Well Folks,
It is now May 22nd, and unless I missed something I'm still around and so (hopefully) are you.
I may have slipped through a dimensional time warp while on the airplane from LA to Frankfurt, but if I did I have no recollection of it. Suffice to say that the "Judgement Day" predicted by Mr Harold Camping didn't occur on time. No earthquakes occurred of significant value while I was in the air, and mankind (All 7,113,760,400.00 of us at the time of this writing) is still happily polluting the earth and living life in the blissful ignorance that nothing s/he does makes THAT much of an impact on earth. Ah well. Perhaps the end will be near another day. 2012 is coming, and maybe the Mayans will deliver.
Despite all of the worries about the end of the world, I have more pressing concerns...like the present moment, and reflections of the recent past, which I like to review from time to time.
I left my home yesterday (my hubby graciously drove me to the International Airport in LA), and boarded the German airline Lufthansa, bound for Frankfurt and then Nuremberg. The destination for this part of the trip being a small U.S. Army base on Vilseck. Now, interestingly on Lufthansa, all drinks are free including the beer, the cognac and the wine. Quite a few Germans were imbibing before meals, with meals and after meals and most of the people on board were either sleeping or very happy. German Flight Attendants (I almost typed Stewardess cause, yes, that's my generation) were an interesting lot. To provide some comparison, Japanese Flight Attendants are generally very quiet, gentle, and subtlety persuasive when they need or want you to do something. You hardly know they are there. German Flight Attendants bustle through the airplane cabin with a large noisy presence. They are loud when they address you, and phrases emitted from them are more like orders that you dare not disobey for fear of some type of reprisal, such as withholding your pretzel ration, or skipping you when they go down the aisle with the drink cart.
Ten hours on a plane can be hell. Particularly when you are trapped (such as I was) between an overweight older Hungarian/American (who I shall call Hugo) and a tiny slip of an American/Eastern Indian looking woman from San Diego who was 28 weeks pregnant. Yes, the pregnant girl had a seat next to the window, and Hugo was on the aisle side. Needless to say, the 28 week pregnant girl had to get up every couple of hours to urinate (sometimes more frequent), and when she did...as Hugo and I waited for her return...I was pelted with stories from the Hungarian/American about how he first came to the U.S. in 1969 after being in refuge camps in Austria. (I didn't get exact details of how he came to be there, amazingly...) Hugo described his first American job, cleaning toilets. Later, cleaning for a rich family. After that, a construction job, and then he went on to join in with another group of individuals for an architectural company and had just recently retired with his wife (his second wife, who is Filipino) with a two million dollar pension. I was privy to listening about their amazing adventures around the world, and got to see his passport, which he proudly displayed to me with extra stamped pages (48 to be exact) because he'd been such an extensive traveler (He was very proud of it). Hugo explained to me he was getting old and tired now though, and that his traveling will soon be limited to his trips with his wife to Las Vegas, something he and his wife do regularly. "You can live good in Las Vegas," he said. "Eat good. Good Entertainment. It's the life."
Prego girl, whose descriptive name I shall shorten to "Pregs", was anxious about childbirth. She was amazed, when we first met, because I looked at her belly and said "28 weeks". "How did you know? I'm exactly 28 weeks." she said.
"I'm clairvoyant." I replied. The look on her face was priceless as awe filled her eyes. For a moment, I was living proof that the third eye existed. I wish it were true. Coming clean, I confessed.... "No, really, I'm a midwife. I've seen several pregnant women, and it was just a guess."
A strange mixture of both disappointment and pleasure filled her face. Glad to be riding alongside a midwife, but disappointed that I probably couldn't tell her baby's future along the way...she waddled next to the window with an armload of baby magazines. "I'm in nursing school." she said. "And I haven't had time to read about babies at all." Up towards the front row, a mother tried to console a 9 month old as she wailed, screamed and cried during the ride (the baby, not the mother). I nodded my head in the woman's direction. Pregs looked that way and then looked quizically at me.
"That's all you need to know." I said.
Yes, I have a habit of being more than less than unhelpful in a pinch, and more helpful than some people deserve when not in need, but still...it made the flight go by faster. Pregs was from San Diego, and flying to Salzberg Germany to see family before coming back to have the baby in the U.S.. She was two years away from finishing her nursing degree, and wasn't sure what she wanted to do after that. I listened to her talk about things she wanted to buy for the baby, looked at some of the magazines with her, and on occasion thought perhaps the rapture had happened, and that this was my life of hell on earth for the next five months before 'the end'. Then, miraculously, both Pregs and Hugo fell asleep, and I (sandwiched in between them) had a couple hours of bliss (and a cognac) while I listened to Joe Hills "Horns" novel on audiobook, and wrote a little more of "Dr Stench" for my novel.
One thing is for certain, when the plane eventually touched down on the Germany ground, I heard angels sing.
The Frankfurt terminal was a very odd place. Disembarking the plane, there is really no one to tell you where to go, or how to get there. I wandered from terminal A, trying to get to terminal B, in a massive labyrinth of gates, walls, corridors and such. Eventually I ended up at the gateway to terminal B, and found that it was another customs check/search. I showed my passport exactly 3 extra times, was searched in a "security room" because I had extra electronics (which were, apparently, very suspicious), and my computer equipment was tested for ballistics residue, and with that I FINALLY made it to terminal B. My flight to Nuremberg was a little less hectic, and I arrived at the terminal finding someone who was holding up a little paper sign that said "Dr Cynthia F." I almost missed him and it, because the name on the paper was barely legible.
A 45 minute ride in a faded blue van, along some beautiful German countryside, with houses that have roofs as sharp as freshly ground number 2 pencil points, and I was at Vilseck. Needless to say, after not really having slept more than a couple of hours in more than a 14 hour trip, I was giddy and not very lucid as I made my way to my little room. It was 3 PM in Germany, and I threw my things on the floor and climbed into the bed after quickly typing a note to my family to let them know I'd arrived OK. I slept from 3PM to 5AM the next day.
Now, I'm here at Vilseck as an Expert Witness for the Defense on a sexual assault case. Later this afternoon, I will go over the case with Army JAG and they will determine how I can provide the best information possible for the courtroom. As an expert for the Defense, one of my roles is to make sure that statements provided from the Prosecution expert/examiner (from the medical side) are 'evidence based', meaning they are grounded in the researched science of today. It is a rewarding process, because now and then, I'm able to help dispel myths and set the record straight so the courtroom can make a logical decision.
