Of late, I have needed to obtain some information from state government websites and occasional phone calls to agencies. From this foray into the world of online governent services, I have learned much more than I had ever wanted to know. For your reading pleasure, here is a brief sampling of my extracuriccular fun facts:
1)Typically, there are different standards for handling medical waste that is still in recognizable human body-part form, than those for just generic blood, urine and feces. I would certainly hope so. Otherwise, it'd be quite a shock to those landfill monster compactor drivers.
2)Remember the days of flushing your expired pharmaceuticals down the toilet? Well, no more. Since we're getting healthy doses of the neighborhood's medicine cabinet in our drinking water, everyone is scrambling for some kind of guidance. Some of the best ones they've come up with so far are suggestions such as hiding your extra narcotics inside a sealed box, inside another sealed box in hopes that no errant drug dealer or small child happens upon it before it makes it to the landfill for the seagulls to get stoned on--seriously, that's the best they've come up with so far. Perhaps on that outer box you should write "Nope, no drugs with any kind of street value in here, mr. oxycontin addict!"
3)Any conversation with a government official that involves phrases like "so, suppose you're undergoing surgery and in the course of that surgery, blood is sprayed everywhere . . ." is just plain wierd.
4) Some states spend their tax dollars on useful, clear websites and online tools. Others apparently spend their funds on posting pictures of their lovely elected officials in various pantsuits with matching shades of lipstick, smiling at you, nay, laughing at you, as you laboriously attempt to navigate their painfully poorly designed sites (ah-ah-ah-chwestvirginia-ooo!!!--excuse me!)
Who would've guessed back in the days when I was obtaining my Bachelor's of Theatre Arts, that one day, I would be putting my incredible talents to use in such interesting ways.
I'm sorry I can't tell you any more about my assignment, I may have already said to much. Don't worry though, if it turns out I have to kill you, I'll be sure and properly dispose of both your body parts and fluids.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Karma for Martha, a Tragedy in Two Acts
Luke 10: 38-42
Act One: Fool Me Once
Scene
A woman, alone in a kitchen. Her husband has recently had hand surgery and she has been caring for him. Her child has taken ill as well. Her family is asleep after a long day.
Woman: Boy, don't I feel accomplished! I'm the ultimate caretaker! I've cooked, cleaned, sewed, cared for my child and my husband. I think I'll make me a cup of something warm and soothing before bed. You know what sounds oh so good right now? Orzo! I don't drink coffee, and hot chocolate is a bit too sweet tonight, so I'll have a bit of this barley drink--it's like liquid dark chocolate. Now, how do you use this little espresso maker anyway?
She fills it up, sets it on the stove to brew, finishes cleaning the stove and doing the dishes, when suddenly, the espresso pot explodes, spewing barley grounds all over the clean kitchen.
Woman: Well, that was dumb of me! Now I have to clean it all up again. I wonder what I did wrong? Oh well, a woman's work is never done! I sure wish I had help, woe is me.
Act Two: Fool Me Twice
Scene. Three nights later. Woman is again alone in the kitchen, exhausted, having taken ill herself along with her other child. She has spent all week caring for them and is feeling sorry for herself.
Woman: I really should just go to bed. I've spent all day caring for my family. I'm spent, I'm ill, I'm exhausted . . . but there are dirty dishes all over the kitchen, and who is going to wash them if I don't? Woe is me. Woe is me.
I know, I'll put on some water for a cup of something warm and soothing, and do these dishes. It won't take but a few minutes, I'll be in bed with a warm and soothed tummy and a great sense of accomplishment. I've read the instructions on the box, and surely I can make the espresso pot work this time.
She begins unloading the dishwasher, all the while feeling like falling over. The pot begins to spit. She rushes over to it, but neglects to remove it from the heat.
Woman: Here we go, look, it must just be up too high, the grounds are clogging the little vent. If I just stick a fork in---
EXPLOSION! The pot spews boiling water, scalding steam and barley grounds all over the woman, searing her exposed neck. She screams, takes off her clothes and runs to the shower, crying as she douses herself in cold water.
Woman: I should have just gone to bed.
