I spent the last half of my night shift at work last night sitting in the Duty Office, watching spiders the size of small dogs waltz across the floor.
If there is anything to know about dealing with a person with Borderline Personality Disorder, it is that they win and you lose. Period. No amount of pure hearted limit-setting is adequate--in fact, it is about as effective as a rabbit on the highway facing down a Mack truck. As a nurse, I tried to set limits with such a client yesterday, and this person made an unfounded allegation which put me on Alternate Assignment. I was given the choice of going home, or sitting out the shift in the Duty Office.
Something I had never previously recognized where I work is how close to God the Duty Officer is. One is careful what to say to them. But I also learned to recognize how tough their job is. Their word is law. In any case, fortunately I can be easily amused.
Since I have today and tomorrow as my regularly scheduled days off, I have some time to reflect and to say the Remover of Difficulties prayer in hopes of improving my situation. My boss comes back from vacation tonight, and will contact me tomorrow with whatever alternate work assignment has been found for me. And I will no doubt have interviews to explain my feeble reasoning and foolish, noble-hearted motivations for my choices last night [which are too complex and confidential to explain in a blog.] Suffice it to say that Autism Spectrum Disorder strikes again. I am praying to lift this Mack truck out of my path.
So, every time I say multiple repetitions of the Remover of Difficulties, I see the prayer in a whole new way, as mentioned in previous postings. To review, this is a short, simple prayer from the Baha'i Writings:
Is there any Remover of Difficulties save God? Say: Praised be God! He is God! All are His servants, and all abide by His bidding!
~ The Bab
Tonight, the image which came to me as I repeated this was of all impurities being lifted out of me in the first half of the prayer, and the light of God shining down and purifying everything in the last half.
Lather, rinse. Repeat.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
Temporary Queen of the Universe
Last night I was the sole RN where I work. I discovered that reading the Funny Times is excellent for getting through the Witching Hour [three to four AM, which is generally down time] and staying awake. I had the task of doing "staffing", which means taking calls from nurses calling in sick and adjusting the schedule accordingly so things still work. We also have one house in which to administer medications in the morning while we are doing this.
At about 0430 I bring the medication cart, which is rather small, so this works, into the client's room. On the top of the cart I have the irrigation set for the tube feeding; a pulse oximeter; a temporal thermometer; a pitcher of water; cups of medication, crushed and mixed with water and/or applesauce; another irrigation set for another client; three eight-ounce cans of tube-feeding formula; a small one-ounce plastic cup with a cream for the person's gastric tube site; and the portable telephone for the house.
I place the sensor for the oximeter on the client's finger, take his temperature, and I receive a message via the radio on my belt that I have a staffing call. I give the switchboard my location, and the phone rings; I take the staffing call. Just as I am about to start giving the client his medications, the radio gives me another message, I phone the LPN who called me and talk about an issue with one of her clients.
Then I give the client his medications and tube feeding, clean the stoma and apply the cream, give medications to several other clients, and return to the Health Care Center which is our "base" on night shift, and record the staffing call, adjusting the schedule accordingly. [In this case, one of the RN's on day shift will end up passing medications instead of her regular RN duties.]
At five-forty I'm in the Health Care Center and receive a call from the same house to look at an issue they just discovered on another client; I jump into the car, run over to the house and deal with that, then return to the Health Center and go into the Staffing Office to contact the various Program Area Teams; I let them know what staff they have, be sure all staff showed up to work, and record all the LPN staff assignments on the staffing sheet.
We now have a new system in place, asking RN's from different teams to help each other out by taking calls from some of the houses on a team where they are a little short of RN's. At the end of my general staffing duties, I phone one RN who has expressed the perception that she "never gets any help" to ask her to help the RN on another team. I am uncertain of success, as usually she asks for help but is reluctant to give it. I call and explain that one team has only one RN; the other team has two RN's but one will be passing medications. It takes some reasoning with her, but I get an agreement to help out. For me, a person who has an extreme dislike of confrontation, this is a major triumph.
I bring the staffing sheet in to the Switchboard, feeling like the Queen of the Universe for accomplishing this latest task. This lasts about two seconds. Immediately they cut me down to size, complaining that I am not "done yet" because I omitted recording what specific house assignments the RN's are taking on two of three teams. Doing this requires asking for pencil and writing in "all of them." I do this, now feeling small because of the discouraging tone of the people at the switchboard; they manage to communicate as if I have miserably failed because of the one omission.
Driving home I decided that no matter how the staff at the switchboard communicated with me, I'm Queen of the Universe anyway.
At about 0430 I bring the medication cart, which is rather small, so this works, into the client's room. On the top of the cart I have the irrigation set for the tube feeding; a pulse oximeter; a temporal thermometer; a pitcher of water; cups of medication, crushed and mixed with water and/or applesauce; another irrigation set for another client; three eight-ounce cans of tube-feeding formula; a small one-ounce plastic cup with a cream for the person's gastric tube site; and the portable telephone for the house.
I place the sensor for the oximeter on the client's finger, take his temperature, and I receive a message via the radio on my belt that I have a staffing call. I give the switchboard my location, and the phone rings; I take the staffing call. Just as I am about to start giving the client his medications, the radio gives me another message, I phone the LPN who called me and talk about an issue with one of her clients.
Then I give the client his medications and tube feeding, clean the stoma and apply the cream, give medications to several other clients, and return to the Health Care Center which is our "base" on night shift, and record the staffing call, adjusting the schedule accordingly. [In this case, one of the RN's on day shift will end up passing medications instead of her regular RN duties.]
At five-forty I'm in the Health Care Center and receive a call from the same house to look at an issue they just discovered on another client; I jump into the car, run over to the house and deal with that, then return to the Health Center and go into the Staffing Office to contact the various Program Area Teams; I let them know what staff they have, be sure all staff showed up to work, and record all the LPN staff assignments on the staffing sheet.
We now have a new system in place, asking RN's from different teams to help each other out by taking calls from some of the houses on a team where they are a little short of RN's. At the end of my general staffing duties, I phone one RN who has expressed the perception that she "never gets any help" to ask her to help the RN on another team. I am uncertain of success, as usually she asks for help but is reluctant to give it. I call and explain that one team has only one RN; the other team has two RN's but one will be passing medications. It takes some reasoning with her, but I get an agreement to help out. For me, a person who has an extreme dislike of confrontation, this is a major triumph.
I bring the staffing sheet in to the Switchboard, feeling like the Queen of the Universe for accomplishing this latest task. This lasts about two seconds. Immediately they cut me down to size, complaining that I am not "done yet" because I omitted recording what specific house assignments the RN's are taking on two of three teams. Doing this requires asking for pencil and writing in "all of them." I do this, now feeling small because of the discouraging tone of the people at the switchboard; they manage to communicate as if I have miserably failed because of the one omission.
Driving home I decided that no matter how the staff at the switchboard communicated with me, I'm Queen of the Universe anyway.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Stuffed Squash
A generous soul at work has been bringing vegetables to share; sweet cherry tomatoes, a giant zucchini, and an absolutely beautiful round/star-shaped yellow squash with green at the top and bottom. The nearest I can come to an identification is pattypan, but this is huge. A flying saucer of beautiful squash. So I stuffed and baked it.
Baked Squash
Hollow out squash according to whatever type and shape it is. Stuff and bake about 400 degrees about an hour until tender.
Filling:
brown rice [one cup dry, cooked]
black beans, [one can, cooked]
corn [one-pound bag, frozen, thawed]
tomatillos [about 3, peeled and diced]
serrano peppers [about 2, chopped]
Crimini mushrooms [about 3, chopped]
chopped walnuts [half a cup]
sunflower seeds [half a cup]
cumin [one teaspoon]
dill [one teaspoon]
salt to taste
Here's the kicker: it only takes about a cup of filling for a squash, maybe a little more. And when I make the filling, I end up with about a quart.
Phase Two: Baked Filling
Take leftover filling, which is most of it, and stir in two or three eggs, place in ceramic baking dish. Sprinkle over with about 1/2 to 1 cup cheese, and bake alongside the squash but for about half an hour.
Baked Squash
Hollow out squash according to whatever type and shape it is. Stuff and bake about 400 degrees about an hour until tender.
Filling:
brown rice [one cup dry, cooked]
black beans, [one can, cooked]
corn [one-pound bag, frozen, thawed]
tomatillos [about 3, peeled and diced]
serrano peppers [about 2, chopped]
Crimini mushrooms [about 3, chopped]
chopped walnuts [half a cup]
sunflower seeds [half a cup]
cumin [one teaspoon]
dill [one teaspoon]
salt to taste
Here's the kicker: it only takes about a cup of filling for a squash, maybe a little more. And when I make the filling, I end up with about a quart.
