MadMom and Mutt

Sunday, April 30, 2006

I'm a Commodity!

This has got to be the most hilarious thing I've ever seen! I am apparently a commodity on the fantasy blog stock market. Hmmm, something I've always aspired to, I must say. I wonder what those values mean in my money. I wonder if I'm worth anything! ROFL!

This, on the other hand, is not so funny to me. The internet is a scary place. I lived enough of my life prior to the advent of home computing that I still hold a healthy skepticism. Someone out there has evaluated my blog and determined it fits into the following categories, or "industries": English, Links, Photoblog, Baby Photoblog, Americas, USA, Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Female, Personal, Working. Is there a reason for this? Shall I be expecting a proposal from somewhere in Asia? Should I be looking over my shoulder? Most importantly, is there profit sharing with the blogger in question? Huh? Huh?

It's been an interesting day.

Black Willow

I've found the most amazing site and, guess what, it's from an elementary school! Stratford Landing Elementary School in Fairfax County, to be precise. Kudos to the teacher who came up with this gem. It's a detailed site on the ecology of northern Virginia. I went there looking for information on black willows. I've bought a black willow to plant in my stream bank in memory of my father, who passed away last month. Black willow is a native tree of Pennsylvania, my father's home state. It does not droop like the weeping willow, which is not native to this area. It can grow to be 100 feet tall. It seems a fitting tree to plant for Dad. My willowy father.

Anyway, you can find out anything you want to know about the ecology of northern VA on this site. Much of that information is transferable to much of the Mid-Atlantic region. Big Brown Bats, Black Rat Snakes, Rabid Wolf Spiders, True Katydids and, a favorite of mine, Pink Lady's Slipper. God, I love nature! Why did I have to be born with the mind of a scientist, the heart of a poet and the mouth of a sailor?

P. S. I "spoke" with Brendan on the phone tonight. His father said he was very interested in the phone. He gurgles, "Hello."

Bubble Wrap

Lingual Tremors led me here. Go ahead. Take your frustrations out. You know you want to!

Pop some virtual bubble wrap.


Who Am I/Who Are You?

Now Pam's got me doing this:

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by

Yeah, it fits. "Ask not what Cheryl can do for you. Ask what you can do for Cheryl." ; )

Saturday, April 29, 2006


Looking through the stats on my site meter, I found someone who was directed to my blog via a Google search for "agonal heartbeat." I imagine, given my strange mind and my stranger profession, I should expect to get hits through unusual channels. That Google page led me to a fascinating article on, my new favorite place on the web. The article, The god of our undoing: the death of a child, a doctor's trial, tells the harrowing tale of a pediatrician in Washington (state, not city). He was called to the emergency room to attend a three day-old child who had stopped breathing while nursing. The child had been without a spontaneous heartbeat for over 30 minutes. Dr. Turner was originally charged with second-degree murder for his care of the child, Conor, though charges were ultimately dropped.

My gut instinct was that a three day-old child should have any opportunity for life. Then I read the story, the tragic episode, the inability to recover a heartbeat en route to the hospital, the snowstorm that prevented the child's transfer to a regional pediatric center, the return of spontaneous, agonal respirations (with a continuing, irregular, agonal heartbeat) twenty to thirty minutes after resuscitative efforts had been halted, the dreadful dilemma that faced Dr. Turner and the choice he made. It couldn't be more poignant if it were churned out of Hollywood.

I didn't know how I felt about this. For a physician to willfully and intentionally cause the 'death' of a three day-old child is such a foreign concept for me. I runs contrary to everything I value as a human being and as a nurse. How could a doctor ever do that? The fact that it was 39 minutes between the 911 call and the initiation of treatment in the ER, does not mean the child had "gone without oxygen" for that period, however. Indeed, with the effective CPR I would expect of pre-hospital care providers, an infant with a down time of 39 minutes to the ER door, would stand some reasonable chance of survival, perhaps even without truly devastating aftereffects.

I've seen enough resuscitations, even of newborns, to know that a persitent rhythm without a discernable pulse is fairly common and completely worthless. What matters is getting oxygen to that brain. If your heart can't make the blood flow as far as your femoral artery, your brain ain't getting any either. What got me was that twenty to thirty minutes after resuscitation had ceased, the child began gasping, agonal breathing.

I'm making an assumption that he was in the arms of his family and the care of the nursing staff during that period. Surely the parents, wanting nothing more than for their newborn to return and recover, would have been hyper-alert for any signs of life. I know, as a nurse who has waited for an 18 week-gestation premature newborn to pass away and watched and cared for him afterward, I, myself, would question wheter I'd seen a movement or saw a chest rise. I have trained myself to know that an isolated twitch or gasp many minutes after "death" is normal and even though my instinct would be to want to help, there can be no help for this young soul except comfort care for him and his family

Fortunately, I've never been witness to more than an isolated movement of the diaphragm. And fortunately, I've never had to do this with an infant of viable gestational age. There is nothing that can be done for an 18 week fetus except comfort care for the child and family...warm blankets, tiny knitted hats, doll clothes, tiny receiving blankets. Although these were terribly emotionally charged instances, they were some of my most rewarding in high-risk obstetrics. It becomes, despite the pain, an opportunity to help the parents adjust, yes, from that earliest moment. It gives them a chance to know and to love this child they're only gotting to meet once. It brings closure.

I used to be very particular about my photos of our aborted newborns. I wanted Mom and Dad to have something positive to bring from the whole tragic situation, some fond memory of their child during his brief time here. I was most loving in the preparation of the memento packet. I was thrilled if I could include a lock of hair, was meticulous with the tiny footprints. I baptised every pre-viable newborn for which I cared. I asked God to look after them. I looked out for their future, whatever that should be.

Doctor Turner's crime was in refusing to resume resuscitation in an infant that had had no detectable pulse for between twenty and thirty minutes with no avaiable oxygen in the bloodstream to transport to the brain. Dr. Turner placed his fingers over the baby's face and precluded another breath. He suffocated the child. But he did not kill Conor. Without oxygenation to the brain, young Conor, deprived of oxygen for the span between active resuscitation and spontaneous, agonal respirations, was already dead. If there was ever any doubt this child was a goner, doubt was dispelled once he spent 20-30 minutes (in the arms of his parents and?) under the eyes of the ER nurse(s) without regular, spontaneous cardiac activity capable of pushing oxygenated blood throughout his body.

The child was dead. In the end, although I might disagree with the procedure Dr. Turner used, I cannot condemn him for his decision. What he and the nurses witnessed was not life. It was reflex. Reflex is not life. I would not have put my hand over the child's nose and mouth. I would have, instead wrapped him up snugly in a blanket and held him until it had all stopped.

No moral here. Just something to think about and another little peek into me.

Friday, April 28, 2006

Grandma Begins Striking!

Look out. This is only the beginning. Muahaha!

Brendan's "Hello Mommy" Video.

