[me] Today I brought a letter from my friendly new doctor back into the Dockinnabocks clinic to prove that I should be authorized for my new job, as my hypertension, while not yet under control, is being treated. Today the Dockinnabocks lobby was aurally dominated by the television, alternating between cooking demonstrations, selling spices, and Dr. Oz spots, all at top volume and impossible to tune out.
I was motivated to tune out the television, because I was again on trial to lower my blood pressure. Bringing in my letter was not sufficient; the doctor here wanted to measure my blood pressure for herself to prove that it was under control. I waited for the other patients ahead of me to be seen and sat meditating on prayers and regulating my breathing, trying to lower my blood pressure and feeling very unsuccessful. The time was approximately 11 AM.
About 11:15 I was called back into Examination Room # 1, where the MA inquired if I was here for a DOT examination. I summarized how I had failed the physical examination for work, and that I was under a doctor's care for hypertension, and that this MD wished to check my blood pressure. The MA checked my blood pressure, which I could immediately feel rise due to the anxiety of having it checked. "I can't hear it. I have to have someone else try."
This MA left the room.
In about five or ten minutes, another MA entered the room, looked at my chart, and asked if I was here for a DOT examination, and, keeping my voice nice and calm, I quietly gave her the same explanation of why I was there. She took my blood pressure, which I could feel rise, due to the anxiety of having it taken. She looked at me. "It's 150/104." My heart sank. In the Friendly office an hour before it had been 150/86--not stellar, but not outrageous. Here we go. I was informed that the doctor would wish to come in to talk to me, and to wait right here.
By this time it was about 11:45 AM.
I remained on the examination table, legs dangling, as I felt that it would be counter-productive to sit in the chair and then leap back to the exam table as soon as the doctor came in. I had failed to have my case switched to a friendlier doctor, and was determined to stay calm and civil no matter what happened. I said prayers and regulated my breathing and stared at the poster on the wall, the only legible reading material, advocating shingles vaccination.
I slipped my shoes off and crossed my legs on the table, regulating my breathing.
I leaned back against the wall. I reflected on the irony of being able to raise my blood pressure at any time, but being unable to lower it by either breathing, or meditating, or thinking pleasant thoughts, or by imagining that I could lower it. I dangled my legs again. I wondered what would happen if I decided to just lay down with my head on the pillow. I crossed my legs. I scooched back so my back was supported.
It was 12:00 noon. I began to listen to the conversations out in the hall. "Where is the person in Room 2?" "Isn't she there?" "No, she's gone." "Is she really gone?" "I think she left because of the long wait time." "Did she really leave?" "We need to be able to use the room for someone else." "She left because of the long wait time." "Can we call her?" "Make the room ready for the next person."
No mention of the person waiting in Room # 1.
At 12:15 the door opened. "What are you waiting for?" I explained that she [this very person] had instructed me to wait for the doctor. She backed out and there was a brief hallway conversation. Popped back in. "The doctor took care of that immediately, as soon as you came in. You can go."
I found my own way back to the lobby, picked up a photocopy of my original referral paper from work, and went out to my car to phone my work.
Free. And feeling as if I had just concluded my part in a Chekov play.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Divine Providence, Part I
I just experienced a divine intervention.
An intervention in psychological/behavioral circles occurs when a circle of family or friends intervenes in destructive/addictive behavior. A divine intervention occurs when circumstances &/or Divine Providence step in to create circumstances in which it is difficult or impossible to escape making a positive choice against one's will.
I'm making this up on the fly.
At the end of November, after 7 months of unemployment, I received a job offer, contingent upon passing a physical exam. This, I was assured, consisted of visiting a specific clinic and having a doctor ascertain that I could walk and talk. Piece of cake. I was still floating [from receiving a job offer at last] when I nonchalantly waltzed into the Dockinnabocks medical clinic waving my piece of paper and sat in the lobby to take my turn. I was fairly revved up, and there was rather loud Christmas music of the least therapeutic genre playing on the radio, which I always find intensely annoying, but I was not concerned. I had visited this specific clinic many times in the past and been satisfied with my care.
I failed the physical.
For one thing, I failed to establish a rapport with the MA who briskly shuffled me through the weight, eye exam, and urine dip--I had demanded a "hat" for this, tired of trying to hit the mark using these UA cups provided--and vital signs. She really became offended when she took my blood pressure, which was somewhat high. I did not make any particular response to this, and perhaps I was supposed to express concern or shock. Frankly, I have come to regard my blood pressure as mine, my own property, and not anyone else's business to criticize.
After being left to stew for awhile, the doctor came in and rechecked my BP and by this time it was really high. About ten or twenty years ago I discovered that many times when my BP is checked, my anxiety about it causes an alteration in the phenomenon being measured, and it inevitably rises. No doubt if I were properly healthy, this would not be a problem, but my paying attention to having my BP taken always raises my anxiety. I kept thinking about how high my BP was last year, and sorrowfully contemplating about the lack of interest this doctor would show if she saw me shivering under a bridge somewhere having failed to land a job.
Well, the doctor was more brisk and efficient and unfriendly than the MA had been. I was caused to undergo a series of tests which felt as if I was offering to enroll in the military, culminating in what could have passed for a sobriety test. I'm neither adept nor graceful nor athletic nor kinesthetic, so the result was a certain level of humiliation.
The doctor informed me angrily that she was not authorizing me to go to work until my blood pressure was under control. I engaged in the always-losing slippery slope argument that I would be staring homelessness in the face without a job, listed the multiple stressors I experienced while I have been unemployed, and stated that I would rather be dead than homeless. She asked if that was a threat, and I said no, then we were in the hallway and I was left standing, invisible, not shown to the exit, but abandoned without instructions.
This was, by the way, also a wonderful lesson in customer service from the standpoint of a health care consumer. As in, how it feels to receive bad customer service. So I stood in the hallway where I was dropped, overhearing the MD phone my human resources contact, until I was instructed by someone to wait in the lobby, where I waited until the MD saw me and instructed me to leave.
I'm not happy with my behavior in the clinic; however, it was largely the culmination of a long and difficult summer coupled with what I perceived as very unfriendly manners on the part of the staff.
Immediately the next morning I visited the FriendlyClinic, which has facilites on-site for visiting either a walk-in side, or offices for appointments with doctors. I explained the problem, took the medication I was prescribed, and began checking my blood pressure once or twice a day and taking care with what I ate. Immediately I began to feel better. Hypertension really does have symptoms and can be sensed. I made an appointment with a permanent doctor and came in for another walk-in visit in between to make sure my medication was on track.
I realized, by exercising logic, that death was now off the table. This was my divine intervention. If I was meant to die, the situation virtually forcing me to comply with medical treatment could easily not have happened. So I instructed myself to stop dwelling on death all the time.
I also received assistance from family to enable me to make multiple visits to the doctors, and purchase my medication, paying cash, as the COBRA for my old insurance had not been affordable. For two weeks I have been white-knuckling it about whether or not this employer would care to wait while I took care of this medical issue and could be authorized to work. I have also been seeing aspects of my personality with which I am increasingly disenchanted--a wonderful opportunity to change.
Today I reported to my actual MD for the first time. Astoundingly young, yet knowledgeable, insightful and respectful, he graciously wrote a letter I could present to the Dockinnabocks, which still held my fate in its hands. His letter stated that I am now under medical care and being treated for hypertension which, although not yet within normal limits, is expected to arrive there soon.
I had hope.
An intervention in psychological/behavioral circles occurs when a circle of family or friends intervenes in destructive/addictive behavior. A divine intervention occurs when circumstances &/or Divine Providence step in to create circumstances in which it is difficult or impossible to escape making a positive choice against one's will.
I'm making this up on the fly.
At the end of November, after 7 months of unemployment, I received a job offer, contingent upon passing a physical exam. This, I was assured, consisted of visiting a specific clinic and having a doctor ascertain that I could walk and talk. Piece of cake. I was still floating [from receiving a job offer at last] when I nonchalantly waltzed into the Dockinnabocks medical clinic waving my piece of paper and sat in the lobby to take my turn. I was fairly revved up, and there was rather loud Christmas music of the least therapeutic genre playing on the radio, which I always find intensely annoying, but I was not concerned. I had visited this specific clinic many times in the past and been satisfied with my care.
I failed the physical.
For one thing, I failed to establish a rapport with the MA who briskly shuffled me through the weight, eye exam, and urine dip--I had demanded a "hat" for this, tired of trying to hit the mark using these UA cups provided--and vital signs. She really became offended when she took my blood pressure, which was somewhat high. I did not make any particular response to this, and perhaps I was supposed to express concern or shock. Frankly, I have come to regard my blood pressure as mine, my own property, and not anyone else's business to criticize.
After being left to stew for awhile, the doctor came in and rechecked my BP and by this time it was really high. About ten or twenty years ago I discovered that many times when my BP is checked, my anxiety about it causes an alteration in the phenomenon being measured, and it inevitably rises. No doubt if I were properly healthy, this would not be a problem, but my paying attention to having my BP taken always raises my anxiety. I kept thinking about how high my BP was last year, and sorrowfully contemplating about the lack of interest this doctor would show if she saw me shivering under a bridge somewhere having failed to land a job.
Well, the doctor was more brisk and efficient and unfriendly than the MA had been. I was caused to undergo a series of tests which felt as if I was offering to enroll in the military, culminating in what could have passed for a sobriety test. I'm neither adept nor graceful nor athletic nor kinesthetic, so the result was a certain level of humiliation.
The doctor informed me angrily that she was not authorizing me to go to work until my blood pressure was under control. I engaged in the always-losing slippery slope argument that I would be staring homelessness in the face without a job, listed the multiple stressors I experienced while I have been unemployed, and stated that I would rather be dead than homeless. She asked if that was a threat, and I said no, then we were in the hallway and I was left standing, invisible, not shown to the exit, but abandoned without instructions.
This was, by the way, also a wonderful lesson in customer service from the standpoint of a health care consumer. As in, how it feels to receive bad customer service. So I stood in the hallway where I was dropped, overhearing the MD phone my human resources contact, until I was instructed by someone to wait in the lobby, where I waited until the MD saw me and instructed me to leave.
I'm not happy with my behavior in the clinic; however, it was largely the culmination of a long and difficult summer coupled with what I perceived as very unfriendly manners on the part of the staff.
Immediately the next morning I visited the FriendlyClinic, which has facilites on-site for visiting either a walk-in side, or offices for appointments with doctors. I explained the problem, took the medication I was prescribed, and began checking my blood pressure once or twice a day and taking care with what I ate. Immediately I began to feel better. Hypertension really does have symptoms and can be sensed. I made an appointment with a permanent doctor and came in for another walk-in visit in between to make sure my medication was on track.
I realized, by exercising logic, that death was now off the table. This was my divine intervention. If I was meant to die, the situation virtually forcing me to comply with medical treatment could easily not have happened. So I instructed myself to stop dwelling on death all the time.
I also received assistance from family to enable me to make multiple visits to the doctors, and purchase my medication, paying cash, as the COBRA for my old insurance had not been affordable. For two weeks I have been white-knuckling it about whether or not this employer would care to wait while I took care of this medical issue and could be authorized to work. I have also been seeing aspects of my personality with which I am increasingly disenchanted--a wonderful opportunity to change.
Today I reported to my actual MD for the first time. Astoundingly young, yet knowledgeable, insightful and respectful, he graciously wrote a letter I could present to the Dockinnabocks, which still held my fate in its hands. His letter stated that I am now under medical care and being treated for hypertension which, although not yet within normal limits, is expected to arrive there soon.
I had hope.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Coleslaw With Pomegranate
Coleslaw With Pomegranate [and Optional Grapefruit]
About 3 cups cabbage, finely chopped [chopped probably works better than grated for this recipe]
About 1 cup pomegranate berries, about 1/2 large pomegranate
1/2 ruby grapefruit, sectioned; slice sections in 1/3rds [optional]
Mix chopped cabbage, pomegranate seed/berries, and grapefruit section pieces; mix in dressing.
Dressing:
1/2 cup vegenaise
juice from 1 lime
about 1 Tablespoon agave nectar [honey would work]
about 1 teaspoon coriander
salt to taste
Mix dressing, then stir into salad.
I was making coleslaw the other day and also had some pomegranate and ruby grapefruit. I just couldn't resist trying this. Not everybody goes for the grapefruit, or even for the pomegranate, but I find that the sweet, tart berries mixed with the cabbage are extremely refreshing.
About 3 cups cabbage, finely chopped [chopped probably works better than grated for this recipe]
About 1 cup pomegranate berries, about 1/2 large pomegranate
1/2 ruby grapefruit, sectioned; slice sections in 1/3rds [optional]
Mix chopped cabbage, pomegranate seed/berries, and grapefruit section pieces; mix in dressing.
Dressing:
1/2 cup vegenaise
juice from 1 lime
about 1 Tablespoon agave nectar [honey would work]
about 1 teaspoon coriander
salt to taste
Mix dressing, then stir into salad.
I was making coleslaw the other day and also had some pomegranate and ruby grapefruit. I just couldn't resist trying this. Not everybody goes for the grapefruit, or even for the pomegranate, but I find that the sweet, tart berries mixed with the cabbage are extremely refreshing.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
The Right Planet
I had a date tonight, not a boygirl date but a date with a group of non-neurotypical people on the right planet for me, and I am in love, sort of. In love with being with people who seem pretty wacko on the outside but when they speak they make sense to me. There's no fluff, no small talk, and everything they say is to the point and interesting, whether or not I agree with their point of view, and I didn't appreciate it until I was driving homewards and getting lost again, and it started to sink in.
I initially drove north from Puyallup on 161, being determined not to take the freeway if I didn't need to, all the way to where, according to Mapquest, I was supposed to "make a slight right" turn onto Pacific Highway/ HWY 99, so I got into the right lane which was an HOV lane, watching for the turn, but after a couple of blocks, checked the signs and realized that without turning I was already on 99.
Which threw me, all the way until I turned left on 16th Avenue and watched for 14th Avenue [I know, it doesn't make sense to me, either] but it petered out into a parking lot. So this time I got back onto 99 and passed the other 16th Avenue which I was supposed to take without seeing the sign but was alerted when I saw the street which "if you get to 176th you've gone 0.1 mile too far" so I did a U-ey and turned onto 16th, and then later there really was a 14th and I was there.
And met some really nice and interesting people, and shared my taco salad and their pizza and sparkling cider, and we all talked about various things for two hours and they were all very intelligent and knowledgeable and pleasant, and it started to make more sense that I would drive up 14 miles and 30 minutes through all the hell and dragons just to meet an assortment of strangers who were very little like me on the outside but a whole lot like me on the inside, and I thought, maybe I'll come back again.
And for once I was not spending the drive home in remorse and castigating myself for the stupid things I said and did and then I got lost again by not trusting Mapquest any more and finding my own route. I figured that if I made no turns from 161 to be on 99 on the drive up, I should make no turns from 99 on the way down and would end up back on 161. Which didn't work, and I'm pretty sure the turn I missed was for "I-5" which I didn't take because I didn't want to get Shanghai'd onto the freeway.
Probably that wouldn't have happened, and the signs would have shown up to just take 161 instead, but anyway I ended up in Fife, turning left onto 70th towards Edgewood and Puyallup. However, as soon as I saw Valley Avenue crossing 70th I turned onto it [instead of waiting for 161 to turn up] but I turned right, which took me back into Fife, so I had to turn around practically in someone's back yard and take Valley Avenue back home where I belong.
And thought, what a nice bunch of people.
I initially drove north from Puyallup on 161, being determined not to take the freeway if I didn't need to, all the way to where, according to Mapquest, I was supposed to "make a slight right" turn onto Pacific Highway/ HWY 99, so I got into the right lane which was an HOV lane, watching for the turn, but after a couple of blocks, checked the signs and realized that without turning I was already on 99.
Which threw me, all the way until I turned left on 16th Avenue and watched for 14th Avenue [I know, it doesn't make sense to me, either] but it petered out into a parking lot. So this time I got back onto 99 and passed the other 16th Avenue which I was supposed to take without seeing the sign but was alerted when I saw the street which "if you get to 176th you've gone 0.1 mile too far" so I did a U-ey and turned onto 16th, and then later there really was a 14th and I was there.
And met some really nice and interesting people, and shared my taco salad and their pizza and sparkling cider, and we all talked about various things for two hours and they were all very intelligent and knowledgeable and pleasant, and it started to make more sense that I would drive up 14 miles and 30 minutes through all the hell and dragons just to meet an assortment of strangers who were very little like me on the outside but a whole lot like me on the inside, and I thought, maybe I'll come back again.
And for once I was not spending the drive home in remorse and castigating myself for the stupid things I said and did and then I got lost again by not trusting Mapquest any more and finding my own route. I figured that if I made no turns from 161 to be on 99 on the drive up, I should make no turns from 99 on the way down and would end up back on 161. Which didn't work, and I'm pretty sure the turn I missed was for "I-5" which I didn't take because I didn't want to get Shanghai'd onto the freeway.
Probably that wouldn't have happened, and the signs would have shown up to just take 161 instead, but anyway I ended up in Fife, turning left onto 70th towards Edgewood and Puyallup. However, as soon as I saw Valley Avenue crossing 70th I turned onto it [instead of waiting for 161 to turn up] but I turned right, which took me back into Fife, so I had to turn around practically in someone's back yard and take Valley Avenue back home where I belong.
And thought, what a nice bunch of people.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Comparing Elections: the Old And the New
Baha'is just had their Unit Conventions, electing a delegate from each district who will meet all together in May to elect the members of the National body, the National Spiritual Assembly. This is done every year, and because the system of election for the Baha'is is done in such a different spirit from United States elections, it is good to contemplate some of the differences.