Phase Two: Baked Filling
Take leftover filling, which is most of it, and stir in two or three eggs, place in ceramic baking dish. Sprinkle over with about 1/2 to 1 cup cheese, and bake alongside the squash but for about half an hour.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Succotash Stew
Three ears fresh corn, cut off the cob
Two slices onion, diced and sauteed until tender or carmelized
Two cloves garlic, diced
One entire very large zucchini [now you know what to do with that, besides making zucchini bread]
Three tomatillos, husk removed, rinsed and diced
Half a hot pepper, diced
One pound fresh new [or any size] red potatoes, eyes removed, [diced large if necessary]
One 16 ounce can whole peeled tomatoes; whole can of water to rinse it out, added to stew
One pound of frozen lima beans
One can pinto beans
One teaspoon each: cayenne pepper, cumin, basil.
One-half teaspoon smoke flavoring
One-half teaspoon chipotle flavor tabasco sauce
Salt to taste
Simmer in large pot for two hours or in a slow cooker all day.
Two slices onion, diced and sauteed until tender or carmelized
Two cloves garlic, diced
One entire very large zucchini [now you know what to do with that, besides making zucchini bread]
Three tomatillos, husk removed, rinsed and diced
Half a hot pepper, diced
One pound fresh new [or any size] red potatoes, eyes removed, [diced large if necessary]
One 16 ounce can whole peeled tomatoes; whole can of water to rinse it out, added to stew
One pound of frozen lima beans
One can pinto beans
One teaspoon each: cayenne pepper, cumin, basil.
One-half teaspoon smoke flavoring
One-half teaspoon chipotle flavor tabasco sauce
Salt to taste
Simmer in large pot for two hours or in a slow cooker all day.
Carrot Curry Soup
Carrot Curry Soup
ten minutes in pressure cooker or simmer 2 hours
- 1 pound bag of carrots [those loathsome peeled "baby" carrots that someone got you by mistake and you must use up] or alternatively, whole organic upstanding carrots with the tops attached so they stay fresh, diced
2 slices onion, diced; 1 cubic inch ginger, diced, 1-2 cloves garlic, diced- 1/2 cup yellow split peas
- half a hot pepper of some kind, diced
- 1/2 cup raisins; handful of raw peanuts, handful raw cashews
- 2 teaspoons cumin, two teaspoons honey or agave nectar, 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper, 1/2 teaspoon dill, salt to taste
- Place all in a pressure cooker, cover with water [about a quart] and cook on high for 10 minutes, + ten minutes natural pressure release.
- If no pressure cooker, go back in time and simmer 2 hours until tender.
- Use a potato masher to mash carrots etc; alternatively, blend in food processor.
- Stir in 2 cups plain yogurt.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Crow Time
It's sunset, "crow time" when all the crows fly home to their nests en masse. Tonight I was on the balcony, which faces south, saying prayers, when two or three dozen crows settled on the branches of the evergreen trees across the way. I was starting to wonder if this was their nesting place, and how did I miss this before, when they all flew off overhead towards the northeast. A few calls, and mostly the whisper of their wings, quiet as a river fading off as they flew.
Pretty sure I'm loved, after all.
Pretty sure I'm loved, after all.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
The Inner and Outer Realities of Life
This is something I wrote to prepare myself for speaking at a Baha'i Fireside Saturday, titled : "Independent Investigation of the Inner and Outer Realities of Life."
I want to speak about who we are as humans, that is one "I", and who is this Unknowable Essence, the infinitely large and loving Creator of us all, the other "I", and how we can come to connect.
Some people have told me that they were aware from their first moment of consciousness that there was a loving God, that they were loved, and surrounded by this unfathomable, unconditional love, and they could trust in Him to care for them. Blessings on them. That wasn't true for me: I had to reason my way through the whole way, fight with my own perceptions and limitations, fight with things I learned about Religion which made no sense, which were untrue, which seemed to denigrate my station as a human being. Those things came from human teachings, not from God, and it is necessary to distinguish the difference.
What is our station as a human? Are some people worthy, and others unworthy?
I work at Rainier School which is a residence for people with intellectual disabilities, and our Administrator, Neil Crowley, told the new recruits something which really touched my heart, something obvious when you think about it. He said, "these people, these clients, are every bit as good as you are." Who among us is so saintly that we never looked down on someone else for some reason? In the past, I have looked down on people because of their mental capacity. I was ignorant. Now I know better. I keep learning in newer and deeper ways how we are all connected, whatever our skin color or whatever language we speak or whatever faith, or no faith, that we follow, or whatever way our brain is wired and how we were created to be our own different unique selves with our own unique limitations and challenges. We are one because we are all spiritual beings, walking on a spiritual path, having our own spiritual journey, and the direction we are meant to go is towards greater oneness, towards greater love and kindness and acceptance, towards understanding and loving our Creator more and more.
How do we do this? How do we connect with this Unknowable Essence that we call God or Allah or Khoda or Grandfather? We are created as spiritual beings, and the world is a spiritual place, but we are sort of tossed out into this physical matrix and our own human family with this mission to connect, to develop the spiritual qualities we will need in the next worlds of God, and we have 5 or more senses and our intellect, our feelings, and our spiritual capacity to connect, so this human "I" can connect with the divine "I". Can I sense the Creator with my senses? Hearing, sight, touch, smell, taste, something called "proprioception" which is our physical position in space, and other senses: these are inadequate to connect. Can you touch, taste, or see God with your own eyes?
Can the Unknowable Essence physically come to Earth in Person? Can the physical sun land on the Earth? Of course not. God has to communicate with the hearts of human beings in some other way. That spiritual Sun must be reflected as in a mirror, by the spirit of some exceptional human being who can, by faultlessly reflecting and revealing this Divine Light, connect the human "I" with that Divine "I".
I learned while I followed Christianity, this deep and immutable message: I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH AND THE LIFE, AND NO ONE COMES TO THE FATHER EXCEPT BY ME.
If you believe in Christ, you know this is true. So, Who is this Christ? Who is this "I"? What is that station?
Some people think that the Christ spirit is just a specially enlightened human being. And I need to say that we all have our beliefs, and beliefs are personal, and that I need to explore differing beliefs with respect, and we need to talk about them and not be upset because our beliefs seem to be different. We are all learning, and we are all fallible, and we all have this uniquely human capacity to connect with our Creator, and however we are learning to do that, that is acceptable. I think this Unknowable Essence, God, is delighted that we are seeking Him out. So we can look at varying beliefs and points of view without breaking into a sweat about it.
So here is my point of view, what I have learned in the Baha'i Faith, and we can look at what we have been taught according to our own beliefs and see what we can learn from each other.
Who is this "I", this divine Christ Spirit? I am a person slogging along looking for God: I can sit under a tree meditating for a hundred years, but I will not have the divine station of a Buddha. I can go up the mountain and behold the incessantly burning fire of the love of God and I will still not attain the station of a Moses. I can fast for forty days, be baptized, teach the Cause of God and share the Bread of Life with multitudes, and sacrifice my life so that all mankind can have the life of loving God, and as a regular person I cannot have the station of Christ.
Who is this divine Spirit, who by sacrificing His life connects our hearts to the Divine Creator that we cannot connect with directly? Who is this "I"? And how can I recognize Him? The prophecies say that every eye shall "see"; but shall every eye recognize this station, this Christ spirit? What conditions must be in my heart to recognize Christ?
Maybe I can travel back in time to Palestine at a certain time, and I meet a Man on the road; will I recognize him as the Christ? Of course! I have his photo right here in my pocket . . . no, wait, that's a painting, it won't help. I might walk right by. Will my heart be pure enough to recognize Him, and not just see Him? And when He comes back to Earth, as He promised that He would, will I recognize Him then? He will be coming back with a new name; will I recognize His new name?
The Baha'i teachings say that Christ has a "dual" station: the station of a man, and the divine station of a perfect mirror reflecting all the attributes of God and giving us the divine message for the day in which He appeared. As a man, He has all the physical attributes and limitations of a human being: He is born, eats and sleeps, wears clothing, gets cold when it's cold and gets hot when it's hot. He can become ill. He can marry and have children--sometimes more than once--or He can stay single and celibate because His life is so taken up with wandering the country and teaching the Cause of God that there is no place to lay His head; no way to care for a family. Maybe all mankind is His family. He can suffer pain and He can certainly die and be killed. As a man, He may live in different countries, coming at different times, speaking a different language, having a different name and a different Title. The One Who Speaks For God; the Annointed One; the Son of God; the Friend of God; the Gate of God; the Glory of God.
His message will always be the same--love each other, you were created by God to seek Him out, everything has an inner and an outer reality, the reality of this world is spiritual, not physical. And His message is also always different, depending on the needs of the time: here's what to eat to stay healthy; yes you can divorce or no, you may not divorce; remember the Sabbath and keep it holy; or, no, we are harvesting food on the Sabbath to meet our needs, because I have Divine Authority and I am changing that law. Because this is the essence of My law: love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul, and love your neighbor as yourself.
In the Divine Station, the "I" , the I-am-the-Way "I", is divine, spiritual, eternal, universal. In this station, there are many Mirrors, and all stainlessly reflect the light of God. There are many Points on the horizon where the Sun may appear, depending on the season. There are many Lamps, and all give the light of God. How many times as a child you slammed your door, "Just leave me alone!" God will never leave us alone. As a parent He has bothered us many times with a new Christ, and will always continue to do so. Humankind is growing up, attaining the station of maturity, so we need new teachings adequate for the day in which we live. No more door-slamming. "I have many things to tell you, but you cannot bear them yet. Howbeit, when He Who is the Spirit of Truth is come, He will guide you unto all truth."