And a few, special pictures I only just got. I know you can't enjoy nearly as much as I do, but I hope you enjoy a little bit. If you open your mind a little, you can almost smell "baby" in the air!

Is it any wonder he married the girl?

Can you tell I'm a proud grandma?

God, I love these people!

101 Things

Reading a post on Pam's site today led me, through the comments on the use of the "C" word, to A Daily Dose of Denise. I've been there before but haven't yet added her to my list. (I have no idea if it's a blogroll, a site feed or's just my little list of blogs in my Google toolbar that update when they have new posts. What can I say? I prefer easy!) Anyway, I've remedied that omission and Denise is now in my world. Ultimately, through Denise, I made my way to Michael Green's space. Talk about your Renaissance Man. What a guy!

Denise has made a list of 101 things to accomplish in 1001 days. To the best of my ability to discern, Michael Green is the originator of the concept. At minimum, he has a list of dozens of other folks with similar lists on the web, which could make for an interesting rainy day cruise.

The idea is intriguing to me, being, at present, embarked on this voyage of self-discovery, understanding and acceptance. Sheesh, could I sound any more sappy, New Age, or what? I can see in this a really useful tool for self-improvement, though. It's scary to think of setting 101 goals for yourself, not the usual too-lofty-to-ever-be-attainable goals but pragmatic, realistic goals. Pick 101 things you think you really would like to accomplish and think you really can accomplish in 1001 days. Set out plans to achieve those goals. And actually commit to doing them. Scary, huh?

So, I'm sure I'll spend much of my evening time this weekend considering 101 things I'd really like to have accomplished in 1001 days. That's 2 years, 8 months and 26 days or 143 weeks or 24, 024 hours or 1,441,440 minutes. I'd better get started!

If this interests you, I suggest going to Michael Green's site. He has that great list of others' lists and the script for adding a countdown meter to your site. Look for mine in the near future. Number one is going to be, "Have a bunch of real people friends in my real life with which to celebrate the momentous occasion of the completion of my list!"

I Do NOT Do "Sick" Well

I hate being sick! It's such a waste of time and a pain in the affected body parts. I am congested, headachy, chilled, feel feverish, achy, coughing, blowing my nose incessantly and am generally feeling like shit. I am such a man when I'm sick...whimpy and whiny!

Now, I don't want to hear from you men that I'm a lesbian so what can I know about sick men. I was married to one for five years, long ago, raised a son who lived with me until he was 19 and have been a nurse for 22 years. I know what men are like when they're sick. One of the biggest shocks of my career occured 5 years ago when I made the switch from Obstetrics to ER nursing. I got to deal with men on a regular basis. Can I tell you how much I miss OB? Men are totally dramatic.

I'm quite glad I'm single right now because I could be driving some lovely, middle-aged woman absolutely nuts! I whimper, I talk with that nasal whine, I cough pathetically, as if this will be my last breath. I would desire to be waited on hand and foot but would, in typical martyr fashion, drag myself from my deathbed to get my own orange juice, sniffling and snivelling the whole way. I am ashamed of myself when I'm ill but, really, I can't help it.

So, I tossed and turned until noon today. When I finally got around to getting up,
I loaded myself up with 12-hour pseudophedrine, Mucinex and Tylenol and dragged myself out to the diner. I felt as if, at any moment, my head would finally explode. Damn, I almost wished it would. I got a modicum of relief from the killer headache following two cups of coffee and brunch. I came straight home, popped some Ibuprofen and a leftover Vicodin from last summer's dental work and hit the sack! I stayed in bed for 3 hours and slept pretty well.

I woke up this evening feeling, if not entirely well, as if I might just be able to get out in the garden after all this weekend. I'm set up on the couch again with a light meal and loads of OJ. I'm taking my vitamins and hitting the medicine cabinet as needed. I think I will be okay.

It's such a blessing when one has once again dodged the bullet and avoided certain death! I don't do sick well at all.


Well, so much for that. I've been letting Sadie off-lead when we go for our late-night walks. I've been careful. She's been responding wonderfully to concerted training. She's very eager to please and the idea of getting treats for something she already enjoys, well what could be closer to heaven? I won't let her off-lead before midnight and very much limit her area. She's not allowed behind any building except ours (which has nothing but steep hillside behind it). She's only allowed in a few grassy areas and the large area of the parking lot.

Tonight, I heard someone walk out the door in the 500 building, across the lot from us. I didn't know who it was and didn't see him for a bit so I thought he must have gone around to the laundry in back. I thought that until Sadie made a beeline over to him then halted. He had his German Shepherd with him. She's a lovely girl, smallish and delicate with beautiful coloring. But she and Sadie don't get along, as it is with most dogs of Sadie's size of larger.

The shepherd's owner is strange. No, this isn't the mean man with the creepy white sheherd who yells at his Rottie puppy in the 200 building. The guy from the 500 building seems shy, almost fragile. he barely talks, barely makes eye contact. I wouldn't be surprised to find out he's a high-functioning person with autism. And he loves and protects his dog! I felt so bad, even though I know Sadie was only going after her because of fear and probably wouldn't harm the shepherd.

The strange man checked his shepherd over very thoroughly. I gave some bumbling excuse about it being the only time she's able to run a bit. Now he hates me again and we'd recently made such progress. We'd actually had a brief conversation. Now he's going to look at me as that bad woman with the vicious dog that tried to kill his Blossom or Margie or Tink. So, we'll have to keep it to very late, keep a watch out for his truck, work more on "heel" and "come" and "stay."

I couldn't possibly yell at Sadie. She was only doing what came instinctively to her. She didn't harm the dog and I don't believe she meant to. She simply meant to say, "I'm tops here and you listen to me, not the other way around." It's only natural for her and not behavior that can be trained away. But I will have to keep an unnatural vigilence for anyone coming out and immediately lead Sadie before anything like this can happen again. If I get her before she sees the person or dog, that should work.

Damn, I hope he doesn't rat me out to the manager!

Thursday, April 27, 2006

CIA Job Opening

An fun, little e-mail from a sexy, blonde, grandma co-worker that is too yummy not to share:

The CIA had an opening for an assassin. After all the background
interviews and tests were done, there were 3 finalists...
2 men and a woman

For the final test, the CIA agents took one of the men to a large
metal door
and handed him a gun. "We must know that you will
follow your instructions,
no matter what the circumstances. Inside
this room, you will find your wife
sitting in a chair. Kill her!"

The man said, "You can't be serious. I could never shoot my wife."
The agent
said, "Then you're not the right man for this job. Take
your wife and go home."

The second man was given the same instructions. He took the gun
and went into
the room. All was quiet for about five minutes.
Then the man came out with
tears in his eyes. "I tried, but I can't
kill my wife."

The agent said, "You don't have what it takes. Take your wife and
go home."

Finally, it was the woman's turn. She was given the same instructions
to kill
her husband. She took the gun and went into the room. Shots
were heard, one
shot after another, eight in a row. They heard
screaming, crashing, and
banging on the walls. After a few minutes,
all was quiet.