The object of the Baha'i Faith is unity, so taking sides in a national partisan election [except for voting with a secret ballot, and as long as one does not declare membership with a political party] is forbidden. Some of us on Facebook have had a difficult time refraining from expressing sympathy with certain points of view; we need to wean ourselves away from the divisiveness of the American political process.
There are at least two main factors in the American partisan political process which create divisiveness. One is that the candidates are always running on the basis of their [or the party's] opinion about several issues. So if the candidate believes in the equality of men and women, and the voter does also, you would vote for them. The other factor is that people run who wish to represent a particular viewpoint, and are considered to represent the people who elected them, so they are responsible to vote in Congress in a way that represents the wishes of the people. I tend to experience a lot of tension at election time around worrying whether the person elected will uphold my rights or represent my point of view.
The Baha'i system is rather different. Members of the National Spiritual Assembly make decisions together as a team, at the time that the Assembly meets, and they are not setting the policy running the affairs of the Faith based on either their opinions, or the feelings of the "electorate." People who serve on the Assembly are responsible to God, not to the people who elected them. Also, in the Baha'i Faith, the members have already recognized and agreed with the major issues which were expressed by the Founder of the Faith, Baha'u'llah, so those issues are considered settled. There is no wrangling between members of the Assembly about issues, and in fact, no one in the Baha'i Faith actually runs for office.
Issues which the Founder of the Baha'i Faith "settled" include, but are not limited to:
Instead of people "running for office," Baha'is meet together at their local conventions and each person votes privately for one person who can "best combine the necessary qualities of unquestioned loyalty, of selfless devotion, of a well-trained mind, of recognized ability and mature experience." The task of voting is carried out with a "purity of spirit" in a "rarefied atmosphere of selflessness and detachment." The person receiving the greatest number of votes is elected as the delegate to the National Convention. No electioneering is allowed; no discussion of any individual's qualifications or suitability; there is no campaigning, and no one offers their services as a delegate.
According to Mahmoud's Diary, the written recollections of one of the Persian believers who accompanied 'Abdu'l-Baha on his journey to America one hundred years ago, 'Abdu'l-Baha made the following statement about the qualifications for President of the United States:
The president must be a man who does not insistently seek the presidency. He should be free of all thoughts of name and rank; rather, he should say, 'I am unworthy and incapable of this position and cannot bear this great burden.' Such persons deserve the presidency. If the object is to promote the public good, then the president must be a well-wisher of all and not a self-seeking person. If the object, however, is to promote personal interests, then such a position will be injurious to humanity and not beneficial to the public.
The object of the Baha'i Faith is unity, so taking sides in a national partisan election [except for voting with a secret ballot, and as long as one does not declare membership with a political party] is forbidden. Some of us on Facebook have had a difficult time refraining from expressing sympathy with certain points of view; we need to wean ourselves away from the divisiveness of the American political process.
There are at least two main factors in the American partisan political process which create divisiveness. One is that the candidates are always running on the basis of their [or the party's] opinion about several issues. So if the candidate believes in the equality of men and women, and the voter does also, you would vote for them. The other factor is that people run who wish to represent a particular viewpoint, and are considered to represent the people who elected them, so they are responsible to vote in Congress in a way that represents the wishes of the people. I tend to experience a lot of tension at election time around worrying whether the person elected will uphold my rights or represent my point of view.
The Baha'i system is rather different. Members of the National Spiritual Assembly make decisions together as a team, at the time that the Assembly meets, and they are not setting the policy running the affairs of the Faith based on either their opinions, or the feelings of the "electorate." People who serve on the Assembly are responsible to God, not to the people who elected them. Also, in the Baha'i Faith, the members have already recognized and agreed with the major issues which were expressed by the Founder of the Faith, Baha'u'llah, so those issues are considered settled. There is no wrangling between members of the Assembly about issues, and in fact, no one in the Baha'i Faith actually runs for office.
Issues which the Founder of the Baha'i Faith "settled" include, but are not limited to:
- Equality of men and women
- Racial unity: there is only one race
- Universal compulsory education
- Agreement of science and religion
- A universal auxiliary language
- Independent investigation of truth
- Spiritual means for the elimination of the extremes of wealth and poverty
Instead of people "running for office," Baha'is meet together at their local conventions and each person votes privately for one person who can "best combine the necessary qualities of unquestioned loyalty, of selfless devotion, of a well-trained mind, of recognized ability and mature experience." The task of voting is carried out with a "purity of spirit" in a "rarefied atmosphere of selflessness and detachment." The person receiving the greatest number of votes is elected as the delegate to the National Convention. No electioneering is allowed; no discussion of any individual's qualifications or suitability; there is no campaigning, and no one offers their services as a delegate.
According to Mahmoud's Diary, the written recollections of one of the Persian believers who accompanied 'Abdu'l-Baha on his journey to America one hundred years ago, 'Abdu'l-Baha made the following statement about the qualifications for President of the United States:
The president must be a man who does not insistently seek the presidency. He should be free of all thoughts of name and rank; rather, he should say, 'I am unworthy and incapable of this position and cannot bear this great burden.' Such persons deserve the presidency. If the object is to promote the public good, then the president must be a well-wisher of all and not a self-seeking person. If the object, however, is to promote personal interests, then such a position will be injurious to humanity and not beneficial to the public.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Transitions
I have been rather busy in the last few weeks, and so have neglected blogging. I am still contemplating what to do next, as in 5 months I have not found a nursing job. A strong interest is in pursuing a bachelor's and master's degree in therapy. There are a few different directions I could follow in that; one is to find a way to ease the path for people who are helping their aging mother or father make transitions associated with aging, one is to assist people in making a transition to healthier eating, and so forth. How to make the transition into college with limited Financial Aid available [as I made a good income prior to losing my job] and with my unemployment benefits running out, is a challenge and a puzzle.
Today I attended the third "Ruhi" study class on the Covenant, which is thrilling and food for thought, which we are meeting on Sundays.
It is the last of September, the full moon, and a beautiful day. Approximately a month ago during the Blue Moon my daughter and her fiance held a beautiful and touching handfasting ceremony, and they plan to marry a year and a day from then.
I gravitated into joining the Leadership Team of the Tacoma Job Club, which is growing and thriving in its new meeting space at the Tacoma News Tribune offices.
Much on my mind has been contemplating moving to some place much less expensive, so that even when I again have a well paid job, less of my budget will go into rent and more can be saved or spent more wisely. I would, as most people, like to have the most interior space for the least amount of cash, partly because I need room for sewing, so that entails a second bedroom. I have not begun to look, yet. There is much sorting and clearing out to be done before I can be serious about moving.
Today I attended the third "Ruhi" study class on the Covenant, which is thrilling and food for thought, which we are meeting on Sundays.
It is the last of September, the full moon, and a beautiful day. Approximately a month ago during the Blue Moon my daughter and her fiance held a beautiful and touching handfasting ceremony, and they plan to marry a year and a day from then.
I gravitated into joining the Leadership Team of the Tacoma Job Club, which is growing and thriving in its new meeting space at the Tacoma News Tribune offices.
Much on my mind has been contemplating moving to some place much less expensive, so that even when I again have a well paid job, less of my budget will go into rent and more can be saved or spent more wisely. I would, as most people, like to have the most interior space for the least amount of cash, partly because I need room for sewing, so that entails a second bedroom. I have not begun to look, yet. There is much sorting and clearing out to be done before I can be serious about moving.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Personal Wildfires
Friday I picked up my daughter and her fiance for a camping family reunion at Steamboat Rock State Park on Banks Lake, near Grand Coulee Dam, in Washington. Topography changes in Washington as you cross the Cascades, from greenery to scattered pines, to desert with sagebrush. We left I-90 at George, Washington, drove past Sun Lakes through a lot of basalt cliffs, and as we approached Steamboat Rock, saw a lot of signs for "Rocks 6 Miles." We joked: Really. I would not have guessed.
We arrived in mid afternoon to discover one other family, one of my cousins, in a good spot, and camped near him. After we set up the 3-room tent borrowed from the fiance's parents, and the kitchen, my daughter and fiance realized they had forgotten to bring their suitcase, so I shared out whatever spare clothing I had that they needed. The temperature was in the 80's during the day, but dropped to the 40's in the evening--typical of a desert climate.
Camp was beautiful: basalt cliffs and rocks, Russian olives and sagebrush and willows, a serene lake, and a crystal clear atmosphere which changed minute by minute with the light at dusk and sunrise. I went off to buy firewood and discovered that no fires were allowed, so we altered our cooking methods accordingly. As the temperature dropped, it would have been nice to have a fire. More cousins and a sister arrived, and we sat at a picnic table into the dark, shivering, telling stories, and watching the stars pop out. More stars than I've seen in about ten years. The Milky Way. Even the half moon was so bright, a flashlight wasn't necessary for navigation.
I discovered that, though to appearances the camp spot was level, my sleeping spot was not, so I fought with gravity the next two nights. For some reason I slept poorly. We were camped next to a thicket, from which I could hear a lot of twigs snapping and stomping around during both nights, and realized we were next to a deer thicket. I had seen one white-tailed deer with spikes at the area two miles away where there was a water source, but never saw our neighbor deer. I heard them a lot, though. Sunday morning I even heard a scuffle and a little bleat.
At Northrup Point, two miles away, there was a shower. I had one towel and one washcloth and some shampoo, so the three of us divvied this up. We read that we could take a thirty minute shower for fifty cents, so we figured out a way for one person to slip in after another, so as to make the limited supply of quarters last. After my daughter's quick shower, I jumped in, and shortly realized that the shower only lasted 3 minutes, not thirty. Fortunately, I hadn't put shampoo in my hair before the water ran out. Life is good.
We saw deer, chipmunks, geese and ducks and a heron, flickers and chickadees and magpies and crows, lots of turkey vultures, and my daughter caught a glimpse of a coyote. Sunday I finally slept at two-thirty in the morning, listening to the yips and howls of the coyotes and their cubs, and awoke at dawn hearing roosters crowing.
More cousins and siblings arrived Saturday. We sat in the shade and played a pub game the fiance brought, "Shut the Box." I listened as the sons of one of my cousins discussed numeric odds, way over my head, mathematically. As the temperature rose, some people swam: the bottom was muddy, but the water warm. Someone brought a teething baby. More stories were told.
Saturday evening it clouded up and there was a lot of lightning. I predicted that by the time dinner was ready and I was cooking it, the rain would come. I was so glad we had put up a fly for shade, which also serves for rain. We quickly moved most of our items off the picnic table and under the fly as the rain came down. Then we saw them: two wildfires had been started by lightning; one across the lake, and one to the north on the faraway hills. Our party phoned them in, and they had already been reported. We watched the fires, which burned all night and all day Sunday, as the rain was only a brief shower. I awoke Sunday smelling the smoke, which spread across the whole area.
Sunday more people gathered during the morning, and we had a large potluck lunch. I recruited six people to walk our sun fly up to the general gathering, which had no shade. Ice cream was cranked. Someone brought green ambrosia, one of my favorite salads. Happy Birthday was played on a tuba for my uncle [my last remaining uncle], then my uncle played a few bars of Ach Du Lieber Augustine on the tuba. At last, feeling like a party pooper for taking away the shade, our party packed up the sun fly and drove away. Driving in the daylight is surpassingly pleasant, as opposed to driving in the dark.
It was a windy drive back. I had my daughter drive from George, Washington to the rest stop after Vantage. I directed her wrong when we got onto the freeway and had a panic attack when I realized we were heading East by accident, but we got turned around. Although my daughter has been driving for years, I haven't been riding with her during that time. My heart and mind take a trip back in time whenever I ride with her, remembering the harrowing time of teaching her to drive. Eventually I will get over it and my heart will catch up to my rational mind in realizing she is a competent driver.
We sang to Steeleye Span and 80's music as we crossed the Cascades, left the weekend and our brief sojourn at camp, and entered the city and the traffic that we drive in daily. We left the magic behind, but it lingered in our hearts.
We arrived in mid afternoon to discover one other family, one of my cousins, in a good spot, and camped near him. After we set up the 3-room tent borrowed from the fiance's parents, and the kitchen, my daughter and fiance realized they had forgotten to bring their suitcase, so I shared out whatever spare clothing I had that they needed. The temperature was in the 80's during the day, but dropped to the 40's in the evening--typical of a desert climate.
Camp was beautiful: basalt cliffs and rocks, Russian olives and sagebrush and willows, a serene lake, and a crystal clear atmosphere which changed minute by minute with the light at dusk and sunrise. I went off to buy firewood and discovered that no fires were allowed, so we altered our cooking methods accordingly. As the temperature dropped, it would have been nice to have a fire. More cousins and a sister arrived, and we sat at a picnic table into the dark, shivering, telling stories, and watching the stars pop out. More stars than I've seen in about ten years. The Milky Way. Even the half moon was so bright, a flashlight wasn't necessary for navigation.
I discovered that, though to appearances the camp spot was level, my sleeping spot was not, so I fought with gravity the next two nights. For some reason I slept poorly. We were camped next to a thicket, from which I could hear a lot of twigs snapping and stomping around during both nights, and realized we were next to a deer thicket. I had seen one white-tailed deer with spikes at the area two miles away where there was a water source, but never saw our neighbor deer. I heard them a lot, though. Sunday morning I even heard a scuffle and a little bleat.
At Northrup Point, two miles away, there was a shower. I had one towel and one washcloth and some shampoo, so the three of us divvied this up. We read that we could take a thirty minute shower for fifty cents, so we figured out a way for one person to slip in after another, so as to make the limited supply of quarters last. After my daughter's quick shower, I jumped in, and shortly realized that the shower only lasted 3 minutes, not thirty. Fortunately, I hadn't put shampoo in my hair before the water ran out. Life is good.
We saw deer, chipmunks, geese and ducks and a heron, flickers and chickadees and magpies and crows, lots of turkey vultures, and my daughter caught a glimpse of a coyote. Sunday I finally slept at two-thirty in the morning, listening to the yips and howls of the coyotes and their cubs, and awoke at dawn hearing roosters crowing.
More cousins and siblings arrived Saturday. We sat in the shade and played a pub game the fiance brought, "Shut the Box." I listened as the sons of one of my cousins discussed numeric odds, way over my head, mathematically. As the temperature rose, some people swam: the bottom was muddy, but the water warm. Someone brought a teething baby. More stories were told.
Saturday evening it clouded up and there was a lot of lightning. I predicted that by the time dinner was ready and I was cooking it, the rain would come. I was so glad we had put up a fly for shade, which also serves for rain. We quickly moved most of our items off the picnic table and under the fly as the rain came down. Then we saw them: two wildfires had been started by lightning; one across the lake, and one to the north on the faraway hills. Our party phoned them in, and they had already been reported. We watched the fires, which burned all night and all day Sunday, as the rain was only a brief shower. I awoke Sunday smelling the smoke, which spread across the whole area.
Sunday more people gathered during the morning, and we had a large potluck lunch. I recruited six people to walk our sun fly up to the general gathering, which had no shade. Ice cream was cranked. Someone brought green ambrosia, one of my favorite salads. Happy Birthday was played on a tuba for my uncle [my last remaining uncle], then my uncle played a few bars of Ach Du Lieber Augustine on the tuba. At last, feeling like a party pooper for taking away the shade, our party packed up the sun fly and drove away. Driving in the daylight is surpassingly pleasant, as opposed to driving in the dark.
It was a windy drive back. I had my daughter drive from George, Washington to the rest stop after Vantage. I directed her wrong when we got onto the freeway and had a panic attack when I realized we were heading East by accident, but we got turned around. Although my daughter has been driving for years, I haven't been riding with her during that time. My heart and mind take a trip back in time whenever I ride with her, remembering the harrowing time of teaching her to drive. Eventually I will get over it and my heart will catch up to my rational mind in realizing she is a competent driver.
We sang to Steeleye Span and 80's music as we crossed the Cascades, left the weekend and our brief sojourn at camp, and entered the city and the traffic that we drive in daily. We left the magic behind, but it lingered in our hearts.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Sighting a New Hawk
Went to the Saturday bird walk at Nisqually, today led by an actual [sort of] ranger, with tons of information. Every time I go, I see more things and learn more, building on the bits of information gleaned from previous expeditions. I learned that the closer areas of the estuary fill with more like 5% salinity instead of completely sea water, at high tide, due to the fact that fresh water floats on salt water. Huh.
I learned that, not only do certain fields flood in the early spring, but that various fields are flooded on purpose at different times [by the Refuge] so that birds feeding on the new grass shoots and arriving at different times can be attracted and can graze. I learned that eagles eat herons, who, although they have pretty good beaks, don't try to defend themselves. And that herons are so dumb they can die from swallowing fish too big for their throats. But I still like herons!
At first our fearless leader was disappointed because, although we could hear birds, it was pretty still and we didn't see many to begin with. We saw the lump of an eagle perched on the favorite eagle tree, who later flew home [the eagle, not the tree.] We heard and later saw waxwings--yay. We learned that expert birders don't use coloration so much as bird calls, habitat and behavior to identify birds.
A few weeks ago on the regular Wednesday walk we saw a merlin perched in a tree. Today the Raptor Special was a Harriot [I don't even know how to spell it.] Characteristic of this medium-sized hawk is that it circles fairly near the ground, hunting for small mammals, as well as having a white bar across the back. That was my high point. We saw it on the way out the dike towards the boardwalk, and later again on the way back.