So this is the Day of Judgment: whether you recognize Christ when He appears again, in His new attire, with a new Name, speaking a new Language, teaching a new Message.
I want to speak about who we are as humans, that is one "I", and who is this Unknowable Essence, the infinitely large and loving Creator of us all, the other "I", and how we can come to connect.
Some people have told me that they were aware from their first moment of consciousness that there was a loving God, that they were loved, and surrounded by this unfathomable, unconditional love, and they could trust in Him to care for them. Blessings on them. That wasn't true for me: I had to reason my way through the whole way, fight with my own perceptions and limitations, fight with things I learned about Religion which made no sense, which were untrue, which seemed to denigrate my station as a human being. Those things came from human teachings, not from God, and it is necessary to distinguish the difference.
What is our station as a human? Are some people worthy, and others unworthy?
I work at Rainier School which is a residence for people with intellectual disabilities, and our Administrator, Neil Crowley, told the new recruits something which really touched my heart, something obvious when you think about it. He said, "these people, these clients, are every bit as good as you are." Who among us is so saintly that we never looked down on someone else for some reason? In the past, I have looked down on people because of their mental capacity. I was ignorant. Now I know better. I keep learning in newer and deeper ways how we are all connected, whatever our skin color or whatever language we speak or whatever faith, or no faith, that we follow, or whatever way our brain is wired and how we were created to be our own different unique selves with our own unique limitations and challenges. We are one because we are all spiritual beings, walking on a spiritual path, having our own spiritual journey, and the direction we are meant to go is towards greater oneness, towards greater love and kindness and acceptance, towards understanding and loving our Creator more and more.
How do we do this? How do we connect with this Unknowable Essence that we call God or Allah or Khoda or Grandfather? We are created as spiritual beings, and the world is a spiritual place, but we are sort of tossed out into this physical matrix and our own human family with this mission to connect, to develop the spiritual qualities we will need in the next worlds of God, and we have 5 or more senses and our intellect, our feelings, and our spiritual capacity to connect, so this human "I" can connect with the divine "I". Can I sense the Creator with my senses? Hearing, sight, touch, smell, taste, something called "proprioception" which is our physical position in space, and other senses: these are inadequate to connect. Can you touch, taste, or see God with your own eyes?
Can the Unknowable Essence physically come to Earth in Person? Can the physical sun land on the Earth? Of course not. God has to communicate with the hearts of human beings in some other way. That spiritual Sun must be reflected as in a mirror, by the spirit of some exceptional human being who can, by faultlessly reflecting and revealing this Divine Light, connect the human "I" with that Divine "I".
I learned while I followed Christianity, this deep and immutable message: I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH AND THE LIFE, AND NO ONE COMES TO THE FATHER EXCEPT BY ME.
If you believe in Christ, you know this is true. So, Who is this Christ? Who is this "I"? What is that station?
Some people think that the Christ spirit is just a specially enlightened human being. And I need to say that we all have our beliefs, and beliefs are personal, and that I need to explore differing beliefs with respect, and we need to talk about them and not be upset because our beliefs seem to be different. We are all learning, and we are all fallible, and we all have this uniquely human capacity to connect with our Creator, and however we are learning to do that, that is acceptable. I think this Unknowable Essence, God, is delighted that we are seeking Him out. So we can look at varying beliefs and points of view without breaking into a sweat about it.
So here is my point of view, what I have learned in the Baha'i Faith, and we can look at what we have been taught according to our own beliefs and see what we can learn from each other.
Who is this "I", this divine Christ Spirit? I am a person slogging along looking for God: I can sit under a tree meditating for a hundred years, but I will not have the divine station of a Buddha. I can go up the mountain and behold the incessantly burning fire of the love of God and I will still not attain the station of a Moses. I can fast for forty days, be baptized, teach the Cause of God and share the Bread of Life with multitudes, and sacrifice my life so that all mankind can have the life of loving God, and as a regular person I cannot have the station of Christ.
Who is this divine Spirit, who by sacrificing His life connects our hearts to the Divine Creator that we cannot connect with directly? Who is this "I"? And how can I recognize Him? The prophecies say that every eye shall "see"; but shall every eye recognize this station, this Christ spirit? What conditions must be in my heart to recognize Christ?
Maybe I can travel back in time to Palestine at a certain time, and I meet a Man on the road; will I recognize him as the Christ? Of course! I have his photo right here in my pocket . . . no, wait, that's a painting, it won't help. I might walk right by. Will my heart be pure enough to recognize Him, and not just see Him? And when He comes back to Earth, as He promised that He would, will I recognize Him then? He will be coming back with a new name; will I recognize His new name?
The Baha'i teachings say that Christ has a "dual" station: the station of a man, and the divine station of a perfect mirror reflecting all the attributes of God and giving us the divine message for the day in which He appeared. As a man, He has all the physical attributes and limitations of a human being: He is born, eats and sleeps, wears clothing, gets cold when it's cold and gets hot when it's hot. He can become ill. He can marry and have children--sometimes more than once--or He can stay single and celibate because His life is so taken up with wandering the country and teaching the Cause of God that there is no place to lay His head; no way to care for a family. Maybe all mankind is His family. He can suffer pain and He can certainly die and be killed. As a man, He may live in different countries, coming at different times, speaking a different language, having a different name and a different Title. The One Who Speaks For God; the Annointed One; the Son of God; the Friend of God; the Gate of God; the Glory of God.
His message will always be the same--love each other, you were created by God to seek Him out, everything has an inner and an outer reality, the reality of this world is spiritual, not physical. And His message is also always different, depending on the needs of the time: here's what to eat to stay healthy; yes you can divorce or no, you may not divorce; remember the Sabbath and keep it holy; or, no, we are harvesting food on the Sabbath to meet our needs, because I have Divine Authority and I am changing that law. Because this is the essence of My law: love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul, and love your neighbor as yourself.
In the Divine Station, the "I" , the I-am-the-Way "I", is divine, spiritual, eternal, universal. In this station, there are many Mirrors, and all stainlessly reflect the light of God. There are many Points on the horizon where the Sun may appear, depending on the season. There are many Lamps, and all give the light of God. How many times as a child you slammed your door, "Just leave me alone!" God will never leave us alone. As a parent He has bothered us many times with a new Christ, and will always continue to do so. Humankind is growing up, attaining the station of maturity, so we need new teachings adequate for the day in which we live. No more door-slamming. "I have many things to tell you, but you cannot bear them yet. Howbeit, when He Who is the Spirit of Truth is come, He will guide you unto all truth."
So this is the Day of Judgment: whether you recognize Christ when He appears again, in His new attire, with a new Name, speaking a new Language, teaching a new Message.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Finding a Room Down Under
Some things in my life creating drama are just not blogworthy: too private. So if you're wondering why no posts for awhile, that would be a good guess.
On the lighter side: since I work nights, I usually sleep 2-4 hours in the morning at the most, and nap later on if I'm lucky. So a lot of what I do in the middle of the day is really in the middle of my "night." Yesterday I was noodling around trying to check out prices and motel availability at Ocean Shores next weekend, as I have a couple of extra days off. Somehow as I was browsing, and I have no way to explain this, without realizing it, I was no longer looking at places in Ocean Shores Washington. But I was finding these great little resorts and hostels and really getting sucked in and involved, to the point that I found a great place with a great price and actually booked a stay for two days . . . in Australia. I didn't realize this until I had gone through the entire process and was about to Mapquest the directions and checked the address.
Luckily I did eventually cancel without monetary penalty.
Now I don't even know if I want to go to Ocean Shores . . .
On the lighter side: since I work nights, I usually sleep 2-4 hours in the morning at the most, and nap later on if I'm lucky. So a lot of what I do in the middle of the day is really in the middle of my "night." Yesterday I was noodling around trying to check out prices and motel availability at Ocean Shores next weekend, as I have a couple of extra days off. Somehow as I was browsing, and I have no way to explain this, without realizing it, I was no longer looking at places in Ocean Shores Washington. But I was finding these great little resorts and hostels and really getting sucked in and involved, to the point that I found a great place with a great price and actually booked a stay for two days . . . in Australia. I didn't realize this until I had gone through the entire process and was about to Mapquest the directions and checked the address.
Luckily I did eventually cancel without monetary penalty.
Now I don't even know if I want to go to Ocean Shores . . .
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Bowling For Deer
Seeing deer on the property has become commonplace, but still enchanting. The other day I bought a brick-sized salt lick, which the deer did not find for several days. Yesterday I watched from the third floor window while the one was actually here, grazing on weeds; I saw a large plum rolling out from below, which the deer found and ate. A peach rolled out, and landed under my car. The deer sniffed around but was unable to find it. Another plum, which she ate. Then our cousin appeared, carried the salt lick out and placed it quite close to where the deer had been grazing. She became curious, sniffed it, and at last took a lick. This was followed by about ten minutes of dedicated licking.
