually makes the nurse dash out of the room with a stricken look on her face) and then it is big ass needles and vats of drugs.
The first time that happened it REALLY scared me. I mean, medical personnel are supposed to be able to calmly handle everything, no matter how icky. So when your nurse says something like,"Hmmmm" you can think, well, maybe this is a tad odd. However, when she says, "Jesus, Mary and Baby Jesus!" and whirls out of the room, it makes you think....well, by that time, you aren't doing a lot of thinking besides "YIKES!"
Once upon a time, I was in a huge pile up in the fog and I ended up under an 18-wheeler with the top of my car peeled off. Upon impact, I crawled into the foot well of the passenger seat, since i knew for a fact that I was going to get smacked more than once, since this truck was across the road and there was another car jammed underneath it on the other side. It took six hours to cut me out, mainly because the kid in the other side was in a really bad way. I was just cold and scared.
During that whole thing, the EMTs and the firefighters and the cops were calm, calm calm. Someone was with me the whole time. Somebody gave me a phone so I could call work and my folks and my kids, but I wasn't alone. And I never got that sense of urgency that i was in trouble. (And besides having to get my car cut apart to get me out, I WASN'T). It was almost surreal, it was so calm.
And if I can manage to hang on and go in to my regular clinic, it is pretty calm, too, since they know me.
It's going to the ER that I hate. Especially over here. I know where it is but Darling doesn't. Well, he knows where it is in the daytime but not at night. So I am just at that little balance point where I'm looking at the clock and wondering if I can hang on until around 6:30 or if I am going to have a stoke right now.
Because this 250/190 shite is nothing to fool around with, Which is why I have drugs and Marji has a headache and Tylenol.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
My long weekend (spelling fixed)
I brought a big basket of mending and managed to get it all done. My usually meticulous stitches. (Not the same ones I was trying to do the other night, I can tell you. Those were done by a big dog who lacked an opposing thumb. Terrible job and no color sense.) But everything is all ship shape, now.
Reading I don't know what. A book from the pile I keep here...you know, just in case I finish the REAL book I read at night or the REAL book I drag around in my handbag. If I finisihed and didn;t have something to read....well, then there I would be, stuck with my own thoughts. Not a good place to be.
Knitting Lisi's cat hair afghan. I still don't like the color (chocolate milk) OR the alpaca. But I want to get it done whist I can still knit. And I might be able to knit circles around every one, once I get my head fixed.
Not to brag, but I used to knit like a fiend when the kids were little. They had more hand knitted sweaters than sweatshirts. We were always buying yarn...crazy, whack yarn and knocking out crazy whack whatever they saw can you make this mommy sweaters. And I didn't have enough sense to even know it was hard. Sketch out the sweater, take a few measurements...heck, sometimes, I would just have them lie down on the floor and make a sketch.
You want a big fish and bubbles? Gotcha,
A dinosaur? Big Bird? You bet.
A sweater that looks like a cow? Sure.
A sweater that starts in the middle and spirals around. No problem.
Ruffles? Buttonholes? Steeking? Turned up, tidy hems? Okie Dokie.
No idea that there were rules to follow or that this was hard stuff. I was the Debbie Bliss of the Tot Lot park, where I spent most of my time.
Not like now. That person was somebody else. She might come back, at which point the knitting world had just better watch out. There just may not be enough fiber for me and the rest of you all.
I'm serious.
I'm going out on the boat tomorrow, to knit, get some sun and watch the birdwatchers. All the different birds are nesting because now is when there are lots of bugs and little fishies to eat. The water at the Marina is just cluttered with all kinds of critters.
Next weekend, we're bringing Ben so he can shoot and fly his airplane. Next week, I'm pruning my Princess Diana rose bushes and taking them into the prison to propagate. (It's a 50-50 split).
I have the front garden that serpentines around the front of the house. I'm putting my 5 million bulbs in (they have been sitting on top of the dirt, getting chilled), rooting pothos (green and NOT ivy) and ordered my baby blanket roses as ground cover. With a little night blooming jasmine for the smell. Honeysuckle on the fence. (This is all not much harder than a dog burying a bone. If it was more complicated, i wouldn;t do it.)
The hill...well, I'm putting Mermaid roses on the fence at the top of the hill and planting the rest of it with lavender. I found some really pretty stuff that looks almost like fat sticks of chennile sticks. It grows at the zoo in Fresno, so it should grow just fine here. Yellow and purple and gray green. Sounds pretty, doesn't it?