The tide was out, so we saw one lone heron, and that was about it for shore birds.
Walking back down the near boardwalk towards the center, the temperature dropped, and with a smattering of rain, the forest woke up. We saw a lot of flycatchers of various types, heard and [maybe?] saw Western Warblers and a Downy Woodpecker, and something very rare, which I would have mistaken for any ordinary [i.e. Mallard] duck: a ring-neck duck. Despite the name, it does not have a ring at the neck.
For the mammals, we watched a small family of fat raccoons waddle across the algae surface at the far shore of the pond, and two fawns--but no sign of the mother. On the drive home I saw the shattered body of a doe next to the freeway in the area, and hoped that she was not the mama.
I learned that, not only do certain fields flood in the early spring, but that various fields are flooded on purpose at different times [by the Refuge] so that birds feeding on the new grass shoots and arriving at different times can be attracted and can graze. I learned that eagles eat herons, who, although they have pretty good beaks, don't try to defend themselves. And that herons are so dumb they can die from swallowing fish too big for their throats. But I still like herons!
At first our fearless leader was disappointed because, although we could hear birds, it was pretty still and we didn't see many to begin with. We saw the lump of an eagle perched on the favorite eagle tree, who later flew home [the eagle, not the tree.] We heard and later saw waxwings--yay. We learned that expert birders don't use coloration so much as bird calls, habitat and behavior to identify birds.
A few weeks ago on the regular Wednesday walk we saw a merlin perched in a tree. Today the Raptor Special was a Harriot [I don't even know how to spell it.] Characteristic of this medium-sized hawk is that it circles fairly near the ground, hunting for small mammals, as well as having a white bar across the back. That was my high point. We saw it on the way out the dike towards the boardwalk, and later again on the way back.
The tide was out, so we saw one lone heron, and that was about it for shore birds.
Walking back down the near boardwalk towards the center, the temperature dropped, and with a smattering of rain, the forest woke up. We saw a lot of flycatchers of various types, heard and [maybe?] saw Western Warblers and a Downy Woodpecker, and something very rare, which I would have mistaken for any ordinary [i.e. Mallard] duck: a ring-neck duck. Despite the name, it does not have a ring at the neck.
For the mammals, we watched a small family of fat raccoons waddle across the algae surface at the far shore of the pond, and two fawns--but no sign of the mother. On the drive home I saw the shattered body of a doe next to the freeway in the area, and hoped that she was not the mama.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Sequelae
I have resolved that my recent conflict, experienced on initially meeting Mick at WorkSource, is a golden opportunity to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civiliza--oops, wrong sound track. An opportunity to learn new skills in building relationships with people, especially when one of us in the past has displayed results-oriented, my-way-or-the-highway attitudes. Especially when the topic for today's Job Club was reputed to be about "Attitudes."
Boy, does that topic bring up memories of such consistent and helpful feedback from teachers and other adults, that I have a bad "attitude." What it always seemed to mean, in retrospect, was that I was capable of thinking for myself, came to a differing conclusion from the powers that be, and honest in sharing my opinions at any time and place that I felt like it.
So I was concerned because of the Great High Heel episode, anticipating being reamed out [either personally or as part of the collective] for having a bad attitude, and ready to don war paint for today. However, I reasoned that if I don a spiritual perspective, with the motivation of service, I can attain an attitude beyond the reproach of anyone.
Up late yesterday evening due to caffeine, I memorized the quotation from 'Abdu'l-Baha in Paris Talks which has been turned into a song. It was either memorize, or die from the aggravation of jumbled and missing lyrics:
Strive that your actions day by day may be beautiful prayers. Turn towards God, and seek always to do that which is right and noble. Enrich the poor, raise the fallen, comfort the sorrowful, bring healing to the sick, reassure the fearful, rescue the oppressed, bring hope to the hopeless, shelter the destitute!
I figured that is the attitude with which few can find fault, so I strengthened it by donning a little make up [for me, a little goes a long way] in lieu of war paint, a matching silk shirt and tie, praying mighty prayers and singing songs all my way in to the Job Club this morning, and marching in with a smile on my face to forge a new friendship with Mick.
It was a productive meeting, devoid of criticism, full of encouragement, with full participation, and before Mick left I gave him my "handout" on high heels, cited in the last post for those stalwart souls with the fortitude to read it. I feel myself turning a corner in my intentions.
After lunch at home, my husband drove from Eatonville and met me in Puyallup and I drove him to a doctor's appointment in Auburn, which would have been beyond his level of endurance and would have stretched his coping skills. We had a lovely afternoon and dinner together.
Boy, does that topic bring up memories of such consistent and helpful feedback from teachers and other adults, that I have a bad "attitude." What it always seemed to mean, in retrospect, was that I was capable of thinking for myself, came to a differing conclusion from the powers that be, and honest in sharing my opinions at any time and place that I felt like it.
So I was concerned because of the Great High Heel episode, anticipating being reamed out [either personally or as part of the collective] for having a bad attitude, and ready to don war paint for today. However, I reasoned that if I don a spiritual perspective, with the motivation of service, I can attain an attitude beyond the reproach of anyone.
Up late yesterday evening due to caffeine, I memorized the quotation from 'Abdu'l-Baha in Paris Talks which has been turned into a song. It was either memorize, or die from the aggravation of jumbled and missing lyrics:
Strive that your actions day by day may be beautiful prayers. Turn towards God, and seek always to do that which is right and noble. Enrich the poor, raise the fallen, comfort the sorrowful, bring healing to the sick, reassure the fearful, rescue the oppressed, bring hope to the hopeless, shelter the destitute!
I figured that is the attitude with which few can find fault, so I strengthened it by donning a little make up [for me, a little goes a long way] in lieu of war paint, a matching silk shirt and tie, praying mighty prayers and singing songs all my way in to the Job Club this morning, and marching in with a smile on my face to forge a new friendship with Mick.
It was a productive meeting, devoid of criticism, full of encouragement, with full participation, and before Mick left I gave him my "handout" on high heels, cited in the last post for those stalwart souls with the fortitude to read it. I feel myself turning a corner in my intentions.
After lunch at home, my husband drove from Eatonville and met me in Puyallup and I drove him to a doctor's appointment in Auburn, which would have been beyond his level of endurance and would have stretched his coping skills. We had a lovely afternoon and dinner together.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Warrior
Last week at the WorkSource Job Club, we had a wonderful, detailed presentation by the human resources director from the City of Tacoma, on effectively applying for work there. She was down to earth, humorous and practical. Listening, I felt somewhat motivated in my work search, although the chances that I would find a position with the City, or wish to, are slim. I began to feel somewhat challenged in my sense of autonomy as the talk progressed, when she began to stress the level of competition for jobs, and the expectation that people "hit the ground running" on beginning a job.
While that expectation is by no means unreasonable, I began to feel smaller, less confident, and feel my energy and "power" leak out, when presented with the prospect of high competition. Combined with the State's expectations that we find jobs which are immediately a good fit, lest we fail and lose our unemployment compensation, my thoughts of roboticization increased, along with a snowballing sense of disempowerment. I began to feel grumpy.
This feeling came to a peak when the powerpoint illustration of appropriate attire for job interviews was presented. Now, I haven't recently fallen off of a turnip truck, and I can tell the difference between professional attire and candidates for the Jerry Springer show. I'm confident I can dress myself appropriately. However, there was a caricature of a woman in a skirt and high heels, and [gotta love my mouthy, Inner Brat] I blurted out, "I'm not wearing pantyhose and high heels to an interview." To which the new director of the Job Club, Mick, snapped back, "then you won't get the job!"
Well, this may be true. And equally true is that, it wouldn't be the job for me. This is not sour grapes, just a realistic assessment of where I do and don't belong in the world of industry. There is a place where I no doubt will shine, and a place where a job cannot be found without wearing high heels for an interview probably is not it. However, I did at that point, feel extremely disempowered. My buttons had been pushed. Over the course of the next day, while I fumed about this exchange, and the lack of belief in the equality of women and men which was so blatantly and flippantly exposed by Mick, my warrior paint went on.
I went online and found numerous articles, posted amidst the plethora of ads for high heels, on the evils of wearing them. I intend to look for an opportunity to kindly and respectfully enlighten people at the Job Club in the morning. Enclosed for your amusement is the article I wrote based on this information:
Problems with wearing high heeled shoes are well-documented. Although popular with many people, shoes with high heels should never be considered the only choice in professional footwear for a number of reasons, including discomfort, pain, risk of injuries, and permanent anatomical changes. Risks of these complications are worsened with increased height of the heels.
The most elementary reason a person might choose to avoid heels is simple: discomfort. Walking in heels shortens calf muscles and changes the gait. Natural walkers, walking barefoot, shorten and lengthen their tendons to achieve power; people walking in heels primarily flex their quadriceps and calf muscles. Tendons are more effective springs than muscles, so more energy is required to cover the same distance wearing heels, which increases fatigue. This factor also increases the risk of strain injuries.
Mere discomfort can give way to actual pain with continued use of high-heeled shoes. A wearer may experience pain in the toes, heels, calf muscles, and back, and develop pain in the ball of the foot, referred to as "metatarsalgia."
Wearing high heels over an extended length of time may cause actual anatomical changes in the feet, such as bunions, a shortened Achilles tendon, hammer toes, a decrease in the fat cushion in the ball of the foot, which causes increased pressure on the bones of the foot; "Morton's Neuroma," a growth and inflammation of the nerves of the foot; and "Haglund's Deformity" of the Achilles tendon, also called "pump bump."
Changes in the knees include osteoarthritis from continually adjusting for imbalance. Postural changes while wearing high heels are caused by plantar flexion of the foot, which in turn can cause muscle overuse and back pain, as well as flattening of the pelvic spine.
Women should be, and in fact are, free to use footwear of their choice when selecting professional attire, and there are many healthy and attractive alternatives. To suggest that women in particular should be devoid of choice in something as personal as footwear, with their health at stake, is truly to denigrate the station and status of women.
Professionals Cited:
John Anderson, MD, Michigan State University College of Human Medicine.
Neal M. Blitz, D.P.M.
Dr. Neil J. Cronin, postdoctoral researcher at Griffin University in Queensland, Australia.
Dr. Casey Kerrigan, Harvard Medical School, Boston Massachusetts.
Dr. Morris Morin, podiatric medicine division of Hackensack University Medical Center.
Dr. Andrew Schneider, Tanglewood Foot Specialists, Houston, Texas.
Andrew Shapiro, D.P.M., American Podiatric Association.
Terence Vanderheidon, D.P.M.
While that expectation is by no means unreasonable, I began to feel smaller, less confident, and feel my energy and "power" leak out, when presented with the prospect of high competition. Combined with the State's expectations that we find jobs which are immediately a good fit, lest we fail and lose our unemployment compensation, my thoughts of roboticization increased, along with a snowballing sense of disempowerment. I began to feel grumpy.
This feeling came to a peak when the powerpoint illustration of appropriate attire for job interviews was presented. Now, I haven't recently fallen off of a turnip truck, and I can tell the difference between professional attire and candidates for the Jerry Springer show. I'm confident I can dress myself appropriately. However, there was a caricature of a woman in a skirt and high heels, and [gotta love my mouthy, Inner Brat] I blurted out, "I'm not wearing pantyhose and high heels to an interview." To which the new director of the Job Club, Mick, snapped back, "then you won't get the job!"
Well, this may be true. And equally true is that, it wouldn't be the job for me. This is not sour grapes, just a realistic assessment of where I do and don't belong in the world of industry. There is a place where I no doubt will shine, and a place where a job cannot be found without wearing high heels for an interview probably is not it. However, I did at that point, feel extremely disempowered. My buttons had been pushed. Over the course of the next day, while I fumed about this exchange, and the lack of belief in the equality of women and men which was so blatantly and flippantly exposed by Mick, my warrior paint went on.
I went online and found numerous articles, posted amidst the plethora of ads for high heels, on the evils of wearing them. I intend to look for an opportunity to kindly and respectfully enlighten people at the Job Club in the morning. Enclosed for your amusement is the article I wrote based on this information:
Problems with wearing high heeled shoes are well-documented. Although popular with many people, shoes with high heels should never be considered the only choice in professional footwear for a number of reasons, including discomfort, pain, risk of injuries, and permanent anatomical changes. Risks of these complications are worsened with increased height of the heels.
The most elementary reason a person might choose to avoid heels is simple: discomfort. Walking in heels shortens calf muscles and changes the gait. Natural walkers, walking barefoot, shorten and lengthen their tendons to achieve power; people walking in heels primarily flex their quadriceps and calf muscles. Tendons are more effective springs than muscles, so more energy is required to cover the same distance wearing heels, which increases fatigue. This factor also increases the risk of strain injuries.
Mere discomfort can give way to actual pain with continued use of high-heeled shoes. A wearer may experience pain in the toes, heels, calf muscles, and back, and develop pain in the ball of the foot, referred to as "metatarsalgia."
Wearing high heels over an extended length of time may cause actual anatomical changes in the feet, such as bunions, a shortened Achilles tendon, hammer toes, a decrease in the fat cushion in the ball of the foot, which causes increased pressure on the bones of the foot; "Morton's Neuroma," a growth and inflammation of the nerves of the foot; and "Haglund's Deformity" of the Achilles tendon, also called "pump bump."
Changes in the knees include osteoarthritis from continually adjusting for imbalance. Postural changes while wearing high heels are caused by plantar flexion of the foot, which in turn can cause muscle overuse and back pain, as well as flattening of the pelvic spine.
Women should be, and in fact are, free to use footwear of their choice when selecting professional attire, and there are many healthy and attractive alternatives. To suggest that women in particular should be devoid of choice in something as personal as footwear, with their health at stake, is truly to denigrate the station and status of women.
Professionals Cited:
John Anderson, MD, Michigan State University College of Human Medicine.
Neal M. Blitz, D.P.M.
Dr. Neil J. Cronin, postdoctoral researcher at Griffin University in Queensland, Australia.
Dr. Casey Kerrigan, Harvard Medical School, Boston Massachusetts.
Dr. Morris Morin, podiatric medicine division of Hackensack University Medical Center.
Dr. Andrew Schneider, Tanglewood Foot Specialists, Houston, Texas.
Andrew Shapiro, D.P.M., American Podiatric Association.
Terence Vanderheidon, D.P.M.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Odd Neighbors
My neighbors had lost their minds. I had been awake until about midnight and awoke, as I frequently do, about five in the morning. So I spent the last two hours trying to capture the last two or three hours of sleep the universe owes me. I had some odd dreams. But this morning I made the amazing discovery that my neighbors listen to KING FM. It was terrible. I could not get back to sleep.
I listen to KING FM, the local listener-supported classical radio station, exclusively. But some of the sort of neo-classical music is discordant and unlovely and misunderstood by my brain. I can't listen to it. From the dim sounds through the walls of my townhouse, some of this unfortunate music was playing. Not only that, but I like to be the one choosing whether to listen to music or not. This was outrageous. And it was so strange, because I rarely hear music through the walls, except for faint wisps of rock music, and always from the other bedroom, not the master bedroom.
It was my own radio downstairs, which I had forgotten to turn off when I went to bed.
I continue to walk at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge once or twice a week, sometimes by myself, sometimes on a Bird Walk. They have been having Bird Walks every Wednesday morning, so I went twice in a row. I learn a lot, and the birders see and hear and can identify a lot of birds [95%] that I would miss on my own. There were probably 20 or 30 people this week, and it can be kind of crowded with an entire herd of people training their binoculars in one direction in the space of a few feet of boardwalk.
I used to carry some very light binoculars I cadged from my daughter, who won them in a drawing contest years ago from the Audibon Society; they are light, but rather weak. The alternative which I have adopted is a pair I inherited from my dad last year; they were among my mother's effects after she passed away. They come, dredged in memories, in a worn rawhide case with an old label maker tag: L. Elwood. The leather strap attached to the binoculars was worn out and I replaced it with a sturdy leather shoelace, doubled up.
My dad's binoculars are probably ancient, it feels as if they weigh ten pounds, and the lenses need to be individually focused for various distances, so they don't seem ideal for birding. The focus is still superior to my daughter's binoculars, so I've been carrying them anyway, dreaming of finding lighter and more powerful binoculars when I again have an income and can justify the expense.
Birders move slowly, quietly, alert to the creatures in the trees or water around them. I often hear, "there's a Western Warbler, it's on the branch of that deciduous tree just above that bare snag, just about three o'clock--whoops, there it went." A lot of time Wednesday in the Riparian forest was spent identifying an odd bird call, which no one could find on their PDA's. A few minutes later, a rare sighting was made--an escaped parakeet, which explained the bird call. Budgie was free at last.
After two hours or more of making our way to the forest we made it out to the boardwalk over the estuary, where the outer dike has been removed a few years ago to allow the salt water of Puget Sound to reclaim its place. The tide was mostly out, but there were one or two herons to be seen, and an osprey overhead. I also saw a white tern, which I would have taken for just another gull. Although the boardwalk is my favorite area, by this time my feet were bothering me. I found that the extended discussions about the particular variety of sandpipers we were looking at, and whether the scapulas were rufous or not, began to exceed my curiosity. I was lucky I could see them. So I headed home.
I listen to KING FM, the local listener-supported classical radio station, exclusively. But some of the sort of neo-classical music is discordant and unlovely and misunderstood by my brain. I can't listen to it. From the dim sounds through the walls of my townhouse, some of this unfortunate music was playing. Not only that, but I like to be the one choosing whether to listen to music or not. This was outrageous. And it was so strange, because I rarely hear music through the walls, except for faint wisps of rock music, and always from the other bedroom, not the master bedroom.