A couple of hours later the twin male & female yearlings came through, grazing; one sniffed at the salt lick, and sort of shrugged and moved on. Maybe she was smart. One lick, and you're hooked.
I turned in my equipment from the cable company this morning; cable doesn't reach here, and we have enough entertainment.
A couple of hours later the twin male & female yearlings came through, grazing; one sniffed at the salt lick, and sort of shrugged and moved on. Maybe she was smart. One lick, and you're hooked.
I turned in my equipment from the cable company this morning; cable doesn't reach here, and we have enough entertainment.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
The Witching Hour
Lying here waiting to go back to sleep, thinking about what makes us laugh at work in the middle of the night, may as well post. Thinking about 4-H. Head, hands, heart, and I can never remember the fourth H. Possibly hilarity.
Mom developed a mini-social club at our house in Albion, WA for a couple of years via a 4-H club. There was a horse club across town; we did nothing so exalted. I grew tomatoes by digging a little moat around each plant, which I flooded to irrigate the young plants, and drowned earwigs while I was at it. I sewed simple projects and baked bread to enter in the Whitman County Fair outside Colfax. Mom set me up with fresh eggs from one of the neighbors so I could do a demonstration of fresh versus store [i.e. older] eggs in our meetings.
Mostly we played round games, such as Musical Chairs, until it threatened to break up the chairs and was banned. Mostly this morning I was thinking about a teenage girl named Alice Watson and how she used to laugh; face buried in her lap and trembling for thirty to sixty seconds, followed by a loud intake of air, and more trembling.
The "witching hour" at work is from about two to four AM, what we used to call the Squirrelly Hour elsewhere, and things that might be mildly amusing for a brief second in the afternoon become wildly hilarious at three in the morning.
The other night they were talking about those Las Vegas wedding chapels which over 40 to 60 years have been transformed from a squalid retreat for desperately eloping youth into something quite common-place, respectable, and even elegant. Someone mentioned that they now have a drive-through service, to which I responded that you might as well pick up a hot dog while you were there. This led to some double-entendre and a cry of, "Supersize me."
Last night one of the nurses was talking about a blind family member who enjoyed golfing. "He can see the ball to hit it." I said I didn't care if he could see the ball--could he see the people around him? Turns out there was a seeing-eye person on the links to let the blind golfer know where the ball had gone after he hit it. "Who needs that? Just listen for the screams."
I was immobilized by wheezing teenage laughter for probably ten minutes, until it was time to run off and do another neuro check.
Mom developed a mini-social club at our house in Albion, WA for a couple of years via a 4-H club. There was a horse club across town; we did nothing so exalted. I grew tomatoes by digging a little moat around each plant, which I flooded to irrigate the young plants, and drowned earwigs while I was at it. I sewed simple projects and baked bread to enter in the Whitman County Fair outside Colfax. Mom set me up with fresh eggs from one of the neighbors so I could do a demonstration of fresh versus store [i.e. older] eggs in our meetings.
Mostly we played round games, such as Musical Chairs, until it threatened to break up the chairs and was banned. Mostly this morning I was thinking about a teenage girl named Alice Watson and how she used to laugh; face buried in her lap and trembling for thirty to sixty seconds, followed by a loud intake of air, and more trembling.
The "witching hour" at work is from about two to four AM, what we used to call the Squirrelly Hour elsewhere, and things that might be mildly amusing for a brief second in the afternoon become wildly hilarious at three in the morning.
The other night they were talking about those Las Vegas wedding chapels which over 40 to 60 years have been transformed from a squalid retreat for desperately eloping youth into something quite common-place, respectable, and even elegant. Someone mentioned that they now have a drive-through service, to which I responded that you might as well pick up a hot dog while you were there. This led to some double-entendre and a cry of, "Supersize me."
Last night one of the nurses was talking about a blind family member who enjoyed golfing. "He can see the ball to hit it." I said I didn't care if he could see the ball--could he see the people around him? Turns out there was a seeing-eye person on the links to let the blind golfer know where the ball had gone after he hit it. "Who needs that? Just listen for the screams."
I was immobilized by wheezing teenage laughter for probably ten minutes, until it was time to run off and do another neuro check.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Ten Deer, or, Living in a Birdhouse
By the middle of May it looked as if my unemployment benefits were about to run out, and I had given up on ever having another nursing job. So my husband got his wish: I decided to sell my furniture, move from downtown Puyallup to Eatonville, and retire in quiet poverty to the top apartment in his [mostly] renovated barn. My furniture never did sell, so it's all here in a giant chaotic jumble, along with about a hundred boxes, mysterious as to the contents.
My original bottom-freezer refrigerator is here [long story] with the inner racks removed, which I have no idea how to fit back in. If I never figure it out, I'll have an appliance repairman make a house call and they can figure it out.
I said 500 Remover of Difficulties and was offered two jobs; I accepted my dream job at Rainier School. Meanwhile I followed through with my moving plans.
Plan A was for my husband to finish the extensive work still needed on the third floor: insulation, sheetrock, mudding and painting for the majority of the area, as well as extending the limited electrical wiring, plumbing the bathroom, hooking up the hot water, ad infinitum, before I moved in.
We followed Plan B: just get the heck out of Dodge and then work around my stuff to finish the renovation. I was blessed with many friends and family pitching in together on Saturday June 29th, and a lovely coworker and his tireless friend on Sunday the 30th, to help me move in one glorious, chaotic event. Then I spent the following Friday night cleaning up my place, which was filthy, staying up overnight. I usually avoid caffeine because of sleep issues, but I started that night drinking Original Coca-Cola from Mexico out of a glass bottle. Delicious, and good for nine hours of scrubbing.
I will miss the day and night trains--the Railroad Orchestra--the garage, and the dishwasher.
The top of this hundred-year-old barn has been the home for countless generations of swallows living in the eaves above my window. They have their feeding times at dawn and dusk, swooping across the pasture for bugs; they rustle and fuss and creak outside the window above my head, feeding their young and keeping house.
I live in the midst of pastures, with deer wandering through; drive country roads to work in Buckley, WA, and work out in the country with deer wandering through. My neighbors are horses and a rather despondent-sounding donkey. My life has become full of peace and joy. And other stuff, such as chaos.
July First I was orienting on the evening shift at work; we saw a doe and two yearling does with her. On the other end of campus, a few minutes later, we saw another doe with two spotted fawns jumping along to catch up with her. When I drove out the East Gate to drive home, another doe crossed my path. I saw three more deer on the way home, including another doe and small fawn.
Since it was so hot, my window was wide open, but missing a screen. About midnight, three bats flew in and ricocheted around the room as I crouched low on the floor. I wasn't afraid, but I didn't want them to contact me, either. Eventually they found their way out.
Life is good.
My original bottom-freezer refrigerator is here [long story] with the inner racks removed, which I have no idea how to fit back in. If I never figure it out, I'll have an appliance repairman make a house call and they can figure it out.
I said 500 Remover of Difficulties and was offered two jobs; I accepted my dream job at Rainier School. Meanwhile I followed through with my moving plans.
Plan A was for my husband to finish the extensive work still needed on the third floor: insulation, sheetrock, mudding and painting for the majority of the area, as well as extending the limited electrical wiring, plumbing the bathroom, hooking up the hot water, ad infinitum, before I moved in.
We followed Plan B: just get the heck out of Dodge and then work around my stuff to finish the renovation. I was blessed with many friends and family pitching in together on Saturday June 29th, and a lovely coworker and his tireless friend on Sunday the 30th, to help me move in one glorious, chaotic event. Then I spent the following Friday night cleaning up my place, which was filthy, staying up overnight. I usually avoid caffeine because of sleep issues, but I started that night drinking Original Coca-Cola from Mexico out of a glass bottle. Delicious, and good for nine hours of scrubbing.
I will miss the day and night trains--the Railroad Orchestra--the garage, and the dishwasher.
The top of this hundred-year-old barn has been the home for countless generations of swallows living in the eaves above my window. They have their feeding times at dawn and dusk, swooping across the pasture for bugs; they rustle and fuss and creak outside the window above my head, feeding their young and keeping house.
I live in the midst of pastures, with deer wandering through; drive country roads to work in Buckley, WA, and work out in the country with deer wandering through. My neighbors are horses and a rather despondent-sounding donkey. My life has become full of peace and joy. And other stuff, such as chaos.
July First I was orienting on the evening shift at work; we saw a doe and two yearling does with her. On the other end of campus, a few minutes later, we saw another doe with two spotted fawns jumping along to catch up with her. When I drove out the East Gate to drive home, another doe crossed my path. I saw three more deer on the way home, including another doe and small fawn.
Since it was so hot, my window was wide open, but missing a screen. About midnight, three bats flew in and ricocheted around the room as I crouched low on the floor. I wasn't afraid, but I didn't want them to contact me, either. Eventually they found their way out.
Life is good.
