gLee:

glee: open delight or pleasure; exultant joy.

Who does not want to experience glee on a daily basis? Perhaps Hannibal Lecter or Grouchy Smurf would not like to, but I certainly would. I find delight in many small things, such as a chocolate bar, my excited dogs when I enter the house, and most recently, the new fallen snow softly gathered on trees and buildings with Christmas lights popping through here and there. That was so beautiful, and it was then that I felt exultant joy or glee.

I have never been a habitual TV viewer. Sure, there are some programs that I try to watch weekly, but there are none that I am loyal to or none that I absolutely must watch. It has taken me a while to find a TV show that I yearn to watch; one that I just want more of. Over the past few weeks, I have been watching gLee, and when the show is finished, I just want more. It is like watching your favorite musical and when it is over, you need to hear it again, sing, hum, anything to carry on that joyous feeling that harmony and song instills in you.

I try not to sing out loud when others are around, including the dogs, because, simply put, I do not have a silky soulful voice. When I am alone, I will pull up You Tube or pop in a dvd of one of my favorite musicals, and start belting out the tunes. The dogs hate me then; out of kindness, I let them run to the shelter of the outdoors. What a joyous feeling it is though, to sing and listen to songs that actually fill your soul with happiness and harmony. I believe that is where exultant joy comes from.

Visiting Lake Potato

Every year I try to venture to my brother's house for Thanksgiving, for the best meal ever. My brother, Noel, and his wife, Janet, make this best ham (slow cooked with brown sugar); it is absolutely to die for! My brother and I like to sit at the table and reminisce about our mom who passed away 10 years ago. Somehow our conversations always wander back to her mashed potatoes. (Keep in mind that this story predates microwaves by many years.) Every Sunday she would make a HUGE vat of mashed potatoes, that she would serve as leftovers for days and days into the following week. As the days of leftover mashed potatoes wore on, the runnier they became. A few times on Sunday, as an attempt to not have leftovers, Noel and I ate serving after serving of mashed potatoes. Of course this failed, because the more we ate, the next Sunday she would just make a larger vat. Ohh, this was misery at it's worst! Through our misery, we both made a keen observation concerning the mashed potatoes; the milked down leftovers took over everything on our plate. Peas were pushed off as the potatoes swarmed angrily across the plate. The lone slab of meat, picture meat loaf if you will, was left floating like an island in a lake of a milky white substance. From that day on, we named the leftovers Lake Potato, and all future discussions of Lake Potato have since brought back memories of disgust and hilarity. Viva Lake Potato!

Sebastian the Rockin' Crab?

While driving to work today, the radio station blared a song from my much younger years sung by Skid Row. Every time I hear the tunes by Skid Row, I think of the lead singer's name, Sebastian, and my ex's insistence that we name our youngest son after this lead singer. I absolutely refused to name my son after a cartoon character from the Little Mermaid, much less the lead singer of Skid Row! Could you imagine the ridicule he would have had to deal with in school? I pictured him running to his room in tears, screaming, "I hate my name, and I hate you for giving me this stupid name!" In an effort to avoid this vision from the future, I quickly suggested Brett as an alternative when delivery day came, as "Amy" turned out to be another disastrous choice I felt we should avoid (was told twice our baby was a girl.) Of course now Brett likes to think he is named after Brett Favre, and I gently inform/re inform him that his name came as a spur of the moment alternative to Sebastian. His reply the first time I informed him, "Sebastian? That's kind of cool." I doubt he would be saying that if it truly were his name. Though his name was a bit spur of the moment, I also did name him after one of the all-around best baseball players, George Brett. My Brett seemed not too pleased when he learned that too.

It's Her Party!

My granddaughter is 1yr old! Watching her eat, smash, and trash her cake was hilarious. It made me think of my 19yr old's first birthday, where he climbed onto the table, sat on his cake, and started eating it. Babies are too cute and funny when we introduce them to sugar!

UVA makes the Colbert Report

I was pleasantly surprised the other night, when Stephen Colbert's guest mentioned the most beautiful architecture as the Lincoln Memorial and UVA. A picture of the Rotunda was shown, and of course mention of Declaration Boy, Thomas Jefferson, being the Renaissance Man of his time.