Despite being north of towns like Munich and Stuttgart, I was unprepared for how warm the weather would be here. It's sunnier than I expected, with huge cotton-ball white clouds and occasional black thunder heads that sneak in and dump a pound of rain on your head and then move off to splatter gallons of water elsewhere. I don't know if I'll have time to go out into town and see any sights. The courtroom process can be a long one, and usually I need to sit through each of the testimonies in order to provide any thoughts about the medical portion of the case. But perhaps I will have the opportunity to see the countryside. We will see.
~Cin
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Sitting at the Wheel and Heartbreak...
Describes a good part of my day today. As for now, my bags are packed, and I'm ready to go. Leaving on the jet plane bound for Europe for a week long stay and then two weeks in the Middle East.
The morning started out with one of the best things in the world...sleeping just a little later than usual. (I'd taken leave today so I could rest and relax, and take my time packing.) Jim had promised me a massage today, and so after some breakfast and homework...I basked in the luxury of an hour massage and some much needed snuggle time. I hadn't had a massage in ages, and my skin, muscles, joints and sinews were appreciative of the therapy.
After a short nap, it was off to Fantastic Sams to get a hair cut. I'd had a cut and color done only two weeks ago, but hadn't been satisfied with the cut I got. Interesting to note that the first salon I went to just days ago charged me $120.00 to color (highlight) and cut my hair, and Fantastic Sams charged me $15.00. After many a trial and tribulation trying to find the right hairdresser in Ventura, to do what I want for my hair, I finally found someone to do it. Mabel, a brusque Caucasian orange haired woman, is almost 65 years old, and her hairdresser compadres have been around Ventura all of their lives. When I walked in to the salon, I had the instant feeling of "down home" and "no nonsense" that I'd grown up with much of my life. It was like walking into the hills of West Virginia and sitting down with many of the plain spoken folk I'd met and learned to know there. No comment is taboo, as long as its the truth.
My cut and color at the fancy salon took me almost two hours. Mabel was literally done in 10 minutes. My hair was as close as it could be to the picture I carted in with me in the hopes I'd get lucky this time. I laughed for the first time I can remember, while getting my hair done, as their plain conversation was filled with joy, mirth and a joke now and then...and I left knowing I would definitely come back. No foo-foo. No frills. Just a nice simple cut, like the picture I brought, and I was done and out the door ready for the next day's evolution.
After Sean got home from school and Jim returned from his physical therapy appointment, we went to a small art show at Ventura Harbor. One of the artist sections included a pottery guild, and outside of the guild store sat an older woman named Yevette. Yevette lives in Ojai, and not only makes pottery, but spins yarn and raises llamas. She took Sean by the hand and led him in his first lesson of making a cup on the pottery wheel. (I sooo felt nostalgia when she talked about her wheel, and my fingers were itching to spin fibers!) Sean attacked learning the potter's wheel with gusto, and under the guidance of Yevette, created a lovely shaped tea cup out of porcelain clay. His first one, and it was beautiful! It was such a joy to watch him work with the clay, smooth it, bring the edges up, create the collar then finally remove it from the wheel. Sean is good with his hands when he wants to be. He loves wood working, and tinkering with things. He's built his own foam swords and shields in the past, and has done a variety of other creative things, but I was so proud he did well today with the clay.
Kira called to say she couldn't make it to dinner. She was meeting with her soon to be ex-boyfriend. He's a wonderful young man, but Kira and he are both going separate ways for a while, and my very grown daughter sat down and talked to him about it. It was tough on her, and tough on him, and when I talked to her afterwards on the phone I could tell the whole thing really bummed her out. Heartache. Making those difficult choices. Trying to do the right thing. I knew it was hard, but in the end I'm proud of her. She made sure she approached the situation carefully, and made sure she was honest about it. Her former boyfriend loves travel, and rock climbing and is the sweetest, most thoughtful and kind individual, but he will be traveling the summer, and then living in Santa Cruz this fall. Kira will be here, studying Wellness courses and attending more massage courses so she can get her National Certification. I've never been prouder of my dearest daughter, to make the adult decisions, to stand up and be honest about her choices.
After Jim, Sean and I got home, we went out together, just her and I, and ate frozen yogurt at the Wild Cherry. We talked and shared things that mothers and daughters do, and I felt nostalgia and sadness wash over me as I realized tomorrow I'd be traveling away...away from my family. The ones that I love. Off to serve my country in the ways that I know how, and can contribute the best. I'll hate not being home...not being with them. But every moment, I will love them, and love who they are.
As the evening draws to a close, I sit on the front porch (it's actually just after midnight) lightly puffing on a Nico Libre, and mentally checking off the items I've packed in my sea-bag. Tomorrow ( or really today) is another day, and I pray. I pray that my family stays safe, that each of my planes take off and land as they should, and that time will speed along quickly until I'm in their arms once again.
~Cin
The morning started out with one of the best things in the world...sleeping just a little later than usual. (I'd taken leave today so I could rest and relax, and take my time packing.) Jim had promised me a massage today, and so after some breakfast and homework...I basked in the luxury of an hour massage and some much needed snuggle time. I hadn't had a massage in ages, and my skin, muscles, joints and sinews were appreciative of the therapy.
After a short nap, it was off to Fantastic Sams to get a hair cut. I'd had a cut and color done only two weeks ago, but hadn't been satisfied with the cut I got. Interesting to note that the first salon I went to just days ago charged me $120.00 to color (highlight) and cut my hair, and Fantastic Sams charged me $15.00. After many a trial and tribulation trying to find the right hairdresser in Ventura, to do what I want for my hair, I finally found someone to do it. Mabel, a brusque Caucasian orange haired woman, is almost 65 years old, and her hairdresser compadres have been around Ventura all of their lives. When I walked in to the salon, I had the instant feeling of "down home" and "no nonsense" that I'd grown up with much of my life. It was like walking into the hills of West Virginia and sitting down with many of the plain spoken folk I'd met and learned to know there. No comment is taboo, as long as its the truth.
My cut and color at the fancy salon took me almost two hours. Mabel was literally done in 10 minutes. My hair was as close as it could be to the picture I carted in with me in the hopes I'd get lucky this time. I laughed for the first time I can remember, while getting my hair done, as their plain conversation was filled with joy, mirth and a joke now and then...and I left knowing I would definitely come back. No foo-foo. No frills. Just a nice simple cut, like the picture I brought, and I was done and out the door ready for the next day's evolution.