The door opened slowly and there stood the woman. She wiped the
sweat from her
brow. "This gun was loaded with blanks," she said. "I
had to beat him to death
with the chair."


Never put a woman to the test.



() A plane curve formed by the intersection of a right circular cone and a plane parallel to an element of the cone or by the locus of points equidistant from a fixed line and a fixed point not on the line.


A couple of months ago, I happened upon a magazine I'd never seen. (Pam, you're going to love this one!) It's called Parabloa and it's a magazine on spirituality. Every quarter they select a particular theme examine it from the perspective of many of the world's spiritual traditions. I found it in my local Border's while I was on one of my mass-shopping excursions during my father's illness. Hey, you cope as best you can. I haven't read much of it yet but can already recommend it if you have any interest in spirituality, non-partisan religion, morality or if you simply want to see and feel life from someone else's point of view.

Worth checking out.

A Successful Day

I just returned from Lancaster General Hospital in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Lancaster General's is a very busy Emergency Department. They see over 85,000 patients a year and are on track to break 90,000 visits per year within the next year or two. For comparison, consider that Cook County Hospital in Chicago, one of the busiest in the nation, sees 148,000 ER patients a year. Thomas Jefferson University Hospital in Philadelphia saw 92,216 ER patients in 2005. My ED sees about 48,000 patients annually.

Lancaster General has managed to grow into a premier regional health care facility while maintaining a small-town feel and a commitment to excellence. They have acheived Magnet Recognition from the American Nurses Credentialing Center. LGH was also named a Top 100 Hospital for 2005. Those are no small potatoes! Their ER is clean, orderly and manned by helpful, pleasant staff at every turn. No wonder they're a Magnet hospital!

I almost went to work at Lancaster General when I moved to PA in 2001 but was lured by the irresistable appeal of a five-minute commute. It meant I gained an extra hour every work day but, given the relationship I was in, an extra hour to contemplate my life at the time might have been a very useful thing. I loved working at Saint Joe's and often miss the sense of homeyness of the hospital and of the surrounding communities. Saint Joe's was also a Top 100 Hospital in 2002 and 2003, while I was working there. But I'll always be left wondering what it would have been like to work for a Magnet!

On our site visit, we discussed LGH's experiences with PICIS, the computer program we will (probably) be installing in our ED. Then we toured the ER and got to see the program in use. The reviews were universally positive from the staff. Almost everyone I've spoken with who's used this program has had nothing but praise for it. I look forward to helping implement this at Crozer.

I think I made another positive impression today, despite the fact that I didn't pipe up much. Much of the talk was about interfaces with different medical record, order entry, laboratory and radiology department programs and silly stuff about 'servers.' Sorry, to me a 'server' is someone who brings me food and drink in exchange for a healthy gratuity. I developed a lousy, dry, hacking cough last night which has blossomed into a feeling of general malaise during the day today so I wasn't much interested in talking. I got by with knowing nods and the rare, short comment. Can you tell I really hope to get offered this darned job soon!

I've got another couple work-related nuggets to share. Last week I received an invitation to "Tea with Nancy," our Vice President of Patient Services. Of course, my shift managers tell me what an honor this is. Really? It may be an honor but it feels more like a curse. I told one co-worker that they don't want me there, not with my big mouth. I wonder if they really mean it when they say Nancy really wants to hear what we think. Be careful what you wish for and all that.

The other tidbit is lots more exciting. My boss's boss informed me today that I'll be receiving a letter from the health system soon. I thought she was going to tell me it was an offer for the EDIS position but that wasn't it. It seems I've been nominated for the Excellence in Professional Nursing Practice award at my hospital. Now who could have done that? I've been a nurse for 22 years and spent the first 17 years of my career at a single facility and have never before been nominated for a nursing excellence award.

Now this is my idea of an honor! I'll get to dress up and go to a dinner. And it doesn't matter if I "win" the award. In this case, the honor truly is in the nomination. The honor is knowing someone thinks that much of your nursing practice. I imagine I'm a dark horse. I've worked there for less than three years. There are nurses at my hospital who've been there for as many decades! But it will bring me great pleasure just to be there as a nominee.

Oooo...I'll get to pick an outfit! God, what if I do win? What the hell will I say? Maybe I'll feign laryngitis (I'm sure I can find a doctor to write me a note to that effect ; ) and hold up a sign that reads, "I'm more excited than I can say."

I'm settling in for an evening of nursing my cold, all set up with leftover tuna salad from work yesterday and a 32 oz glass of OJ. Even though my throat is sore, my face is flushed and my body chilled and I've been working hard all day on hacking up chunks of lung tissue, today has been an above-average day.

Ain't life grand?

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

The Meaning of Life

You've asked the question. You've always wanted to know. Well, step right up and has got the answers.

"What is the meaning of life?"

Wikipedia offers a requisite analysis of the Monty Python film of the same name.

For the religious answer, the Catholic church has the following to offer. And they've got the domain name to prove it! Actually, check out Being a Christian, which is far closer to the teachings of the evangelical fundamentalist church from which I sprung 30 years ago, flush with the love of Christ, than I ever would have expected from the Vatican.

Got a yen for the scary religious? Try the Restored Church of God's version of the answer.

Not New Age enough for you? Test shuffle a deck of Meaning of Life tarot cards!

Now, this genuinely looks like an interesting site. Go cruise around Soon You Will Understand at Drop by the about the author page and meet Bill. He's got a great to-do list! I'll have to check it out later, though. The alarm's going off "early" in the morning, well, early for me.

Since I abhor exercise, I know this isn't the site for me! The meaning of life is fitness? Yeah, somebody else's!

For a scholarly look at the question, please refer to Dr. Bruce Charlton, a Brit psychiatrist. Who knows, maybe he's got something here.

For more psychobabble, (Whoops, did I just say that?) you couldn't get more information than from the International Network on Personal Meaning. Oh look, he's one of those crazy Canucks! If I go back tomorrow, maybe I can cancel that therapy session next week and save a few bucks! If it's a really good site, I could save a fortune!

But this was my favorite find. Real answers for a real world. This is the place I'll be going back to to read more when the sleeping pills aren't kicking in. If you get through it before me, please tell me what you think but don't give any spoilers away!

My friend, Jess, is looking for the meaning of life, too. If you happen to find it laying about, would you please send it along to her?


Thanks, Uncle Ed! : )

Sunday, April 23, 2006

Family Resemblances

I am my father's daughter. I may resemble my mother facially but everything else about me screams out my dad. Look at Dad, two years ago at Mike's wedding. Yes, I have cut my mother out of the picture, not because of any funky family dynamic, but because she doesn't like how she looks in it. Look at how healthy and robust Dad was then. Who would think that less than two years later, he would be dead? God and I are still working that out between us.