It was my own radio downstairs, which I had forgotten to turn off when I went to bed.
I continue to walk at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge once or twice a week, sometimes by myself, sometimes on a Bird Walk. They have been having Bird Walks every Wednesday morning, so I went twice in a row. I learn a lot, and the birders see and hear and can identify a lot of birds [95%] that I would miss on my own. There were probably 20 or 30 people this week, and it can be kind of crowded with an entire herd of people training their binoculars in one direction in the space of a few feet of boardwalk.
I used to carry some very light binoculars I cadged from my daughter, who won them in a drawing contest years ago from the Audibon Society; they are light, but rather weak. The alternative which I have adopted is a pair I inherited from my dad last year; they were among my mother's effects after she passed away. They come, dredged in memories, in a worn rawhide case with an old label maker tag: L. Elwood. The leather strap attached to the binoculars was worn out and I replaced it with a sturdy leather shoelace, doubled up.
My dad's binoculars are probably ancient, it feels as if they weigh ten pounds, and the lenses need to be individually focused for various distances, so they don't seem ideal for birding. The focus is still superior to my daughter's binoculars, so I've been carrying them anyway, dreaming of finding lighter and more powerful binoculars when I again have an income and can justify the expense.
Birders move slowly, quietly, alert to the creatures in the trees or water around them. I often hear, "there's a Western Warbler, it's on the branch of that deciduous tree just above that bare snag, just about three o'clock--whoops, there it went." A lot of time Wednesday in the Riparian forest was spent identifying an odd bird call, which no one could find on their PDA's. A few minutes later, a rare sighting was made--an escaped parakeet, which explained the bird call. Budgie was free at last.
After two hours or more of making our way to the forest we made it out to the boardwalk over the estuary, where the outer dike has been removed a few years ago to allow the salt water of Puget Sound to reclaim its place. The tide was mostly out, but there were one or two herons to be seen, and an osprey overhead. I also saw a white tern, which I would have taken for just another gull. Although the boardwalk is my favorite area, by this time my feet were bothering me. I found that the extended discussions about the particular variety of sandpipers we were looking at, and whether the scapulas were rufous or not, began to exceed my curiosity. I was lucky I could see them. So I headed home.
Friday, August 3, 2012
The Bird of the Heart
This will probably be another mishmash of reflections and events. My husband took himself to dialysis a couple of times, then changed his mind again. The frequent reversals of fortune are very wearing, and an opportunity to practice a state of detachment. The shower is a good place to cry.
Last week I applied for a nursing job in the clinic at the jail, and was basically apprehended by the detailed and extensive background check questionaire. It didn't help that the information had been sent in a Word document, and it was necessary to phone and email many times to get it sent by mail; this created a short time deadline. I discovered a limitation in myself, which is either weakness or extreme sensitivity. I have a strong resistance to inquiring to find out more phone numbers, emails, and home addresses from my friends, relatives, and professional references, than was originally shared with me.
It feels like prying. I wonder, also, if I am assuming I mean so little to people, that I am not worth the extra effort for people to participate in the background check. I ended up refusing to do it, and developing an attitude about it. When I dropped off the info at the office on Tacoma Avenue, I was beckoned into an office where I was quizzed about the missing information on my background history; then my work history was delved into with a rather unfriendly eye, and although the demeanor of the individual questioning me was not really unkind, I left feeling as if all my confidence had been shattered. It didn't take long for the tears to come on the way home, and I wasn't really operational for the next 24 hours or more.
Later, I thought--what did I expect? I was talking with a cop.
That Saturday I had the bounty of a prayer session with two Persian ladies for the Intensive Program of Growth. We sat upstairs in the prayer room of the "base" apartment and took turns reading or chanting prayers in English, Farsi and Arabic. My favorite part was hearing the Fire Tablet, which has a repeating refrain, recited in Arabic, and recognizing it. I felt as if I were soaring as a bird.
I continue to search for work, ambivalent in my intent. I have to look for work, so I apply to nursing jobs, but I tend to doubt how well I'll continue to function as a nurse. I'm feeling out of date and leary of the industry; my main thrust really needs to be finding an alternative, a next step. I've often wished I'd gone into counseling, but the level of education required is daunting. It feels as if I'm treading water from week to week, carrying a massive load of sadness and fear, which drains the energy I need for thinking, planning, operating.
I had lunch with my nurse friends, where we share our tales of woe, and one of them asked me how I can come across so cheerful. I told her that the most important thing that gets me through is prayer. "And," I added, "knowing I have people like you that will listen to me bellyache."
Nisqually Wildlife Refuge has become one of my favorite haunts, whether exploring on my own, or learning from a birding expedition. Recently I've seen herons while the tide was out, but not too far out, and usually see an eagle fly over from the evergreen-covered hill across the way. It often perches on a deciduous tree, sometimes soaring over the mudflats and the river, hunting/fishing.
Today I stopped to read on a bench in the shade at DeCoursey Park in Puyallup, pausing to say some prayers. When I looked up from my prayers I saw a kingfisher fly in across the river, pause on a branch and then fly on. I recognized it from the description from the first nature walk I took at Swan Creek, and I was grateful to finally see one.
Last week I applied for a nursing job in the clinic at the jail, and was basically apprehended by the detailed and extensive background check questionaire. It didn't help that the information had been sent in a Word document, and it was necessary to phone and email many times to get it sent by mail; this created a short time deadline. I discovered a limitation in myself, which is either weakness or extreme sensitivity. I have a strong resistance to inquiring to find out more phone numbers, emails, and home addresses from my friends, relatives, and professional references, than was originally shared with me.
It feels like prying. I wonder, also, if I am assuming I mean so little to people, that I am not worth the extra effort for people to participate in the background check. I ended up refusing to do it, and developing an attitude about it. When I dropped off the info at the office on Tacoma Avenue, I was beckoned into an office where I was quizzed about the missing information on my background history; then my work history was delved into with a rather unfriendly eye, and although the demeanor of the individual questioning me was not really unkind, I left feeling as if all my confidence had been shattered. It didn't take long for the tears to come on the way home, and I wasn't really operational for the next 24 hours or more.
Later, I thought--what did I expect? I was talking with a cop.
That Saturday I had the bounty of a prayer session with two Persian ladies for the Intensive Program of Growth. We sat upstairs in the prayer room of the "base" apartment and took turns reading or chanting prayers in English, Farsi and Arabic. My favorite part was hearing the Fire Tablet, which has a repeating refrain, recited in Arabic, and recognizing it. I felt as if I were soaring as a bird.
I continue to search for work, ambivalent in my intent. I have to look for work, so I apply to nursing jobs, but I tend to doubt how well I'll continue to function as a nurse. I'm feeling out of date and leary of the industry; my main thrust really needs to be finding an alternative, a next step. I've often wished I'd gone into counseling, but the level of education required is daunting. It feels as if I'm treading water from week to week, carrying a massive load of sadness and fear, which drains the energy I need for thinking, planning, operating.
I had lunch with my nurse friends, where we share our tales of woe, and one of them asked me how I can come across so cheerful. I told her that the most important thing that gets me through is prayer. "And," I added, "knowing I have people like you that will listen to me bellyache."
Nisqually Wildlife Refuge has become one of my favorite haunts, whether exploring on my own, or learning from a birding expedition. Recently I've seen herons while the tide was out, but not too far out, and usually see an eagle fly over from the evergreen-covered hill across the way. It often perches on a deciduous tree, sometimes soaring over the mudflats and the river, hunting/fishing.
Today I stopped to read on a bench in the shade at DeCoursey Park in Puyallup, pausing to say some prayers. When I looked up from my prayers I saw a kingfisher fly in across the river, pause on a branch and then fly on. I recognized it from the description from the first nature walk I took at Swan Creek, and I was grateful to finally see one.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Rainbows on the Way Home
This morning I was going to meet my friends for lunch, but they didn't show and I had the wrong week. Went for a lovely walk at the Nisqually Wildlife Refuge and saw a bird, probably a Warbler, with a yellow belly; a few hummingbirds, and a bald eagle. Stretched my legs. Part of the Boardwalk was fenced off for "sensitive wildlife", so I guess the wildlife was having issues. I looked for deer but didn't see any.
My husband has been back in the hospital, so I brought him some hummus and pita bread first thing. After my walk, he had phoned requesting a ride home. Took awhile for the nurse to get his discharge paperwork squared away, then we got into the car just as a downpour started. We saw two rainbows and a rainbow stub on the way home, but the sun was out when we arrived. He showed more enthusiasm for the hummus when I explained it has garbanzo beans and garlic in it--his favorite.
He's squared away to phone the dialysis outfit in the morning to give them his new schedule. He has gone to the ER prior to his dialysis days every time, so has not gone on his own yet, but we made sure he knows where it is. I kept my eyes open for deer at his place, but didn't see any.
I saw a doe grazing by the edge of the road on Shaw Road on the way home.
A good day.
My husband has been back in the hospital, so I brought him some hummus and pita bread first thing. After my walk, he had phoned requesting a ride home. Took awhile for the nurse to get his discharge paperwork squared away, then we got into the car just as a downpour started. We saw two rainbows and a rainbow stub on the way home, but the sun was out when we arrived. He showed more enthusiasm for the hummus when I explained it has garbanzo beans and garlic in it--his favorite.
He's squared away to phone the dialysis outfit in the morning to give them his new schedule. He has gone to the ER prior to his dialysis days every time, so has not gone on his own yet, but we made sure he knows where it is. I kept my eyes open for deer at his place, but didn't see any.
I saw a doe grazing by the edge of the road on Shaw Road on the way home.
A good day.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Good News
A little over a week ago I received notification that my former employer was appealing my unemployment benefits, and setting a court date for a trial. I immediately contacted an unemployment law firm and spent the day today preparing for the trial [via phone] tomorrow morning. I have hardly been able to sleep. Just after 5 PM, I received a voicemail from the judge saying that the employer withdrew the appeal. I was elated.
Before this issue came up I was extremely stressed and worried already because of my unemployment. Now, back in the same boat, I am elated. It is all a matter of perspective.
Monday morning my husband went to the hospital with shortness of breath, and spent a day on the ventilator while he had dialysis to relieve the extra fluid in his circulatory system. Yesterday he came off of the ventilator and this evening he is headed home, due for dialysis on an outpatient basis tomorrow for the first time.
I ordered glasses two weeks ago after visiting the optometrist on account of my double vision and finally picked them up today. It feels strange spending money out of pocket for such an expense, but is necessary due to changes in my vision coupled with symptoms of optic neuritis. The new prescription helps, although it does not correct for the double vision.
Before this issue came up I was extremely stressed and worried already because of my unemployment. Now, back in the same boat, I am elated. It is all a matter of perspective.
Monday morning my husband went to the hospital with shortness of breath, and spent a day on the ventilator while he had dialysis to relieve the extra fluid in his circulatory system. Yesterday he came off of the ventilator and this evening he is headed home, due for dialysis on an outpatient basis tomorrow for the first time.
I ordered glasses two weeks ago after visiting the optometrist on account of my double vision and finally picked them up today. It feels strange spending money out of pocket for such an expense, but is necessary due to changes in my vision coupled with symptoms of optic neuritis. The new prescription helps, although it does not correct for the double vision.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Two Visions
Recently I decided I wanted to live. It wasn't that I exactly wanted to die, before. I certainly wasn't suicidal. I just wanted to escape.
Finally I realized that, in Real Life, or as it's usually referred to in my Faith, looking at things from a spiritual point of view, death isn't what we think it is, anyway. Check the New Testament where Christ says, "let the dead bury the dead." This makes it plain to me that we are not just people having [or not having] a spiritual experience, we are by nature spiritual beings having a physical experience in the physical world, until it's time to move on to the next world, which is only spiritual. And none too soon, I was beginning to think, as I reflected on my multiple tests and challenges. I feel as if I were drowning.
However, if physical death is just moving on, than real "death" is spiritual death; being out of touch with spiritual life. I decided I don't want to be spiritually dead. I want to live.
That was one duality I've been dealing with.
The other duality is my ambivalence about returning to nursing work. The more time I spend in hospitals with nurses who are really on top of their "game"; the more I read job announcements and job descriptions; the more I reflect on how I feel about continuing in the role of a nurse, the more I realize I'm just not that sharp. My heart isn't in it anymore. I want to find something else, but I haven't found the "something else" yet, and it's terrifying to wonder how the future looks. It's like having one foot in a boat and the other on the dock, and the boat is starting to move . . .
Now this duality and all my fears about how to manage a transition from one outlook to another, one occupation to something unknown, with no map or directions, seems to have found a physical manifestation in the sudden onset of my double vision.
My optometrist believes that this is just one more symptom of my optic neuritis flaring up, and that I need to return to the neuro-ophthamalogist to find out what to do. My hunch is that he will do very little. I spent money, that should be going towards rent and bills, on glasses with a new prescription to improve acuity on the left [affected] side. It won't change the double vision, which comes and goes. I didn't buy the medical COBRA from my job, as they wanted something like $800/month. [And, of course, I had dropped my $300/month Regence policy as soon as the work health care kicked in.] Now I'm given the option of spending more money, which I don't have, to solve this problem.
Anyway, through prayer and meditation, I found a place where I have a lot more trust, and feel a lot more alive. Almost joyful. In spite of the difficulties I am in.
O Man of Two Visions! Close one eye and open the other. Close one eye to the world and all that is therein, and open the other to the hallowed beauty of the Beloved.
~Baha'u'llah
Finally I realized that, in Real Life, or as it's usually referred to in my Faith, looking at things from a spiritual point of view, death isn't what we think it is, anyway. Check the New Testament where Christ says, "let the dead bury the dead." This makes it plain to me that we are not just people having [or not having] a spiritual experience, we are by nature spiritual beings having a physical experience in the physical world, until it's time to move on to the next world, which is only spiritual. And none too soon, I was beginning to think, as I reflected on my multiple tests and challenges. I feel as if I were drowning.
However, if physical death is just moving on, than real "death" is spiritual death; being out of touch with spiritual life. I decided I don't want to be spiritually dead. I want to live.
That was one duality I've been dealing with.
The other duality is my ambivalence about returning to nursing work. The more time I spend in hospitals with nurses who are really on top of their "game"; the more I read job announcements and job descriptions; the more I reflect on how I feel about continuing in the role of a nurse, the more I realize I'm just not that sharp. My heart isn't in it anymore. I want to find something else, but I haven't found the "something else" yet, and it's terrifying to wonder how the future looks. It's like having one foot in a boat and the other on the dock, and the boat is starting to move . . .
Now this duality and all my fears about how to manage a transition from one outlook to another, one occupation to something unknown, with no map or directions, seems to have found a physical manifestation in the sudden onset of my double vision.
My optometrist believes that this is just one more symptom of my optic neuritis flaring up, and that I need to return to the neuro-ophthamalogist to find out what to do. My hunch is that he will do very little. I spent money, that should be going towards rent and bills, on glasses with a new prescription to improve acuity on the left [affected] side. It won't change the double vision, which comes and goes. I didn't buy the medical COBRA from my job, as they wanted something like $800/month. [And, of course, I had dropped my $300/month Regence policy as soon as the work health care kicked in.] Now I'm given the option of spending more money, which I don't have, to solve this problem.
Anyway, through prayer and meditation, I found a place where I have a lot more trust, and feel a lot more alive. Almost joyful. In spite of the difficulties I am in.
O Man of Two Visions! Close one eye and open the other. Close one eye to the world and all that is therein, and open the other to the hallowed beauty of the Beloved.
~Baha'u'llah
A Car With a View
Tuesday I had a job interview and a stress management focus group. Wednesday I spent with friends in Lacey until late.
Thursday I awoke at 4:15 AM and showed up at the Port of Tacoma at about 6 AM to clock in and join my assigned "van" for the day and move cars from one lot to another all day. We moved about one car every fifteen minutes. There were about 7 people in the van; the driver had a sheaf of papers with assigned cars to move to a different lot, labeled with the make, color, VIN number etc.
I had about 30 seconds to get into the assigned car, make sure the vents were closed, find the keys and start it up, move the drivers side mirror to an operable position [for the first several trips I never took the time to adjust the mirror so it was actually helpful], adjust the seat forward, turn on the headlight for driving on the public roads, and turn on the hazard lights for driving on the lot, and catch up with the other drivers so I could follow them to the other lot. There was plastic covering every surface, even sometimes the steering wheel, making it slippery to handle. Every car was heavily permeated with "new car smell", and although that scent might be gratifying to the proud owner of a new car, it was nauseatingly intense for us, and we needed to lower the window to be able to breathe.
At the other lot, there was a woman using gestures to get us to park on a gravel lot. Somehow I never seemed to park right. Several times she seemed to lose patience with me. Then it was necessary to sign and date the paper, slide the drivers seat back, remove the fuse cover and disable a particular fuse, turn off the accessories, and place the keys into the glove box with the fuse cover and turn a sign about the air bag outwards from the glove box.
Every car had some anomaly that confused me, the worst being keyless ignitions with a fob to plug in somewhere, and hybrid cars, which had a release for the parking brake on the floor where I could not find it. Every time something threw me I climbed out of the car, which was a cue for one of the nearby "veterans" to come over and help me solve the problem. They were very gracious. The woman beckoning me in to the spot was never gracious. Then we rode back to the original lot in the van and began the circus again. I was so stressed that I was praying with every breath. Literally.
By lunch time I realized that for some reason I had developed double vision, but I just kept compensating and driving anyway. I was determined to continue, and felt that they would think I was inventing the vision issue as a way to get out of work.