After Sean got home from school and Jim returned from his physical therapy appointment, we went to a small art show at Ventura Harbor. One of the artist sections included a pottery guild, and outside of the guild store sat an older woman named Yevette. Yevette lives in Ojai, and not only makes pottery, but spins yarn and raises llamas. She took Sean by the hand and led him in his first lesson of making a cup on the pottery wheel. (I sooo felt nostalgia when she talked about her wheel, and my fingers were itching to spin fibers!) Sean attacked learning the potter's wheel with gusto, and under the guidance of Yevette, created a lovely shaped tea cup out of porcelain clay. His first one, and it was beautiful! It was such a joy to watch him work with the clay, smooth it, bring the edges up, create the collar then finally remove it from the wheel. Sean is good with his hands when he wants to be. He loves wood working, and tinkering with things. He's built his own foam swords and shields in the past, and has done a variety of other creative things, but I was so proud he did well today with the clay.
Kira called to say she couldn't make it to dinner. She was meeting with her soon to be ex-boyfriend. He's a wonderful young man, but Kira and he are both going separate ways for a while, and my very grown daughter sat down and talked to him about it. It was tough on her, and tough on him, and when I talked to her afterwards on the phone I could tell the whole thing really bummed her out. Heartache. Making those difficult choices. Trying to do the right thing. I knew it was hard, but in the end I'm proud of her. She made sure she approached the situation carefully, and made sure she was honest about it. Her former boyfriend loves travel, and rock climbing and is the sweetest, most thoughtful and kind individual, but he will be traveling the summer, and then living in Santa Cruz this fall. Kira will be here, studying Wellness courses and attending more massage courses so she can get her National Certification. I've never been prouder of my dearest daughter, to make the adult decisions, to stand up and be honest about her choices.
After Jim, Sean and I got home, we went out together, just her and I, and ate frozen yogurt at the Wild Cherry. We talked and shared things that mothers and daughters do, and I felt nostalgia and sadness wash over me as I realized tomorrow I'd be traveling away...away from my family. The ones that I love. Off to serve my country in the ways that I know how, and can contribute the best. I'll hate not being home...not being with them. But every moment, I will love them, and love who they are.
As the evening draws to a close, I sit on the front porch (it's actually just after midnight) lightly puffing on a Nico Libre, and mentally checking off the items I've packed in my sea-bag. Tomorrow ( or really today) is another day, and I pray. I pray that my family stays safe, that each of my planes take off and land as they should, and that time will speed along quickly until I'm in their arms once again.
~Cin
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Attention to Detail
Well All,
I've survived the Joint Commission "survey" (really known as 'inspection', and even the surveyor/inspector called it an inspection). It was probably a less painful experience for me than for some clinics/personnel in the past. Oddly, I learned a lot. The opportunity to go through the clinic with a fresh set of eyes looking at the nuances of everything surrounding me helped me to recognize the little things most people don't pay attention to. Despite all my previous angst, I found the process very useful. The key, I think, was the inspector himself. The fellow who came out was very approachable, and while he asked a lot of questions he was willing to answer many of them too. And he was willing to teach. This made a world of difference in the experience of the process. The worst of it was standing on my feet for a couple of hours while he walked through the clinic, from room to room, opening drawers, talking to staff, etc. (I could physically feel my feet swelling with every passing minute...ah the joys of age...) I, as his "escort", had to make sure I was with him wherever he went.
In the end, I was pleased that he had such favorable things to say about our military staff. Most of them are very junior, but I was proud at how professional they were. They took time to answer his questions. These young Hospital Corpsmen (early 20's) were not nervous, or flustered. They approached the task of answering his questions like they were teaching someone about the clinic and their daily duties. They truly are a fine group of military, and I would be proud to serve with them anywhere in the world.
I imagine many people approach writing a blog as an avenue to vent or complain about society and the difficulties of day to day living, and I admit I do that also from time to time. But today, I only find myself happy and grateful. Happy to work alongside some of the finest our United States Military has to offer and grateful to work for an Officer in Charge (OIC) that I've come to admire and consider a mentor. I think I will grieve some when the leadership changes hands, but I should remind myself to always give the next person a chance, just like I myself would want to be given one. Still, it is hard to accept change when things seem to be working so well. I will embrace it though, and go once more into the breech...
I will be traveling soon on a temporary assignment, and so I took the day off to rest/recover from the inspections and other evolutions that had taken over my life. The Dissertation Proposal is submitted once more with all of its corrections and additions and I'm editing my presentation for the dissertation board and my IRB proposal application to reflect those changes so I can have them done before I go. The International Association of Forensic Nurses (IAFN) would like me to speak at their conference in Montreal in October, and so I've submitted my request and presentation proposal through the chain of command and hope I'll have approval to do it. It will highlight my research while on deployment last year, and hopefully I'll have my findings completed by then.
Today was also a day to network and enjoy the company of a friend. A fellow forensic nurse I know lives about an hour away from me. We met at a small town on the beach (halfway between our homes) for lunch, and took time to converse about forensic nursing, processes in sexual assault care, course development of forensic nursing for local areas, and such. What a pleasure to spend time talking face to face with such a beautiful mind and intelligent person (Thanks Jude!). To be sure, the face to face time was buoyant for the mind/body/spirit, and I really needed that connection. It has motivated me, and centered me, and made me feel 'connected' to the world.
Ah well...back to work! May all of you find joy and peace in your daily lives, and may all of you find equally beneficial connections along the way...
~Cin
I've survived the Joint Commission "survey" (really known as 'inspection', and even the surveyor/inspector called it an inspection). It was probably a less painful experience for me than for some clinics/personnel in the past. Oddly, I learned a lot. The opportunity to go through the clinic with a fresh set of eyes looking at the nuances of everything surrounding me helped me to recognize the little things most people don't pay attention to. Despite all my previous angst, I found the process very useful. The key, I think, was the inspector himself. The fellow who came out was very approachable, and while he asked a lot of questions he was willing to answer many of them too. And he was willing to teach. This made a world of difference in the experience of the process. The worst of it was standing on my feet for a couple of hours while he walked through the clinic, from room to room, opening drawers, talking to staff, etc. (I could physically feel my feet swelling with every passing minute...ah the joys of age...) I, as his "escort", had to make sure I was with him wherever he went.
In the end, I was pleased that he had such favorable things to say about our military staff. Most of them are very junior, but I was proud at how professional they were. They took time to answer his questions. These young Hospital Corpsmen (early 20's) were not nervous, or flustered. They approached the task of answering his questions like they were teaching someone about the clinic and their daily duties. They truly are a fine group of military, and I would be proud to serve with them anywhere in the world.
I imagine many people approach writing a blog as an avenue to vent or complain about society and the difficulties of day to day living, and I admit I do that also from time to time. But today, I only find myself happy and grateful. Happy to work alongside some of the finest our United States Military has to offer and grateful to work for an Officer in Charge (OIC) that I've come to admire and consider a mentor. I think I will grieve some when the leadership changes hands, but I should remind myself to always give the next person a chance, just like I myself would want to be given one. Still, it is hard to accept change when things seem to be working so well. I will embrace it though, and go once more into the breech...