To the right is me on the same day. You can tell it was toward the end of the reception from the sheen on my face and the dazed look in my eyes, but the eyebrows look GREAT, don't they?. I have to admit, even though I battled against it, offering Mike and Jen a cash sum to elope somewhere, this was one of the happiest days of my life. The "kids" made all the arrangements themselves, everything went off seamlessly and they were so incredibly happy! Just take a look at the smile on my son's face. This is the same smile he had when I went out to meet Brendan. There may be nothing I love more than seeing that ecstasy in my son's eyes. Thanks, Jen, for both occasions. : ) (Soak up the shot of me in make-up because it does not happen often!)

As I said, I am the picture of my mother facially, but my temperament is 100% Dad. Dad was a dreamer and a poet. He liked to work hard and to work with his hands. He liked to 'tinker.' He was happiest when he was intellectually challenged, especially pleased if the end result of his work would be something of benefit to someone. Dad put many hours' work into various electrical jobs for the little Presbyterian church nearby. I can't remember if he received any money for those jobs. What I do recall is that the local farmer who was Deacon of the church has made sure my parents are kept in potatoes, corn, strawberries ever since. My mom hopes the tradition will continue even though Dad's gone. Knowing the farmer, I think it will.

The strangest and most poignant resemblance in the family is that between Michael and his Aunt Lisa. My sister, Lisa, was born in 1965, when I was 8 and-a-half years old. I remember my sister from day one. I remember my father taking us to my grandparents' house the evening before, can remember Dad coming back in the early morning and taking my brother and me out to breakfast. I think I had 'dippy' eggs. (Dippy Cheryl-related comments may well be deleted ; ) Dad was so happy. I don't think he even ate. All I remember him having was coffee. I remember wondering if he only had enough money to feed us and that's why he wasn't eating. This is a precious memory, one of the fondest of my childhood. Lisa was a beautiful baby. You can see a few pictures of her through my Flickr badge. She was also a good baby. I don't remember much crying. I loved her like the Dickens. We all did.

Lisa was possibly the most beautiful toddler I've ever seen. She was so photogenic. She loved the camera and loved to ham it up. She was precocious. Everyone loved her and she knew it and bloomed because of it. She became a frisky pre-schooler, a gangly child, a willowy teenager. She had a crooked back. Lisa was, at 5'9", a twin giant to my father's 6'3". The rest of us were normal-sized. I was tallish for a woman at 5'7". My brother was smallish for a man at 5'8" and Mom was positively short...5'2". Both Lisa and I have the long legs of our father's family and the high waist of our mother.

Lisa had scoliosis that required surgery when she was 15 years old. My son was a baby at the time, his father and I had recently separated for the first time. I had begun to consider (albeit a little late) career choices. I had considered paralegal and nurse. When I saw the interaction of the doctors and nurses at AI duPont Institute (now "Hospital") in Delaware, I knew I could become a nurse. I needn't be a handmaiden to do so. I could do it with character and wisdom and garner respect. I have.

(Interesting side note: AI duPont is a wonderful hospital in Wilmington. At the time of my sister's surgery, their focus was only orthopedic surgery and that was primarily on children. In the last two decades, it has transformed into a full-fledged pediatric specialty facility in Delaware, our second-smallest state. Not too shabby. And I hear the're a great place to work, too.)

Lisa babysat Mike for me while I was in nursing school for three years, working nearly full-time all the while. I don't know what I would have done without her help. Lisa and Michael used to play construction workers in Michael's sandbox. I wish I had a photo of that sandbox, built for my son by my father, but I don't think we do. A sandbox with a lid to keep the neighborhood cats out. Painted dark brown, lid perched atop as a roof, if you chose; open to the sky as you wanted. They would play with Michael's little construction vehicles. We didn't have much then but Mike and Lisa knew how to make-do. Their curiosity, playfulness and creativity were boundless.

Lisa would be "Mack" and Michael would be "Bud." Only Lisa could say "Bud" with the required panache. A very throaty and slightly Southern, "Buuuud!" Sometimes, after they were done playing and had put the lid back down on the sand box, they'd carry their construction conversation into the house and treat us all. They loved each other so, those two. We all did.

Lisa was walking along the side of the road on a November evening in 1984. She was walking back to a friend's house after using the pay phone outside the Wawa down the road. She and her boyfriend had left their keys in the friend's house and needed to get them if they were going to go out bowling. I wish there had been cell phones then. Life might be different now.

Kamara was driving home from work. She was 20 years old and had her four year-old daughter in a car seat in the back. We can only speculate as to what happened. The Medical Examiner at the time, Dr. Speth, has given me the most comfort. The plain and simple is that my sister's boyfriend turned around in her Mustang just in time to see Lisa falling or rolling and a car driving by. Bill (was that his name?) got out and went to her. I have no recollection of how EMS was notified. Bill may have broken into the friends' home to use the phone. This was at 10:00 on a Monday evening.

Kamara never apologized and never explained. She drove away from the scene in Glassboro to her home somewhere further west in Gloucester County. She, her mother or someone later called the Glassboro Police Department to find out if there had been an accident in the area that evening. I think her mother called her lawyer before driving Kamara to the police department. Kamara first said she thought she'd hit a deer. I'm fuzzy on whether she then changed her story to that of being so horrified and frightened by what she'd done she didn't respond rationally. It might have happened that way and feels right. We still do not know why she was driving six feet over the right-hand line, as the ME believes she was. She never explained.

Dr. Speth told me my sister died of "hyperextension injuries of the head and neck." He explained to me that it was an injury to the brain stem and that, although my sister had agonal respirations and heartbeat on the arrival of EMS, she had basically "died instantly" as her neck was snapped suddenly back on impact and that she felt no pain thereafter. I wonder when she lost her 21 grams. No one can tell us that. Dr. Speth believes my sister was hit from behind by the very center of the front grill of Kamara's car and was carried on the hood for 50 feet before she fell or was thrown off. Bill didn't catch any of the impact so we'll, once again, never know for sure. Kamara never explained. She thought she'd hit a deer.

They were not able to obtain/maintain an adequate airway on Lisa in the ten minutes it took to get to the closest hospital. This is the hospital in which my grandmother and grandfather died, affiliated with the oncologist I went to for Dad's appointments. Had Dad not had us and hospice, he probably would also have died there. She arrived at the hospital around 10:10. The phone rang at our home around 11:30. As someone who usually worked until 11, I was still awake and answered. I tried to convince the Glassboro police officer that, as her considerably older sister, I'd be more than happy to spare Lisa and my parents and take care of Lisa's problem myself rather than wake the folks. The officer was strangely insistent. This was unusual. South Jersey was still very much a big small town in 1984.

I packed Michael up and drove to meet his other grandparents. I picked up my brother and drove madly to the hospital. Lisa lived for about 3 hours after the accident. We had to say good-bye in the Emergency Room with all her IV's and other tubes still attached. We were not allowed to take her clothes home. They said the wonderfully healthy organs my sister carried were not eligible for organ donation because of 'internal injuries" so only her corneas were donated. (Dr. Speth's autopsy revealed two healthy, normal, undamaged lungs, a liver, spleen, pancreas, two normal, perfectly functional kidneys and yards of pristine skin and other tissue. None of this was used. Thankfully, two people each received one of Lisa's corneas and were again able to see family and loved ones. I hope they did.)

