"Pina" the "Perfect" Mom

This year will mark the 14th anniversary of my mother's death. In those 14 years, so very much has happened; events I know my mother would have loved to attend, milestones achieved with which she would have wept with joy, and even some little moments that I sincerely wish I could have shared with her in person. There are other moments too, where I just wish she were here listening or talking me through my thoughts. Moms can be so very good at that.

My mother would have been 80 years old this month. I would always tease her, if her birthday happened to fall on Mother's Day, by telling her that she would only receive one gift. She would give me her famous response, "Maria, I don't care. You don't have to get me anything." Anytime a mom says that, she is fibbing. Everyone loves to receive something, sometime, and more so on special days.

My gifts were always small and affordable, yet endearing. One year, in an attempt to beautify her backyard, I purchased a petite azalea bush. Afraid that we would both kill the flowering poof if it were planted outside, it thrived in her windowsill overlooking the backyard for many years. Eventually it succumbed to our brown thumbs; we were terrible gardeners. Today, my mother would delight in the many flowers and plants that are thriving in my yard, under my green thumb.

My youngest son will graduate high school this summer. While my mother was living, my youngest son was the baby in the family. I have a beautiful picture of the two of them taken on his 1st birthday. She is beaming with her beautiful electric smile, while he is looking on with his cake smudged face and hands. The baby she knew is grown and about to enter the adult world. How I wish she could be here; how I wish I could have one more beautiful photo of them... It rained during my college graduations and during my other son's graduations. In my heart, I have told myself the rain is my mother crying her tears of joy in heaven. I hope the tradition repeats itself, and it rains during my youngest son's graduation.

14 years seems like a long time, long enough to heal a wound. Truth is I do not want that wound to heal. I want to miss her, to remember her, to cherish every moment I had with her. She was my "perfect," beautiful, silly, understanding, heart of gold mom. As I am typing this, my youngest son has called to wish me a Happy Mother's Day. It is going to be a beautiful day.

Frailty

I am still trying to piece together the emotional events of my weekend spent caring for a critically ill patient. Over the years, I have heard the phrase "Life is fragile" uttered repeatedly. I have often wondered why life is so fragile? Life should be resilient and long lasting; after all, we were made in the image of God, if you believe the Holy Bible. God is not fragile, but I find that faith is. My faith has wavered several times over the years--I do not understand why God chooses to allow some people to suffer greatly, while others do not. How does that get measured out, doled out, how is it evened out? Somethings, I realize, I may never understand.

What I have noticed over the years is that God sends us unkind reminders on the frailty of life by taking it away. That leads me to another phrase that I have heard uttered many times, "Life is not fair." That one I understand.

When life ends

Tomorrow, 11/23, 12 weeks will have passed since my brother's death.

Since returning to work, I find that I am more emotional when dealing with a patient who is transitioned to comfort measures only. From just this past weekend, one of my patients who desperately needed an organ transplant was never going to receive one for various reasons. This patient was transitioned to comfort measures, and it was my understanding that the patient's family understood what would happen in the next few hours. When my patient passed away, his/her spouse began screaming, wailing, throwing his/her self to the floor in total disbelief. I stood shocked by this behavior and eventually had to excuse myself from the room because I found it too upsetting.

Once I left the room, I began to reflect on why my patient's spouse acted in such a manner. He/she had known for sometime that it was coming to this; there was ample time to prepare. My patient passed away within several hours of the transition, quietly and appearing to be at peace. This was not a drawn out horrific event, like others that I have been witness to. I simply do not understand his/her behavior--it made no sense to me and it still does not.

I then began to think about my brother's passing. I believe Maurice had a good death; he was made comfortable and passed surrounded by family. I took the night watch, with my brother that is closest to me in age (Noel), and we sat with Maurice talking about his past exploits, all the while laughing and remembering better times. When Noel would take a break, I propped my feet up on the sofa next to a sleeping Maurice, and I worked on Sudoku by candlelight. I believe that when you sit with someone who is dying, it is ok to talk and laugh about life. We are celebrating and remembering that life.

When my life comes to an end, and if my family has a chance to be present, everyone please surround me with stories of our life together. Do not wail or scream, and no throwing yourselves on the floor--that is just ridiculous. Honor me with your smiles and laughter.

I miss you my brother.

Life Lost?