The Vegematic Tank
I'm reporting from the third floor of a renovated barn a mile outside of Eatonville, WA, where I have taken up residence since the first of July. I would be catching a little more sleep in anticipation of working the night shift tonight [at Rainier School in Buckley, WA] except for the sound of a neighbor repeatedly cranking over the starter of an internal combustion engine for the better part of the last hour. The car probably hasn't got a whisper of a chance of starting, but the driver has failed that intelligence test and will be torturing the rest of us for an indefinite period of time.
The subject came up at work the other night of how, sometime in the early 1980's I came to be driving a 1960's push-button automatic transmission Plymouth Belvedere with no reverse gear. [I heard the other day that car was nicknamed the "Vegematic", after a popular blender.] I will proceed to relate this story.
My former husband drove a 1965 Plymouth Barracuda with the aquarium window in the back, cream-colored with fading red dragons painted on either flank, three speed manual transmission with an 8000 horsepower engine. I drove it, if you can call it that, with various levels of success.
Side story: when I was seventeen or eighteen and still had a learner's permit, I rode with a Baha'i named Karl from Pullman, WA to a conference in Vancouver, BC in a blue Jaguar. I was not impressed with the name Jaguar; it meant nothing to me, which is probably just as well. About the midpoint of Snoqualmie Pass, Karl passed the driving on to me, although how he slept as I crawled across the pass, pushing it to 50 mph, trucks roaring around me, is beyond me. I white-knuckled it for about an hour, until my nerves could take no more, and lurched to a stop at last. He asked why I didn't use the clutch? "What's a clutch?"
So I tentatively set out one day between Hayden Lake, Idaho and Pullman, WA in my husband's Barracuda, without much more knowledge on board, and dropped in on my brother's house outside Colfax, Washington and similarly lurched to a stop. My brother, it turned out, was not home. So I spent some time getting over my nervous state from driving, socialized with his half-Australian Shepherd, Brownie, for awhile, and decided to leave.
Start the car, engage first gear and slip the clutch . . . no forward motion. Hmm. I repeated this about twenty or thirty times, not gaining any ground, until I gave up in defeat. About this time my brother arrives home, so I explain the problem. He asks me, "did you take off the emergency brake?" "Oh." So now I start up the car, drive about fifty feet, and it stops forward motion and gently drifts backwards towards the ditch . . . I had, of course, burned out the clutch.
Phone call to my husband at home, who spent $100 of hard-earned money on this Plymouth Belvedere push-button automatic with no reverse gear [I figured the reverse was shot when someone tried to engage reverse at an inappropriate time], drove down and towed the Barracuda home.
Thus followed the first of a number of transmission overhauls on the Barracuda. My husband figured that as long as he was in there replacing the clutch, he could do the transmission as well. [The transmission and drive shaft assembly always looked to me like a giant pod from "Invasion of the Body Snatchers."] Over the next few years he redid the transmission to four speeds, sometimes on the floor and sometimes on the steering column, and once ended up with the gearbox reversed so the shifting pattern was the opposite from the original "H" pattern, and decided to live with it like that. I doubt it improved my driving skills any.
I sure would have fun in a Barracuda now.
The subject came up at work the other night of how, sometime in the early 1980's I came to be driving a 1960's push-button automatic transmission Plymouth Belvedere with no reverse gear. [I heard the other day that car was nicknamed the "Vegematic", after a popular blender.] I will proceed to relate this story.
My former husband drove a 1965 Plymouth Barracuda with the aquarium window in the back, cream-colored with fading red dragons painted on either flank, three speed manual transmission with an 8000 horsepower engine. I drove it, if you can call it that, with various levels of success.
Side story: when I was seventeen or eighteen and still had a learner's permit, I rode with a Baha'i named Karl from Pullman, WA to a conference in Vancouver, BC in a blue Jaguar. I was not impressed with the name Jaguar; it meant nothing to me, which is probably just as well. About the midpoint of Snoqualmie Pass, Karl passed the driving on to me, although how he slept as I crawled across the pass, pushing it to 50 mph, trucks roaring around me, is beyond me. I white-knuckled it for about an hour, until my nerves could take no more, and lurched to a stop at last. He asked why I didn't use the clutch? "What's a clutch?"
So I tentatively set out one day between Hayden Lake, Idaho and Pullman, WA in my husband's Barracuda, without much more knowledge on board, and dropped in on my brother's house outside Colfax, Washington and similarly lurched to a stop. My brother, it turned out, was not home. So I spent some time getting over my nervous state from driving, socialized with his half-Australian Shepherd, Brownie, for awhile, and decided to leave.
Start the car, engage first gear and slip the clutch . . . no forward motion. Hmm. I repeated this about twenty or thirty times, not gaining any ground, until I gave up in defeat. About this time my brother arrives home, so I explain the problem. He asks me, "did you take off the emergency brake?" "Oh." So now I start up the car, drive about fifty feet, and it stops forward motion and gently drifts backwards towards the ditch . . . I had, of course, burned out the clutch.
Phone call to my husband at home, who spent $100 of hard-earned money on this Plymouth Belvedere push-button automatic with no reverse gear [I figured the reverse was shot when someone tried to engage reverse at an inappropriate time], drove down and towed the Barracuda home.
Thus followed the first of a number of transmission overhauls on the Barracuda. My husband figured that as long as he was in there replacing the clutch, he could do the transmission as well. [The transmission and drive shaft assembly always looked to me like a giant pod from "Invasion of the Body Snatchers."] Over the next few years he redid the transmission to four speeds, sometimes on the floor and sometimes on the steering column, and once ended up with the gearbox reversed so the shifting pattern was the opposite from the original "H" pattern, and decided to live with it like that. I doubt it improved my driving skills any.
I sure would have fun in a Barracuda now.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Gingerbread
Saturday I had the opportunity to give a ride to a sweet soul going to the Fireside at Gig Harbor. There was a wonderful talk and it was a great evening.
Yesterday, Mother's Day, I drove to Olympia and spent time with my daughter. We walked to Safeway for supplies, which was invigorating for me, and she made gingerbread from a recipe I had found on the Internet. This recipe was so good, that a taste of the batter elicited a small sound of pleasure from each of us. It turned out wonderfully.
The recipe is at: http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/black-sticky-gingerbread-recipe.html
While the gingerbread baked, we watched Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and agreed that it was a very good movie.
I drove home while it was light, and later listened to the Sunday evening Compline Service on KING FM.
Yesterday, Mother's Day, I drove to Olympia and spent time with my daughter. We walked to Safeway for supplies, which was invigorating for me, and she made gingerbread from a recipe I had found on the Internet. This recipe was so good, that a taste of the batter elicited a small sound of pleasure from each of us. It turned out wonderfully.
The recipe is at: http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/black-sticky-gingerbread-recipe.html
While the gingerbread baked, we watched Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and agreed that it was a very good movie.
I drove home while it was light, and later listened to the Sunday evening Compline Service on KING FM.
About the Remover of Difficulties
Is there any Remover of difficulties save God? Say: Praised be God! He is God! All are His servants, and all abide by His bidding!
~ The Bab
This is a famous prayer in the Baha'i Faith, one which has been said by many people in many circumstances, usually during times of tests. It has been put to a multitude of melodies, and is often chanted in Arabic, the language in which it was revealed. Originally it was revealed by the Bab for His wife, as a comfort for her during the time He was persecuted, imprisoned, and later executed with 750 bullets in Tabriz.
I have heard people snort in derision at the notion of standing by the road with a flat tire, saying the Remover of Difficulties; what needs to be done is remove the tire.
Angus Cowan, a Counselor in Canada, pointed out in one of his talks that he didn't care for the Remover of Difficulties, as he figured it would turn out that he was probably the difficulty and would be removed.
At one time 'Abdu'l-Baha, Center of the Covenant, was trying to purchase land next to the site of the Shrine of the Bab on Mount Carmel, to facilitate construction there, and the enemies of the Faith were blocking the sale. He spent a night chanting 500 Remover of Difficulties. The next day, the owner of the property offered it to him for free; of course, He gave a fair price for the property.
I used to really be puzzled about the statement that "All are His servants, and all abide by His bidding!" This is like one of those koans in Buddhism: if this is true, how can this other thing be true? How can it be said that everyone is doing the Will of God? But that is a literal interpretation of the prayer. It recently occurred to me that this is a statement that God is in charge, and the role of humankind is to obey.
Lately my attitude in saying the prayer has been to try to do the Will of God, and hope my internal difficulties will be removed.
~ The Bab
This is a famous prayer in the Baha'i Faith, one which has been said by many people in many circumstances, usually during times of tests. It has been put to a multitude of melodies, and is often chanted in Arabic, the language in which it was revealed. Originally it was revealed by the Bab for His wife, as a comfort for her during the time He was persecuted, imprisoned, and later executed with 750 bullets in Tabriz.
I have heard people snort in derision at the notion of standing by the road with a flat tire, saying the Remover of Difficulties; what needs to be done is remove the tire.
Angus Cowan, a Counselor in Canada, pointed out in one of his talks that he didn't care for the Remover of Difficulties, as he figured it would turn out that he was probably the difficulty and would be removed.