Having lived near Charlottesville, and UVA, for some time now, I never actually took the time to walk on the lawn until a few summer's ago. For those who are not familiar with UVA, the lawn is where the Academic Village is: the Rotunda, the Pavilions- the lawn rooms--including the Poe room (UVA's most famous drop out), and the Gardens. It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen, and there is this tranquility there that is just magical. I think of others who have walked the same brick path or who may have stood where I was then: Poe, Walter Reed, Bobby and Teddy Kennedy, Woodrow Wilson, Richard Byrd, Georgia O'Keeffe...I could go on and on... A picture is worth many words, and the one above speaks loudly of the magic on the lawn. It is breath taking.

Patrons Who Stare at Idiots

The husband and I decided to take in a movie this evening and try out the revamped Visulite, in the historic district of Staunton. The Visulite turned out to be better than the theaters at the Staunton Mall; The seats are comfortable (they rock), the aisles are wider providing plenty of leg room, the movie screen is large, and the sound system is above average.

The husband and I decided to see "Men Who Stare at Goats", and my only problem with the experience at the Visulite was the overly giddy twenty-something year old girl who sat two rows behind me, to my right. The movie was bizarre,and it had some true comedic moments where I laughed out loud, but for the life of me, I did not understand why this girl chose to laugh when certain words were said. Was her laughter because of some odd and new type of 'Rocky Horror' experience that neither I, nor any other patron, were akin to? I am puzzled by this. Let me give you an example: Whenever George Clooney or Ewan McGregor would say "Jedi" or "the Force," this girl would laugh LOUDLY, and it was not a quick laugh. It was a solo long LOUD laugh. It became most annoying after her fourth inappropriate outburst, and it was at this time that I got my husband's attention, ushered him closer, and gingerly whispered in his ear, "She must be high." He let out a quick giggle, because he sometimes forgets that I can be wicked. Every time she did her solo outburst, I sat there thinking that it would be great to learn George's awesome talent of being able to stare at some live creature and make it's heart stop. I could use that talent on this inappropriate girl, and I believe there were others who may have thought this same thing tonight. I dared not look at her as I left the theater, fearing that I may blurt out something wickedly witty, or that I may have miraculously picked up George's talent and ended her idiotic ways. In a way, I failed humanity but not sparing future legions of movie goers from her idiotic torture. I am sorry citizens of Staunton.

Wicked

Halloween is a wonderful holiday; I absolutely love all the ghoulish festivities, making children work for their candy (this year a coin toss--had to land a coin on dinnerware), and creating my grand-daughter's costume. I tend to be a people watcher, too, more so during this holiday than any other. Some of the costume ideas people come up with are absolutely original and awesome. Other ideas people have, like adults buying some store bought costume, stuffing themselves into it, and then wearing it out in public...OMG!!! What were they thinking!
Being Catholic at heart, and being raised in a Catholic school from the start, I was taught that if you thought something wicked, you have sinned. Oh what a sinner I was in elementary school, and yes I was very consistent. Though I felt much guilt and a touch of shame for all those wicked thoughts, having to go to confession weekly to cleanse my wicked soul, did not deter my evil ways. Why just yesterday, I observed Wonder Woman clutching a bag of candy, only this was an impostor! Wonder Woman was stuffed into her sexy outfit--it was bulging at the seams! Where did her girlish figure go?? This was a ghoulish figure! Was this her intention, after all it is Halloween? I suspect this impostor splurged on too many Krispy Kreams, Duncan Donuts, Big Macs, etc. I wanted to rip the clutched bag of candy from her hands and yell, "No more woman! This must stop!" Immediately after those thoughts crossed my mind, I said to myself, "Oh Marie, you are so going to Hell." I chuckled to myself, because I know I have a fast track ticket to meet Satan, as evidenced by my continued consistent wicked thoughts. What would the nuns at Sacred Heart say if they knew this has continued well into my 40s? Here comes the guilt, that is quickly washed away again by a chuckle, and I just love when I do that and people stare, wondering what I am chuckling at. Currently, my husband sits puzzled by this thought. I need only say three words, and he gets it. "Going to Hell," because of my wicked, wicked ways.