After lunch, we started moving cars within the lot. This meant moving a car to either the truck line or rail area, and parking in a numbered, angled lot--with one important twist. It was vital to park with the drivers' side front and rear wheel right on top of the line. Two problems with that: one, I usually couldn't see the line, as the paint was faded, and two, no matter how I looked out the door, looked out the window, or stood on my head, I could not see either the line or the tires of the car, while I was driving it. I knew I was never going to master this.
At last there was a snafu with our assignments on the lot, so we returned to moving cars from one lot to another on the public roads. Which meant, no more parking on the line [yes!] and dealing with the woman's attitude [no!]
The final car I was assigned to had a problem. It would not start. Suddenly I realized it was a stick shift. Crud! Okay, no problem. I had practiced by taking a test drive of a stick shift at the Honda dealer the month before, to recover the "sense memory" of driving a stick. Now to lower the window, vital in ninety degree heat. There was no way to lower the window. I could not find the button anywhere. Thank heaven for air conditioning, because I was going to stifle.
Over-revving, I got the car to the new lot, and even parked without any judgmental intimation from the ogre, prepped the car and got out of it, and returned to the van. "You know," I said, "I looked everywhere for the button to lower the window, and never could find it." "Wasn't it on the door frame?" and other non-helpful comments, such as "I heard you over-revving that stick shift." Finally one of the guys popped out and checked out the car.
It was a window with a crank.
I told the guys they could dine out on that story as long as they wanted. I knew I wasn't coming back.
Thursday I awoke at 4:15 AM and showed up at the Port of Tacoma at about 6 AM to clock in and join my assigned "van" for the day and move cars from one lot to another all day. We moved about one car every fifteen minutes. There were about 7 people in the van; the driver had a sheaf of papers with assigned cars to move to a different lot, labeled with the make, color, VIN number etc.
I had about 30 seconds to get into the assigned car, make sure the vents were closed, find the keys and start it up, move the drivers side mirror to an operable position [for the first several trips I never took the time to adjust the mirror so it was actually helpful], adjust the seat forward, turn on the headlight for driving on the public roads, and turn on the hazard lights for driving on the lot, and catch up with the other drivers so I could follow them to the other lot. There was plastic covering every surface, even sometimes the steering wheel, making it slippery to handle. Every car was heavily permeated with "new car smell", and although that scent might be gratifying to the proud owner of a new car, it was nauseatingly intense for us, and we needed to lower the window to be able to breathe.
At the other lot, there was a woman using gestures to get us to park on a gravel lot. Somehow I never seemed to park right. Several times she seemed to lose patience with me. Then it was necessary to sign and date the paper, slide the drivers seat back, remove the fuse cover and disable a particular fuse, turn off the accessories, and place the keys into the glove box with the fuse cover and turn a sign about the air bag outwards from the glove box.
Every car had some anomaly that confused me, the worst being keyless ignitions with a fob to plug in somewhere, and hybrid cars, which had a release for the parking brake on the floor where I could not find it. Every time something threw me I climbed out of the car, which was a cue for one of the nearby "veterans" to come over and help me solve the problem. They were very gracious. The woman beckoning me in to the spot was never gracious. Then we rode back to the original lot in the van and began the circus again. I was so stressed that I was praying with every breath. Literally.
By lunch time I realized that for some reason I had developed double vision, but I just kept compensating and driving anyway. I was determined to continue, and felt that they would think I was inventing the vision issue as a way to get out of work.
After lunch, we started moving cars within the lot. This meant moving a car to either the truck line or rail area, and parking in a numbered, angled lot--with one important twist. It was vital to park with the drivers' side front and rear wheel right on top of the line. Two problems with that: one, I usually couldn't see the line, as the paint was faded, and two, no matter how I looked out the door, looked out the window, or stood on my head, I could not see either the line or the tires of the car, while I was driving it. I knew I was never going to master this.
At last there was a snafu with our assignments on the lot, so we returned to moving cars from one lot to another on the public roads. Which meant, no more parking on the line [yes!] and dealing with the woman's attitude [no!]
The final car I was assigned to had a problem. It would not start. Suddenly I realized it was a stick shift. Crud! Okay, no problem. I had practiced by taking a test drive of a stick shift at the Honda dealer the month before, to recover the "sense memory" of driving a stick. Now to lower the window, vital in ninety degree heat. There was no way to lower the window. I could not find the button anywhere. Thank heaven for air conditioning, because I was going to stifle.
Over-revving, I got the car to the new lot, and even parked without any judgmental intimation from the ogre, prepped the car and got out of it, and returned to the van. "You know," I said, "I looked everywhere for the button to lower the window, and never could find it." "Wasn't it on the door frame?" and other non-helpful comments, such as "I heard you over-revving that stick shift." Finally one of the guys popped out and checked out the car.
It was a window with a crank.
I told the guys they could dine out on that story as long as they wanted. I knew I wasn't coming back.
What??
"Your browser is no longer supported by Blogger. Some parts of Blogger will not work and you may experience problems. If you are having problems, try Google Chrome. Dismiss." Well that is cold and non-informative. Am I supposed to just switch my blog to Google Chrome? Or is Google Chrome an alternative browser?
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Reflections
I'm still awakening, looking at the blogs FlitzyPhoebe and Baha'i Views, and reflecting. Photos of the writers canoeing in the Black River, where my former husband and I tried to find where to put in with our canoe many years ago but just found a short, slightly swampy passage. Perhaps we did not find the right place; perhaps the time of year was wrong, or the water was low, or the tide [whether it was a factor or not, I don't know] was out. But from the photos, for people in the know who can find the elusive [to us] Black River, it looks like a blessing. It was nice to find a spot on You Tube with bird songs, as I am becoming more interested in those.
Many photos of concerts and Feasts and meetings, and it's nice to see them more objectively: we all seem to have lumps and bumps and bald spots and fork-to-mouth shots, and no one seems too concerned to find their imperfections captured. Because it's the love that dominates every glimpse of a person.
I was also reflecting in the shower [a good place--someone last week in the Stress Management session mentioned using the shower as an opportunity to cry] about the fundamental difficulties I have with work and relationships. What started me off was thinking about abandonment. In my case, the abandonment was emotional; physically I was taken very good care of. There is a line in the final scene of Dr. Zhivago when the grown up child of Dr. Z remembers how she came to be lost. The fires, chaos, and crowds fleeing everywhere, and then--"He let go of my hand!" "That was not your real father," says her uncle, Alec Guinness, "that was Kamarovsky." Meaning, your real father would not have abandoned you.
The relationships I create seem to be about finding someone to take care of me. And then rebelling when they do.
I abandon everyone. I cut and run before things can become too ugly. But sometimes they do, anyway. Sometimes when someone is manipulative, and I rebel against having every string pulled by them, leaving is the only way to reestablish my independence. But if that person is sick, or losing their ability to take care of themselves, now I am abandoning them. So I can either be controlled, or neglectful.
Watched the film "Gaslight" on PBS at last. It was mentioned months ago in an article someone posted on Facebook, concerning the term "gaslighting" a person. The husband in this film causes his wife to feel she's lost her sanity and her credibility. He hides objects in the house, then gets her to find them, making her believe she has stolen or moved the object and then forgotten about it. He changes the level of illumination in the gas lights where they live, which makes her believe that her observations are merely a product of her imagination.
The wife becomes extremely vulnerable, doubting herself and believing she is losing her mind. The term gaslighting references the little ways men, in particular, can frame comments in such a way that they seem objective, but actually undermine the credibility of the woman they are speaking with; the objective being to enhance their own power in the relationship.
So with me continually doubting my abilities and decisions during my life, this film struck home.
Friday I practiced putting a smile on my face to join the gaiety at a bridal shower, determined to respond to the invitation without making anyone else unhappy, and allowing the smile to trickle down into my heart, eventually. That was after a trying day of making several job search contacts and then paying my bills [Oh, thank You--I can still do that.]
Saturday I rose in time to go to the Nisqually National Bird Refuge situated in the delta between Tacoma and Olympia, for a bird walk on the board walk. I was grateful for the nylon poncho I made a few years ago, because it let me dress in light layers underneath, yet still repelled the rain. It's lovely not to be too hot underneath a rain coat. Despite the water that fills the air, it's still fairly warm out.
So we watched for birds, with expert birders along to point them out, and translate the orchestra of trills into individual songs which experienced ears can recognize. We saw rufous hummingbirds, and Anna's hummingbirds, and heard a Western Warbler which we never could spot, and saw two does, or else the same doe twice. Also a female wood duck and her eight teenage 'lings, bobbing their heads as they paddled through the algae. And barn and other types of swallows, and cow birds. There is no current salmon run, so we didn't see raptors.
It's difficult to spot birds in the foliage of trees, and these folks are good at it. I tried to spot a hummingbird's nest the size of a quarter cup measure, several feet away. It reminded me of standing outdoors on winter's nights, with my father trying to get me to spot an individual star by sighting along his arm--an impossible task. It was worth attempting because of his care and attention. At one point, the volunteer birder pointed out a bird that, to me, was just a dark outline on a branch. "That's a Chestnut-coated Chickadee. They're quite rare around here."
Humility must be a valued commodity in the next world.
Many photos of concerts and Feasts and meetings, and it's nice to see them more objectively: we all seem to have lumps and bumps and bald spots and fork-to-mouth shots, and no one seems too concerned to find their imperfections captured. Because it's the love that dominates every glimpse of a person.
I was also reflecting in the shower [a good place--someone last week in the Stress Management session mentioned using the shower as an opportunity to cry] about the fundamental difficulties I have with work and relationships. What started me off was thinking about abandonment. In my case, the abandonment was emotional; physically I was taken very good care of. There is a line in the final scene of Dr. Zhivago when the grown up child of Dr. Z remembers how she came to be lost. The fires, chaos, and crowds fleeing everywhere, and then--"He let go of my hand!" "That was not your real father," says her uncle, Alec Guinness, "that was Kamarovsky." Meaning, your real father would not have abandoned you.
The relationships I create seem to be about finding someone to take care of me. And then rebelling when they do.
I abandon everyone. I cut and run before things can become too ugly. But sometimes they do, anyway. Sometimes when someone is manipulative, and I rebel against having every string pulled by them, leaving is the only way to reestablish my independence. But if that person is sick, or losing their ability to take care of themselves, now I am abandoning them. So I can either be controlled, or neglectful.
Watched the film "Gaslight" on PBS at last. It was mentioned months ago in an article someone posted on Facebook, concerning the term "gaslighting" a person. The husband in this film causes his wife to feel she's lost her sanity and her credibility. He hides objects in the house, then gets her to find them, making her believe she has stolen or moved the object and then forgotten about it. He changes the level of illumination in the gas lights where they live, which makes her believe that her observations are merely a product of her imagination.
The wife becomes extremely vulnerable, doubting herself and believing she is losing her mind. The term gaslighting references the little ways men, in particular, can frame comments in such a way that they seem objective, but actually undermine the credibility of the woman they are speaking with; the objective being to enhance their own power in the relationship.
So with me continually doubting my abilities and decisions during my life, this film struck home.
Friday I practiced putting a smile on my face to join the gaiety at a bridal shower, determined to respond to the invitation without making anyone else unhappy, and allowing the smile to trickle down into my heart, eventually. That was after a trying day of making several job search contacts and then paying my bills [Oh, thank You--I can still do that.]
Saturday I rose in time to go to the Nisqually National Bird Refuge situated in the delta between Tacoma and Olympia, for a bird walk on the board walk. I was grateful for the nylon poncho I made a few years ago, because it let me dress in light layers underneath, yet still repelled the rain. It's lovely not to be too hot underneath a rain coat. Despite the water that fills the air, it's still fairly warm out.
So we watched for birds, with expert birders along to point them out, and translate the orchestra of trills into individual songs which experienced ears can recognize. We saw rufous hummingbirds, and Anna's hummingbirds, and heard a Western Warbler which we never could spot, and saw two does, or else the same doe twice. Also a female wood duck and her eight teenage 'lings, bobbing their heads as they paddled through the algae. And barn and other types of swallows, and cow birds. There is no current salmon run, so we didn't see raptors.
It's difficult to spot birds in the foliage of trees, and these folks are good at it. I tried to spot a hummingbird's nest the size of a quarter cup measure, several feet away. It reminded me of standing outdoors on winter's nights, with my father trying to get me to spot an individual star by sighting along his arm--an impossible task. It was worth attempting because of his care and attention. At one point, the volunteer birder pointed out a bird that, to me, was just a dark outline on a branch. "That's a Chestnut-coated Chickadee. They're quite rare around here."
Humility must be a valued commodity in the next world.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Sharing Our Bonbons
Yesterday morning I went to a licensed nurse meeting at the Weird Home Health agency, in which the participants were informed that a requirement for working there is to be on call for one week, 24/7, for the whopping sum of $100.00. Wow. Considering that they also stated the expectation of this being a second job, it's not clear how they expect this to work out with full time work.
I also listened as the nursing director reamed out everyone who had worked the recent case [which I missed] for getting things wrong on the paperwork. I surprised myself by listening to him without feeling upset or hurt. The paperwork in question is pretty rinky-dink and not very self-explanatory. My opinion that this outfit doesn't know what it is doing continues to be confirmed. So far I have not had any work from them.
In the meantime my internet connection went on the fritz for twenty-four hours, which created some stress. I went to the weekly stress management session at WorkSource early this morning, and found it very productive for everyone. Other participants are facing as much difficulty as I am if not more.
One young mom revealed that she is also caring for her mother who has Alzheimers, and is trying to "do it all." We connected in a powerful way, both in the meeting, and in the corridor afterward, as I was able to let her know about some programs such as adult daycare that she did not know about, and to give her the message that being the responsible daughter does not necessarily mean she has to meet all her mother's needs directly, herself. It can be just as responsible for her to get help from other people and agencies, especially as her mother's disease escalates.
Not only do I think she really heard me, but she really felt supported and felt I "made her day" by what I said. These type of connections, to me, are gold. She also returned the favor by reflecting the positive things she saw in me; things I usually discount, being too busy beating myself up.
One of the things we talked about in the session was setting boundaries with the people and processes that claim our attention during the job hunt. We must take some time for ourselves, some time to do whatever brings us joy. One of the male participants had attended a different job club, and heard a family member telling him, "you just need to get back to work!" As if he hasn't been working at that. I said, "next time, offer to share your bonbons with them." He laughed at that.
Feeling better about my interactions with people, and thinking that whatever I do next needs to have an element of connecting with people and making their lives better, I came home for lunch. The cable person came over and fixed the cable connection. These people are always very bright and knowledgeable.
Yesterday I had a good talk with Zia, Enayat's daughter, who has had him as a guest most of the month. He is insisting that it's time for him to come home to Washington. Although the doctors and nurses at Good Samaritan expected Enayat to worsen right away, and we envisioned this being a one-way trip for him, he apparently has been compensating for his kidney disease for a long time. Zia and I agreed that it's really time for him to pilot his own ship and take care of himself, even if we disagree with him about his prospects living on his own. So he has boarded a jet for Washington this afternoon and should be here by the evening.
Well, life is tough, and the universe is full of love.
I also listened as the nursing director reamed out everyone who had worked the recent case [which I missed] for getting things wrong on the paperwork. I surprised myself by listening to him without feeling upset or hurt. The paperwork in question is pretty rinky-dink and not very self-explanatory. My opinion that this outfit doesn't know what it is doing continues to be confirmed. So far I have not had any work from them.
In the meantime my internet connection went on the fritz for twenty-four hours, which created some stress. I went to the weekly stress management session at WorkSource early this morning, and found it very productive for everyone. Other participants are facing as much difficulty as I am if not more.
One young mom revealed that she is also caring for her mother who has Alzheimers, and is trying to "do it all." We connected in a powerful way, both in the meeting, and in the corridor afterward, as I was able to let her know about some programs such as adult daycare that she did not know about, and to give her the message that being the responsible daughter does not necessarily mean she has to meet all her mother's needs directly, herself. It can be just as responsible for her to get help from other people and agencies, especially as her mother's disease escalates.
Not only do I think she really heard me, but she really felt supported and felt I "made her day" by what I said. These type of connections, to me, are gold. She also returned the favor by reflecting the positive things she saw in me; things I usually discount, being too busy beating myself up.
One of the things we talked about in the session was setting boundaries with the people and processes that claim our attention during the job hunt. We must take some time for ourselves, some time to do whatever brings us joy. One of the male participants had attended a different job club, and heard a family member telling him, "you just need to get back to work!" As if he hasn't been working at that. I said, "next time, offer to share your bonbons with them." He laughed at that.
Feeling better about my interactions with people, and thinking that whatever I do next needs to have an element of connecting with people and making their lives better, I came home for lunch. The cable person came over and fixed the cable connection. These people are always very bright and knowledgeable.
Yesterday I had a good talk with Zia, Enayat's daughter, who has had him as a guest most of the month. He is insisting that it's time for him to come home to Washington. Although the doctors and nurses at Good Samaritan expected Enayat to worsen right away, and we envisioned this being a one-way trip for him, he apparently has been compensating for his kidney disease for a long time. Zia and I agreed that it's really time for him to pilot his own ship and take care of himself, even if we disagree with him about his prospects living on his own. So he has boarded a jet for Washington this afternoon and should be here by the evening.