At one time 'Abdu'l-Baha, Center of the Covenant, was trying to purchase land next to the site of the Shrine of the Bab on Mount Carmel, to facilitate construction there, and the enemies of the Faith were blocking the sale. He spent a night chanting 500 Remover of Difficulties. The next day, the owner of the property offered it to him for free; of course, He gave a fair price for the property.
I used to really be puzzled about the statement that "All are His servants, and all abide by His bidding!" This is like one of those koans in Buddhism: if this is true, how can this other thing be true? How can it be said that everyone is doing the Will of God? But that is a literal interpretation of the prayer. It recently occurred to me that this is a statement that God is in charge, and the role of humankind is to obey.
Lately my attitude in saying the prayer has been to try to do the Will of God, and hope my internal difficulties will be removed.
The Lady Or the Tiger
Towards the end of April I reached the conclusion that I was about to run out of UI benefits, based on info from the claims page that extensions would not run past April 2013, so I was heading over a cliff. I began to make plans to live in a spare room in Eatonville on my husband's property and thought about selling my furniture. As it turns out, that was not the case. My benefits will be extended.
A couple of weeks ago I had a decent interview with someone at a Tacoma skilled nursing facility and had a pretty good feeling I might get the job. Lots of prayers, 500 "Remover of Difficulties", during the week. I was supposed to hear back on May 3, which came and went with no phone call. Meanwhile, I arranged for another interview at a state facility in Buckley, which felt pretty good. More Remover of Difficulties. At the end of the day I had that interview, I was called in the evening and offered the Tacoma job, which, of course, I accepted.
Oh, dear. Then, last Thursday, I received a call from Buckley: was I still interested, and if so, he would run my background check and phone references and proceed with the hiring procedure. Wednesday I had filled out hiring paperwork and submitted to a drug test, and was invited to a Nurses Week Tea at Tacoma. Friday I attended the Tea, which was wonderful, feeling horrible guilt because I really want to take the State job and it will feel like a betrayal to abandon the Tacoma job when they have been so nice to me--even applauding us newly-hired nurses.
Funny thing about the drug test: in every facility where I have had a drug test, it has been necessary to obtain a urine specimen. So I and another newly-hired nurse arrived prepared to submit a test. Which means that we filled out paperwork for two hours with full bladders, only to discover that they were using a new oral-swab type test.
Today is Monday the 13, and Wednesday I am supposed to attend a general orientation at Tacoma. Friday I had a call from Western State Hospital offering a time, Wednesday, of course, to interview with them. The same thing occurred with my last job; the offer of an interview at WSH the very day I was orienting with the new job.
I am hoping to hear from Buckley very soon. Meanwhile my prayers are that I make a wise choice, not knowing behind which door is the Lady and which door is the Tiger.
A couple of weeks ago I had a decent interview with someone at a Tacoma skilled nursing facility and had a pretty good feeling I might get the job. Lots of prayers, 500 "Remover of Difficulties", during the week. I was supposed to hear back on May 3, which came and went with no phone call. Meanwhile, I arranged for another interview at a state facility in Buckley, which felt pretty good. More Remover of Difficulties. At the end of the day I had that interview, I was called in the evening and offered the Tacoma job, which, of course, I accepted.
Oh, dear. Then, last Thursday, I received a call from Buckley: was I still interested, and if so, he would run my background check and phone references and proceed with the hiring procedure. Wednesday I had filled out hiring paperwork and submitted to a drug test, and was invited to a Nurses Week Tea at Tacoma. Friday I attended the Tea, which was wonderful, feeling horrible guilt because I really want to take the State job and it will feel like a betrayal to abandon the Tacoma job when they have been so nice to me--even applauding us newly-hired nurses.
Funny thing about the drug test: in every facility where I have had a drug test, it has been necessary to obtain a urine specimen. So I and another newly-hired nurse arrived prepared to submit a test. Which means that we filled out paperwork for two hours with full bladders, only to discover that they were using a new oral-swab type test.
Today is Monday the 13, and Wednesday I am supposed to attend a general orientation at Tacoma. Friday I had a call from Western State Hospital offering a time, Wednesday, of course, to interview with them. The same thing occurred with my last job; the offer of an interview at WSH the very day I was orienting with the new job.
I am hoping to hear from Buckley very soon. Meanwhile my prayers are that I make a wise choice, not knowing behind which door is the Lady and which door is the Tiger.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Found At Last
It really exists. The Snipe. What multitudes of Scouts have been dispatched with flashlights into the scary woods to hunt over the generations. So I always assumed it was a myth, a hoax perpetrated on the young. But I saw one today, a brown shore bird hunkered down next to a pond at Nisqually.
We had a very productive Bird Walk, 20 to 30 people mostly experts at spotting, hearing, and identifying hundreds of species of birds, the birders stalking like insects with extra metal legs as they haul their spotting scopes on their backs around the refuge.
A spotting scope is a wondrous device, much more powerful than my binoculars [ancient, heavy Porro binoculars 7 X 35 with individually focused lenses which I carry around my neck by a leather thong, the original strap having disintegrated as soon as I inherited them from my father. His name, Lewis A. Elwood, on label-maker strips from the '70's, is attached to the scuffed brown leather case.] A spotting scope has a very narrow view, making it hard to locate the bird independently with naked eye or binoculars, but shows individual feathers with a breathtaking resolution.
I was able to see, with or without assistance spotting them:
Peregrine falcon
Snipe
Rufous Hummingbird
Anna's Hummingbird
A coyote down the dike road, lurking about and wishing this crowd of people would disperse so he could hunt
Cinnamon Teal pair
Ruddy Duck
Yellow-Throated Warbler
Redtail hawk
A muskrat
Mergansers
Buffle Heads
Northern Shovelers
Pintails
Redwing Blackbirds, a favorite from my youth in Eastern Washington
Two [or more] Tree Swallows, brilliant blue back and light front, delicate
Cormorants
Mew Gulls
Greater Yellowlegs
Song sparrows
A rabbit
Kingfisher
Eagles on a nest
Great Blue Herons
Very Large Wheeling Flock of Geese
Marsh Wren
And because I decided to accompany the de facto leader back by a longer route than I would have taken, I spotted a tiny hummingbird on a nest because overhead I heard a "tick, tick, tick", looked up and it was there, just settling into a tiny nest which looked exactly like all the thousands of clumps of lichen nearby. Also, I was particularly blessed, because the leader spotted them and had them in his scope, to view two juvenile Great Horned Owls snuggled on an aspen branch, indistinguishable from dozens of other aspens. Finally, nearly a year from when I started visiting the Refuge and coming on Bird Walks, I saw not one, but two owls.
We had a very productive Bird Walk, 20 to 30 people mostly experts at spotting, hearing, and identifying hundreds of species of birds, the birders stalking like insects with extra metal legs as they haul their spotting scopes on their backs around the refuge.
A spotting scope is a wondrous device, much more powerful than my binoculars [ancient, heavy Porro binoculars 7 X 35 with individually focused lenses which I carry around my neck by a leather thong, the original strap having disintegrated as soon as I inherited them from my father. His name, Lewis A. Elwood, on label-maker strips from the '70's, is attached to the scuffed brown leather case.] A spotting scope has a very narrow view, making it hard to locate the bird independently with naked eye or binoculars, but shows individual feathers with a breathtaking resolution.
I was able to see, with or without assistance spotting them:
Peregrine falcon
Snipe
Rufous Hummingbird
Anna's Hummingbird
A coyote down the dike road, lurking about and wishing this crowd of people would disperse so he could hunt
Cinnamon Teal pair
Ruddy Duck
Yellow-Throated Warbler
Redtail hawk
A muskrat
Mergansers
Buffle Heads
Northern Shovelers
Pintails
Redwing Blackbirds, a favorite from my youth in Eastern Washington
Two [or more] Tree Swallows, brilliant blue back and light front, delicate
Cormorants
Mew Gulls
Greater Yellowlegs
Song sparrows
A rabbit
Kingfisher
Eagles on a nest
Great Blue Herons
Very Large Wheeling Flock of Geese
Marsh Wren
And because I decided to accompany the de facto leader back by a longer route than I would have taken, I spotted a tiny hummingbird on a nest because overhead I heard a "tick, tick, tick", looked up and it was there, just settling into a tiny nest which looked exactly like all the thousands of clumps of lichen nearby. Also, I was particularly blessed, because the leader spotted them and had them in his scope, to view two juvenile Great Horned Owls snuggled on an aspen branch, indistinguishable from dozens of other aspens. Finally, nearly a year from when I started visiting the Refuge and coming on Bird Walks, I saw not one, but two owls.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Validation
Intake at the DVR went very well last week, with a plan set to meet with a psychiatrist to assess what is going on with me. They hadn't been able to schedule me yet. This morning I received a call that there was an opening for an appointment today. Even though I wasn't sure I was ready to make my case about what I think is going on, i.e. the nature of mental defect, I met with a psychiatrist today.