I will be traveling soon on a temporary assignment, and so I took the day off to rest/recover from the inspections and other evolutions that had taken over my life. The Dissertation Proposal is submitted once more with all of its corrections and additions and I'm editing my presentation for the dissertation board and my IRB proposal application to reflect those changes so I can have them done before I go. The International Association of Forensic Nurses (IAFN) would like me to speak at their conference in Montreal in October, and so I've submitted my request and presentation proposal through the chain of command and hope I'll have approval to do it. It will highlight my research while on deployment last year, and hopefully I'll have my findings completed by then.
Today was also a day to network and enjoy the company of a friend. A fellow forensic nurse I know lives about an hour away from me. We met at a small town on the beach (halfway between our homes) for lunch, and took time to converse about forensic nursing, processes in sexual assault care, course development of forensic nursing for local areas, and such. What a pleasure to spend time talking face to face with such a beautiful mind and intelligent person (Thanks Jude!). To be sure, the face to face time was buoyant for the mind/body/spirit, and I really needed that connection. It has motivated me, and centered me, and made me feel 'connected' to the world.
Ah well...back to work! May all of you find joy and peace in your daily lives, and may all of you find equally beneficial connections along the way...
~Cin
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Scraggles
(Fiction...)
(written via a Writing Prompt through Ventura Fiction Writers....)
(Image from Greykitty on DeviantArt.com)
“Dead as dead can be, my doctor tells me, but I just can’t believe him….” I whispered the words rapidly, with a hint of irritation, just under my breath. The man across from me lifted his eyes from the partly smashed body bleeding on the table, and gave me a quizzical stare.
He could never know the hell I’ve been through.
If she really was dead, I’d rejoice, because I ‘d know that tomorrow the cycle wouldn’t begin. But I know the truth. The truth is she’ll crawl out of her stinking hole once again and her calico butt will be waiting for me at my front door step. Waiting for me to let her in. And my heart will feel that repetitive glimmer of hope until something goes horribly wrong. Until death claims her. Or maybe not.
I thought about the people in the waiting room, and wanted so desperately to give them this advice: Never take a stray cat home from a graveyard. The situation in itself should be a clue that bad news is preparing to follow you to the gates of your personal sanctuary. That demons are already chomping at your heels, and that by voluntarily carting the creature to the one place you consider safe, you’ve effectively guaranteed that they will never leave.
I turned to my boyfriend, Salem. He still didn’t get it. He’d watched the nine lives queen die twice now, but still thought the vet had been mistaken. I’d seen the cat bite it and resurrect six times, and I was betting on number seven.
“That’s it then.” he said, with a conviction that almost made me want to believe him. I eyed his curly head, his calm blue eyes. He was the picture of serenity. Eventually he would understand. Then he would leave me.
I shook my head. My sweaty hands trembled. I could see my reflection in the mirror over the sink that stood across from the stainless steel table where Scraggles lay. (That’s what I’d decided to call her, since her long feline hair often became bedraggled with dirt and muck after a few days of living.) Dark circles looked as if they’d been painted under my eyes, the blackened half moons were so even. Every inch of my hair looked as if it wanted to find it’s own direction to travel, greasy shoulder length brown and golden tresses having had nervous fingers run through them several times in at least three unwashed days.
“What do you want to do with the body?” The vet wasn’t cold about it. He was being practical. With a room full of clients, his method of making a living was waiting.
“Cremate her.” I said. “I want the ashes in an urn. How soon can you get it done?”
I hadn’t gone the route of fire yet, afraid of what kind of creature would come back from the flames. But maybe this time she wouldn’t come back. Maybe that would do the trick.
The vet stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The bodies go out every Friday. We get them by Monday. You’re lucky it’s Friday. We can send her out this evening.”
I made an audible sigh of relief. Perfect. The problem was, there was no specific time-frame when her spirit came back. It was as if the grimalkin blithely wandered the spirit world and made an impetuous decision to pester the living when it suited her best. What if she managed to pull her little stunt before the cremation?
****
I picked up the urn from the vet on Tuesday. The day was glorious, filled with the scent of decaying red maple leaves, damp earth from last night’s rain, and the aroma of someone’s early chimney fire. The container was a simple black plastic thing, no bigger than a large apple, sealed along the edges of the lid with clear packing tape. Attached to it was a little paper card from the vet pronouncing its sympathy for my loss. I made a wry smile.
Placing the urn into the passenger side of my red Toyota, the paint on the vehicle chipped and faded with years of travel, the only thought that filled my brain at the moment was:
What do I do with the urn?
I couldn’t take it home. Having it there, sitting on a shelf, would always make me afraid that Scraggles would one day pop out of it and claim me as her human once more.
What do I do with the urn?
I couldn’t take it home. Having it there, sitting on a shelf, would always make me afraid that Scraggles would one day pop out of it and claim me as her human once more.
Driving along the winding country road, it was a while before I realized I was near a part of the James River where a bridge crossed one of the deepest areas of rushing water. I pulled over. Grabbing the urn, I got out of the car. Autumn winds whistled through the arms of somnolent trees. Perhaps it was nostalgia, or some weird need to say goodbye a bit more intimately, but I found myself kissing her urn just before I pulled my hand back and chucked the remains into the frothing white rapids below.
“Goodbye, Scraggles.” I said, and let myself smile. Then I turned the car towards home, making a mental note on the way back to stop at the grocery and buy cat-food.
(written via a Writing Prompt through Ventura Fiction Writers....)
Friday, May 13, 2011
Out of Gas....
There are days I come home too exhausted to write much. This is one of those days, and this post will be short because of it. Tomorrow is International Nurse's Day, and I've organized a pot luck for the nurses, and little gift bags for them. I'm not usually the nursey type but someone has to appreciate our hard working nurses. My boss, and my fellow co-worker, are going in on the gifts and the appreciation day, and I'm glad. I'm a little short on dollars, and not big enough on sense, but I want them to know that we know how hard they work.
MED-IG will be at our satellite clinic tomorrow, and Friday they'll visit us. Joint Commission should be here soon as well, and I'm finding myself almost hopeful for my return to Afghanistan. The worst part being I can't take my family with me. Deployment, as most military folks will tell you, is not all that bad. There's less politics, more real work, and the worst of it is the stench of porta-potties in the summer, and waiting at the air terminal to actually get on a flight. Other than that, the sand, the heat, and the distance from the States is not all that bad. The food is good, sometimes too good, and there's the constant need to exercise to avoid gaining weight. The worst is being away from family, and trying to find ways to communicate with family when you're gone. It will be a challenge, but I'll be glad to be away from the rat race for a while....