Livin' in Zombieland

My almost 16 year old son and I saw Zombieland Saturday night, and honestly that was the funniest movie I have seen in some time. It was full of wit, included great rules for a zombie attack, Woody Harrelson is awesome, and the movie did not gross me out! Bill Murray even makes an appearance as himself, but alas is killed while playing a prank on one of the main characters. One of my favorite lines from this movie is when Woody's character greets Bill, "...Bill F****ing Murray; I know that's not your middle name..." My favorite funny-horror flick, Dracula Dead and Loving It, has just been replaced!

A Thief in the Night

Working in a place where people are forced to use a community refrigerator, invites thieves to steal the carefully packed food of others. Tonight, my thoughtfully packed grapes and banana were stolen. Petty, yes, but those yummy snacks should be in my belly beginning the fascinating process of digestion. Instead, by a thief in the night, they were taken away and savored by someone else. As I sat eating my lean cuisine pizza, I thought of terrible ways this fiend should suffer: projectile vomitting and diarrhea, choking while at work requiring intubation, four point restraints, a foley catheter, and an EGD in the morning. Let's throw a run of a-fib in there, too, where we did not have time to sedate and did cardioversion emergently...yeah... shock the crap out of him or her. Might get my grapes back that way! I take comfort in knowing that I never washed those grapes; hell, I even dropped some on the kitchen floor, before placing them in the baggy :)

Liam makes his debut

After a few false alarms, our second grandchild, Liam, made his entry into this world 9/15/09 at 11:30 p.m. Most C-section babies are just beautiful--they have no misshapen heads. Little Liam was delivered vaginally, and thus has a slight cone head. My husband's first thought on seeing him, "Mr Smithers." Liam really is a beautiful baby, but I chuckle at the Mr. Smithers resemblance. In my search for a funny hat that Liam could wear for pictures, I wound up finding only a pirate's hat. When I took the hat out of it's package, I thought, "Hmm. Looks like something Aunt Jemima wears. So here is Liam, aka Smithers, in his Jemima headgear :)

Chillin' with FCC

Today FCC decided to attach himself to my back, as I steadily worked at my laptop. I guess with his new assault technique he has figured out that I cannot swat at him from behind. Ahh...but I still won. I laid back on the bed and gave him a little smush while yelling, "Uhhh--What the heck is wrong with you?" Here he is seen in a rare mellow moment, plotting/dreaming up his next attack.

My New Acronym: FCC

Acronyms are a strange part of health care; most health care professionals use them in shift reports or as code in front of lay people. Acronyms are also part of a cryptic language for the various fields of medicine, and these cryptic languages tend to spill over into our everyday lives.

I share my home with three dogs, and two of those dogs enjoy killing any and all small creatures that dare to venture into the fenced yard. Over the years, I have found numerous rabbit parts, dead birds, and most recently a dead kitten. I have rescued one rabbit and two kittens from the clutches of my carnivorous hounds. One of the spared kittens now lives in my bedroom, tucked away hidden from the hounds. I think this kitten owes me some gratitude, some respect damn it. Do I get it? Heck no! I love him, play with him, feed him, clean his poop from the litter box, make sure he has plenty of litter to kick out of the box for me to sweep up; what thanks do I get? Currently, as I type, he is viciously biting my ankles--correction--toes!! Yesterday, while I was readying myself for work, he decides to attach himself to my thigh. I would like to add that I was wearing shorts!!!! That damn cat drew blood, and not just a drop or two. I have wounds on my anterior thigh and shin from his assault. Obscenities flew from my mouth as I swung to remove him from my thigh..."*ucking crazy cat," I yelled, as I swatted and watched him sail comfortably onto a pile of dirty laundry.

I have been having trouble finding a name for him. Jinx, Kitty (how original), Lil' F'er, and now FCC. For now, I will stick with FCC, until his next assault and my new attempt at cleaning up blurted obscenities.