I have a load of sand to put into one of my garden boxes for my asparagus. Rhubarb on the fence with hollyhocks and morning glory. Lettuce. Herbs. I'm putting two kinds of grapes on my old clothes line...the vines will crawl on the old wires and provide shade for my potting bench.
I threw out grass seed so that it will have to be mowed, but since the old fence is coming down, that won't be much of a problem.
And this is not time intensive. Just something to do. Actually, it is something to do to get out of cleaning the house.
When we move to the hotel. I'll have some plants in pots on the veranda. I have a little garden over here at the beach (one of those 20 minutes worth of weeding when you feel like it gardens), so I can get into the dirt at least a little. I think we are going to add on a deck and then screen it and then window it in and then knock out an interior wall to open the whole place up. There isn't enough room here for me to sew. And if we have company over, it is wall to wall people. I want to put some sleeper sofas in there. And one of those Japanese soaking tubs. Just outside in par boiling water, watch the moon and the stars and the waves roll in. Have to figure out how I want it to look because the patio part will be lost and the soaking tub will be where the little gardening shed is now. The gardening shed will be on the 'tother side of the electical meter.
Two years. I have to sell the big house first.
Reading I don't know what. A book from the pile I keep here...you know, just in case I finish the REAL book I read at night or the REAL book I drag around in my handbag. If I finisihed and didn;t have something to read....well, then there I would be, stuck with my own thoughts. Not a good place to be.
Knitting Lisi's cat hair afghan. I still don't like the color (chocolate milk) OR the alpaca. But I want to get it done whist I can still knit. And I might be able to knit circles around every one, once I get my head fixed.
Not to brag, but I used to knit like a fiend when the kids were little. They had more hand knitted sweaters than sweatshirts. We were always buying yarn...crazy, whack yarn and knocking out crazy whack whatever they saw can you make this mommy sweaters. And I didn't have enough sense to even know it was hard. Sketch out the sweater, take a few measurements...heck, sometimes, I would just have them lie down on the floor and make a sketch.
You want a big fish and bubbles? Gotcha,
A dinosaur? Big Bird? You bet.
A sweater that looks like a cow? Sure.
A sweater that starts in the middle and spirals around. No problem.
Ruffles? Buttonholes? Steeking? Turned up, tidy hems? Okie Dokie.
No idea that there were rules to follow or that this was hard stuff. I was the Debbie Bliss of the Tot Lot park, where I spent most of my time.
Not like now. That person was somebody else. She might come back, at which point the knitting world had just better watch out. There just may not be enough fiber for me and the rest of you all.
I'm serious.
I'm going out on the boat tomorrow, to knit, get some sun and watch the birdwatchers. All the different birds are nesting because now is when there are lots of bugs and little fishies to eat. The water at the Marina is just cluttered with all kinds of critters.
Next weekend, we're bringing Ben so he can shoot and fly his airplane. Next week, I'm pruning my Princess Diana rose bushes and taking them into the prison to propagate. (It's a 50-50 split).
I have the front garden that serpentines around the front of the house. I'm putting my 5 million bulbs in (they have been sitting on top of the dirt, getting chilled), rooting pothos (green and NOT ivy) and ordered my baby blanket roses as ground cover. With a little night blooming jasmine for the smell. Honeysuckle on the fence. (This is all not much harder than a dog burying a bone. If it was more complicated, i wouldn;t do it.)
The hill...well, I'm putting Mermaid roses on the fence at the top of the hill and planting the rest of it with lavender. I found some really pretty stuff that looks almost like fat sticks of chennile sticks. It grows at the zoo in Fresno, so it should grow just fine here. Yellow and purple and gray green. Sounds pretty, doesn't it?
I have a load of sand to put into one of my garden boxes for my asparagus. Rhubarb on the fence with hollyhocks and morning glory. Lettuce. Herbs. I'm putting two kinds of grapes on my old clothes line...the vines will crawl on the old wires and provide shade for my potting bench.
I threw out grass seed so that it will have to be mowed, but since the old fence is coming down, that won't be much of a problem.
And this is not time intensive. Just something to do. Actually, it is something to do to get out of cleaning the house.