Back to the dissertation work, and rework. Wishing you all blessings and peace in your lives.
~Cin
MED-IG will be at our satellite clinic tomorrow, and Friday they'll visit us. Joint Commission should be here soon as well, and I'm finding myself almost hopeful for my return to Afghanistan. The worst part being I can't take my family with me. Deployment, as most military folks will tell you, is not all that bad. There's less politics, more real work, and the worst of it is the stench of porta-potties in the summer, and waiting at the air terminal to actually get on a flight. Other than that, the sand, the heat, and the distance from the States is not all that bad. The food is good, sometimes too good, and there's the constant need to exercise to avoid gaining weight. The worst is being away from family, and trying to find ways to communicate with family when you're gone. It will be a challenge, but I'll be glad to be away from the rat race for a while....
Back to the dissertation work, and rework. Wishing you all blessings and peace in your lives.
~Cin
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Running on Empty...
I know the day is going to be something that borders the usual when my gas tank is empty early in the morning, I'm running late for work, and I pull into the gas station with resignation in my heart...ready to fill the poor starving vehicle to the brim. I vow to do this not because of any disciplined fortitude seething through my body, but (honestly) just so it won't be so painful to repeat the process in the near future. The act is predictably counterproductive because as the numbers click by, the stabs to my wallet wither my unsavable soul to a husk. (Meaning... I really can't seem to save money, no matter what I do.) Regular gas, on the military base, is a mere $4.099 a gallon. Pennies. A shitload of pennies. I drove away $71.89 lighter in the pocket. Or on the debit card. Funny how the card didn't feel lighter, but weighed heavily on me as I spun my wheels the rest of the way to work.
Employment at a healthcare facility inevitably means undergoing a Joint Commission Inspection (or survey now as they now like to call it). It is a couple days from our turn to be scrutinized at the Naval Branch Health Clinic in Port Hueneme, and today was spent reviewing processes, procedures, and clinic business happenings. I've discovered I wish I knew half as much as I think I should know, and know about half as much as I would like others to think I know, about clinic goings on and healthcare processes. The work day ended with a tension headache and an intense desire for a glass of red wine. The kind that looks like a mass of blood you can't spill in a murderous rage, so you might as well drink down with gusto and a burp.
I left work late. Earlier I'd told Jim I probably wouldn't go by the Harbor tonight, but my van soon found its way along the familiar path, and I'm glad it did. On the way, I saw the most beautiful coyote, which I was glad I didn't hit...its fur blended in perfectly with the California scrub brush...but after I passed it, I watched it lope gracefully across the road in my rear-view. Fur a perfect shade of sand and wild bush...every step like it floated on clouds to the other side. It was peaceful. Beautiful. The moment reminded me of how I want to be in life, and what I really am. Wild, natural, but bound by the modern world that surrounds me. Obligated to follow the rules of man, or suffer getting squished. I mentally wished the coyote well. I wished for the dear canine to not get squished. I also wished that I don't get squished either along life's pathway...and that I survive the next few years among the political battles, the struggles, the strife, the constant push-me pull-yous...and that I'll be able to do some good for somebody as I stumble along the way.
The beach pulled me to her, my Cuba Libre in hand (definitely the best cigar I've had in a while), and I sat on the rocks and therapeutically watched two surfers brave the rough of the waves. The gray iron curls, spewing mounds of foam as they crashed into each other, didn't deter the short-boarders. Behind me, the orange sun sank gently against the backdrop of Ventura...and I said my prayers. "Om Mani Padme Hung". May all beings be free of suffering. May all beings awaken to their own true nature. I watched the surfers catch their last waves, riding in to the shore with the setting of the sun, as if honoring the day...and despite today's jangling chaos, I felt a little more lighthearted. A little more free.
Arriving home, Jim had fixed a lovely crustless quiche (broccoli and cheese!), and the makings of a strawberry shortcake awaited me as well. All of that and a glass of wine, and combined with my family in house...the boy finishing homework, the girl coming home with a new do on her head ...excited to have a short bob for the first time she can remember (let's not talk about the time I took scissors to her curls when she was little)...and a wonderful husband who had (for the millionth time) steam cleaned the carpet free of pet excretions and ranking smell...and I feel...happy. And it's more than the second glass of wine I poured tonight. It's remembering the beach...the ocean (each drop of water recycled through Buddhas, hookers and criminals, through Christians, Jews and Muslims, and Pagans, and Humanists), the sand (each speck a tiny part that came from a living being that washed up from the sea)....and knowing/understanding that we are all connected. Knowing that even as my daughter strums her ukelele upstairs and the string vibrations tickle my ears, this present moment (now, and now!) will live forever. Live forever, even as my son watches You-Tube while taking a long bubble bath in our deep master-tub, and the water in which he bathed snakes down the drain and eventually find its way to the ocean....finds its back to the waves where later the surfers will ride. Finds its was back to the froth that flies into the air around them. Flies into the air that I breathe.
Employment at a healthcare facility inevitably means undergoing a Joint Commission Inspection (or survey now as they now like to call it). It is a couple days from our turn to be scrutinized at the Naval Branch Health Clinic in Port Hueneme, and today was spent reviewing processes, procedures, and clinic business happenings. I've discovered I wish I knew half as much as I think I should know, and know about half as much as I would like others to think I know, about clinic goings on and healthcare processes. The work day ended with a tension headache and an intense desire for a glass of red wine. The kind that looks like a mass of blood you can't spill in a murderous rage, so you might as well drink down with gusto and a burp.
I left work late. Earlier I'd told Jim I probably wouldn't go by the Harbor tonight, but my van soon found its way along the familiar path, and I'm glad it did. On the way, I saw the most beautiful coyote, which I was glad I didn't hit...its fur blended in perfectly with the California scrub brush...but after I passed it, I watched it lope gracefully across the road in my rear-view. Fur a perfect shade of sand and wild bush...every step like it floated on clouds to the other side. It was peaceful. Beautiful. The moment reminded me of how I want to be in life, and what I really am. Wild, natural, but bound by the modern world that surrounds me. Obligated to follow the rules of man, or suffer getting squished. I mentally wished the coyote well. I wished for the dear canine to not get squished. I also wished that I don't get squished either along life's pathway...and that I survive the next few years among the political battles, the struggles, the strife, the constant push-me pull-yous...and that I'll be able to do some good for somebody as I stumble along the way.
