They're Heading West

Saturday Gerry and I went to the going away party for my nephew Ryan and his fiancee Theresa. It was a big shocker, as we all expected an engagement party, but when Tee got a job across the country... they made plans to book... and I say hooray!! (wish it was me and Gerry taking off!) Though we'll miss them, there is an excitement to moving from the familiar and starting a new life... and let's face it, we are all only a half-day's plane ride away. I have never been to Oregon but it will be on our destination list, especially after one my old friends that I saw at the party claimed that it was the most beautiful state he's ever been to, and he has trucked over most of the country. There was a great big feast and a pool party in honor of the happy couple who did much of the cooking themselves. Poor Gerry wanted so bad to play Kan-Jam (the game that tore his muscle a few weeks back) but he knew his nurse would be furious with him... but when I wasn't watching he did throw a couple times and I let it slide. I got busy meeting friends I haven't seen in 20, 30 years... it is a small world and funny how time goes by but when you reconnect with old friends time hasn't changed a thing... if you had fun and things in common with each other, chances are you still do. Our current family of 8 ate together and mocked and laughed and managed not to be too crazy, although I think singing the rap songs that they play at Zumba class probably raised a few eyebrows. Normally Tee and Ryan would be included as our family, but since their parents and siblings were there, we understandably took back seat. It was a great party... all happy well-wishers doing what our big connected family does best... eat, drink, and be merry!  No sad goodbye tears.. just hugs and promises that we will visit them when it's our turn to hit the road. Til then... Tee and Ryan, "ALL THE BEST... WE LOVE YOU!"

A Shining Opportunity

Over the past few months, I have unsuccessfully submitted applications, spoke to numerous recruiters who assured me I had top qualifications... only to be ignored after submitting my resume. I should probably feel at least a little dejected, but I don't. Instead, I have officially become a volunteer at our local hospital and I will start my new venture in August. I'm so excited for the opportunity that has been presented to me during my volunteer interview, that I can't wait to start. I am going to be Somerset Medical Center's first Bling Angel! Operation Bling is a non-profit organization that delivers free costume jewelry to cancer patients, both in the inpatient and outpatient centers of several NJ hospitals. It was was started over a year ago by a warm and generous woman, Chris Ferdinand who owns a jewelry store. She had learned that one of her customers was hospitalized with cancer, and upon visiting, realized that flowers are not allowed on the oncology units (because of the possible bacteria that might carry). Her friend lamented over the fact that she could not wear her "bling" in the hospital as it wouldn't be safe to do so. The next day Chris brought her  friend some hand-made costume bling and an idea was born. The organization is expanding to include SMC and I will be honored and privileged to accept the title of Bling Angel. I had worked five years on a medical oncology floor over 10 years ago, so you can see that I would be comfortable in that setting. However, now instead of worrying about the complicated procedures and treatments that I used to deliver to the patients, I will be bringing gifts and smiles. I can't think of a better job than that! 

I Dance for "Dead" People

My favorite activity of all time (well at least the one I'm willing to share about) is dancing. I like all forms of exercise because I don't believe in dieting and I like to look my best. More importantly, since adding some form of daily exercise to my routine day, I was able to overcome a long-standing depression without drugs.  Bike riding gives a good mental work-out, Zumba class is a great social outlet that does not require socializing per se, and walking is my spiritual outlet. But my dancing takes on a whole new direction... one you might think is crazy, but just hear me out. There have been many musicians who have profoundly touched my life with their gifts, however, some of them are no longer with us...  taken at the prime of their lives (John Lennon, George Harrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Michael Hutchence, Otis Redding, just to name drop a few). So when I pick out my dance music for a workout, I invite my unseen friends and dance as a sacred thank-you for them. No matter how tired or unmotivated I feel, once the music is on and my audience is present, I will dance with the purpose of a stage performer. Sometimes in my mind's eye, I will catch a smile from one of them, sometimes I feel the presence of others who just want to peek in (everyone is invited to my dance party), but mostly I feel a connection with a world that is not yet understood on this plane.. no one really dies, part of them just goes to a different frequency. Some us here can understand that we are able to connect with that frequency, and a part of them is always with us. If I had the tech savvy and the capital, I would start an international dance party for the living via the Web... until that time, I'm happy dancing for my unseen audience.. no matter who they are.   