Well, life is tough, and the universe is full of love.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Welcome Visitors In Hard Times
I did end up signing on with the Weird Home Health Agency, and was signed up for two shifts working with a Hospice case. As Hospice cases often go, the client expired before I had a chance to work with him/her. I had decided to divide up the days of my weeks between the on call position driving cars at the Port, and on call with Weird Home Health. I haven't been called for the driving jobs yet. I'm supposed to let them know of my availability but in the meantime have lost my courage, my state of being psychologically ready for the driving job, so I think I'll let that go for now.
Yesterday I came to a place where it was all I could do to apply for work. I went to the Stress Management class at WorkSource in the early morning yesterday, which was rewarding. Then I went to the Job Club. There were two other nurses at Job Club. One is an LPN wishing to get out of nursing entirely and go into office management-type positions. The other is both an RN and a Veterinarian, who did both in Emergency care and was burned out at both. She has an authoritarian personality and wishes to go into Administrative work in nursing. I wish them both well.
At the Job Club we were encouraged to give a One Minute talk about who we are and our qualifications for work; an "elevator talk" that might be useful in an interview or at a Job Fair. I frankly said that if I said I wanted to be a nurse, it would be a lie, and I don't have anything else figured out to do.
After that I came home, ate, and felt my confidence and mood dropping low. Finally I read a number of portions of talks by 'Abdu'l-Baha, as well as the Ridvan 2012 letter from the Universal House of Justice. Then I forced myself to apply online for three jobs I had found on the WorkSource Job Board. This is so difficult--not just because filling out online applications, especially with Taleo, is exacting, but because I don't actually wish to work as a nurse. But I have nothing else figured out that I am ready to do, and I need to apply for work.
Today I had decided to treat mainly as a day off, for doing things around the house that need doing, and so forth. But in spite of the sunshine, my mood was very low. Then there was a brisk knock at the door and two young men from the Latter Day Saints were at my door. I invited them in, but since there was no other male there, they were not allowed to enter, which left them standing. I was very welcoming, and asked them if they lived in the Stillwater Apartments where we had met some Elders coming out while we were knocking on doors there.
They had barely heard of the Baha'i Faith, and said they didn't know Baha'is "proseletyzed." I explained how Baha'is see proseletyzing, as being pushy, but that we do go to people's doors sometimes to discuss creating more spiritual neighborhoods, offer childrens' classes, and Junior Youth Empowerment programs; how I felt going to people's doors, and so forth. Which led to them asking how I found out about the Baha'i Faith.
I was able to tell my story, talk about the history of the Bab and Baha'u'llah and what They wrote, and the basics of Progressive Revelation. They offered a copy of the Book of Mormon, which I said I read and have. They wanted to know what I thought, and I said, I didn't want to hurt their feelings; they wanted to hear, anyway, and I said that my feeling was that it was just made up. But I said I thought Joseph Smith was probably influenced by the spiritual influences at the time.
They testified to their faith and asked if there was anything they could help with around the yard. I said, no, it's a rental, but I could really use prayers as I am unemployed, and having a lot of fears and challenges from that. So they offered a beautiful extemporaneous prayer, and we thanked each other effusively for the conversation, and I felt grateful for the visit.
This may honestly be the first time I've really opened my heart to religious visitors, welcomed their visit, and had a very civil, honest, and friendly conversation. I think it has to do with exercising more humility lately. I was just thinking the other day that I have been so lonely that if Jehovah's Witnesses or the like came by, I would actually welcome them to my door and be happy to talk to them.
Yesterday I came to a place where it was all I could do to apply for work. I went to the Stress Management class at WorkSource in the early morning yesterday, which was rewarding. Then I went to the Job Club. There were two other nurses at Job Club. One is an LPN wishing to get out of nursing entirely and go into office management-type positions. The other is both an RN and a Veterinarian, who did both in Emergency care and was burned out at both. She has an authoritarian personality and wishes to go into Administrative work in nursing. I wish them both well.
At the Job Club we were encouraged to give a One Minute talk about who we are and our qualifications for work; an "elevator talk" that might be useful in an interview or at a Job Fair. I frankly said that if I said I wanted to be a nurse, it would be a lie, and I don't have anything else figured out to do.
After that I came home, ate, and felt my confidence and mood dropping low. Finally I read a number of portions of talks by 'Abdu'l-Baha, as well as the Ridvan 2012 letter from the Universal House of Justice. Then I forced myself to apply online for three jobs I had found on the WorkSource Job Board. This is so difficult--not just because filling out online applications, especially with Taleo, is exacting, but because I don't actually wish to work as a nurse. But I have nothing else figured out that I am ready to do, and I need to apply for work.
Today I had decided to treat mainly as a day off, for doing things around the house that need doing, and so forth. But in spite of the sunshine, my mood was very low. Then there was a brisk knock at the door and two young men from the Latter Day Saints were at my door. I invited them in, but since there was no other male there, they were not allowed to enter, which left them standing. I was very welcoming, and asked them if they lived in the Stillwater Apartments where we had met some Elders coming out while we were knocking on doors there.
They had barely heard of the Baha'i Faith, and said they didn't know Baha'is "proseletyzed." I explained how Baha'is see proseletyzing, as being pushy, but that we do go to people's doors sometimes to discuss creating more spiritual neighborhoods, offer childrens' classes, and Junior Youth Empowerment programs; how I felt going to people's doors, and so forth. Which led to them asking how I found out about the Baha'i Faith.
I was able to tell my story, talk about the history of the Bab and Baha'u'llah and what They wrote, and the basics of Progressive Revelation. They offered a copy of the Book of Mormon, which I said I read and have. They wanted to know what I thought, and I said, I didn't want to hurt their feelings; they wanted to hear, anyway, and I said that my feeling was that it was just made up. But I said I thought Joseph Smith was probably influenced by the spiritual influences at the time.
They testified to their faith and asked if there was anything they could help with around the yard. I said, no, it's a rental, but I could really use prayers as I am unemployed, and having a lot of fears and challenges from that. So they offered a beautiful extemporaneous prayer, and we thanked each other effusively for the conversation, and I felt grateful for the visit.
This may honestly be the first time I've really opened my heart to religious visitors, welcomed their visit, and had a very civil, honest, and friendly conversation. I think it has to do with exercising more humility lately. I was just thinking the other day that I have been so lonely that if Jehovah's Witnesses or the like came by, I would actually welcome them to my door and be happy to talk to them.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Shifting Times
I had a number of things to follow up on today. One of my friends helped me hook up with an agency who sends people out, on call, to drive new cars around at the Port of Tacoma. I filled out more paperwork and took tests today, offered a specimen for drug testing, and had an interview filling me in. Kerri, the interviewer, was rather stern about making sure I was confident driving a 5-speed stick shift. It has been several years. I switched to automatics when I got tired of slipping the clutch so often in stop and go traffic, and I never looked back. So I figured the sense memory is still there, but I wasn't feeling that confident. "If they see you hesitate, they'll send you right back!"
I went to the Honda dealer, where I have bought two cars and feel confident, thinking to just do a test drive as a way to practice before I'm on call on Tuesday. A salesman was hanging around the main door as I sidled past, thinking to snoop around the used cars.
Charles H.: Hi, can I help you?
Me: Yes, well, I wanted to see if I could still drive a 5-speed transmission.
Charles: Okay, are you thinking of more of a two-door, or a four-door?
Me: Probably a four-door.
Charles: So, why do you want to go back to a stick shift?
Me: Well, to be brutally honest, I got a job at the Port of Tacoma driving cars, and although I drove stick shifts a lot in the past, I want to feel more confident when I show up. Since I don't have a lot of friends lined up that I know drive manual transmissions, that I can borrow their car for a drive, I thought I'd see if I could go on a test drive here. I've bought two cars here in the past, and I'm very happy with them . . .
So I did, I drove around a newer Honda Civic for about twenty minutes, and had more of a challenge making sure the windows stayed free of fog, than working the clutch. I'd forgotten how much work a standard transmission is, but the sense memory is still there. It only died once. So that was good.
Then I came back to the US HealthWorks and received paperwork proving that I'm still immunized from Hepatitis B, and had my PPD read, came home and phoned the "Weird Home Health Agency" to see if I was still welcome at their orientation Monday. They tried to recruit me for a night shift tonight--nothing doing.
Off to see my daughter and boyfriend and his lovely family.
I went to the Honda dealer, where I have bought two cars and feel confident, thinking to just do a test drive as a way to practice before I'm on call on Tuesday. A salesman was hanging around the main door as I sidled past, thinking to snoop around the used cars.
Charles H.: Hi, can I help you?
Me: Yes, well, I wanted to see if I could still drive a 5-speed transmission.
Charles: Okay, are you thinking of more of a two-door, or a four-door?
Me: Probably a four-door.
Charles: So, why do you want to go back to a stick shift?
Me: Well, to be brutally honest, I got a job at the Port of Tacoma driving cars, and although I drove stick shifts a lot in the past, I want to feel more confident when I show up. Since I don't have a lot of friends lined up that I know drive manual transmissions, that I can borrow their car for a drive, I thought I'd see if I could go on a test drive here. I've bought two cars here in the past, and I'm very happy with them . . .
So I did, I drove around a newer Honda Civic for about twenty minutes, and had more of a challenge making sure the windows stayed free of fog, than working the clutch. I'd forgotten how much work a standard transmission is, but the sense memory is still there. It only died once. So that was good.
Then I came back to the US HealthWorks and received paperwork proving that I'm still immunized from Hepatitis B, and had my PPD read, came home and phoned the "Weird Home Health Agency" to see if I was still welcome at their orientation Monday. They tried to recruit me for a night shift tonight--nothing doing.
Off to see my daughter and boyfriend and his lovely family.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Eagle Watching
I started early this morning to WorkSource, as they began a new "Stress Management" activity, and I went to that back to back with the Job Club. Both were rewarding. Someone mentioned walking down at Ruston Way, at the waterfront, so I decided to go there after I left WorkSource.
Ruston way was beautiful, in a subdued, rainy day sort of way. In a good mood after my dose of stress management, I thought, "why don't I play tourist and just stroll?" Then it hit me, one of the biggest factors in my resistance to exercise, and my resistance to a lot of activities in life.
Competition.
For some reason when I used to walk on Ruston Way, I felt some sort of inner competition, that I had to measure how far and how fast I walked, for it to have value. I had this unrealistic idea in my mind that I would lose weight by walking, when in reality, one merely keeps from physically deteriorating by walking. And when I view any activity as exercise, I also become self-conscious about it. Walking with anyone else, since almost everyone I know is more physically fit than I am, has an element of competition to it in my mind, regardless of how courteous or pleasant the other person/s is about the disparity in our abilities. There is no way not to feel self-conscious and embarrassed.
Going for a pleasant stroll is so much nicer.
When I returned to my car, I saw a bald eagle fly in to the area to fish. I found a park bench and watched for perhaps twenty minutes. I don't see eagles just any time. There wasn't much to see, as the eagle landed on the top of a piling and endured the harassment of first crows, then a seagull. He didn't even hunch down, as the smaller birds swooped and dove and called at him. Finally it began to rain, and I went to sit in my car.
A real downpour, listening to the rain on the roof, watching the eagle, and interior of the car fogging up. I took a call from my husband in Boston, who claims [all evidence to the contrary] that he is improving, the edema is down, he is not bothered by nausea, no, he has not been sleepy, and there is no [cough, cough] coughing. And now he believes that the property from which he was evicted in December is about to be given back to him.
The rain stopped and I drove away. Was it a coincidence that, just as I drove off, the eagle spread his great wings and headed out along the water? The rain was over. Time for both of us to go.
Ruston way was beautiful, in a subdued, rainy day sort of way. In a good mood after my dose of stress management, I thought, "why don't I play tourist and just stroll?" Then it hit me, one of the biggest factors in my resistance to exercise, and my resistance to a lot of activities in life.
Competition.
For some reason when I used to walk on Ruston Way, I felt some sort of inner competition, that I had to measure how far and how fast I walked, for it to have value. I had this unrealistic idea in my mind that I would lose weight by walking, when in reality, one merely keeps from physically deteriorating by walking. And when I view any activity as exercise, I also become self-conscious about it. Walking with anyone else, since almost everyone I know is more physically fit than I am, has an element of competition to it in my mind, regardless of how courteous or pleasant the other person/s is about the disparity in our abilities. There is no way not to feel self-conscious and embarrassed.
Going for a pleasant stroll is so much nicer.
When I returned to my car, I saw a bald eagle fly in to the area to fish. I found a park bench and watched for perhaps twenty minutes. I don't see eagles just any time. There wasn't much to see, as the eagle landed on the top of a piling and endured the harassment of first crows, then a seagull. He didn't even hunch down, as the smaller birds swooped and dove and called at him. Finally it began to rain, and I went to sit in my car.
A real downpour, listening to the rain on the roof, watching the eagle, and interior of the car fogging up. I took a call from my husband in Boston, who claims [all evidence to the contrary] that he is improving, the edema is down, he is not bothered by nausea, no, he has not been sleepy, and there is no [cough, cough] coughing. And now he believes that the property from which he was evicted in December is about to be given back to him.
The rain stopped and I drove away. Was it a coincidence that, just as I drove off, the eagle spread his great wings and headed out along the water? The rain was over. Time for both of us to go.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Coda
Enayat couldn't wait to open his gift, that he was supposed to open on the plane. "We're close enough." He very much enjoyed the Farsi book of Baha'u'llah's writings, and probably still has his nose in it.
Tears of Joy
Saturday we held the reunion of the friends and family of Enayat, in the park in Eatonville. I was so happy to see so many friends and relatives, including my daughter and her boyfriend who came from Olympia bearing delicious garlic biscuits. It was an all vegetarian potluck, delicious salad and vegetable dishes. It was as if each person brought something I might have prepared on my best day. The joy and fellowship was so encouraging.
In the evening I took a fuzzy red sock that my daughter had given me [as she wasn't wearing it] and made it into a sock puppet for a baby gift, cutting off the toe and using that to make ears, and embroidering eyes so there would be nothing for Baby to pull off and choke on.
This morning I went to a giant baby shower [for which the sock puppet was my gift] and absorbed the joy and fellowship there. Many people sent along their best wishes and prayers for Enayat and for me. It feels good to absorb all the happiness to ameliorate the sadness and concern I have been feeling. It's almost like a medicine. I never used to really open my heart up to people before.
This afternoon I paid one more visit to Enayat at the farm house in Eatonville. Zia and Neda had spent the day organizing his things and packing up for the trip to Boston that Enayat's daughters and I believe will be a one way trip, but one never knows. The plan is to fly out at 11 PM this evening; they're getting an early start.
Enayat informed me that he plans to stay for a few days in Massachusetts, then return and really "get going" on his plans to teach meditation. He looks pretty good, claiming his swelling is down; the edema is up to his thighs again, and he has been coughing. The massive doses of Lasix he had in the hospital are wearing off. I really think that Enayat's positive outlook and spiritual nature have kept him going physically, and helped him compensate for his kidney disease, longer than he might have done otherwise. [Denial pays off; who knew?]
At home this morning I found a book of Baha'i Writings in Farsi that I could part with, and wrapped it up as a gift, with instructions to open it on the plane. It went into his carry on luggage [whenever I hear the term carry on luggage, I picture a vulture with a small, dripping suitcase in its beak.]
We took photos together: Enayat and Zia and Josh and Neda and Judy and me and a friend of the family. The luggage packed up, we came downstairs, and before the ones traveling to the airport got into the car, we gathered under the porch roof, listening to the rain, and Enayat chanted a prayer for gathering; then Allahumma, then the prayer "O Lord of the Angels" all in Farsi.
The first time I heard that prayer, Enayat had come with me to the memorial service south of Spokane for my Uncle Jack, and when people were offering their memories of Uncle Jack, Enayat offered that chant, which is very beautiful. Then I heard it again back in Eatonville when we attended the funeral at a cemetery on Stringtown Road, for one of Enayat's friends, "The Bee Man", who had been murdered. I don't think that case was ever solved. Apparently the Bee Man, when he was asked about whether his honey had been pasteurized, would pick up a jar of honey, wave it in front of your face, and say, "It's been past your eyes." Anyway, seems like when Enayat and I first got together, all we did was go to funerals.
So, there we stood, listening to the rain on the roof, chanting, our eyes streaming with tears.
It was time to go.
In the evening I took a fuzzy red sock that my daughter had given me [as she wasn't wearing it] and made it into a sock puppet for a baby gift, cutting off the toe and using that to make ears, and embroidering eyes so there would be nothing for Baby to pull off and choke on.
This morning I went to a giant baby shower [for which the sock puppet was my gift] and absorbed the joy and fellowship there. Many people sent along their best wishes and prayers for Enayat and for me. It feels good to absorb all the happiness to ameliorate the sadness and concern I have been feeling. It's almost like a medicine. I never used to really open my heart up to people before.
This afternoon I paid one more visit to Enayat at the farm house in Eatonville. Zia and Neda had spent the day organizing his things and packing up for the trip to Boston that Enayat's daughters and I believe will be a one way trip, but one never knows. The plan is to fly out at 11 PM this evening; they're getting an early start.
Enayat informed me that he plans to stay for a few days in Massachusetts, then return and really "get going" on his plans to teach meditation. He looks pretty good, claiming his swelling is down; the edema is up to his thighs again, and he has been coughing. The massive doses of Lasix he had in the hospital are wearing off. I really think that Enayat's positive outlook and spiritual nature have kept him going physically, and helped him compensate for his kidney disease, longer than he might have done otherwise. [Denial pays off; who knew?]
At home this morning I found a book of Baha'i Writings in Farsi that I could part with, and wrapped it up as a gift, with instructions to open it on the plane. It went into his carry on luggage [whenever I hear the term carry on luggage, I picture a vulture with a small, dripping suitcase in its beak.]