RAM: Remote Area Medical Clinic, Wise County, VA 2009

This is where I had the room mate from hell, last year. Though I had that bad experience, it truly is a worthwhile event to go and volunteer; teamwork and dedication rules, the people receiving services never gripe, they thank you for volunteering, and the people in this area are in true need of health care. The present health care system in Wise County is overworked; the need is greater than the services/providers available.
If anyone knows of a similar event in their area, I encourage you to volunteer and make a difference in the lives of others. (You do not have to be a health care professional to volunteer at these types of events)

Those Who are Disturbed

When I see this, I think, "I like my thumbs with a nice chianti-arghhh-ga-ga-ga!", or how about the bad seed, the rotten one, veggie tales friends gone wild, how do you like it *itch?, or night of the rotten seeds. You could really have fun with these!

This is one of the funniest things I have seen in some time. Eclisse from photobucket creates these works of disturbed art and they are making their way around via email.

Silly Boy

Having a sense of humor is extremely important, because it helps you to deal with life as a whole. I have imparted my love for humor to my sons, and I feel my youngest has grasped just how important humor is. When I started making tutus, I jokingly asked him if he wanted one too. He said, "Yeah, why not." I was shocked, and thought certainly he was not serious, so I asked, "You're joking, right?" His reply, "No. I am serious. I'll wear it to school on game days. Why do the cheerleaders get to have all the fun? I'm going to wear a short skirt too." So, this is the end result...This is Brett and his tutu in school colors royal and white. He can be so silly! Go Lee Men!

Smile Though Your Heart is Aching

**Image from allaboutjazz**

The news media has pretty much been crawling all over the death of Michael Jackson, and I am sure many are tired of all this coverage. I have limited my viewing of all this coverage, as much of it is mere speculation. Today though, I am choosing to watch the tribute/farewell as closure for myself, because I grew up listening to and loving the music of Michael Jackson.

In more recent years, Michael's image had been greatly tarnished; I sincerely hope that everyone remembers his humanitarian efforts. In the words of Bernice King, Michael rose above his own needs to meet the needs of others. He was a humanitarian, he wanted to "heal the world, make it a better place, for you and for me."

Though I do not always agree with Al Sharpton, today he made a statement to Michael's children that is so true,"You're father was not strange, what he had to put up with was strange." In more ways than one, that statement holds many truths. I will leave it to individual readers to contemplate that statement.

Michael should leave us with inspiration to be the best possible, to do for our fellow man what we can, to give back to society, to thank those around us, and to always fight the good fight. When I continue to think of Michael, I hum his tune Man in the Mirror, and that gives me the inspiration to better myself so that I can continue to give back and fight the good fight.

Here is a link to a wonderful video of Michael singing Man in the Mirror
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwu3D-Luo-E

Thank you Michael; God Bless you and your family. Heaven is gong to have one heck of a choir now!

Men and Their Grills

From a woman's perspective, I find it funny how touchy men are when it comes to their grills, as in who gets to operate, cook, and manage the grill. If a woman attempts to take over the man's efforts, by any means, he is immediatley offended but will not always come right out and say so. Why is that, I wonder? I have been trying to think of something that I would find greatly offensive, if a man were to attempt to take that task away from me, and at this moment I cannot think of anything.

When I visited my brother several months ago, he asked his oldest daughter to watch over the grill, and I, being the good aunt, decided to help her. We had a lot of fun "watching over" things, because I had not even touched a grill, or flipped a piece of chicken or a hot dog on a grill, in over 10 years. We had so much fun that we did not want to relinquish the duty of grill master, on my brother's return. Of course, he was offended, I believe, and I had to actually go inside and ask him to come out and take over as grill master. Odd, I thought, but also oddly funny.

Happy Independence Day!

Zoey the Destroyer

Who knew Boston Terriers like to dig? I learned that last summer; as I planted flowers, Zoey the Destroyer would dig/destroy them and my efforts. In this photo, Zoey is seen taking a break from her hard work, where she systematically worked her way down this flower bed, leaving little behind. In the end, last year, I let her win. This year, I have changed the fencing around this flower bed, to thwart her efforts, and I keep a closer eye on her when she is outdoors; so far I am winning. Oh, and that animal repellent that is supposed to keep dogs, cats, rabbits, etc. away from your flowers is not Zoey proof. I observed her eating it last year, prior to digging!