The Three Amigas

Flying back home from Florida last week, I will met with the usual frustration of an airport delay... grounded in tampa by the weather in Newark for almost two hours. It was not a big deal as I had a good book, Infinite Jest and I was able to catch a decadent nacho meal and a cocktail while constructing a poem. Since I do not own a cell phone, I was hoping my husband watched the flight status on-line (he did) and I boarded the plane for the 2 1/2 hour ride home. I prefer the window seat when flying, and like a child I still get a thrill watching the take-off and peering out amongst the clouds and tiny villages from a distance. My neighbors were two older women like myself and instead of opening my book to look disinterested, I smiled and introduced myself. Within minutes the three of us became engaged in a chat-fest about ourselves, our lives, our passions, fears and frustrations... as if we were old friends on a reminisce. It's funny how sometimes you can be so open and honest with perfect strangers with whom the chances are improbable that you will ever see again. We offered each other encouragement, reflective assessments, advice, and the gift of laughter... the flight seemed like minutes instead of hours.

There was so much wisdom exchanged that we decided that this was no chance encounter, but rather a meeting of women who all needed something from one another at that precise moment in time. I will not soon forget their stories and their honesty... the strength of admitting mistakes and failures, but knowing how to creatively put things right. Though I will not go into the details of our conversation, I can say that we each gained a new perspective and were much richer for the encounter. I am thankful for our meeting and realized that it all began with a welcoming smile.

Dear Old Dad

It was a visit to Florida that I anticipated with mixed emotion. On one hand I looked forward to the hot sun and steamy heat... it's been rainy and cool for the past month and not the kind of weather that precipitates a sunny mood. On the other hand, I would be visiting the "old man", my father who shared a contentious past with me. I was the oldest, the ugly duckling, the bookworm, the one with no street smarts or common sense. For years I tried to defend myself and we had more than our share of heated debates... usually proving his point that I was over-sensitive and emotional. He loved to push my buttons to the point of despair... a know it all who got all his information from TV. When I arrived, I was momentarily startled by the ravages of age that put him and his crippled knees into a Hoveround chair. I did not show pity, but instead joked at the size of his joystick. I postponed my desire to quit smoking, as we would be sharing coffee and cigarettes as he filled me in on his solitary life which revolves around his TV shows. Patiently I listened and very gently steered the conversation to past memories of happy times. He cried relaying the the movie plot of the Glenn Miller Story, but remained dry eyed while talking about the recent death of his girlfriend. I was happy to see that his neighbors checked in on him, was not thrilled that he referred to me as his hooker or his new wife... but I played along, telling him in front of his visitors, "in your dreams old man."  In order to get a break from the constant talking and smoking, I did three hours of yardwork (weeding and mulching) as he scooted by to inspect. I was also able to go to the store for groceries and took more time than I should have... just for the peace and quiet. While doing a thorough cleaning of his house, I noted that he has become somewhat of a fuss budget, giving me directions on what products to use, where his things belongs, how to load the dishwasher and the washing machine, and even how to change the sheets.... I took the directions and kept my frustration to myself. At one point he asked me to change his AC air filter, which meant climbing a ladder to the 10 foot ceiling and replacing the offending filter. Having had neck surgery years ago it was difficult to line the grate back up and screw the filter shut again. My arms kept going numb and I gave up. Stubbornly he hoisted himself up the ladder with barely functioning legs and finished the task... though I was terrified of him falling or having a heart attack, I let him show me he was still capable. I sat through his favorite shows (House and CSI which I would never watch on my own) and let him describe all characters and their connections from past episodes in familial terms... they are his family too. I did get to enjoy an afternoon at the complex pool with a good book, as he took himself to a doctor's appointment. I cooked him a special dinner and he sent me to the store to buy something pretty for myself for all the work I did. He allowed me to sip on my evening cocktails without reference to the fact that he hates drunks, and at one point I got him to think about the fact that things are not stupid (poetry, artsy films) just because he doesn't enjoy or understand them. He didn't argue back when I asked him to expand his mind a little and at least use better wording when assessing his dislikes. He became reflective... and changed the subject to something we both agree upon, Barack Obama being a fine president.