We took photos together: Enayat and Zia and Josh and Neda and Judy and me and a friend of the family. The luggage packed up, we came downstairs, and before the ones traveling to the airport got into the car, we gathered under the porch roof, listening to the rain, and Enayat chanted a prayer for gathering; then Allahumma, then the prayer "O Lord of the Angels" all in Farsi.
The first time I heard that prayer, Enayat had come with me to the memorial service south of Spokane for my Uncle Jack, and when people were offering their memories of Uncle Jack, Enayat offered that chant, which is very beautiful. Then I heard it again back in Eatonville when we attended the funeral at a cemetery on Stringtown Road, for one of Enayat's friends, "The Bee Man", who had been murdered. I don't think that case was ever solved. Apparently the Bee Man, when he was asked about whether his honey had been pasteurized, would pick up a jar of honey, wave it in front of your face, and say, "It's been past your eyes." Anyway, seems like when Enayat and I first got together, all we did was go to funerals.
So, there we stood, listening to the rain on the roof, chanting, our eyes streaming with tears.
It was time to go.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Family Unity
Thursday I spent the evening in Eatonville at the farm house with Enayat, Zia, Josh and Neda. The farm house has been fixed up pretty well for a short stay. The plan now is for Enayat to visit Zia and Josh in Massachusetts and follow up on his health care needs while he is there. Unless he gives in and elects to have dialysis, we don't know how long he will last. Yesterday I drove him to the Post Office and he had more nausea. He also has pitting edema on his legs again.
Enayat's first wife Judy came by and saw him for the first time in many years. I think it was a good visit for both of them, and a chance to heal and to reconcile any remaining feelings after their marriage dissolution. There we were in the upstairs room where Enayat stays--the room he loves because of the windows looking out on farmlands, and all the light--Enayat, me, his daughters and son in law, and his former wife, having a wonderful visit. Neda and I sorted out photos, Judy helped with some paperwork from the hospital, and Zia combed Enayat's hair, while Enayat visited, and spoke with relatives on the phone. Judy had sent over some delicious lasagna, and downstairs we ate some wonderful watermelon.
The Friends of Enayat Reunion Potluck will be held Saturday, June 2 at 2 PM in Glacier View Park in Eatonville. Everyone is welcome who cares to come.
Enayat's first wife Judy came by and saw him for the first time in many years. I think it was a good visit for both of them, and a chance to heal and to reconcile any remaining feelings after their marriage dissolution. There we were in the upstairs room where Enayat stays--the room he loves because of the windows looking out on farmlands, and all the light--Enayat, me, his daughters and son in law, and his former wife, having a wonderful visit. Neda and I sorted out photos, Judy helped with some paperwork from the hospital, and Zia combed Enayat's hair, while Enayat visited, and spoke with relatives on the phone. Judy had sent over some delicious lasagna, and downstairs we ate some wonderful watermelon.
The Friends of Enayat Reunion Potluck will be held Saturday, June 2 at 2 PM in Glacier View Park in Eatonville. Everyone is welcome who cares to come.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Trudging Along
Tuesday I had an "interview" at "Right at Home" which is an agency for providing home care to private pay patients. My interview went like:
Morris: What can I do for you?
Me: I had an interview scheduled for one o'clock, but I was instructed to come early to fill out paperwork.
Morris: [looking at my manila folder] I don't want to look at your resume. If you were invited to the interview, that is enough. I have quite a bit of paperwork for you to fill out. There is a licensed nurse orientation on Monday I would like you to come to, and I would like you to come in tomorrow at 9:30 to speak with Rimona about a marketing job.
I did not receive a clear answer whether I should continue my UI job search.
So I gathered up a folder with about 20 forms to fill out, plus a job application, even though I had submitted an application online. I requested and received a print-out of my submitted application to aid me in filling out the paper one, as I had not brought info for filling out an application . . . as I had already submitted one. I took rather a tough test for nursing competency, including questions about medications I rarely administer and dosage forms that are rarely used, e.g. grains of morphine and so forth. They took my email to send me a link for a course in administering Cimzin injections for Crohn's Disease and Rheumatoid Arthritis. At home I printed it up, and it was about 100 pages total of course material. Egads.
Then I spent about an hour reproducing my job application, signing forms enabling them to do a background check, and reference checks, and so forth. It was extensive. At no time did I fill out any tax deduction information.
This morning I and another nurse came in and were ushered into the conference room. We spoke with "Mr. Anderson" [the franchise owner] and his wife "Faith" about a job marketing the services of the company to hospitals, skilled nursing facilities etc. Rimona, who performs this job as well as her other administrative duties, also sat in on part of this discussion. We also asked a lot of questions about the company. The other nurse asked about whether the marketing job is paid hourly and received an affirmative. Then she asked, and found out that there is a quota expected of a certain number of referrals for the person to bring in.
Back in the office area I was informed that I need to bring in proof of Hepatitis B vaccines I took at the health department back in 1989, and PPD TB tests which facilities usually administer on campus, so of which I don't have a record. Every other employer I've ever had checks the PPD themselves. This place is different. I also was asked to bring in proof of car insurance, which was a good thing: turns out that whenever I received my last insurance card, apparently I forgot to place it in the vehicle. Anyway, I inquired about filling out tax information and was informed that I was not "hired" until I provided the above information.
Back in the parking lot I spoke with the other nurse, who is already working full time elsewhere, and is not interested in the marketing position. She said she had a conversation two months ago with an employee no longer in the office, who warned her that the paychecks had been bouncing. We both agreed that this place just has a very weird "vibe" and is very vague in dispensing concrete information. They give the general impression that one is hired, before that is actually true. They had definitely made it clear that they did not have full time work, only part-time. Anyway, this other nurse emailed me later with some referrals for other agencies, which I found very helpful.
I think I will definitely continue my job search.
Following this interview, I went to a dental appointment. It turned out all I needed was a cleaning, and the cleaning was rather cursory as I have been faithfully flossing every morning [yay! personal triumph!] so there wasn't too much buildup. Also, my hygienist and I really enjoy catching up on what is going on with our families.
Then I went to my insurance office and they printed up a proof of insurance card for me. I ate lunch, went to the library, and sat at DeCoursey Park watching the ducklings, which are now mostly Junior Youth and Youth ducks, but there are new sets of the puffball young "'lings'". There were also some Canada Goose goslings, a light blond color of yellow, and larger than the ducklings, naturally. As usual many people fed the ducks, which is prohibited.
Major excitement: I saw a redheaded woodpecker above in the tree across the path from me. Beautiful.
Came home and followed up on my promise to the counselor at WorkSource to take the JobFit skills/behavioral assessment online. The first part was a lot of fun, answering questions truthfully about my rather sensitive and reactive personality. Then there were a lot of algebra questions, some of which I could figure out, and questions about numerical sequences which I absolutely had no clue how to solve. Then I received a PDF-like file with a report of jobs they thought I might match up with.
I spoke with Enayat on the phone yesterday and he is still lucid and stable. Boy will I be embarrassed if he miraculously improves. However, I'm thinking that his lab values [Creatinine 13 and low hemoglobin and hematocrit] don't lie. He's just doing well because of the intensive treatments he received at the hospital. We'll all just have to see what happens next.
Morris: What can I do for you?
Me: I had an interview scheduled for one o'clock, but I was instructed to come early to fill out paperwork.
Morris: [looking at my manila folder] I don't want to look at your resume. If you were invited to the interview, that is enough. I have quite a bit of paperwork for you to fill out. There is a licensed nurse orientation on Monday I would like you to come to, and I would like you to come in tomorrow at 9:30 to speak with Rimona about a marketing job.
I did not receive a clear answer whether I should continue my UI job search.
So I gathered up a folder with about 20 forms to fill out, plus a job application, even though I had submitted an application online. I requested and received a print-out of my submitted application to aid me in filling out the paper one, as I had not brought info for filling out an application . . . as I had already submitted one. I took rather a tough test for nursing competency, including questions about medications I rarely administer and dosage forms that are rarely used, e.g. grains of morphine and so forth. They took my email to send me a link for a course in administering Cimzin injections for Crohn's Disease and Rheumatoid Arthritis. At home I printed it up, and it was about 100 pages total of course material. Egads.
Then I spent about an hour reproducing my job application, signing forms enabling them to do a background check, and reference checks, and so forth. It was extensive. At no time did I fill out any tax deduction information.
This morning I and another nurse came in and were ushered into the conference room. We spoke with "Mr. Anderson" [the franchise owner] and his wife "Faith" about a job marketing the services of the company to hospitals, skilled nursing facilities etc. Rimona, who performs this job as well as her other administrative duties, also sat in on part of this discussion. We also asked a lot of questions about the company. The other nurse asked about whether the marketing job is paid hourly and received an affirmative. Then she asked, and found out that there is a quota expected of a certain number of referrals for the person to bring in.
Back in the office area I was informed that I need to bring in proof of Hepatitis B vaccines I took at the health department back in 1989, and PPD TB tests which facilities usually administer on campus, so of which I don't have a record. Every other employer I've ever had checks the PPD themselves. This place is different. I also was asked to bring in proof of car insurance, which was a good thing: turns out that whenever I received my last insurance card, apparently I forgot to place it in the vehicle. Anyway, I inquired about filling out tax information and was informed that I was not "hired" until I provided the above information.
Back in the parking lot I spoke with the other nurse, who is already working full time elsewhere, and is not interested in the marketing position. She said she had a conversation two months ago with an employee no longer in the office, who warned her that the paychecks had been bouncing. We both agreed that this place just has a very weird "vibe" and is very vague in dispensing concrete information. They give the general impression that one is hired, before that is actually true. They had definitely made it clear that they did not have full time work, only part-time. Anyway, this other nurse emailed me later with some referrals for other agencies, which I found very helpful.
I think I will definitely continue my job search.
Following this interview, I went to a dental appointment. It turned out all I needed was a cleaning, and the cleaning was rather cursory as I have been faithfully flossing every morning [yay! personal triumph!] so there wasn't too much buildup. Also, my hygienist and I really enjoy catching up on what is going on with our families.
Then I went to my insurance office and they printed up a proof of insurance card for me. I ate lunch, went to the library, and sat at DeCoursey Park watching the ducklings, which are now mostly Junior Youth and Youth ducks, but there are new sets of the puffball young "'lings'". There were also some Canada Goose goslings, a light blond color of yellow, and larger than the ducklings, naturally. As usual many people fed the ducks, which is prohibited.
Major excitement: I saw a redheaded woodpecker above in the tree across the path from me. Beautiful.
Came home and followed up on my promise to the counselor at WorkSource to take the JobFit skills/behavioral assessment online. The first part was a lot of fun, answering questions truthfully about my rather sensitive and reactive personality. Then there were a lot of algebra questions, some of which I could figure out, and questions about numerical sequences which I absolutely had no clue how to solve. Then I received a PDF-like file with a report of jobs they thought I might match up with.
I spoke with Enayat on the phone yesterday and he is still lucid and stable. Boy will I be embarrassed if he miraculously improves. However, I'm thinking that his lab values [Creatinine 13 and low hemoglobin and hematocrit] don't lie. He's just doing well because of the intensive treatments he received at the hospital. We'll all just have to see what happens next.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Anticipatory Grieving
Sunday my husband's daughter and her husband and I, as well as the doctors and nurses at Good Sam, tried to get him to accept dialysis. He also phoned this quack he has been to who runs a clinic in Eatonville feeding people juices and herbs, which is supposed to cure everything from cancer to obesity to kidney failure. My husband decided he would rather forego dialysis and take his chances with the quack.
His daughter and her husband spent the night at the hospital. Nobody got much sleep. I texted his daughter this morning to see how things are going, and she replied, "We're taking him home now." I was a little concerned that maybe she was angry at me, but it turned out that she was fielding a lot of phone calls and conversations at the time, so she sounded a little terse.
I don't know whether my husband will try to go to the quack or not, but for now his daughter will stay with him to take care of him.
My husband came home to Eatonville with his daughter and son in law; I picked up some cleaning supplies and met them at the farm house. While my husband slept upstairs, we puzzled over a list of dietary recommendations for a renal diet. Most of my husband's favorite foods are taboo: any beans, peas or lentils; potatoes; beets; oatmeal; whole grain breads; bananas; etc etc. He also needs to limit his fluid intake.
The farm house was a horrible mess because of previous renters. I started cleaning the stove, looked inside the oven to find a cake pan with two molded, dessicated pork chops. We threw out garbage, I cleaned the sink and washed what dishes I could recover, cleaned the counter, cleaned the upstairs bathroom my husband will use, and called it a day. The daughter and I agreed it was a lot easier to focus on concrete tasks.
Meanwhile my husband slept soundly at least 3 to 4 hours, then woke alert and refreshed, and I helped him up [his mattress is on the floor] and he went to the bathroom. I found his cell phone and gave it to him.
Driving to Puyallup from Eatonville I bawled the whole way home, with a motorhome on my tail and the familiar road passing by.
His daughter and her husband spent the night at the hospital. Nobody got much sleep. I texted his daughter this morning to see how things are going, and she replied, "We're taking him home now." I was a little concerned that maybe she was angry at me, but it turned out that she was fielding a lot of phone calls and conversations at the time, so she sounded a little terse.
I don't know whether my husband will try to go to the quack or not, but for now his daughter will stay with him to take care of him.
My husband came home to Eatonville with his daughter and son in law; I picked up some cleaning supplies and met them at the farm house. While my husband slept upstairs, we puzzled over a list of dietary recommendations for a renal diet. Most of my husband's favorite foods are taboo: any beans, peas or lentils; potatoes; beets; oatmeal; whole grain breads; bananas; etc etc. He also needs to limit his fluid intake.
The farm house was a horrible mess because of previous renters. I started cleaning the stove, looked inside the oven to find a cake pan with two molded, dessicated pork chops. We threw out garbage, I cleaned the sink and washed what dishes I could recover, cleaned the counter, cleaned the upstairs bathroom my husband will use, and called it a day. The daughter and I agreed it was a lot easier to focus on concrete tasks.
Meanwhile my husband slept soundly at least 3 to 4 hours, then woke alert and refreshed, and I helped him up [his mattress is on the floor] and he went to the bathroom. I found his cell phone and gave it to him.
Driving to Puyallup from Eatonville I bawled the whole way home, with a motorhome on my tail and the familiar road passing by.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Medical Care for the Non-Medical Person
This morning when I turned on my cell I heard from my husband's daughter that yesterday evening's lab work showed critical values and they were trying to find a way to transport him to the hospital, even though he had not answered his cell phone. Eventually with the help of his daughter's friend, he was transported to the hospital by ambulance, where I met him and spent the day. After lots of tests, it turned out that he needs dialysis.
It's taking my husband some time to come to terms with the realization that he needs dialysis. He declined to have it today, and said he would decided by tomorrow. Meanwhile his daughter is flying in tomorrow morning. The other option is Hospice care.
I think he realizes that he needs dialysis if he is going to be able to do the things he wishes to do, but he just isn't fully reconciled to it. This is a person who has never been to a medical doctor in 42 years, so the idea of needing intensive medical care is kind of a shock. He just always thought he would be healthy forever simply because he is a vegetarian.
I'll return in the morning.
It's taking my husband some time to come to terms with the realization that he needs dialysis. He declined to have it today, and said he would decided by tomorrow. Meanwhile his daughter is flying in tomorrow morning. The other option is Hospice care.
I think he realizes that he needs dialysis if he is going to be able to do the things he wishes to do, but he just isn't fully reconciled to it. This is a person who has never been to a medical doctor in 42 years, so the idea of needing intensive medical care is kind of a shock. He just always thought he would be healthy forever simply because he is a vegetarian.
I'll return in the morning.
Friday, May 25, 2012
A Busy and Encouraging Day
Went to mandatory WorkSource orientation to unemployment claims, job search strategies, and WorkSource services this morning. Hosted by "Johnny" it was very upbeat and surprisingly encouraging. He put a positive spin on everything. I was in love with him immediately. ; >
Spent an hour in a quiet WS lobby with my papers spread out in front of me, preparing for my plan of dropping in for a 1:1 session with a counselor. I had listed many of the tasks I do in skilled nursing facilities and in nursing, and I dissected them to extract out the skills involved; then I organized the skills by type of skill [communication, dealing with objects, i.e. concrete operations, or analytical skills] and listed them out, so I could have a list of transferable skills to some other occupation. I intended to ask about what other occupations might be a good fit with the skills I have already.
Then I went to my car and ate a salad, phoned my husband who hasn't been feeling well and left a message. While I was in the car I received a call from an unfamiliar number and was invited to have an interview with a home health company on Tuesday. So that was very encouraging.
Then I went back to WS and spoke with "Kathleen" who listened to my various tales of woe and suggested a Job Fit assessment I can take online; encouraged me to stay in nursing but find a way to heal what makes this so difficult for me, and then get back to her, and recommended a new Stress Management class being held in June.
I ended up going to the Pierce County Library and found a DVD based on one of the Michael Connelly novels, The Lincoln Lawyer, which I will be excited to watch. I hope it will be as good as the book. I also requested several books by Burl Barer.
In my car at the Library I phoned my husband, who has been coughing, is short of breath, and has lower extremity pitting edema. This is a person who had been shoveling tons of gravel onto the roads at his old property for years, and was definitely much more physically fit and strong than I am. He was coming to a particular urgent care clinic south of Tacoma, so I offered to meet him there on the spur of the moment. Then I decided to just head on over to the clinic, as it was West and my home was East, so it would save gas. My math may be way off, but I have guesstimated in my head that it probably costs me about sixty cents per mile to drive, now that gas is so high. Every time I fill the tank it's about $45 a pop.