END
Act One: Fool Me Once
Scene
A woman, alone in a kitchen. Her husband has recently had hand surgery and she has been caring for him. Her child has taken ill as well. Her family is asleep after a long day.
Woman: Boy, don't I feel accomplished! I'm the ultimate caretaker! I've cooked, cleaned, sewed, cared for my child and my husband. I think I'll make me a cup of something warm and soothing before bed. You know what sounds oh so good right now? Orzo! I don't drink coffee, and hot chocolate is a bit too sweet tonight, so I'll have a bit of this barley drink--it's like liquid dark chocolate. Now, how do you use this little espresso maker anyway?
She fills it up, sets it on the stove to brew, finishes cleaning the stove and doing the dishes, when suddenly, the espresso pot explodes, spewing barley grounds all over the clean kitchen.
Woman: Well, that was dumb of me! Now I have to clean it all up again. I wonder what I did wrong? Oh well, a woman's work is never done! I sure wish I had help, woe is me.
Act Two: Fool Me Twice
Scene. Three nights later. Woman is again alone in the kitchen, exhausted, having taken ill herself along with her other child. She has spent all week caring for them and is feeling sorry for herself.
Woman: I really should just go to bed. I've spent all day caring for my family. I'm spent, I'm ill, I'm exhausted . . . but there are dirty dishes all over the kitchen, and who is going to wash them if I don't? Woe is me. Woe is me.
I know, I'll put on some water for a cup of something warm and soothing, and do these dishes. It won't take but a few minutes, I'll be in bed with a warm and soothed tummy and a great sense of accomplishment. I've read the instructions on the box, and surely I can make the espresso pot work this time.
She begins unloading the dishwasher, all the while feeling like falling over. The pot begins to spit. She rushes over to it, but neglects to remove it from the heat.
Woman: Here we go, look, it must just be up too high, the grounds are clogging the little vent. If I just stick a fork in---
EXPLOSION! The pot spews boiling water, scalding steam and barley grounds all over the woman, searing her exposed neck. She screams, takes off her clothes and runs to the shower, crying as she douses herself in cold water.
Woman: I should have just gone to bed.
END
Friday, October 2, 2009
Fables & Food
You know the one about the Grasshopper and the Ant? How the ant worked all summer and fall, storing food for the winter and the lazy grasshopper just played and played until suddenly it's cold, he's hungry and knocking on the ant's door for assistance and the ant slams the door in his face.
I once read an alternative version about how the grasshopper was welcomed with open arms by the ants who were so bored they were dying for some entertainment. The grasshopper contributed his music, the ants fed him, all did their part, yada yada.
Upon reading that I thought THAT'S IT!!! I'M A GRASSHOPPER! I think I'll go major in theatre . . .
That was a long time ago. Here's my new version:
Once upon a time there was an ant that worked very hard all day every day, all summer long gathering food for the winter. A young grasshopper watched the ant very carefully, envious at her fine abilities to store and preserve, at her patience for seemingly mindless tasks, at her knowledge and wisdom. Then, easily distracted, the grasshopper hopped away, singing and playing. The ant smiled and kept working.
That winter, when the weather turned cold and the ant was cozy in her home, the grasshopper came knocking, hungry and cold. "Of course you can come in!" Said the ant. And she welcomed the young grasshopper in.
The grasshopper entertained the ant, they kept each other company swapping stories and songs and recipes (which grasshopper tucked somewhere in the depths of her mind). Then spring would return and each would return to her labors.
This continued for several seasons, the ant working, the grasshopper watching, the two sharing a hearth for the winter. Then, one spring, the ant paused in her work to smile at an older, stronger grasshopper attempting to gather some seeds. She did it poorly and inefficiently, and with much distraction, but by the end of the season, she had a small store as evidence of her labors. That winter the two again shared a hearth, but now grasshopper had begun to ask more questions.
Just how do you store your grain for maximum nutrient retention? She would ask. And the old ant would impart as much wisdom and knowledge as she could. And the grasshopper remembered. The next several seasons the grasshopper became better and better at her work. She no longer played as much, though she still loved a good story and lovely music. But she was finding new joy in a new labor.