In all, it was an enjoyable three and 1/2 days, long enough to realize that regardless of our differences, we accept one another with an unspoken but palpable love... a love that's been there all along. 

On Vacation... back in a week.

Will return 07-22-09. Brightest Blessings!

An Attitude Adjustment

It started as another rainy day... the weekday trend over the last several weeks. Though my joints were protesting on the way downstairs this morning, I decided that enough is enough... there is no use complaining about the weather, as there is nothing I could do about it. So I went to my meditation room hoping to start a new attitude of positive thinking. I lit my candles, did my readings, suspended myself in that secret place of non-think, and invited soul-friends and angels to help me with my issues (after giving thanks to them for them being present and patient). It's not a long process, but one I've been neglecting recently. There I received some personal words of encouragement and instantly felt hopeful. I returned to my routine and changed things up a bit. First I skipped the housework, and chose to write a poem for my Pagan friends, only to find that I was in the top 13 of the worldwide site. I wrote in the lyrical rhyme that although many would consider trite and singsong...it just felt right and they don't mind. Next I received an invitation to do a modeling show for a senior citizens group called the Red Hats. I protested that I was no ingenue, (as it was for the modeling of vintage wedding gowns) and was told that it didn't matter... I was still gorgeous (there's a boost!). Next a recruiter called and performed a lengthy interview with me regarding nursing jobs that fit my qualifications to a tee... and high level ones at that. Could things turn around that quickly with help from spirit friends? A surprise visit came from one of my dearest friends from high school, with a promise of a get together in the near future. Then my daughter picked me up and took me to lunch where we laughed and bitched and shared girltalk... it was just great. I was proud to tell her that the hospital called and I was accepted for an interview (for volunteer work) next week... something to get me out of solitary confinement... oh yes, and the sun came out! It's just amazing what transpires with a little attitude adjustment... no cocktails necessary.

Remembering My First Real Job

A year and three months without gainful employment has a way of sneaking up on you. I'm back to dreaming about the early days... 1972 to be exact. I had just gotten my working papers and was biting at the bit to get my own job... close by as I had no car. I was able to score a waitress job after school at the local Midman Family Restaurant which was a short walking distance from the high school I attended. I showed up in my white mini- skirted  waitress uniform and was given a cheery red apron and a tour of the owner's basement room. I thought it looked like an opulent haven for a bookie... but I kept my mouth shut as he said to me.... "no one is allowed in here.. ya hear." He was an older man (probably younger than me at this writing) and his creepy Playboy son worked as the short order cook. Back then, the other waitresses and I laughed at all the sexually innuendoed jokes... and then laughed harder behind his back at his over-inflated ego. They were simpler times when harassment wasn't even part of the vocabulary. I became adept at serving six dinner plates of food to my tables of hungry families... and never dropped a one. My favorite job was as counter girl, where I served coffee to lonely old man just passing through on business... usually truck-drivers. Always respectful, they would tell me what I good girl I was as I laughed at their jokes about aging, and for the quick pour of a coffee refill and a sincere smile, I would be given a five dollar tip. Most days on the counter I would have 40-50 dollars on a six hour shift. I never saw that much as the head waitress was some cranky old crone who made sure we all pooled tips so she would get her fair cut. Once though, as a foreboding to the yap that wouldn't be shut in the face of perceived injustice I got a verbal smack-down from the owner. A woman came in to ask for an egg over easy and toast... it wasn't on the menu... only ice-cream and sandwiches. I placed it anyway and the owner bellowed at me... "We don't serve that you idiot"... I protested... "But we have eggs, we make egg salad.. surely you could make an exception." He reddened and shouted at me... the restaurant heard... the woman got up to leave and said I can't eat in a place run by such a nut." Oh well, I was delegated to the hardest job after that... hand scooping quarts of ice-cream. I made the best of it with a tablespoon in my pocket. Before I dug in for the customer, my spoon would come out and I would sample... just for quality control purposes... the counter crew would howl in hysterics as  I bent over in mini-dress with pantyhose tops showing and announce the chocolate chip mint is superb today... anyone want a dusty road sundae? I finally got tired of having lots of money in my pocket, working longer hours cleaning restrooms and grills, and coming home with ten dollars in my pocket. It's funny how I climbed the corporate ladder to realize... nothing really changes. 