When we move to the hotel. I'll have some plants in pots on the veranda. I have a little garden over here at the beach (one of those 20 minutes worth of weeding when you feel like it gardens), so I can get into the dirt at least a little. I think we are going to add on a deck and then screen it and then window it in and then knock out an interior wall to open the whole place up. There isn't enough room here for me to sew. And if we have company over, it is wall to wall people. I want to put some sleeper sofas in there. And one of those Japanese soaking tubs. Just outside in par boiling water, watch the moon and the stars and the waves roll in. Have to figure out how I want it to look because the patio part will be lost and the soaking tub will be where the little gardening shed is now. The gardening shed will be on the 'tother side of the electical meter.
Two years. I have to sell the big house first.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Okay, so I'm a wee bit late
I've had a little bit on my mind....but I've had a pretty good week so far, so I thought maybe I would CONSIDER THE REVOLUTIONS.
All around me people made their resolutions for the new year, promises to do this or commitments to do that, setting goals and making new plans.
Sort of like Monday morning for me, since I haven;t managed to screw the week up yet. Except they are thinking THE. ENTIRE. YEAR.
I am not sure how I feel about resolutions.
I could say, "Today is the rest of my life starting NOW." and resolve anything at any time, which is usually what I do. Okay, to be truthful, I try to do this stuff on a three day weekend, so it can sort of creep up on me. And then the number one change on all 52 of my lists is always "Clean the office" followed by "weed the hill". They have a permanent spot on my do-over list.
So why does the new calendar in my wee little planner seem so hopeful?
Mine resides in an index card sized address/planner book that literally keeps my brains in it. And yes, I have a PDA but since I can't take it into work, it sort of defeats its little purpose. Plus, my little planner never runs out of power.
I make these sweeping, grand plans, and then I peter out with them when life gets hard or it gets hot or my head hurtsl and it's all I can do to hang on by my fingernails. I end up feeling like a total failure and that's not a very nice way to end the day, the week or even the year. (Can you tell I'm humming the theme from FRIENDS?)
Maybe the trick to it, for me, is not in making the huge, new changes.
Maybe rather than focusing on goals and the finish line, I'd get more of a sense , oh, I don;t know.. WINNING?... if I just looked at how certain situations and things have changed in the course of a year.
So here are my revolutions:
All around me people made their resolutions for the new year, promises to do this or commitments to do that, setting goals and making new plans.
Sort of like Monday morning for me, since I haven;t managed to screw the week up yet. Except they are thinking THE. ENTIRE. YEAR.
I am not sure how I feel about resolutions.
I could say, "Today is the rest of my life starting NOW." and resolve anything at any time, which is usually what I do. Okay, to be truthful, I try to do this stuff on a three day weekend, so it can sort of creep up on me. And then the number one change on all 52 of my lists is always "Clean the office" followed by "weed the hill". They have a permanent spot on my do-over list.
So why does the new calendar in my wee little planner seem so hopeful?
Mine resides in an index card sized address/planner book that literally keeps my brains in it. And yes, I have a PDA but since I can't take it into work, it sort of defeats its little purpose. Plus, my little planner never runs out of power.
I make these sweeping, grand plans, and then I peter out with them when life gets hard or it gets hot or my head hurtsl and it's all I can do to hang on by my fingernails. I end up feeling like a total failure and that's not a very nice way to end the day, the week or even the year. (Can you tell I'm humming the theme from FRIENDS?)
Maybe the trick to it, for me, is not in making the huge, new changes.
Maybe rather than focusing on goals and the finish line, I'd get more of a sense , oh, I don;t know.. WINNING?... if I just looked at how certain situations and things have changed in the course of a year.
So here are my revolutions:
- Clean out the office (#1 for the last FOUR years)
- Weed and plant the hillside
- Do something Martha Stewart-ish in my vegetable garden (usually worked on until it gets hot)
- Keep the kitchen table free from laundry. (That would mean I would have to find somewhere else to put it).
- Actually take all of my books and but them up in the library in some kind of order
- Wear lipstick and perfume every day
- Get a hole drilled into my head and stop complaining about my headaches
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Here it it..the Wednesday riots
Level 1 went off and before the word got over to my yard to lock it up, MY yard went off like a rocket.
It was too cold to fight for very long, so it was all over in about 15 minutes. Violent minutes, but none of the guys in green got hurt and except for the sheer number of guys fighting, I don't think anyone got hurt on their side, either. No ambulances at least.