One year as the two now old friends shared their winter hearth, a knock was heard at the door. A young cicada was shivering, cold and hungry. The two friends smiled at her and at each other and welcomed her in, sat her by the fire, and gave her something yummy to eat.
The end.
Do you want to see what I've been doing lately?
Canning is my new obsession.
Have I mentioned how much I LOVE FALL!?!? And how much I've grown to LOVE my basement? But these are both food for other posts . . .
I once read an alternative version about how the grasshopper was welcomed with open arms by the ants who were so bored they were dying for some entertainment. The grasshopper contributed his music, the ants fed him, all did their part, yada yada.
Upon reading that I thought THAT'S IT!!! I'M A GRASSHOPPER! I think I'll go major in theatre . . .
That was a long time ago. Here's my new version:
Once upon a time there was an ant that worked very hard all day every day, all summer long gathering food for the winter. A young grasshopper watched the ant very carefully, envious at her fine abilities to store and preserve, at her patience for seemingly mindless tasks, at her knowledge and wisdom. Then, easily distracted, the grasshopper hopped away, singing and playing. The ant smiled and kept working.
That winter, when the weather turned cold and the ant was cozy in her home, the grasshopper came knocking, hungry and cold. "Of course you can come in!" Said the ant. And she welcomed the young grasshopper in.
The grasshopper entertained the ant, they kept each other company swapping stories and songs and recipes (which grasshopper tucked somewhere in the depths of her mind). Then spring would return and each would return to her labors.
This continued for several seasons, the ant working, the grasshopper watching, the two sharing a hearth for the winter. Then, one spring, the ant paused in her work to smile at an older, stronger grasshopper attempting to gather some seeds. She did it poorly and inefficiently, and with much distraction, but by the end of the season, she had a small store as evidence of her labors. That winter the two again shared a hearth, but now grasshopper had begun to ask more questions.
Just how do you store your grain for maximum nutrient retention? She would ask. And the old ant would impart as much wisdom and knowledge as she could. And the grasshopper remembered. The next several seasons the grasshopper became better and better at her work. She no longer played as much, though she still loved a good story and lovely music. But she was finding new joy in a new labor.
One year as the two now old friends shared their winter hearth, a knock was heard at the door. A young cicada was shivering, cold and hungry. The two friends smiled at her and at each other and welcomed her in, sat her by the fire, and gave her something yummy to eat.
The end.
Do you want to see what I've been doing lately?
Canning is my new obsession.
Though I think it's just a new incarnation of my old obsession; food.
My assistant
My next victim:
My assistantMy next victim:
Have I mentioned how much I LOVE FALL!?!? And how much I've grown to LOVE my basement? But these are both food for other posts . . .
Friday, September 25, 2009
Baby You Can Drive My Car
The other day in the car, Elliot says: Mom, you sure are a good driver.
Me: Thanks. I try and keep us safe.
Elliot: But sometimes you get pulled over.
Will I never live that down?
Yesterday he said he wishes he was tall enough to drive (he is currently three years old). I told him some day he would be tall enough to learn how to drive. He explained that he already knows all the rules and proceeded to list them for me:
1) Try not to crash.
2) Don't get pulled over.
3) Honk at people in your way.
4) Watch out for trees about to fall on your car.
5) Turn into your driveway and don't crash into your house.
6) Don't crash into your cellar door.
7) Don't go near traps.
8) Don't break your steering wheel off.
9) Don't break your window out with your steering wheel.
10) Don't drive on trails, only roads.
Fortunately, he has 13 more years to study for the test.
Me: Thanks. I try and keep us safe.
Elliot: But sometimes you get pulled over.
Will I never live that down?
Yesterday he said he wishes he was tall enough to drive (he is currently three years old). I told him some day he would be tall enough to learn how to drive. He explained that he already knows all the rules and proceeded to list them for me:
1) Try not to crash.
2) Don't get pulled over.
3) Honk at people in your way.
4) Watch out for trees about to fall on your car.
5) Turn into your driveway and don't crash into your house.
6) Don't crash into your cellar door.
7) Don't go near traps.
8) Don't break your steering wheel off.
9) Don't break your window out with your steering wheel.
10) Don't drive on trails, only roads.