The beach pulled me to her, my Cuba Libre in hand (definitely the best cigar I've had in a while), and I sat on the rocks and therapeutically watched two surfers brave the rough of the waves. The gray iron curls, spewing mounds of foam as they crashed into each other, didn't deter the short-boarders. Behind me, the orange sun sank gently against the backdrop of Ventura...and I said my prayers. "Om Mani Padme Hung". May all beings be free of suffering. May all beings awaken to their own true nature. I watched the surfers catch their last waves, riding in to the shore with the setting of the sun, as if honoring the day...and despite today's jangling chaos, I felt a little more lighthearted. A little more free.
Arriving home, Jim had fixed a lovely crustless quiche (broccoli and cheese!), and the makings of a strawberry shortcake awaited me as well. All of that and a glass of wine, and combined with my family in house...the boy finishing homework, the girl coming home with a new do on her head ...excited to have a short bob for the first time she can remember (let's not talk about the time I took scissors to her curls when she was little)...and a wonderful husband who had (for the millionth time) steam cleaned the carpet free of pet excretions and ranking smell...and I feel...happy. And it's more than the second glass of wine I poured tonight. It's remembering the beach...the ocean (each drop of water recycled through Buddhas, hookers and criminals, through Christians, Jews and Muslims, and Pagans, and Humanists), the sand (each speck a tiny part that came from a living being that washed up from the sea)....and knowing/understanding that we are all connected. Knowing that even as my daughter strums her ukelele upstairs and the string vibrations tickle my ears, this present moment (now, and now!) will live forever. Live forever, even as my son watches You-Tube while taking a long bubble bath in our deep master-tub, and the water in which he bathed snakes down the drain and eventually find its way to the ocean....finds its back to the waves where later the surfers will ride. Finds its was back to the froth that flies into the air around them. Flies into the air that I breathe.
Monday, May 9, 2011
It's all in the Scale...
My eyes opened at 5AM, and I wondered why I thought that was OK. Then I realized that even though I'd set my alarm for 6:00, it was a good thing I'd wakened early. I'd forgotten I had to be at work in the wee hours to listen to a military training on "The Repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell". The training was something else to sit through. An hour of information that should never have had to be to be passed in the first place. OK. I get that the military has had taboo's against gay/lesbian relationships for what seems like forever, but I never knew anyone who really cared about them...that was unless they were getting ready to be kicked out of the military because of them. From the time I was an E-1, I worked alongside gays and lesbians and never thought much of it. People are people, and as long a those people work and play well with others I never cared about their sexual preferences. It was interesting at this training to hear that in the upcoming policy, military personnel who have objections to serving with gays/lesbians in the military will be given the option to apply for an early release from the military, while gays/lesbians who have been dismissed from the military will be given the option to return to the military. The first option, I don't understand. The second option, I do. The first one allows a military person who's always known they've served along side people with different sexual preferences (who just couldn't "tell about it" ) to leave the military, while the second tries to right an injustice that shouldn't have occurred in the first place. For an hour, that was my morning...sitting in a small theater with my shipmates, listening to training on a new upcoming policy and thinking all the while about both how fast and how slow the military changes.
The rest of my day was spent preparing for the MED-IG inspection and Joint Commission survey, in between signing time cards and dealing with patient problems and communication issues with our clinic phone line. At some point I try to be optimistic and think, "It's gotta get better....", but so far, the frustrations, the complications, the hold-ups and the interminable delays, problems and funding issues only seem to get worse. I hope things get better soon. Maybe I'll see a part of the rainbow bridge come charging in to rescue me at the end of the week, and I'll have a chance to jump on the road to Asgard. At least for the weekend. It will be a stressful 5, now 4, days until then.
Coming home this evening, I made my frequent "decompress" stop at the Ventura Harbor. There are usually surfers out at one of the jetty's taking on the incoming curling waves with their short boards, but not today. Today the sea was rough, unruly and filled with froth and inner turbulence. Only one lone wind-surfer was battling the angry gusts in a small secluded cove where people usually practice paddle boarding and small craft sailing. He was brave one.
I puffed on a 5-Vegas while the wind whipped my hair around, and I half conversed (texting) with a fellow forensic nurse about an article we are co-writing together as a team. (Thank you so much, Pat!). Actually, she's done most of the writing and I'm doing some reference checks, but so far she's been kind enough to put my name on the paper. Publishing at least once a year is a desirable thing, especially for a forensic nurse/researcher. It keeps us up to date, and competitive, in the professor, expert witness/ subject matter expert market. It doesn't pay, or help me get a 6 figure salary, but it builds a reputation that might lead to job security (or not) in the long run.
Pelican's flew in formation over my head against the gust's of wind (I never look up just in case), and there was barely a cloud in the bright blue sky, as I looked over the sea. My dissertation proposal is still looming over me, so I didn't spend a lot of time there, but instead finished off the smoky stick and headed home. On the way back towards the house, the 'low gas' light came on and taunted me with its glow on the dash, and I sighed. Tomorrow I'll fill the tank with another $60.00 worth of fuel. Bicycling to work would look good if I didn't have to get up so darn early, and didn't leave work so tired, so late. Ah well. Tomorrow is another day. Maybe, if I'm lucky, gas prices will have dropped. What are the odds?
~Cin
The rest of my day was spent preparing for the MED-IG inspection and Joint Commission survey, in between signing time cards and dealing with patient problems and communication issues with our clinic phone line. At some point I try to be optimistic and think, "It's gotta get better....", but so far, the frustrations, the complications, the hold-ups and the interminable delays, problems and funding issues only seem to get worse. I hope things get better soon. Maybe I'll see a part of the rainbow bridge come charging in to rescue me at the end of the week, and I'll have a chance to jump on the road to Asgard. At least for the weekend. It will be a stressful 5, now 4, days until then.
Coming home this evening, I made my frequent "decompress" stop at the Ventura Harbor. There are usually surfers out at one of the jetty's taking on the incoming curling waves with their short boards, but not today. Today the sea was rough, unruly and filled with froth and inner turbulence. Only one lone wind-surfer was battling the angry gusts in a small secluded cove where people usually practice paddle boarding and small craft sailing. He was brave one.
I puffed on a 5-Vegas while the wind whipped my hair around, and I half conversed (texting) with a fellow forensic nurse about an article we are co-writing together as a team. (Thank you so much, Pat!). Actually, she's done most of the writing and I'm doing some reference checks, but so far she's been kind enough to put my name on the paper. Publishing at least once a year is a desirable thing, especially for a forensic nurse/researcher. It keeps us up to date, and competitive, in the professor, expert witness/ subject matter expert market. It doesn't pay, or help me get a 6 figure salary, but it builds a reputation that might lead to job security (or not) in the long run.