It is so crazy that this is normal for me...here I have lived my quiet, uneventlful little life and then I toss myself into the belly of the beast and spend my days with literally, the worst of the worst.
Some of them aren't worth saving and prison is a great place for them-their mamas don;t have to worry about them being dead on the side of the road, they aren't making more babies and they have someone to tell them what to do every minute of the day.
Some of them, though, really work on their reading, their math and take the tests seriously...and their scores show consistent improvement. They actually have a plan for when they get out (EPRD..earliest possible release date).
others..well, others think that Felon Boy who has never held a job and can't read is a DANDY package for a young EMPLOYED woman who wants a family.
And when I ask them what it is that they are bringing to the table for this educated young EMPLOYED woman, they look at me like I have just jumped off the roof. They can sing, they can quote poetry, they can play basketball ....what else would a woman want?
Dude. A dude with a job.
Don't you guys ever watch Judge Judy?
It was too cold to fight for very long, so it was all over in about 15 minutes. Violent minutes, but none of the guys in green got hurt and except for the sheer number of guys fighting, I don't think anyone got hurt on their side, either. No ambulances at least.
It is so crazy that this is normal for me...here I have lived my quiet, uneventlful little life and then I toss myself into the belly of the beast and spend my days with literally, the worst of the worst.
Some of them aren't worth saving and prison is a great place for them-their mamas don;t have to worry about them being dead on the side of the road, they aren't making more babies and they have someone to tell them what to do every minute of the day.
Some of them, though, really work on their reading, their math and take the tests seriously...and their scores show consistent improvement. They actually have a plan for when they get out (EPRD..earliest possible release date).
others..well, others think that Felon Boy who has never held a job and can't read is a DANDY package for a young EMPLOYED woman who wants a family.
And when I ask them what it is that they are bringing to the table for this educated young EMPLOYED woman, they look at me like I have just jumped off the roof. They can sing, they can quote poetry, they can play basketball ....what else would a woman want?
Dude. A dude with a job.
Don't you guys ever watch Judge Judy?
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Yesterday and today
That's the house across the street.
There are the four cars in my driveway, taken from the front porch.
Here is the backyard; the pool and the summer cottage. The hill with the fruit trees is on the other side of the pool. The chicken house is just on the other side of the hill.
And here is my garden, taken from the back deck. You can't see the lettuce, but it is there. You can;t see the wheel barrow or the potting table either. In fact, right now, you can't see ANYTHING.It is dense, heavy and wet fog and we are supposed to have it for the rest of the week and then get some rain. Here, in the Central Valley, we can have WEEKS of this weather. And it is COLD.
Like freezing and damp and miserable. And if it isn't raining, we get this fog. And if it's not foggy, we get the rain.
Of course, we are locked down in the mornings because the gunners can't see to shoot. (Really. They inmates have to be watched and if you can't see them, not telling WHAT they'll do.
And the gunners shoot wood blocks (they sting) or rubber bullets at their feet (the rubber ones sting, too) not REAL ammunition). Just in case you were wondering.
I am stuck either in class or in the main office..well, I can go up front to the Admin, but am not allowed to go wandering around....since no one can see me. My clerk is escorted over and we got a LOT of paperwork/lessons/lesson plans caught up, getting ready for my two visits to UC/SF. I will actually have a sub for most of the time I am away and I want to get things in order so that none of my collegues bad mouth me for being messy/unorganized/slacking off.
So Monday, I only had class for about an hour...which felt like an eternity.
We did quotation marks, apostrophes and the five times tables.
Quotation marks--how simple is that? It was an absolute battle and I was GIVING them the answers.
Apostrophes---ownership and contractions, right? THAT was the Tet Offensive.
And the five times tables? (you know, 5 X7=35? Counting by fives?) Well, evidently counting by fives means something else to these guys. Like guessing. Or counting by 4 and adding 3 at random points. And evidently, there are a LOT of teachers out there who are teaching the multiplication tables in an absolutely whack manner, because this.....THE SIMPLEST OF ALL OF THE TIMES TABLES....is one crazy bag of wet weasels.
And I have to talk my head off to get my point across to these guys.
So I started out with nickle bags and IMMEDIATELY, they get all huffy. "Did I think they were all drug dealers?"
Hmm.
Well, I know about nickel bags.
So I bet THEY know about nickel bags.