They had tested my sister for drugs and alcohol. She was negative. How that happened, I don't know, because Lisa liked a nice joint on a fairly regular basis by then but she tested clean. My mother required Valium or Vistaril or something. We all cried, in the same room though not together. We all loved her. She was the special bright axle to which our four wheels were connected. We were merely the spokes, Lisa was what held it all together and made it go.

They never tested Kamara. Because she had left the scene, it was possible that she could have had a drink or smoked some pot following rather than prior to the accident. The police told us that when we inquired about the seemingly cursory investigation. Kamara never told us what happened so we don't know if she was drunk or high when she hit my sister, inflicting her fatal injuries. She didn't explain.

We attended the court proceeding where she received a $270 fine and lost her driving privileges for six months. We had wanted "death by auto" or something...anything, our attorney didn't think it was possible. Dr. Speth testified. Afterward, we were discussing the case with our attorney on the steps outside the courthouse when Kamara's mother came up to us. I don't know if she heard our plaintive rants about the unfairness of it all or not. It didn't matter. Her mother pointed out to us that Kamara had been affected by this as well, that she would have to live with this the rest of her life. My response to her was something along the lines of "at least Kamara will have a 'rest of her life' which was more than she'd left my sister.

Kamara had, of course, no assets. She was a young single mother working in a minimum wage or service sector job. We heard a rumor that her family was politically connected in Glassboro, perhaps with the police department. It was only a rumor we heard. We have no idea if it's true. It would have done no good to sue (maybe that was the talk her mother overheard) Kamara. Kamara walked away and we never heard another word. She never explained. She never apologized. I hope she is living with this every day of her life, at least until she tells us what happened.

I believe Dr. Speth. Dr. Speth was a crime scene investigator. He had been on scene. He had photographic documentation. My sister's one sneaker was found 70 feet from the point of impact on the road. There were tire marks on the pavement. There was physical evidence. The damage to the car was consistent with impact pretty squarely in front of the hood ornament area. I can clearly see the utter horror on a 20 year-old's face as she hears and feels an impact then returns her gaze to the road from attending to her child to find a 19 year-old straddling her hood like a prize buck. Perhaps staring accusingly in the windshield. I can only imagine how that must have felt. I may have had an impulse to run but I never would have. I would have stayed. I would have tried to help. I would have overcome my fear and revulsion and helped. I would have apologized. I hope Kamara does remember.

But, back to the point of the compensation God sometimes offers when she really fucks up your life. My son.

My father had dark brown eyes, as did my sister. My mother, brother and I all have hazel eyes. Hazel eyes are so common. My sister's brown eyes were so beautiful. My son has his aunt's brown eyes. His squish up when he laughs, like his mother's, but they are a deep brown like her sister's. Michael has brown eyes although both his parents have hazel eyes. Go figure God, huh?

As I've been foisting my Granny pictures (Another attempt at compensation, Oh Mighty One? Think you can do it twice?) onto anyone I can, I've had a number of people comment that Michael looks like me. I've never seen the resemblance. He doesn't look like his father, either. (No, you can't have any child support back, Bob.) You might scroll up now to compare. Okay, there's some similarities but it's nothing really striking. It's not like my mother and I, who are so very different otherwise. My son looks like my sister. See for yourself. I've sometimes thought Michael would be/is very much like my mom emotionally. I'm beginning to think he has much more of my father and me in him than any of us suspected.

He looks more like Lisa's son than mine. So his eyes are red in this one rather than brown. Picasa's redeye fix didn't look any better. His hair, though it might not seem so, does have that touch of auburn that Lisa's had. It's a family Mike from both myself and his father. The long, thin face. The cheebones. The nose. The mouth, at times. It's as if my sister lives on in him. Or is she in the nightingale that's taken up abode across the creek and is singing me off to bed tonight? Or would that be Dad?

I wonder who Brendan will look like. What color will his eyes be when they change from their 'baby' blue? Will he look more like Mike's side of the family than Jen's? Will I once again be staring into the eyes of the sister I loved so much? We all did.

I hope someday Kamara will see fit to apologize...and to explain.

Finished: 2006/04/24 03:00 EST

My Son, the Man

This is the sure sign that I am now officially middle-aged. Last night, I caught myself musing on what I have accomplished in my life. I think when God starts hitting the rewind button it's a pretty clear signal you're there. ; ) I've spent most of my life downplaying or not recognizing my accomplishments or crediting someone or something else for my successes. I think it's time I stop that.

As a single mother, I view my son as my crowning acheivement to date. Michael has made me immensely proud on more occasions and in more ways than I could count. His honor, his compassion, his gentleness, his geneosity, his trustworthiness, his intellect, his sensitivity, the way his mind works and the depth of his emotions. I've often felt I could never be more proud of him than at that particular moment, only to be proven wrong over and over. Those are possibly the only times I haven't resented being wrong.

Well, I was wrong again. I think it's finally sunk in that I'm a grandmother and my son and daughter-in-law have a son of their own now. (Happy 13th day birthday, Brendan! Nana loves you! xoxox) When I met Mike outside the hospital on my visit, he looked so haggard...bloodshot, tossled, was just about the most adorable thing I'd ever seen. (So you know, Mike, some other of the most adorable things were you playing with Aunt Lisa & with your friends, "Herm," Superman, "Barbaran" and the time I came home to find you burning Off! off the surface of your grandmother's counter protector. So, maybe you risked burning the house down, but at least you took the risk, dang it! ; )

Mike and I had lunch together (why does driving always make me so hungry?) while Jen showered. (Can you believe they made me wait a whole half-hour in the same building with him before I could meet my grandson? ; ) Mike had been at the hospital ever since he drove Jen there on the day Brendan was born. For him, it was a given that he would remain. "Why would I have been home yet, Mom? We're still here." He slept in a recliner and between the two of them they hadn't had more than one full night's sleep in the two or three nights prior.

Of course, it was love-at-first-sight with Brendan. But, do you know what my favorite pictures from my visit are? (Well, beside the adorable picture with Brendan's head in my hand!) They are the pics of Mike, Jen and Brendan. This picture of the happy, new family. They are the picture of my son in his new role and brand-spanking new life.

Michael is protective. Jen and I have brushed up against each other in the past. Fortunately, over the past couple of years, Jen has gotten to the point where something I will do or say will piss her off rather than hurt her feelings. I hope we someday get to the point of Jen telling me off when that happens. I think we will someday. I love you, Jen.

The thing that has made me most proud of my son has been the way he's 'protected' his wife and his family. He acted as intermediary between Jen and I when she was pregnant and my apparent insensitivity bruised or angered her even more than usual. I am proud of the way he takes ownership of his son and his family in the most natural way. I'm proud that the two of them were changing messy diapers as a team. I'm even proud that they have a prohibition on visits until they have settled in a bit as a family.