Pelican's flew in formation over my head against the gust's of wind (I never look up just in case), and there was barely a cloud in the bright blue sky, as I looked over the sea. My dissertation proposal is still looming over me, so I didn't spend a lot of time there, but instead finished off the smoky stick and headed home. On the way back towards the house, the 'low gas' light came on and taunted me with its glow on the dash, and I sighed. Tomorrow I'll fill the tank with another $60.00 worth of fuel. Bicycling to work would look good if I didn't have to get up so darn early, and didn't leave work so tired, so late. Ah well. Tomorrow is another day. Maybe, if I'm lucky, gas prices will have dropped. What are the odds?
~Cin
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mother of a Day
My morning began with prayers. Prayers for all of the mothers on earth, in heaven, in all of the realms and universes that exist. It was a quiet morning, and the calm moment of prayer accented with the candlelight offering and incense, added to a sense of serenity that pervaded the air.
Mother's Day is one of those modern holidays that I have a hard time with. Both my mother and Jim's have passed on, and neither one of us have Grandmothers that are still alive. I personally have a hard time with people making a special day for mothers, because for me every day is mother's day. I certainly don't forget I'm a mother, and I know my children and husband don't forget. The constant barrage of hugs, kisses, pestering, guilt trips and playful nagging reminds them ever day.
Still, I received a beautiful card with a rose drawn on it made by my son, along with a cyber created mother's day message, and a loaf of banana bread cooked by my daughter along with a sibling dual/tag team cleaned bath tub. Jim brought home flowers...the kind sporting big yellow sunflowers that just jump out at you with bright faces. I'm a sucker for sunflowers, although it's one of the few flowers that when you cut them the whole plant dies. I have a tough time with that, though their beauty helps me get over it a little.
The majority of my day was spent sitting in front of the computer battling it out with the last few changes I needed to make to my dissertation. At 4PM, I showered and our family piled into the car and we went to Sky High, an Indoor Trampoline place where Mother's Day mothers (versus those non-mothers day mothers) were invited to jump for free. Lucky me. The jump time was for an hour, but my body lasted only 30 minutes. My nemesis was the foam pit, which is a giant pit of square foamy dark and light blue blocks. The idea behind the foam pit is that a jumper can careen down the trampoline path and launch themselves into the pit at any height, at any angle, and emerge unscathed.
I discovered it's difficult as hell to pull oneself out of a pile of foam of once you jump high on the trampoline and catapult yourself into the stuff. Once the rescue team pulled me out, I vowed not to subject myself to such embarrassment again. Out of self-preservation and a sense of decency, I decided that the foam pit was a Public Health hazard...(I mean, kids could sneeze in there and wipe their buggers on a spongy block and who would know?)...and so I avoided it and admired the brave biological warfare divers from afar hoping they wouldn't emerge with nasty green rashes that would take over their skin and cause it to crawl away.
Jim was more successful than me, and spent a good amount of time in the pit, while I went to the flat trampoline section and practiced in-the-air jumping jacks, spins, butt jumps and stale-fish airs. Sean rotated between the dodge-ball section and doing double flips into the foam pit. Kira, who was still recovering from last night's endless stream of loud music combined with senior prom dancing, declined to jump on the tramps due to sore muscles, but she congenially took pictures of the family and our funny antics.
After jumping for an hour, we took obligatory tourist photos in a large "queen" chair, then packed into the car and headed to Sushi-Fresh for dinner. It never fails that almost every Japanese place in America is run by Koreans (nothing against Koreans, but they aren't Japanese), but the nice thing was that this restaurant in particular had the traditional food conveyor belt that is typical of sushi-bars in Japan. We waited for vegetarian dishes to come around and took the decorated plates off the belt and ate tomago (cooked egg squares on top of rice) and edamame (unshelled soy-beans). All in all, it was a good time. Edamame, veggie-rolls, miso-soup and veggie-tempura were well cooked and fresh. Michael, our server (Korean-American and taking a year off from school before going to college) just graduated high school last year and was thinking about going into graphic design. It was fun to hear his questions about our vegetarian diet, and have him share what he was thinking he would do in the future while he expertly rolled our veggie rolls. As the evening waned,we said our goodbye's in a variety of languages (everything except Korean, which I still don't know how to say goodbye in), and headed to the Wild Cherry next door for frozen yogurt. It was a hedonistic evening filled with activity and food, and after eating the chocolate yogurt sprinkled with Health Bar crumbles and mini-peanut butter cups, I was convinced my stomach could do no more.
The drive home was filled with fun family conversation, and once we pulled into the driveway I remembered Kira's banana bread in the kitchen waiting to be consumed. We all tried a piece, and I have to say, it was definitely tasty despite how full I was. The walnuts were the perfect consistency, the inside of the banana cake sweet, and it was moist and yummy with the half glass of coconut milk I drank down with the bites of it.
As the evening now comes to a close, and Sean takes a bath while Kira and Jim laugh over the funny lines delivered in "The Proposal", I count myself extremely lucky to have such a beautiful, wonderful family. I'm glad I'm home this Mother's Day. Last year I was in Bagram Afghanistan, literally in tears because I missed my family so terribly. Our lives are so short, life is so precious, and the time we have to share with each other is finite...it's a crime to take it all for granted. I reflect on it all as I get ready for bed, and I give thanks that I am so fortunate to have my husband and my children in my life, and only hope that every being in the world is able to know the love of a mother, the embrace of a loved one, and the joy and comfort of family. We all deserve it, and each and every being in the world will be in my prayers before I sleep tonight, as I wish them this simple but priceless happiness.
Mother's Day is one of those modern holidays that I have a hard time with. Both my mother and Jim's have passed on, and neither one of us have Grandmothers that are still alive. I personally have a hard time with people making a special day for mothers, because for me every day is mother's day. I certainly don't forget I'm a mother, and I know my children and husband don't forget. The constant barrage of hugs, kisses, pestering, guilt trips and playful nagging reminds them ever day.
Still, I received a beautiful card with a rose drawn on it made by my son, along with a cyber created mother's day message, and a loaf of banana bread cooked by my daughter along with a sibling dual/tag team cleaned bath tub. Jim brought home flowers...the kind sporting big yellow sunflowers that just jump out at you with bright faces. I'm a sucker for sunflowers, although it's one of the few flowers that when you cut them the whole plant dies. I have a tough time with that, though their beauty helps me get over it a little.