(And since they are in prison, they probably weren't much good at figuring out how to sell dope and make some money). But that is beside the point.
So I have five round tables, and I have four guys at each table. How many guys are here?
They have to do a head count about five times to come up with 5X4=20.
At least my job is secure.
I don't see these guys getting out of school anytime soon. Actually, I don;t see them getting out of PRISON anytime soon.
Although I have one student who went from a 1.3 to a 7.9 in six months. And it wasn;t my supreme teaching skills. It was just him waking up.
And I managed to knit one whole row on the ride home yesterday. I can't knit in the morning because it is too dark in the fog to see what the heck I'm doing. But I have a three day weekend coming up and I plan to knit, knit, knit. I want to get this aphgan done for Lisi before I go into the hospital. The next one is for Ben.
I'm still working on the baby sweater but have come to the realization that baby Jack will be four before he gets it.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Scared in the middle of the night
Waiting for me was this huge envelope from the mighty micro/nuerosurge's at UC/SF.
Huge. Like an IRS audit.
Lots of questions about everything.
Diagrams of where it hurts and how it feels.
I have an equally hefty envelope filled with my medical records and I have to go to the MRI place and get my film....only so they can compare it to the super duper MRI film they will take there. (And point and laugh at all of us who do not live in SF and have first generation MRI machines).
Oh, and expect to spend four hours MINIMUM.
MY appointment is at 3:30, so we can drive up that day, sit in a hospital all afternoon, spend the night and drive home the next day. Well, I"LL be sitting in the hospital. Mike will be pacing like a caged bear. I am going to send him AWAY as soon as we talk to the doctor (I disremember all the crappy things that happen---like the horses in the ER, the side of the road in flames.....those kind of details). After that, he has to LEAVE. Find a hotel and some real food. I can deal with a lot of things, but being poked and prodded and MRI'd (I hate MRI's. They are like being in a garbage can with apes banging on the outside)....well, I can;t tend to him. It's San Francisco. He can find something to do. It is across the street from the park. He'll be fine.
Huge. Like an IRS audit.
Lots of questions about everything.
Diagrams of where it hurts and how it feels.
I have an equally hefty envelope filled with my medical records and I have to go to the MRI place and get my film....only so they can compare it to the super duper MRI film they will take there. (And point and laugh at all of us who do not live in SF and have first generation MRI machines).
Oh, and expect to spend four hours MINIMUM.
MY appointment is at 3:30, so we can drive up that day, sit in a hospital all afternoon, spend the night and drive home the next day. Well, I"LL be sitting in the hospital. Mike will be pacing like a caged bear. I am going to send him AWAY as soon as we talk to the doctor (I disremember all the crappy things that happen---like the horses in the ER, the side of the road in flames.....those kind of details). After that, he has to LEAVE. Find a hotel and some real food. I can deal with a lot of things, but being poked and prodded and MRI'd (I hate MRI's. They are like being in a garbage can with apes banging on the outside)....well, I can;t tend to him. It's San Francisco. He can find something to do. It is across the street from the park. He'll be fine.
Oh, here is what I found on the website.
Totally more scary than what I had previously managed to scare myself with.
Brain arteriovenous malformations (BAVMs) are an infrequent but important cause of stroke, particularly in a young population. Current invasive treatment strategies are varied and include endovascular procedures, neurosurgery, and radiotherapy. All of these treatments are administered on the assumption that they can be achieved at acceptably minor complication rates, decrease the risk of subsequent hemorrhage, and lead to better long-term outcomes.
Procedure: invasive therapy [endovascular procedures, neurosurgery, or radiotherapy, alone or in combination]
All interventional procedures are standard of care for the treatment of AVMs. They are not experimental.
Endovascular procedures involve specially designed catheters/tubes position in the small arteries feeding blood to the AVM. The tubes are inserted into an artery in the groin and threaded up through the artery into the brain. Once positioned, the physician injects a special material that changes from liquid to solid very quickly. Once it solidifies, it blocks the artery that is feeding blood to the AVM. (I think it might be Krazy Glue).
Neurosurgery involves the opening of a portion of the skull and the brain's outer lining to get access to the AVM.
Radiosurgery involves high energy radiation (like X-rays) carefully targeted at the brain AVM to shrink it and, in the best results, eventually eliminate the artery-to-vein links and the risk of bleeding.
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