(Just remember, Mike and Jen...I'm ready at any time and eager as can be to play with my grandboy. I'd also make an excellent babysitter, if you two wanted to go get dinner alone or something! Services available freely, with appropriate notice. It is a five-hour drive, after all! ; )

He has shifted allegiance, my son. He hasn't shifted love. There's plenty of that to go around and I get my share. But his alliance is now firmly with his family, as it should be. This fills me with love and joy and fills my heart to bursting with pride.

In the last year, I've watched my son become a man. And he's a man I respect and honor. I couldn't be more proud!There are plenty of other things I've accomplished in my life, of which I am proud. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Life Meter

I put a little Life Meter on my site a month or so ago. I thought the idea was cute. I know little enough about this stuff that I thought it would track any time I accessed this site and update itself automatically. I didn't realize I'd have to actually go to the Life Meter site on a regular basis to manually update! I'm not really lazy, but... Well, maybe I am a little lazy.

I've purposely avoided going there recently, waiting to see when the message would change from "Probably Alive" to "Possibly Dead" or "Probably Dead" or "Call 911" or "Call the Funeral Parlor!" It hasn't! 11 days worth of active avoidance has only produced a constant "Probably Alive."

It's been rather a disappointment to me. I am fairly easy-going and find pleasure in the smallest, weirdest things. I'm also easily bored, perhaps a tad ADHD, and want the results I expect when I want them.

A message to Life Meter: do something interesting soon or your days are numbered!

I'm working again today so, if the meter changes to "," please don't call 911?

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Let's See if You Were Paying Attention

Which of the following is a bald-faced lie?

A. I have had such a bad day I should walk around with a BAG over my head !

B. I am a lesbian.

C. The Mistress, I mean the Mutt of this house is named Sadie.

Try not to read too much into it. There is a time limit. Pick up your pencils.

::clicks stopwatch::


Wednesday, April 19, 2006

You Have GOT to Read This

I think I'm in love with Liz, of Granny Gets a Vibrator fame. Really, you must stop by. Take a look at those strapping boys, Boy One and Boy Two. And don't miss the detour to Walks Downtown Unsupervised. The road less traveled and all that. My heart's a-pitter-patter. This woman is my own personal Xena!

Alright, so this is what my own personal Xena looks more like:

Didn't I tell you the bitch was a seductress?

Um, I really do have to get out more, and not to the dog park!

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Granny Gets A Vibrator

I reposted this to move it to the top because I made some revisions you might find worth looking over. Hope you enjoy!

I've gotten started early today and have found a very interesting site before 6PM. This was my day to play hooky from adult life and just do the things I wanted. So I
did do some errands, because it gave me a sense of accomplishment and I wanted that. I have two loads of laundry in and shaved everything that needed shaving...the bear has come out of hibernation...for the very same reason. So it is with a sense of entitlement and a treat well-earned that I now sit down to waste an entire beautiful spring evening catching up on my blog list. The breeze is coming through my window, the air is fresh and smells of moisture and wild onions. The green outside is the kind only available in Mid-April in Philadelphia. This playing hooky is neat. ; )

You might note that my ambition did not extend itself to ironing and rehanging my mulberry window scarves. I have my limits. Pardon me, please, while I go put the clothes in the dryer. Sadie knows that, particularly on lovely days like today, I will let her out on the cable when I go outside. So when I went downstairs to go dry the clothes, Sadie trotted right alongside. Here she is being a very good girl while she ogles a squirrel with saliva running down the corner of her mouth.

On my late afternoon cruise, this was just what I needed to find...another fabulous woman I want to add to my feed.

Granny Gets A Vibrator a title no middle-aged, sex-positive, lesbian, nascent grandmother could possibly resist! I haven't gotten through much of it yet. I was convinced after only a few posts. A fifty-two year old, red-haired heavy weight lifter, Liz writes very well and has Attitude with a capital "A!" I haven't yet found out whether that truly amazing bicep she models is really her progress since January of this year. If so, you go, Liz! Go check her out. (Representative Sample) I think you'll enjoy her, too.

(Aside for the insatiably curious among you...and you know who you are..., I've had my vibrator for a long time, got it when I was a young mother. It's a Windmere 3301 plug-in. I don't think they even make it any more. On a search today ; ) I found one that is similar but couldn't find my faithful "Old Nell" The following photo is the closest I could come, to coin a phrase. ; )

This is the end table between my sofa and "Sadie's" chair.
This is a miniature tableau of my life. You might not think I would fancy such a girlie-girl ginger jar lamp and shade and you'd be wrong. I have a lot of red and pink and a fair amount of lace and ruffles in my apartment. I have claret-colored heavy curtains in my bedroom over frilly white lace sheers. Who knew, huh?

Yes, that's a glass shade from an old lamp on top of my Yankee candle. The lamp shocked me once to often but I had just spent 20 bucks on the shade a few months ago. I'll be darned if I'm not getting my twenty bucks' worth! A can of peanuts, cocktail, please, no dry roasted will do, and a napkin to wipe my oily fingers on after I've licked them. The little end table book of Vermeer came from The Frick Collection in New York City. And, of course, tissues. Chronic sinusitis takes its toll but keep the Kimberly-Clark shareholders happy, so that's all that matters.

Yes, it is a hopelessly outdated, cheap piece of furniture. I have a life goal of creating a home with unique furnishings and an eclectic mix without consideration of price. Goodwill finds are the best, little "antique" stores. I like different textures and enjoy splashes of color. Ultimately, this crone wants to live in a refurbished cottage with a truly eccentric, arty feel. I'm working on it!

Monday, April 17, 2006

43 Things to Do

I found this very fun little site. I'm sure it's intended for teenagers but I say we comandeer as much from the little buggers as we can and twist it to our own, sick devices!

43 Things allows you to create a list of things you'd like to do. So far, I only have five so I have 38 more items to create. Any suggestions? What would you opt for? And you can discuss this with friends and people will think you're talking about the latest Robert Altman flick. ; )

Give it a try. It really gets you thinking and that's always...well, usually...a good thing.

Screaming Child Bites the Dust

I tried, but I just couldn't stand her any more. You'll find an updated post with a link instead of the video. At least I've proven to myself that I can figure out how to post a video. Now I need to learn how to post one that doesn't start automatically!

How to deal with the screaming child...

If you've already watched the video and really don't want to hear little Susie lament her horribly traumatic experience with green beans over and over again when you visit, simply click on pause and she'll shut up. Would that it were so easy in real life. ; ) I will try to post prolifically in the next couple of days to move her to the next page as quickly as possible!

Please, God...

Don't let my grandchild turn out to be like this:

It really is funny when you don't have to listen to it every time you go to your blog! I hate drama!