I spent an hour talking a mile a minute about my life at school, what types of things threw me and what I was better at, and various jobs and what didn't work well, and the longest job I've held, and outcomes, and so forth. The "negative feedback loop" I get into when criticism causes my performance to worsen. All over the map. Able to crack him up both intentionally and unintentionally, which is always a big payoff.
The doctor said he has seen hundreds of people with Asperger's Disorder, pointed out that in the DSM-V the term "Asperger's" has been eliminated and replaced with Autism Spectrum Disorder. And that I should stop obsessing about it. It's just that I've known all my life that something is haywire, and things go wrong in my life that I have no control over, but that the symptoms are largely invisible. I'm just a screw-up, a person who doesn't care and doesn't try hard enough. So, yes, I've been desperate for validation, powered by my intense frustration at my life. So I can say, yes, this is where I am, and be able to move on from there.
Just yesterday I went to a workshop at WorkSource and afterwards explained to the presenter what I think, that I have an Autism Spectrum Disorder. "I don't think you have it," he said. Which didn't hurt too much, as I would not expect him to be an expert.
In any case, the person holding my fate in his hands, the gatekeeper if I allow him to be, delivered his verdict: Anxiety Disorder, ADD, and, yes, Autism Spectrum Disorder--Mild. And wrote a prescription for a serotonin reuptake inhibitor, and will forward his findings to DVR.
It's taken several hours to decompress and for my relief to sink in. I've been feeling excess energy drain off all day. And, oddly, to begin to move on, already.
I spent an hour talking a mile a minute about my life at school, what types of things threw me and what I was better at, and various jobs and what didn't work well, and the longest job I've held, and outcomes, and so forth. The "negative feedback loop" I get into when criticism causes my performance to worsen. All over the map. Able to crack him up both intentionally and unintentionally, which is always a big payoff.
The doctor said he has seen hundreds of people with Asperger's Disorder, pointed out that in the DSM-V the term "Asperger's" has been eliminated and replaced with Autism Spectrum Disorder. And that I should stop obsessing about it. It's just that I've known all my life that something is haywire, and things go wrong in my life that I have no control over, but that the symptoms are largely invisible. I'm just a screw-up, a person who doesn't care and doesn't try hard enough. So, yes, I've been desperate for validation, powered by my intense frustration at my life. So I can say, yes, this is where I am, and be able to move on from there.
Just yesterday I went to a workshop at WorkSource and afterwards explained to the presenter what I think, that I have an Autism Spectrum Disorder. "I don't think you have it," he said. Which didn't hurt too much, as I would not expect him to be an expert.
In any case, the person holding my fate in his hands, the gatekeeper if I allow him to be, delivered his verdict: Anxiety Disorder, ADD, and, yes, Autism Spectrum Disorder--Mild. And wrote a prescription for a serotonin reuptake inhibitor, and will forward his findings to DVR.
It's taken several hours to decompress and for my relief to sink in. I've been feeling excess energy drain off all day. And, oddly, to begin to move on, already.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Short Blurb
I stayed up too late and woke too early but went to a Stress Management class at WorkSource, led by a gentleman I am already acquainted with, very nice person. I let him know what happened with my last position, but didn't have time to go into the Autism Spectrum issue. My plan is to email him and set up an appointment to get more support for whatever transition I'm going through.
I called back a very nice person at a facility in Lacey and was very honest about my situation, and we had a very civil and friendly discussion of whether or not this would be the ideal position for me [not], and I left the door open to reapplying if I feel differently in the future.
Sometimes I have waves of compassion and joy for figuring out what is going on with me and why my life never quite works right. Fifty years of being misunderstood; a childhood teased, bullied, excluded, rejected, confused, hurt, lost . . . The clarity is incredible, lovely. But after this conversation I want to cry. I've never liked closing doors, but it's time.
I called back a very nice person at a facility in Lacey and was very honest about my situation, and we had a very civil and friendly discussion of whether or not this would be the ideal position for me [not], and I left the door open to reapplying if I feel differently in the future.
Sometimes I have waves of compassion and joy for figuring out what is going on with me and why my life never quite works right. Fifty years of being misunderstood; a childhood teased, bullied, excluded, rejected, confused, hurt, lost . . . The clarity is incredible, lovely. But after this conversation I want to cry. I've never liked closing doors, but it's time.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
More Hodgepodge, and Faith Unconcealed
I almost got a job by mistake the other day. It was horrifying. Ninety-nine out of a hundred applications I put in don't even receive a response, let alone an interview. I had accidentally applied to an unfamiliar company which turned out to be an agency, forgetting that agencies hire anyone, sometimes without even interviewing them. I did need to interview, however, and that was a saving grace.
Even though I am a seasoned, accomplished nurse, I have to be thoroughly oriented to a station to be able to perform well. Orientation lets you become familiar with an area, wiggle around in it and know where you are, turn around three times to settle in like a dog going to sleep. Jumping into a new area without orientation is terrible. You don't know who anyone is, how they take their medications, where the medications are on the cart, and inevitably medications are missing which ought to have been ordered to make sure they are in stock. It requires nerves of steel and impeccable organizational skills.
One time at "Mountain View" [well, it was like death for me to work there] I was forced to work a shift in a completely unfamiliar station, due to people calling off work. My first two hours were taken up with a resident whose narcotic medication had been allowed to run out and who needed a new prescription, and who was screaming at the top of her lungs until the situation was resolved. This put my med pass very late. There were three people on IV antibiotics, two of them twice during the shift, and representatives from a mortuary kept coming in the back door and setting off the alarm. It was a shift from hell, but the residents were all still alive when I finally left, two hours overtime. The next day I received a reprimand because someone had wanted juice with their medications, which I had no idea where to find, and didn't have time to run all over creation finding some, and I stated that I hadn't any juice. They didn't like how I put it: I haven't got any juice.
So that's what work at this agency would have entailed: jumping into unfamiliar facilities at unfamiliar stations for a shift from hell, every single time. Disaster. Even if I survived a few shifts, something would have gone wrong, and all the misery would have been in vain. It was too late when I realized this after I applied. I was enveloped in terror. I couldn't sleep without nightmares about working agency. So during the interview, as I am not allowed to turn down work, it was necessary to let the "Aphrodite", the interviewer, know the situation without actually saying, "don't offer me the job."
My approach was to fill out all the paperwork and sit through the interview, but let Aphrodite know that I was extremely terrified of taking assignments under the circumstances, and she eventually figured it out.
The great thing was that for the first time during a job interview I ended up revealing that I was a Baha'i, and teaching the person something about the Faith. It came up because she was asking about availability and I mentioned a study circle I was taking--what on--the "Covenant"--what's that about--The Baha'i Faith--what's that, I never heard of it. I only reveal that I'm a Baha'i when there is no other alternative.
We had the usual discussion where I talked about the origins of the Faith, and the concept of the Founders of the major religions reflecting the qualities and revealing the message of the Unknowable Essence, and how the Faith recognizes the divine origins of the various other major Faiths, so she goes, "So, it's a hodgepodge then." And onward. No, it isn't a hodgepodge, it's an independent religion. And I received the usual testament about her having Jesus Christ as her personal savior and so forth. She was curious but completely unreceptive. Which is fine by me; this is not "wrong." Merely a lack of understanding.
Coming out as a Baha'i is like coming out as being on the Autism Spectrum. I meet with incredulity. How could I be so stupid as to believe this? So I usually walk around hiding this terrible secret, that I'm an insane idiot. Revealing it is like setting my hair on fire. It's as if I were walking around in a sort of burkha which conceals who I really am.
Circa 1850 in the early history of the Faith in Iran, a woman named Tahirih entered a tent full of men without her veil, with her face showing. It was a symbol of entering a new era, where the laws of the old dispensation were abrogated, where women are realized as equal with men. A trumpet blast.
Even though I feel nakedly exposed if people know who I am, even if they think I am a crazy idiot, even if explaining my beliefs is awkward and arduous, maybe it's time to step out of the veil.
Even though I am a seasoned, accomplished nurse, I have to be thoroughly oriented to a station to be able to perform well. Orientation lets you become familiar with an area, wiggle around in it and know where you are, turn around three times to settle in like a dog going to sleep. Jumping into a new area without orientation is terrible. You don't know who anyone is, how they take their medications, where the medications are on the cart, and inevitably medications are missing which ought to have been ordered to make sure they are in stock. It requires nerves of steel and impeccable organizational skills.
One time at "Mountain View" [well, it was like death for me to work there] I was forced to work a shift in a completely unfamiliar station, due to people calling off work. My first two hours were taken up with a resident whose narcotic medication had been allowed to run out and who needed a new prescription, and who was screaming at the top of her lungs until the situation was resolved. This put my med pass very late. There were three people on IV antibiotics, two of them twice during the shift, and representatives from a mortuary kept coming in the back door and setting off the alarm. It was a shift from hell, but the residents were all still alive when I finally left, two hours overtime. The next day I received a reprimand because someone had wanted juice with their medications, which I had no idea where to find, and didn't have time to run all over creation finding some, and I stated that I hadn't any juice. They didn't like how I put it: I haven't got any juice.