I spoke to my husband at 3:30 PM. At four I called his daughter in Massechusetts [however you spell it] to mention he was on his way to the clinic. At five I called him to ask where he was. He was still gassing up his car in Eatonville. At six he finally arrived at the clinic. At seven thirty he emerged with two prescriptions in hand and instructions to return tomorrow for his lab test results. Sounds like he has pneumonia, among other things.
This is a person who really, truly has never been to a medical doctor, has practiced a vegetarian diet [including cheese and butter and etc] so assumed he would never get sick. His daughter and I both leaned on him to fill the prescriptions and take the antibiotics. I drove to the Indian restaurant where the proprietor is a friend of his and he took me to dinner. The proprietor wanted to know if I had any sisters. I said, unfortunately they are all married.
When I returned home and checked my bank balance online, I realized my unemployment insurance that I have been so frightened would never be granted without a fight, had been deposited in my account.
Wow.
Spent an hour in a quiet WS lobby with my papers spread out in front of me, preparing for my plan of dropping in for a 1:1 session with a counselor. I had listed many of the tasks I do in skilled nursing facilities and in nursing, and I dissected them to extract out the skills involved; then I organized the skills by type of skill [communication, dealing with objects, i.e. concrete operations, or analytical skills] and listed them out, so I could have a list of transferable skills to some other occupation. I intended to ask about what other occupations might be a good fit with the skills I have already.
Then I went to my car and ate a salad, phoned my husband who hasn't been feeling well and left a message. While I was in the car I received a call from an unfamiliar number and was invited to have an interview with a home health company on Tuesday. So that was very encouraging.
Then I went back to WS and spoke with "Kathleen" who listened to my various tales of woe and suggested a Job Fit assessment I can take online; encouraged me to stay in nursing but find a way to heal what makes this so difficult for me, and then get back to her, and recommended a new Stress Management class being held in June.
I ended up going to the Pierce County Library and found a DVD based on one of the Michael Connelly novels, The Lincoln Lawyer, which I will be excited to watch. I hope it will be as good as the book. I also requested several books by Burl Barer.
In my car at the Library I phoned my husband, who has been coughing, is short of breath, and has lower extremity pitting edema. This is a person who had been shoveling tons of gravel onto the roads at his old property for years, and was definitely much more physically fit and strong than I am. He was coming to a particular urgent care clinic south of Tacoma, so I offered to meet him there on the spur of the moment. Then I decided to just head on over to the clinic, as it was West and my home was East, so it would save gas. My math may be way off, but I have guesstimated in my head that it probably costs me about sixty cents per mile to drive, now that gas is so high. Every time I fill the tank it's about $45 a pop.
I spoke to my husband at 3:30 PM. At four I called his daughter in Massechusetts [however you spell it] to mention he was on his way to the clinic. At five I called him to ask where he was. He was still gassing up his car in Eatonville. At six he finally arrived at the clinic. At seven thirty he emerged with two prescriptions in hand and instructions to return tomorrow for his lab test results. Sounds like he has pneumonia, among other things.
This is a person who really, truly has never been to a medical doctor, has practiced a vegetarian diet [including cheese and butter and etc] so assumed he would never get sick. His daughter and I both leaned on him to fill the prescriptions and take the antibiotics. I drove to the Indian restaurant where the proprietor is a friend of his and he took me to dinner. The proprietor wanted to know if I had any sisters. I said, unfortunately they are all married.
When I returned home and checked my bank balance online, I realized my unemployment insurance that I have been so frightened would never be granted without a fight, had been deposited in my account.
Wow.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Chugging Along
I spent quite a bit of time this morning on the phone with Comcast technical support, fixing my problem with slow internet connections. Finally, clearing out all history with the browser freed up memory or whatever it takes for each connection to load. So that solved a very frustrating problem which had been growing to larger proportions over the last few weeks. I think my job search, with visiting so many sites and filling out so many forms, probably contributed to the overload.
Last night I went to a lovely celebration of the Declaration of the Bab at Miss Lisa's. She had a hard time remembering the year, and we chimed in with a chorus of, "In 1844, Lord, in 1844, oh, the world passed away on the 23rd of May in 1844." Kind of a campy old song we used to sing when I was a new Baha'i in the early 1970's. We had a great celebration, which was capped by an impromptu play put on by some of the children who organized it upstairs. About a Hungry Dinosaur, the plot was short and sweet with all the important storytelling elements.
Monday I was out and about on multiple errands, including replacing the bulb in one of my Honda's brake lights, which entailed driving back to the shop after several blocks to retrieve my water bottle. What was distracting me, besides the rain and traffic, was an enormous wave of anxiety: I had decided to reapply at the place I used to work ["Heartland"] and was terrified even to drive into the parking lot. I get that way about the physical places I used to work. For years I couldn't drive past Regency at Tacoma without breaking into a cold sweat.
I did force myself to enter the lobby, and it was very reassuring to see my old friends the receptionist, the admissions coordinator, the social services director, and the rehab nurse. I also saw the person in charge of Central Supply and told him how much I had missed his organizational skills. At "Mountain View" the organization, including Central Supply, was a hideous mess. One over the counter medication or another was always out.
Anyway, I picked up an application and had some good brief encounters, and felt so much at home I was very relieved. I dropped off the application yesterday. If they do interview me, I'm sure I'll have lots of 'splainin' to do. But I'm willing to do it.
I also picked up an application at a plastics manufacturing plant in Fredrickson near Boeing, a place so secretive one must pick up the app at the guard's kiosk, peel on out of there, then return to drop it off. I have little background in the field except for the painful years I spent sewing in factories. But the friend who referred me there seems to enjoy it.
Visiting "Heartland" has awakened my loneliness for friends there. I suppose that's good news; I never used to really make many friends where I worked. But it's painful.
Tomorrow back to WorkSource for the Job Club, and Friday to a mandatory meeting dealing with Unemployment. At least it will be with humans.
Last night I went to a lovely celebration of the Declaration of the Bab at Miss Lisa's. She had a hard time remembering the year, and we chimed in with a chorus of, "In 1844, Lord, in 1844, oh, the world passed away on the 23rd of May in 1844." Kind of a campy old song we used to sing when I was a new Baha'i in the early 1970's. We had a great celebration, which was capped by an impromptu play put on by some of the children who organized it upstairs. About a Hungry Dinosaur, the plot was short and sweet with all the important storytelling elements.
Monday I was out and about on multiple errands, including replacing the bulb in one of my Honda's brake lights, which entailed driving back to the shop after several blocks to retrieve my water bottle. What was distracting me, besides the rain and traffic, was an enormous wave of anxiety: I had decided to reapply at the place I used to work ["Heartland"] and was terrified even to drive into the parking lot. I get that way about the physical places I used to work. For years I couldn't drive past Regency at Tacoma without breaking into a cold sweat.
I did force myself to enter the lobby, and it was very reassuring to see my old friends the receptionist, the admissions coordinator, the social services director, and the rehab nurse. I also saw the person in charge of Central Supply and told him how much I had missed his organizational skills. At "Mountain View" the organization, including Central Supply, was a hideous mess. One over the counter medication or another was always out.
Anyway, I picked up an application and had some good brief encounters, and felt so much at home I was very relieved. I dropped off the application yesterday. If they do interview me, I'm sure I'll have lots of 'splainin' to do. But I'm willing to do it.
I also picked up an application at a plastics manufacturing plant in Fredrickson near Boeing, a place so secretive one must pick up the app at the guard's kiosk, peel on out of there, then return to drop it off. I have little background in the field except for the painful years I spent sewing in factories. But the friend who referred me there seems to enjoy it.
Visiting "Heartland" has awakened my loneliness for friends there. I suppose that's good news; I never used to really make many friends where I worked. But it's painful.
Tomorrow back to WorkSource for the Job Club, and Friday to a mandatory meeting dealing with Unemployment. At least it will be with humans.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Puyallup Feast
In my tiny Baha'i community of Puyallup, there is one other couple and I who tend to be more active; a few other people who have other considerations. So we had Feast with just three people, and it was wonderful.
That is all.
That is all.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Onomatopoetry
Spent the day on phone with one of my nursing friends, then a credit counselor I hooked up with while I was trying to check on my application for food stamps, so on and so forth, had to spend my planned time contacting possible employers a little later in the day than I would have liked.
Completed two online applications. Wasn't psyched up for a full-blown cover letter, resume cut-and-paste and application at first. Had just been snooping around, then, "hey, that looks good [or in one case, pretty marginal.]" Nerve-wracking to answer questions online, copy and paste resume, and so forth. Funny, that's how I used to feel about paper applications in the old, old days. I don't think I could have coped with the psychology of clicking the right button and filling in the right info RIGHT NOW online, back then. I can barely do it now.
So my friend in an email was talking about onomatopoeias, [oh, dear, still the red line of doom, thought we had sorted out how to spell that] and he asked for some onomatopoetry.
Onomatopoem:
A girl who went online
Thought her work search was going just fine
Till the message board crashed
And her resume dashed--
Now her outlook is less than divine.
Completed two online applications. Wasn't psyched up for a full-blown cover letter, resume cut-and-paste and application at first. Had just been snooping around, then, "hey, that looks good [or in one case, pretty marginal.]" Nerve-wracking to answer questions online, copy and paste resume, and so forth. Funny, that's how I used to feel about paper applications in the old, old days. I don't think I could have coped with the psychology of clicking the right button and filling in the right info RIGHT NOW online, back then. I can barely do it now.
So my friend in an email was talking about onomatopoeias, [oh, dear, still the red line of doom, thought we had sorted out how to spell that] and he asked for some onomatopoetry.
Onomatopoem:
A girl who went online
Thought her work search was going just fine
Till the message board crashed
And her resume dashed--
Now her outlook is less than divine.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Like a Bird On a Wire
I haven't connected again with the Health Services Director for Classy Skilled Nursing Facility. I may attempt tomorrow. Tomorrow I also plan to attend a seminar at WorkSource on older applicants.Walking the fine line between letting them know I'm still interested, and stalking. To me, stalking means I send a Holiday card more than once in five years.
Since early in the morning, I had an extreme degree of anxiety. My tasks were to apply for at least four jobs this week. I meant to do as many as possible today. I was able to complete an application and cover letter and send out with resume, to one facility. I also wrote a letter to a dear MD that used to work in the facility I just left. Last year I had asked if she could ever give a reference to me: today I wrote to let her know I'm listing her. My anxiety is debilitating.
I mailed the application etc, plus the letter to the MD and something else, at the Post Office. Then I came to DeCoursey Park and sat with my prayer book, praying and watching ducks and ducklings for an hour or two. Eventually I did start to recover from the anxiety, between the prayers, the sunshine and ducks, and the people passing who were friendly.
I called my landlord to inform him I am out of work. I had been dreading it, even though he is a very nice guy. I just hate having to negotiate when I can't meet my obligations. He wants 50% of rent. Could be a big problem, as I still have no income as I await a decision on my application for unemployment benefits. Tonight I also applied for food stamps and anything else I can qualify for, and contacted one of my references, who works at night. I was afraid to wake her up, but able to leave a voice mail.
I made daal soup for dinner, plus an ear of corn and some spinach, and watched a PBS show on how crows are so intelligent. They showed a study they did in Seattle on facial recognition in crows and how they can pass it on to other crows and even their offspring; the battle in Japan to keep crows from using wire coat hangars as a nesting material which can short out electrical wires and cause outages; using raptors in Canada to dispel a very large gathering of crows in their community.
I like crows, and the way they play, for example in a windstorm.
Since early in the morning, I had an extreme degree of anxiety. My tasks were to apply for at least four jobs this week. I meant to do as many as possible today. I was able to complete an application and cover letter and send out with resume, to one facility. I also wrote a letter to a dear MD that used to work in the facility I just left. Last year I had asked if she could ever give a reference to me: today I wrote to let her know I'm listing her. My anxiety is debilitating.
I mailed the application etc, plus the letter to the MD and something else, at the Post Office. Then I came to DeCoursey Park and sat with my prayer book, praying and watching ducks and ducklings for an hour or two. Eventually I did start to recover from the anxiety, between the prayers, the sunshine and ducks, and the people passing who were friendly.
I called my landlord to inform him I am out of work. I had been dreading it, even though he is a very nice guy. I just hate having to negotiate when I can't meet my obligations. He wants 50% of rent. Could be a big problem, as I still have no income as I await a decision on my application for unemployment benefits. Tonight I also applied for food stamps and anything else I can qualify for, and contacted one of my references, who works at night. I was afraid to wake her up, but able to leave a voice mail.
I made daal soup for dinner, plus an ear of corn and some spinach, and watched a PBS show on how crows are so intelligent. They showed a study they did in Seattle on facial recognition in crows and how they can pass it on to other crows and even their offspring; the battle in Japan to keep crows from using wire coat hangars as a nesting material which can short out electrical wires and cause outages; using raptors in Canada to dispel a very large gathering of crows in their community.
I like crows, and the way they play, for example in a windstorm.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Missed Connections
Monday I take WorkSource Modules all day; Tuesday and Wednesday I rest, basically; today [Thursday] I go to the WorkSource Job Club in the morning, sans breakfast, pick up produce at Cappy's, cook and eat, try to nap, and watch excellent movie "Winter's Bone."
I check my phone for messages just now at 11 PM and realize a voice mail was left for me by "Classy Skilled Nursing Facility" on Monday, requesting an interview, which somehow I missed until today. They are going to think I am an idiot.
Will keep readers updated.
I check my phone for messages just now at 11 PM and realize a voice mail was left for me by "Classy Skilled Nursing Facility" on Monday, requesting an interview, which somehow I missed until today. They are going to think I am an idiot.
Will keep readers updated.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Connections
Yesterday, Monday, I went to Modules 2 and 3 at the WorkSource office, on transferable Skills and Abilities, and Job Search Strategies. Since yesterday was a delightful, sunny day, with lots of sunshine following [and no doubt preceding] lots of rainy days, attendance was skimpy, so there were only one or two other participants. At one point I stood up to attempt a "60-Second Commercial" introducing myself and began talking about what I loved about Nursing: how I love to hear, "you are my favorite nurse"* and how I loved making a difference in people's lives . . . and had to stop because I choked up. And then the tears came. The instructor said, "I can't imagine why you want to leave this profession, when you feel this way!" I blurted out, "because they [bosses] treat us like machines, and I'm sick of it!"
It was good to make that heart connection again, and remember what fires me to want to help and connect with people. I have a lot to think about, as I try to transition into something psychologically and professionally safer. In the meantime, I mailed a neat application, a new resume and a cover letter to the Classy Skilled Nursing Facility on Friday. I'm always in this Catch 22 trap: I'm a f***-up in a challenging position which is classified as In Demand, so I'm continually under stress, continually failing in some way, but unable to draw an income any other way so I can change gears and turn the corner to get out. And there's little support from the State for making a transition, so I fall through the cracks.
*Even though the cynical part of me realizes that people are often being manipulative when they say I'm their favorite nurse, it still feels good to hear it.
I play "Yes, but" a lot when people say, "oh, you should try this" or "have you thought of that?" Part of feeling stuck is that I've pondered a lot of options, but always found some reasons, usually aspects of my brain wiring or personality, why they wouldn't work. This last two weeks I've heard a lot of suggestions for options I've already tried, such as home health.
I'm terrible at making connections, networking, collecting people for references. I'm so pitiful at the latter that my only two good solid references date back to two lovely nurses I worked with at Gentiva, and have such a hard time keeping track of them that I call them whenever I lose a job, just to make sure they're still alive and have the same phone number. I'm also not very enterprising, which limits what I can do with the arts in terms of supporting myself.
What has really amazed me lately is how that brazen little voice in my head is becoming more distinctive, coming out of the woodwork like the worms which crawl out of the soil when the hobbits are hiding from the Nazgul. That snide but effective little voice saying, "you're nothing, you're worthless, and you'll never do anything right."
It was good to make that heart connection again, and remember what fires me to want to help and connect with people. I have a lot to think about, as I try to transition into something psychologically and professionally safer. In the meantime, I mailed a neat application, a new resume and a cover letter to the Classy Skilled Nursing Facility on Friday. I'm always in this Catch 22 trap: I'm a f***-up in a challenging position which is classified as In Demand, so I'm continually under stress, continually failing in some way, but unable to draw an income any other way so I can change gears and turn the corner to get out. And there's little support from the State for making a transition, so I fall through the cracks.
*Even though the cynical part of me realizes that people are often being manipulative when they say I'm their favorite nurse, it still feels good to hear it.
I play "Yes, but" a lot when people say, "oh, you should try this" or "have you thought of that?" Part of feeling stuck is that I've pondered a lot of options, but always found some reasons, usually aspects of my brain wiring or personality, why they wouldn't work. This last two weeks I've heard a lot of suggestions for options I've already tried, such as home health.
I'm terrible at making connections, networking, collecting people for references. I'm so pitiful at the latter that my only two good solid references date back to two lovely nurses I worked with at Gentiva, and have such a hard time keeping track of them that I call them whenever I lose a job, just to make sure they're still alive and have the same phone number. I'm also not very enterprising, which limits what I can do with the arts in terms of supporting myself.
What has really amazed me lately is how that brazen little voice in my head is becoming more distinctive, coming out of the woodwork like the worms which crawl out of the soil when the hobbits are hiding from the Nazgul. That snide but effective little voice saying, "you're nothing, you're worthless, and you'll never do anything right."
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