But I love! So glad they're back online. They must have been having some technical difficulties and I almost deleted their link. Wimp is not for the squeamish, easily offended or sexually repressed. They are usually not politically correct, either! : )

On Coming Out

I am a lesbian, in case you hadn't noticed.

I considered naming this post "A Silly Little Post About Nothing," but thought better of it as I typed. It turned out to be much more than the post I was considering about how much I enjoy sex. Guess you'll just have to wait for that one. This has evolved into my coming out story, from the perspective of someone who was late in coming. Yes, I am a lesbian and I like sex.

Funny, for a lesbian, I've had sex with more men than women and more sex with men that with women. I was a late bloomer, you see. Someday I might get into the whole family story but right now I want to focus on me. : )

I became aware I was attracted to girls at age 16 and declared myself "bisexual" at 18. Then I met a man and married at 19, had a child at 22 and divorced at 25. I dated a few men and had sexual relationships with two over the next several years then swore off men until I met one I could respect, a man I was truly interested in, a man that was more to me than just his penis. I'm still waiting. (Sorry, guys! It's not personal.)

When I was in my early thirties, I realized my sister-in-law was gay and that I was very attracted to her. Fortunately, she moved off to the gay Mecca of the US around that time so Mike is spared decades of therapy. He should easily be able to get through his traumatic childhood issues in less than ten years. I knew Sis was gay before she did, as it turns out. I have a very intuitive and perceptive nature. Do all Pisceans or is it just me? When I was in my mid-thirties, Sis came out to me and my response was something along the lines of, "Yeah. And?" I left SF after that visit and presumed I'd return to my old, celibate, "bisexual" life. (Aside: Sis is now in a successful long-term relationship, she and her lovely partner have a set of twins and she was a very busy, happy Mama when I last saw her. : )

Well, my gears got going. Thoughts I'd had many years ago returned to haunt me..."If she's a lesbian and I'm attracted to her, what does that make me?" Silly, huh? I guess I was a slow learner. Within six months of that visit I had a revelation. "Psssst...It's not all about sex."

You see, when I considered myself bi, I really considered myself primarily heterosexual with an interest in women on the side. But it all centered around sex. What made me change the way I thought about myself was realizing how much more women meant in my life than men. Really, I was primarily interested in men for sex, and I used sex as a weapon against them. Ouch! It was all about sex which was all about power.

But women were different. With women, I was able to communicate on many levels. I cared about women. Women were the people I was interested in. I felt comfortable with women in a way I never did with men. And, yes, by the way...I also thought I'd like to try having sex with a woman. : ) You see, I am a lesbian who likes sex.

It still took me quite a while to take the next logical step. It's not easy raising your son in your hometown when you want to be a big, ole dyke. Well, it's not if you were me in the 90's. It wasn't until 2000 that I met the first woman I would kiss. It was very nice. : )

So, since then I've left her, met and broke up with another and decided to take a breather. For the past, sheesh, almost two years, I've been working on a love affair with myself. I'm sorry if this post and this blog seem a little self-centered but that's pretty much what it's about.

I highly recommend a layover, if you have the opportunity. I have found such clarity over the last two years. When my family came into town for my dad's service last month, my "aunt" (she is married to my uncle but she's always just been, "Sue") well, Sue told me she had never seen me so complete and happy. She's right. I've never felt so whole.

I'm straying off topic. Better read this while it's hot because this may be one that goes "bye-bye" come the AM. Every lesbian has a story. This was mine. I love who I am now and part of that was coming to understand that love does not equal sex. And that the people I love happen to be the same gender as me. Go figger.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

m & m's

Should I worry that my site has gotten a hit from Washington, DC?

Given the obvious contempt I hold for the asshole who inhabits the White House at present, maybe I should. This is a president who thinks it's his inalienable right to eavesdrop on the private telephone conversations of American citizens. This is an administration hellbent on overturning Roe vs. Wade and imposing their morality on my body. This "Justice" Department thinks it's perfectly reasonable, even commendable, to require confidential medical records relating to abortion because Bush and his partisans think their theocratic goals have more value than the relationship between a health care professional and her patient. This group believe it's necessary for them to find out who has had an abortion and where and by whom. I wonder if the death penalty will be made retroactive...

This is a president who feels he has the legal right, and probably the "moral" obligation," to bypass the legislative branch of the United States government in order to maintain the ability to utilize torture as an interrogation technique. But then again, this is the administration who thought it was just fine to invade a sovereign nation what exactly have we gained from this? What was the point again? I really must pay more attention during those riveting "press conferences."

Following Hurricaine Katrina last summer I wrote on my blog that, for the first time in my life, I actually felt ashamed to be an American. Ashamed! I thought the feeling would be fleeting. I thought I would wake up one morning soon, breathe the free air and feel my chest swell with pride of living in this country again. I do not look forward to the July Fourth fireworks this year. What is there to celebrate about being an American in this age?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wow! That was deep! On to something a little lighter.I just had the most sensuous experience.

sen·su·ous Audio pronunciation of "sensuous" ( P ) Pronunciation Key (snsh-s)
  1. Of, relating to, or derived from the senses.
  2. Appealing to or gratifying the senses.
    1. Readily affected through the senses.
    2. Highly appreciative of the pleasures of sensation.

"Highly appreciative of the pleasures of sensation," that would be me. Some day I'm going to write my dissertation on the senses.

Anyway, I got home from work around 11:30 tonight which was *so* very luscious! I hardly ever get home much before midnight. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning! I unloaded and changed into some of my mostest comfiest things, played with Sadie a bit and checked e-mail and phone.

Well, after I'd bribed Sadie with a chewy bone to buy an hour's peace, I finally caved in and walked her after she flung herself on my lap around 12:30. It was warm around here today. It might have gotten up to 80F (27C). My apartment was rather warm when I got home. (Gee, I wish I'd left some windows open. I detest the heat. I'd much rather be cold than hot.) So I donned my windbreaker, leashed my pup and stepped outside. The sky is clear, the moon is a day or two past her full and Jupiter hovers a tantilizing distance away. There is the merest wisp of a'd stir up more with a moderate walk. My cheeks are flushed from the hour in my hot apartmenet and the breeze kisses my skin. Sheesh, this is getting really soppy.'s a nice night outside.

We walked past the apartment in the 200 building where the creepy man with the cowboy hat and long, olive coat lives with his equally creepy white shepherd. The Rottweiler puppy, as has become his habit, jumped up to the open window to whimper at my little temptress. (Oh yeah, she's *that* kind of bitch.) He's a beauty. He's less than a year old and seems genuinely interested in friendship first. "He'd make a good match," says the yenta in me. Next thing I hear is a harsh voice snarling, "Shut up!" I was devestated. I'm such a Pollyanna I just assume everybody loves their dogs as much as I love Sadie and treats them as kindly. I walked away and muttered, "That's abusive, Prick." I wish I'd had the courage to knock on his door and tell him as much but, as much as I value principle, I value safety more.