Fortunately, he has 13 more years to study for the test.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Pottery
My husband is ill. I gave it to him. This is my excuse for taking a week to write about the fantastic anniversary weekend with which he surprised me last week. Back in July he told me to clear my calendar for a weekend in September. Hmmmm . . .
Then, not only did he make weekend arrangements, get this, HE MADE BABYSITTING ARRANGEMENTS! Complex ones involving a babysitter for the babysitter. Husbands don't do that do they? (Now if he'd just make date night arrangements, including babysitting . . . I know, let's not get carried away).
A week before we left, he got sick and tired of all my questions (Do I need to bring my passport? My bathing suit?) and spilled the beans. This is where we went. This is where we stayed. Nice huh? This is a part of our new state of residence I've been wanting to explore. It was peaceful. It was lovely. It was yummy. Oh, and Saturday night I was stricken with a sore throat and fell asleep about 8pm. Oops.
We ate chocolate and slept late, and watched the food channel and went shopping.
We even started to miss our kids. We got back and Ethan started yammering on and on and Matt says This is why we don't talk.
It's been nine years. Good days, bad days and some in between. I was quite the commitment-phobe when we started all this. But I have to say, I'm glad I decided to go for it. I can't imagine where I'd be if my kind, intelligent and good-natured husband hadn't looked beyond my flaws (as he still does every day) and saw something worth fighting for. I'm still a work in progress, as is this marriage and our little family. Every day. It's still worth fighting for.
Did you know that 9 years is the pottery anniversary. So I'm told. It kinda makes sense when you think about it. You take this lump of clay, or say two lumps, smoosh them together, add a little water to make it stick, shape, smoosh, shape, all the while you keep on spinning through your every day duties, still trying to smoosh and shape together. Even to figure out just what shape you're going for. After some time, it begins to take shape, to really start to evolve in to a beautiful form. But it's not done yet. There's still the fiery kiln of trials that harden and solidify the piece. And then some time to cool and set. Then the shiny glaze, more time to dry and voila! That lump of dirt has become something that is not only beautiful, but functions well.
We didn't buy any pottery--maybe I need to learn to make my own.
Then, not only did he make weekend arrangements, get this, HE MADE BABYSITTING ARRANGEMENTS! Complex ones involving a babysitter for the babysitter. Husbands don't do that do they? (Now if he'd just make date night arrangements, including babysitting . . . I know, let's not get carried away).
A week before we left, he got sick and tired of all my questions (Do I need to bring my passport? My bathing suit?) and spilled the beans. This is where we went. This is where we stayed. Nice huh? This is a part of our new state of residence I've been wanting to explore. It was peaceful. It was lovely. It was yummy. Oh, and Saturday night I was stricken with a sore throat and fell asleep about 8pm. Oops.
We ate chocolate and slept late, and watched the food channel and went shopping.
We even started to miss our kids. We got back and Ethan started yammering on and on and Matt says This is why we don't talk.It's been nine years. Good days, bad days and some in between. I was quite the commitment-phobe when we started all this. But I have to say, I'm glad I decided to go for it. I can't imagine where I'd be if my kind, intelligent and good-natured husband hadn't looked beyond my flaws (as he still does every day) and saw something worth fighting for. I'm still a work in progress, as is this marriage and our little family. Every day. It's still worth fighting for.
Did you know that 9 years is the pottery anniversary. So I'm told. It kinda makes sense when you think about it. You take this lump of clay, or say two lumps, smoosh them together, add a little water to make it stick, shape, smoosh, shape, all the while you keep on spinning through your every day duties, still trying to smoosh and shape together. Even to figure out just what shape you're going for. After some time, it begins to take shape, to really start to evolve in to a beautiful form. But it's not done yet. There's still the fiery kiln of trials that harden and solidify the piece. And then some time to cool and set. Then the shiny glaze, more time to dry and voila! That lump of dirt has become something that is not only beautiful, but functions well.
We didn't buy any pottery--maybe I need to learn to make my own.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
To Pee or to Cough, That is the Question. . .