Mixed Emotions

Yesterday I took a day off from my blog here, as I try to keep these entries as positive as I can... mostly for the family members that read it. It started a good day being I was in full nursing mode, helping Gerry with the pulled muscle in his leg... applying ice, ace bandaging, gently reminding him not to walk... I would gladly fetch, and generally feeling needed. Then comes a phone call from my Dad in Fl. He was excited about my visit next week, as he reviewed the menu that he has planned, let me know that there is some housekeeping and yard work to be done, tried to give me directions from the airport to his home (he doesn't understand that I have web access and can print the directions before I leave), and generally getting me prepared for the visit. It was another dark and gloomy day and although I tried to stay fairly cheerful, as usual, my Dad knows just how to assess my real mood and push the buttons. He asked me if I still had any friends left... I said, "of course I do, why do you ask?" "Well, darling you sound kinda lonely and since everyone else works, and has a car and you don't... I wondered if all those friends you used to talk about have given up on you." I said no, rather indignantly, and changed the subject. When the call ended, I fell apart... sobbing , and sniffling, and having a meltdown... he was right, most of them have given up on me. Luckily my best friend was there with a hug and quiet encouragement... Gerry of course. I drank a beer and felt better. In the old days, I would have shot some nasty comment back at my Dad and we would have become embroiled in a heated verbal exchange, or what he would term, a debate. Now though, he is an old man who scoots around on one of those hoveround  vehicles as he can no longer walk because of arthritis. I have to hold my tongue and I do generally... but some days my resolve goes soft and I'm back to being as I was as a teenager.. over emotional. It's the hormone thing, and while I was so sure that I successfully moved from Mother to Crone over the past several months... I was hit with another period. So I've decided that next week when I visit my Dad, I won't hold back my emotions... I can always say I have PMS... and perhaps a good debate would do us both a world of good. It would sure beat the loneliness I'm sure we both feel.    

When Nurses Share

Yesterday was the first beautiful day, after a week of clouds and gloom. I joked that I ordered it for Gerry's  birthday... it is the least I could do to one who is so kind and patient with me in my impatient desire to set sail on our gypsy adventure. His daughter Erica hosted a wonderful party for the family: barbecue ribs, potato salad, cornbread, coleslaw and pecan pie... all homemade and delicious (she definitely got her Dad's cooking talent). The girls all talked about her upcoming wedding, the boys got busy playing Kan-Jam (Gerry's favorite) and I held court with my gregarious mother-in-law... who I have become very fond of over the years. She is 83 and just recently retired from a long career in community health nursing... I am semi-retired after 25 years of nursing and 7 year stint in the corporate healthcare environment. Our favorite pastime is sharing the stories of our joint passion... helping other people in the calling that was best suited to us. She is an outgoing people person and loves directing people's actions with her knowledge and doing all the physical caring that nurses do... my stories relate to the the quiet activity of the mind where I was able to connect with families and people at the end of their life. Her stories are funny and make me laugh... mine are more reflective and make her think. She always says that I broaden her horizens with my compassionate tales. Our time together is always well spent and she encouraged me to continue to seek out some employment to fill my isolated days. I told her I would. Fast forward to the end of the evening and toasts to Gerry with Jaeger bombs, (don't worry we all had designated drivers) when Gerry limped over after a Kan-Jam defeat... with a pulled calf muscle. I massaged, and iced, and had reason for insomnia as I worried about his calls of pain from a fretful sleep. Today I am busy as a nurse, getting a real cold pack (instead of the bag of corn I had to use) buying analgesics that weren't expired, buying an ace bandage.. oh and a new phone for him since I washed his in the machine. I wonder if all that talk of nursing, somehow brought on the... never mind, it's just magic thinking again... but I am happy running, fetching, bandaging, and caring for my dear patient, perhaps as practice for a return to my calling. Ya never know.