I broke a couple of flowery twigs from the weeping cherry tree on our walk tonight. As we stood at the end of the 200 building, after our trauma with the mean man, I brushed the soft petals over my cheek. It gave me goose bumps all over and sent a shiver down my spine. This tiny sensation touched all the feelings inside me and the spiritual became physical.
If the physical is detached from the spiritual, does it not lose meaning? Aren't the two inextricably entwined?

Anyway, when we got close to our apartment, I let Sadie off leash for a short run. Well, my post-work relaxation technique must have distorted my sensibilities a bit because next thing I know I'm pulling weeds from around an azalea I've planted on the hill outside my door, all the while hearing REM's "Gardening at Night" in my head and silently laughing at myself. My Sadie is like a kid caught between toddler and school-age. Isn't that a wonderful time...still engulfed by one's experience of sensation, newly conscious of one's surroundings...tinted with the first blush of conscience, consequence and inhibition? I wish I could live my life like that. As I diligently weeded and imagined I could hear Mike, my new downstairs neighbor, thinking, "This woman is a fucking nutcase," Sadie managed to wander all the way to the top of the hill.

If the gardening didn't wake him, the ensuing dog chase surely did.

Me: Sadie. (whispered) Sadie. (emphatically whispered) SADIE. (croaked) SADIE! (quietly yelled)

Sadie: ::rustle, rustle::

Me: Time to go to bed, Sadie.

Sadie: "La-dee-da-dee-dum! I'm not listening!"

Me: Treat, Sadie? Want a treat?

Sadie: Let me sniff this log. What's this tasty thing?

Me: If you make me climb this hill, I'm going to kill you!

Sadie: ::wonders what the new word, "kill," means...wonders if it's something tasty::

These kind of moments are some of the fondest I recall from raising my son. Those steps out into the real world, not craving the safety of the familiar and comfortable. The outstretching of damp, new wings. I really wasn't angry. It was one of those moments when you try so hard to be stern while you're stifling your mirthful pride.

I trudged 3/4 of the way up the hill, half falling out of, half crippling my ankle in my old-lady Clark's clogs. When I get 3/4 of the way up, guess who flies by, laughing with her four-footed haughtiness at my bipedal lumbering! I could have kill't her! I made her sit on the rug when we got in and lectured her until she threw herself at my feet, begging for mercy. I then proceded to give her the cold shoulder. (Why do I have to use all the tricks with my dog that my mom used on me?)

I spurned her when she made an overture after I'd resettled on the couch, telling her to go lay down. This time she got *both* the 'go' and 'lay down' parts and did as I said. A couple minutes later, when I lamented my harshness, I patted the couch, inviting her to join me. Little Missy got the last dig should know this so you don't think I'm a total bitch. She lay her head back down, ignored me and promptly fell asleep.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Oh. My. God. I just found the most awesome thing I've ever online Yiddish dictionary! Then that heavenly find led me to Mental Yentl, the Meditation Matchmaker, which I'll have to explore on a future cruise. I'll report back to you on this one
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For another fun diversion into language, check out the Urban Dictionary., another place where I looked up the meaning of the Yiddish word "yenta."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Tennessee Guerilla Women are now some of my biggest heroines. Check out Equal Rights for Sperm here. Imagine what the world might be like if men were banned from masturbating. (Sorry, guys!)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I started this last night but got too distracted to finish it, at least if I wanted to get some sleep. Sorry about any resultant irregularities in time frame. Do you think blogging will eventually be the thing to create an irreparable rift in the space-time continuum?

Have a blessed Easter, all who celebrate it. And a joyous Passover for those who celebrate that! If there are any other religion I should be honoring on this day, please let me know!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Saturday, April 15, 2006

Wimp Dumped!

Sorry folks, apparently went to that beautiful blogosphere in the clouds. Every link I have to them now leads to Drat! They had some funny stuff and all the links were working when I posted. I'll repost it if it comes up again later.

Still no Brendan pics or videos. Drat.

Friday, April 14, 2006

I Jumped on the Bandwagon

Well, first Kelly joined up and Pam is now waiting for her coffee reviewer's package to arrive, I figured, "What the heck," and registered last night at Boca Java as well.

Heck, I'm an ER nurse! We've got to drink coffee to survive! And, I do love the taste of a good cup o' Joe. I'm not sure they'll want me, though, because I have to draw the line at flavored coffees. I was born and raised in New Jersey, which must be the diner capital of the world! When you've grown up and spent 30 years drinking Jersey diner coffee, you really don't get the draw of drinking white chocolate raspberry coffee. Gimme my white chocolate, raspberries and coffee separately and I'm all set. Mix them all together in a coffee mug when I'm trying to do my wake-up routine and I'll say, "No, thank you, Ma'am!" Hmmm...white chocolate, raspberries and coffee sounds like a perfect dessert!

So, I've got my fingers crossed and am polishig up on coffee terminology..."robust," "full bodied," "nutty," "rich," "smooth," "bouquet." Whaddyathink? ; )

In other news, I'm checking Mike's website at school twice a day now for the promised Brendan pictures and videos. Did I tell you I lugged my laptop all the way out to Pittsburgh, planning to get first dibs on baby pictures, and Mike is making me wait? How cruel is that? He wants to go through and select them first and didn't buy my idea that he could do that while Jen and I played with the baby. Drat.

So I'm doing my best to be the patient grandma here but I want to see him in motion and really want to see what those eyes look like. He was so worn out when I was out to visit on Wednesday that all he showed of his eyes was when they rolled up in his head while he was dreaming. Sorry, that look is just a bit creepy! I'll see if I can get Mike and Jen's permission to link their Brendan pics here once they're up so you can enjoy him, too.

Another day in the salt mines...we had 8 traumas yesterday. Luckily, I wasn't working trauma but I betcha I will be there today. On a Friday, in the spring, with the first real break in the weather. I'm sunk!

Another day in paradise!

Great How-to Site

I found the neatest site on my post-work unwinding surf tonight. I got there by Googling Mexican Sunflowers to show to my friend, Jess. The site is called eHow.

So, I started tooling around in there a bit and it's wonderful from what I've seen already. I own two recreational kayaks and also XC ski and showshoe so I went to the Outdoor Recreation page first. I am intrigued with the idea of sea kayaking and I was amazed at the depth of information available on that topic. And very useful, practical stuff, too, like how to exit your kayak if it's capsized. That's be one of the first things I'd like to know!

The gardening section seems equally impressive. They not only have a section on growing basics, but specific information on planning for special gardens, such as the cut-flower garden I tried last spring. They have quite healthy lists for vegetables and annual and perreniel flowers as well a special information for bulbs, groundcovers and vines, shrubs, trees and roses! Oh, how I want a rose garden someday!

You can also learn how to fix your car, make home repairs, redecorate, date and marry (I should read that one ; ), play cards and collect collect yoyos, throw a great party, choose a pet and use false eyelashes.

Go check it out...I bet you find what you're looking for there!

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