I started coughing in May. May is the start of the allergy season around here and I've encountered numerous people that have sworn they never had allergies until they moved here. Oh, and we're surrounded on four sides by pastures of grasses. So, naturally I assumed I must be having allergies as well. It's been really, really annoying. Not just for me, but for my family and friends and all those strangers in public places that give me the swine-flu-stink-eye as I try and loudly say something about the pollen in the air.
After four months straight of sleep interrupted by coughing fits, I finally went to the doctor. A chest x-ray and an asthma test later confirmed . . . allergies. And the pill-popping commenced. I spent several long counseling sessions with pharmacists regarding which allergy medications to take in what order at what time of the day to minimize coughing and daytime drowsiness and maximize the ever-elusive sleep. Then, back to the doctor for yet another prescription allergy medication. Nada. Still coughing.
Then I realized something. May is not only the start of the allergy season around here, but it is also when I got a physical and started taking medication to treat my high blood pressure. Ten minutes quality time with my friend Google and I've discovered that my medication can cause a chronic dry cough in a fairly significant percentage of those taking it. Hmmmm, should I ask for a refund of my copays? I'm torn between being annoyed that none of the three medical professionals I saw regarding this (who reviewed my chart indicating what medication I'm taking and how long I've been taking it) caught it, and just being relieved at the thought that I may be able to sleep again.
At my request, my doctor switched my medication. The side effect of the new one? I have to pee a lot. So, my lungs have given up the late shift to my bladder.
After four months straight of sleep interrupted by coughing fits, I finally went to the doctor. A chest x-ray and an asthma test later confirmed . . . allergies. And the pill-popping commenced. I spent several long counseling sessions with pharmacists regarding which allergy medications to take in what order at what time of the day to minimize coughing and daytime drowsiness and maximize the ever-elusive sleep. Then, back to the doctor for yet another prescription allergy medication. Nada. Still coughing.
Then I realized something. May is not only the start of the allergy season around here, but it is also when I got a physical and started taking medication to treat my high blood pressure. Ten minutes quality time with my friend Google and I've discovered that my medication can cause a chronic dry cough in a fairly significant percentage of those taking it. Hmmmm, should I ask for a refund of my copays? I'm torn between being annoyed that none of the three medical professionals I saw regarding this (who reviewed my chart indicating what medication I'm taking and how long I've been taking it) caught it, and just being relieved at the thought that I may be able to sleep again.
At my request, my doctor switched my medication. The side effect of the new one? I have to pee a lot. So, my lungs have given up the late shift to my bladder.
Friday, September 18, 2009
The Song of the Albatross
I bought a piano. This is a huge step. We have moved every two years for six years now. I feel that buying a piano is a sign of a major commitment. I don't want to move it again, for a long time. And besides, I like it here.
It was a major investment--not of money, but of energy (discussion, argument, search, arrangements and so forth). But, it is here. It is ours. And Ethan will begin piano lessons in October.
This makes me feel a little grown up, and a little like a kid on Christmas morning. Our living room is starting to feel like a grown-up room. I'm not used to being a grown-up.
Wanna see?
I know, it's nothing spectacular, and it's probably older than me. But, it was a GREAT deal. And it's ours.
Nobody in our home really knows how to play it--yet. Even so, the sound of it in our home tonight made it feel like, well, home. Like family. And we're going to learn to play a little, or maybe a lot.
(I have to say, what with the downturn in the economy and living in the state with the highest unemployment rate in the nation, Craigslist is a GOLDMINE right now. )
It was a major investment--not of money, but of energy (discussion, argument, search, arrangements and so forth). But, it is here. It is ours. And Ethan will begin piano lessons in October.
This makes me feel a little grown up, and a little like a kid on Christmas morning. Our living room is starting to feel like a grown-up room. I'm not used to being a grown-up.
Wanna see?
I know, it's nothing spectacular, and it's probably older than me. But, it was a GREAT deal. And it's ours.
Nobody in our home really knows how to play it--yet. Even so, the sound of it in our home tonight made it feel like, well, home. Like family. And we're going to learn to play a little, or maybe a lot.
(I have to say, what with the downturn in the economy and living in the state with the highest unemployment rate in the nation, Craigslist is a GOLDMINE right now. )
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