A Knowing Coincidence

This has probably been the dreariest Spring of my remembrance, which is hard to take when you feel like Rapunzel locked in the turret. As another day of rain was forecast, I again hinted to my husband what he already knows... my patience is wearing thin with this confinement in a house no longer suited to our needs... it's an albatross. And so with permission (of course) I emailed the realtor to lower the price... considerably. Of course, the dreamer part of me hopes that a bidding war will ensue and the asking price will be restored; the realist in me knows that is unlikely, but perhaps a whole new audience of buyers may be enticed. Needless to say, when I received the return email from the realtor, he wrote in the most excited of fonts and colors, saying that he was going to call us this very day and ask if we would consider lowering the price of the house... my email must have saved him the worry. It's not that I haven't enjoyed living here when kids and their friends were coming and going and there was always some kind of commotion... but now it is me and Otis for 9 hours a day and very little housework to do. Sure I have writing to do, and photos... but in the confines of solitary... even that is losing it's appeal. I'm hoping that the beautiful broom that is blooming over the gold gazing ball will hold out for the next open house... it is such a cascade of beauty... but I will not mention that it is indeed witch's broom.  

Aroma Round the Block

Dewpoint rising then falling on the dampness of a mossy floor... whiff of musty parka that hangs from a basement hook... wafting past manured mulch of a manicured lawn... lemony scrub of a bush not meant for cleaning... a hot dog lunch served to a child in the distance... the rotting rubber of a tire hanging for play... clover strewn grass in need of a mow... raw cut lumber from a saw felled tree... diesel from a rumbling truck grumbling by... dryer sheets snuggling damp clothes... unseen honeysuckle lingering the length of  macadam... pine cones greening from a needled majesty... a dirty hamper where a garbage bag once lay... a row of rosebush in clustering bloom... dusty dirt from a busy road... fruity shampoo from windblown hair... cigarette smoke in stale and halitus mingled with coffee and microwaved subs... chemicals of the dry clean... All retraced from recent reminisce of olfactory... to the falling freshness of a summer rain. 

Mother of the Lost Boys... maybe?

It's been a year and two months since I last worked a day job and although I'm not complaining here, the Domestic Goddess stint is getting a bit old. I write four blogs, contribute to a pagan poetry site, an art site, and a photography site. I have almost completed a memoir and have a healthy start to a fiction novel... and yet I still have a a lot of time on my hands. I sent in an application to the local hospital to volunteer, but have not had any response as yet. So when a good friend told me that there are always openings for RN's at the county jail, though my interest was peaked, I didn't think there would be any follow-up. I was wrong... this friend actually made some phone calls on my behalf and let me know that if I apply, a county administrator would put in a good word for me. So today I down loaded the application, got my resume in order, and walked an hour each way to the local pharmacy to have my paperwork faxed over. I haven't actually worked as an RN for about 10 years now, but who knows... I always kept my license renewed... just in case. Some family members voiced concern for my safety in such a "dangerous" environment and I had to smile. Somerset County is one of the wealthiest counties in the state and I would not imagine that hardened criminals would be showing up at a county jail... it's not as if I applied to Rikers Island. I would imagine most offenders would have alcohol or drug related crimes, and here I would feel a deep compassion as I don't share society's harsh condemnation for people who make mistakes or get lost.. they are still a part of our human family. Like Wendy in Peter Pan (for who I was named) I could see myself caring for and teaching lost boys (and girls.. let's be fair). Though I'm trying not to get too excited about getting called, it is something to look forward to in breaking the monotony of my solitary day... and who knows, maybe there will be a car in my future. Wish me luck! 

Mammography Torture

Saturday I went for the yearly dreaded screening of my breasts. I cannot for the life of me understand why a test designed to detect lumps or tumors has to cause such pain. I was told the machine was a brand new digital variety and I had hopes that perhaps finger like projections would gently or lightly scan over the sensitive tissue. One look at the familiar machine with the squash paddles told me otherwise... the girls would be going under pancake compression. The technician kept telling me to keep my shoulder down... as if it was perfectly natural to have the breast squashed flat between two cold plates and not feel tense... I felt like slapping her. The little electrode buttons they tape onto the nipples just adds to the degree of discomfort, and like tape they get ripped off at the end of the procedure.. another yowch. All these  fundraisers for breast cancer research are great, but couldn't some of that money go towards developing a machine that is not so painful? Maybe then more women would actually get screened. Haven't women suffered enough, or am I the only complainer that thinks that they just don't deserve it, and a new technology should replace that barbaric torture chamber. Call me crazy but I think if the two men who invented this machine had to test it using their own penises it would not have flown and perhaps another way of gently scanning with precision would have been found... after all we don't squish livers to see what's going on, now do we?