The majority of my day was spent sitting in front of the computer battling it out with the last few changes I needed to make to my dissertation. At 4PM, I showered and our family piled into the car and we went to Sky High, an Indoor Trampoline place where Mother's Day mothers (versus those non-mothers day mothers) were invited to jump for free. Lucky me. The jump time was for an hour, but my body lasted only 30 minutes. My nemesis was the foam pit, which is a giant pit of square foamy dark and light blue blocks. The idea behind the foam pit is that a jumper can careen down the trampoline path and launch themselves into the pit at any height, at any angle, and emerge unscathed.
I discovered it's difficult as hell to pull oneself out of a pile of foam of once you jump high on the trampoline and catapult yourself into the stuff. Once the rescue team pulled me out, I vowed not to subject myself to such embarrassment again. Out of self-preservation and a sense of decency, I decided that the foam pit was a Public Health hazard...(I mean, kids could sneeze in there and wipe their buggers on a spongy block and who would know?)...and so I avoided it and admired the brave biological warfare divers from afar hoping they wouldn't emerge with nasty green rashes that would take over their skin and cause it to crawl away.
Jim was more successful than me, and spent a good amount of time in the pit, while I went to the flat trampoline section and practiced in-the-air jumping jacks, spins, butt jumps and stale-fish airs. Sean rotated between the dodge-ball section and doing double flips into the foam pit. Kira, who was still recovering from last night's endless stream of loud music combined with senior prom dancing, declined to jump on the tramps due to sore muscles, but she congenially took pictures of the family and our funny antics.
After jumping for an hour, we took obligatory tourist photos in a large "queen" chair, then packed into the car and headed to Sushi-Fresh for dinner. It never fails that almost every Japanese place in America is run by Koreans (nothing against Koreans, but they aren't Japanese), but the nice thing was that this restaurant in particular had the traditional food conveyor belt that is typical of sushi-bars in Japan. We waited for vegetarian dishes to come around and took the decorated plates off the belt and ate tomago (cooked egg squares on top of rice) and edamame (unshelled soy-beans). All in all, it was a good time. Edamame, veggie-rolls, miso-soup and veggie-tempura were well cooked and fresh. Michael, our server (Korean-American and taking a year off from school before going to college) just graduated high school last year and was thinking about going into graphic design. It was fun to hear his questions about our vegetarian diet, and have him share what he was thinking he would do in the future while he expertly rolled our veggie rolls. As the evening waned,we said our goodbye's in a variety of languages (everything except Korean, which I still don't know how to say goodbye in), and headed to the Wild Cherry next door for frozen yogurt. It was a hedonistic evening filled with activity and food, and after eating the chocolate yogurt sprinkled with Health Bar crumbles and mini-peanut butter cups, I was convinced my stomach could do no more.
The drive home was filled with fun family conversation, and once we pulled into the driveway I remembered Kira's banana bread in the kitchen waiting to be consumed. We all tried a piece, and I have to say, it was definitely tasty despite how full I was. The walnuts were the perfect consistency, the inside of the banana cake sweet, and it was moist and yummy with the half glass of coconut milk I drank down with the bites of it.
As the evening now comes to a close, and Sean takes a bath while Kira and Jim laugh over the funny lines delivered in "The Proposal", I count myself extremely lucky to have such a beautiful, wonderful family. I'm glad I'm home this Mother's Day. Last year I was in Bagram Afghanistan, literally in tears because I missed my family so terribly. Our lives are so short, life is so precious, and the time we have to share with each other is finite...it's a crime to take it all for granted. I reflect on it all as I get ready for bed, and I give thanks that I am so fortunate to have my husband and my children in my life, and only hope that every being in the world is able to know the love of a mother, the embrace of a loved one, and the joy and comfort of family. We all deserve it, and each and every being in the world will be in my prayers before I sleep tonight, as I wish them this simple but priceless happiness.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Feeling the Hammer
Feeling the Hammer
Saturday mornings are almost always a blessing. A little more sleep, and a wonderful hubby making coffee in the kitchen. I crawled out of bed once the dazzling sun streaming through my window persisted on waking me, and groggily went downstairs for my morning breakfast. I've learned to love eggs over easy. It's a salmonella risk, true, if they aren't cooked hot enough...but something about that yolk spreading its golden sunshine across a tortilla dappled with beans, cheese and cilantro, makes me happy. It's the small things in life that seem to do that.
After breakfast, Jim, Sean and I decided to go to the early movie and check out the 3D film of "Thor". Anthony Hopkins as the Norse God Odin was well played, and Chris Hemsworth as Thor was a perfect cast. Natalie Portman had less of an intense role this time around, than when she played in Black Swan, but I'm always a fan. The scenes of Asgard in the movie were phenomenal, and all in all I thought the movie was well done. The ending was a bit flat for me, but for those of you that read this, stay after the credits because there's a bit more. :)
After enjoying "the Hammer" it was time to sit down and plug along at my miserable dissertation paper which seems as if it will never find a life of it's own. It is always under some sort of resuscitation and I fear one day the heartbeat may stop...but for now I'm lifting the paddles and adding more words like emergency room staff adds blood to a body filled with holes. Time will tell if I finish this version today and send it in again for another critical review. If I do, I hope it makes the grade soon. My data is sitting in a box, on cassette tapes, and transcriptions, just waiting for me to discern the theories that lie within.
~Cin
Saturday mornings are almost always a blessing. A little more sleep, and a wonderful hubby making coffee in the kitchen. I crawled out of bed once the dazzling sun streaming through my window persisted on waking me, and groggily went downstairs for my morning breakfast. I've learned to love eggs over easy. It's a salmonella risk, true, if they aren't cooked hot enough...but something about that yolk spreading its golden sunshine across a tortilla dappled with beans, cheese and cilantro, makes me happy. It's the small things in life that seem to do that.
After breakfast, Jim, Sean and I decided to go to the early movie and check out the 3D film of "Thor". Anthony Hopkins as the Norse God Odin was well played, and Chris Hemsworth as Thor was a perfect cast. Natalie Portman had less of an intense role this time around, than when she played in Black Swan, but I'm always a fan. The scenes of Asgard in the movie were phenomenal, and all in all I thought the movie was well done. The ending was a bit flat for me, but for those of you that read this, stay after the credits because there's a bit more. :)
After enjoying "the Hammer" it was time to sit down and plug along at my miserable dissertation paper which seems as if it will never find a life of it's own. It is always under some sort of resuscitation and I fear one day the heartbeat may stop...but for now I'm lifting the paddles and adding more words like emergency room staff adds blood to a body filled with holes. Time will tell if I finish this version today and send it in again for another critical review. If I do, I hope it makes the grade soon. My data is sitting in a box, on cassette tapes, and transcriptions, just waiting for me to discern the theories that lie within.
~Cin
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