So that's what work at this agency would have entailed: jumping into unfamiliar facilities at unfamiliar stations for a shift from hell, every single time. Disaster. Even if I survived a few shifts, something would have gone wrong, and all the misery would have been in vain. It was too late when I realized this after I applied. I was enveloped in terror. I couldn't sleep without nightmares about working agency. So during the interview, as I am not allowed to turn down work, it was necessary to let the "Aphrodite", the interviewer, know the situation without actually saying, "don't offer me the job."
My approach was to fill out all the paperwork and sit through the interview, but let Aphrodite know that I was extremely terrified of taking assignments under the circumstances, and she eventually figured it out.
The great thing was that for the first time during a job interview I ended up revealing that I was a Baha'i, and teaching the person something about the Faith. It came up because she was asking about availability and I mentioned a study circle I was taking--what on--the "Covenant"--what's that about--The Baha'i Faith--what's that, I never heard of it. I only reveal that I'm a Baha'i when there is no other alternative.
We had the usual discussion where I talked about the origins of the Faith, and the concept of the Founders of the major religions reflecting the qualities and revealing the message of the Unknowable Essence, and how the Faith recognizes the divine origins of the various other major Faiths, so she goes, "So, it's a hodgepodge then." And onward. No, it isn't a hodgepodge, it's an independent religion. And I received the usual testament about her having Jesus Christ as her personal savior and so forth. She was curious but completely unreceptive. Which is fine by me; this is not "wrong." Merely a lack of understanding.
Coming out as a Baha'i is like coming out as being on the Autism Spectrum. I meet with incredulity. How could I be so stupid as to believe this? So I usually walk around hiding this terrible secret, that I'm an insane idiot. Revealing it is like setting my hair on fire. It's as if I were walking around in a sort of burkha which conceals who I really am.
Circa 1850 in the early history of the Faith in Iran, a woman named Tahirih entered a tent full of men without her veil, with her face showing. It was a symbol of entering a new era, where the laws of the old dispensation were abrogated, where women are realized as equal with men. A trumpet blast.
Even though I feel nakedly exposed if people know who I am, even if they think I am a crazy idiot, even if explaining my beliefs is awkward and arduous, maybe it's time to step out of the veil.
A Hodgepodge
I woke up from a dream where I was telling a joke: the old wheeze about the farmer in the back country who shoots a crow, sees a band on its leg and phones the eight hundred number to complain. "I followed your directions: 'Wash. biol. surv.' It was turrible."
Back by the popular demand of one person [you know who you are] is my blog. I haven't blogged in three or four months for the same reason I almost never write letters. I am always waiting to find out how things turn out in the end before I report. So far, turrible. If my life were a book I would burn it, and I don't burn books.
At the moment I am more or less lost in a fog, but at least I have decided to live. Usually when I see no viable alternatives in my life I become devoted to the notion that my life needs to end, but I have realized that even if I don't know what my next step is or how to get there, even when I'm turning away from my only known means of support [i.e. the nursing profession], I may as well live life anyway. And contrary to opinion, buying and eating bacon does not count as a suicide attempt.
My current theory of life is the recognition that I am on the Autism Spectum, relatively high-functioning, AKA Aspergers Syndrome. I am on a quest to verify that with the Powers That Be; to me, the more I study it and recognize how things have gone, particularly in my early life, the more obvious it is. Currently reading Tony Attwood's book, something like The Complete Guide to Aspergers, and one of the statements he makes is that older people with high intellectual functioning, particularly women, are often very hard to diagnose because they have learned to "camouflage" symptoms. Many of us are great mimics.
I rarely have credibility with people. I was in a social situation the other day when I mentioned the Aspergers. Usually a mistake. His response was that "it must be very mild, since you just looked me in the eye." My unspoken response: thank you very much for just invalidating everything I said. [The DSM-IV does not mention eye contact, by the way.] One symptom for me is continually being misunderstood. Another symptom is the peril of people making small talk. Invariably my talk is never sufficiently small, and I am just warming up to a subject by the time the victim turns their glazed vision to someone else to escape into conversation with anyone who can rescue them.
I am boning up for my interview with DVR. Don't jump to the conclusion I am looking for a handout. Just wanting a diagnosis and a way out of what has become completely unworkable as an occupation. I cannot work nor contemplate working without burning in an invisible hell of anxiety, fear, and mortal terror. If I am not working, I am terrified of homelessness and starvation on the streets. If I am working, I am terrified of messing up social interactions, losing my job, and dying of starvation on the streets.
My last job was beautiful, fascinating, wonderful. It was very easy to get: an interview with the administrator [for an acute psychiatric facility] and forty-five minutes later I am floating around Lake Waughop in an ecstasy of joy that after seven months or more, I am employed. No idiotic behavioral interview questions or anything. I did dimly suspect that there was a reason they hire people on-call initially, which turns out to be so they can sniff you out and decide whether they like you.
I did everything I was asked at this facility, meticulously, scrupulously, for two and a half months, enduring conferences with a new RN serving as the temporary DNS and very condescending to me, confronting me with episodes reported by her staff which were warped beyond all recognition, and continually warning me that "not everyone is suited to work here." Yes, I might be, if I weren't being hounded and being unable to control my anxiety. I did everything I could do, except for changing my personality.
It's more clear to me than ever that nursing is a detour for me, a dead end, even if I can perform a job for four years or two and a half years or two and a half months, and end up having spent my great riches, and my good health, and my psychological wellbeing, no better off than before. The profession, for me, is like being in one of those housing developments where every street is named Onyx, which you can drive around in for hours, every turn taking you back into the labyrinth before you catch some slight current of luck, locate the exit and escape.
So my fog is that if I turn away from nursing I seem to find myself in a big nothing. Except possibly to go back to college and pursue mental health counseling. To be continued.
Back by the popular demand of one person [you know who you are] is my blog. I haven't blogged in three or four months for the same reason I almost never write letters. I am always waiting to find out how things turn out in the end before I report. So far, turrible. If my life were a book I would burn it, and I don't burn books.
At the moment I am more or less lost in a fog, but at least I have decided to live. Usually when I see no viable alternatives in my life I become devoted to the notion that my life needs to end, but I have realized that even if I don't know what my next step is or how to get there, even when I'm turning away from my only known means of support [i.e. the nursing profession], I may as well live life anyway. And contrary to opinion, buying and eating bacon does not count as a suicide attempt.
My current theory of life is the recognition that I am on the Autism Spectum, relatively high-functioning, AKA Aspergers Syndrome. I am on a quest to verify that with the Powers That Be; to me, the more I study it and recognize how things have gone, particularly in my early life, the more obvious it is. Currently reading Tony Attwood's book, something like The Complete Guide to Aspergers, and one of the statements he makes is that older people with high intellectual functioning, particularly women, are often very hard to diagnose because they have learned to "camouflage" symptoms. Many of us are great mimics.
I rarely have credibility with people. I was in a social situation the other day when I mentioned the Aspergers. Usually a mistake. His response was that "it must be very mild, since you just looked me in the eye." My unspoken response: thank you very much for just invalidating everything I said. [The DSM-IV does not mention eye contact, by the way.] One symptom for me is continually being misunderstood. Another symptom is the peril of people making small talk. Invariably my talk is never sufficiently small, and I am just warming up to a subject by the time the victim turns their glazed vision to someone else to escape into conversation with anyone who can rescue them.
I am boning up for my interview with DVR. Don't jump to the conclusion I am looking for a handout. Just wanting a diagnosis and a way out of what has become completely unworkable as an occupation. I cannot work nor contemplate working without burning in an invisible hell of anxiety, fear, and mortal terror. If I am not working, I am terrified of homelessness and starvation on the streets. If I am working, I am terrified of messing up social interactions, losing my job, and dying of starvation on the streets.
My last job was beautiful, fascinating, wonderful. It was very easy to get: an interview with the administrator [for an acute psychiatric facility] and forty-five minutes later I am floating around Lake Waughop in an ecstasy of joy that after seven months or more, I am employed. No idiotic behavioral interview questions or anything. I did dimly suspect that there was a reason they hire people on-call initially, which turns out to be so they can sniff you out and decide whether they like you.
I did everything I was asked at this facility, meticulously, scrupulously, for two and a half months, enduring conferences with a new RN serving as the temporary DNS and very condescending to me, confronting me with episodes reported by her staff which were warped beyond all recognition, and continually warning me that "not everyone is suited to work here." Yes, I might be, if I weren't being hounded and being unable to control my anxiety. I did everything I could do, except for changing my personality.
It's more clear to me than ever that nursing is a detour for me, a dead end, even if I can perform a job for four years or two and a half years or two and a half months, and end up having spent my great riches, and my good health, and my psychological wellbeing, no better off than before. The profession, for me, is like being in one of those housing developments where every street is named Onyx, which you can drive around in for hours, every turn taking you back into the labyrinth before you catch some slight current of luck, locate the exit and escape.
So my fog is that if I turn away from nursing I seem to find myself in a big nothing. Except possibly to go back to college and pursue mental health counseling. To be continued.
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