And the Award Goes To....

Let's face it, not every man is the 'Mr. Fix-It" type. My husband happens to be one who is not of that type; he even jokes about his handyman 'abilities.' When things around the house break, malfunction, or are just not quite right, I try to hide them from him. Eventually, though, he finds these things that are broken, and I shudder when he states, "Don't worry, I'll fix it." As an example of his handyman abilities, there was once a run-on toilet, in our 70s-colored pea soup green bathroom, that he announced he would fix. When he was finished, the toilet no longer flushed, so in theory, no water was running; hmmm...that is not my idea of fixed.

On another occasion, this same toilet began leaking at the base because of a faulty seal. After reading many on-line 'how-to's' and the instructions for the new seal, it took my husband two attempts, two assistants, and a mutt to verify that there were no further leaks around the toilet. I therefore deem that the award for Redneck Plumbing goes to Harley and Co.

Paying My Respect

I have great respect for the men and women who have fought and continue to fight for our nation's freedom. The armed forces have nursing corps, and during my visit to the Smithsonian American History Museum today, I was deeply touched by the small display that paid tribute to the nurses who served during WWII. Sadly, I think people tend to forget about the nurses, but I will not forget. Their stories are inspiring and part of the reason why I chose the profession.

Go with the Flow

Dropping my phone has become a habit; a bad habit that to this day I have not overcome. The back of my phone will not even stay on now, unless assisted by tape. Ahhh, but I love my phone; my phone and I have been through a lot and into a lot of things. She is a girly phone too, all shiny and pink like a princess.

There was a day when my little princess phone became a dirty girl. On the day she became a dirty girl, I made the mistake of carrying her in the breast pocket of my scrub top; I was eagerly awaiting a call, she was set to vibrate when calls came in, and the only pocket I could place her in where I would feel that vibration was the breast pocket. I thought to myself, when I placed her snugly in my pocket, that I was going to drop her today, and the question for the day would be onto or into what would I drop her? Early afternoon, that question was answered. A patient rang out to be assisted to the bathroom, only this patient was in the Chest Pain Center, actively experiencing mild chest discomfort. I, being the vigilant and thorough nurse, would not allow this patient to ambulate to the bathroom that was 6 feet from her stretcher--she was destined to void on the ever popular and loved plastic bedpan. After my patient completed her business, I removed the beloved bedpan, placed it on the floor, and carefully assisted my patient in redressing herself. When finished, as I bent over to pick up the bedpan, I felt a sense of dread, and then I felt my little princess slipping out of my pocket; I watched and heard her plop into the urine filled bedpan. My cat-like reflexes kicked in, immediately plucking her from her dirty bath. Ohhh, she was now a dirty girl!

After cleaning her multiple times with toxic wipes, alcohol, and again with toxic wipes, she functions beautifully. Now, she no longer rides along in the breast pocket of my tops, and when people ask to borrow her, my princess phone, I never tell her dirty secret.

Just the Other Day

I like to think that I have a strange and a somewhat sick sense of humor. Working in the healthcare field only helps this along, and it was just the other day that I realized, yet again, just how sick my sense of humor is. At the lunch table, we were discussing roads we have all travelled, and I mentioned the creepiest place I have travelled to, Berkeley Springs, WV. At the time I travelled to WV, I had just watched the movie "Wrong Turn," and I found myself with paranoid thoughts as I drove down poorly lit, poorly marked, narrow, unpaved roads. My co-worker mentioned a creepy encounter a homehealth nurse had while visiting a man who lives in the Appalachain region in WV. Apparently this man had an above the knee amputation, and asked for his leg remnant to be returned. I jokingly stated that he must have wanted a new chew toy for his dog :) The man actually strung his leg from a tree in his front lawn and used it for target practice. Imagine the homehealth nurse's surprise on her first visit?!