Tonight, after receiving grave family news, I have started to reflect on my life and wonder how I will be remembered. We are given a very short time on this earth to make an impression, to do something good, and to give back to the world. That is how I believe life should be remembered. What good deed did this person do in his or her life?

Looking back on how my brother, Maurice, lived his life and how he should be remembered is very difficult. If there is such a thing as a "black" sheep of the family, ours is Maurice. There are so many events in his life where I believe he deeply wronged someone. I have been trying to push all those depressing events to the side, in an attempt to remember the good times. Those good times were few.

I remember the brother who was my mother's prodigal son. When I was approximately 13yo, I was the one who asked her, "Why don't you want to see your own son." Driven by the guilt that I laid upon her, my mother allowed a then 25yo Maurice to move into her home. In the late 70's, Maurice was a Vietnam veteran and a hippie with a thick Italian accent. My hippie brother introduced my ears to Cat Stevens, Jim Croce, and Ted Nugent. He was going to "stick it to the man." Unfortunately, at times, his family was "the man." During this time, Maurice indulged in street drugs and alcohol, and he served as my cautionary tale. I made a note-to-self, "never try street drugs or become an alcoholic."

In rolled the 80's, with Maurice's continued dizzying wild-child ways. Sometimes I attribute my stubborn ways to him. I wanted to be wild like him, but I would not dare do things that he had. He and my mother would have sternly corrected me (beat my ass.) He married, but never "settled down." I remember the brother who could have a wicked sense of humor. I, too, can be just as wicked. Maurice was the type of person who could charm or bullshit his way through many things. I envied this skill of his. I could not bullshit my way through anything--still cannot. Maurice liked to cook, and at times, was an excellent chef. I detested cooking and wanted no part of it, though deep down, I envied this skill too.

After the death of our mother, in 1998, we eventually stopped communicating with each other. It would take years and his poor health for me to even make an inquiry into his life. Even with several more inquiries, I kept Maurice at a distance. Maurice never stopped indulging in street drugs and alcohol; his life had become a mess and I wanted no part of it. I find myself asking was I being selfish?

Now Maurice is dying. No medical treatment can help him and I remain shocked that his end will come when he is only 57yo. I know how it has come to this, but it is still hard to understand how my brother could have allowed this to happen. Years of neglect and living wild have caught up with him; his body has given up.

It is very hard to lose a family member. I keep struggling to remember the good times with Maurice. I want to remember him as more than a difficult person, contradicting and manipulative. An ass when he was drunk, and funny when he was high. I want to remember him as the big brother who looked out for his baby brother and sister, and eventually taught them a thing or two about life. The only thing that I keep coming back to is my note-to-self so many years ago. There just has to be more, but I cannot see it.

Life's Tragedies

It is odd how the news of something that seems irrelevant at first, will make me ponder and reach a dreadfully gnawing truth. When I saw the flash headline news of the death of Amy Winehouse I thought, “I saw that coming.” When I saw her age, 27yo, I then began realizing the tragedy of the situation and how this tragedy could very well happen in my own family. Set aside the fact that Amy Winehouse was a star, and instead look at her addiction to illicit drugs and alcohol, her failed rehab attempts and eventual return to vices that would shorten her life.

To be a family member or close friend of someone who cannot admit there is a problem, or have the person admit the problem but be unwilling to change the bad habits is devastating to observe. I liken it to watching someone you love commit suicide; you watch as your loved one walks closer and closer to a high ledge. You are able to talk, yell, and listen to this person, but nothing ever sways him or her away from the ledge. And then there is the fall… the devastation that is left is heartbreaking.

I currently lay witness to a loved one walking closer and closer to a ledge. I talk to him, telling him what I observe; I listen and watch as he tells lie after lie, he ignores advice and careens carelessly closer to the edge. Will his end come sooner, like Amy's? He will be 21 soon; will he actually make it to 21? Will he ever admit there is a problem?

It is easy to pass judgment on others, so I try not to do that. Bystanders to tragedies like to lay blame on close family and friends; “Why didn’t someone step in and make her..." do this or that. Truth be told, you cannot make an addict do something he or she is unwilling to do. I cannot make my family member enter rehab. I cannot make him quit his vices. He has to do be willing to change and commit to the change. I am sure Amy’s parents and friends reached this same realization.

My biggest fear, after pondering on Amy Winehouse’s death, is that I will be the family member who gets the late night call telling me my loved one is dead. I will be the one who will have to be strong enough to face other family members and say, “Yes, he had a problem. Yes, I tried to help him. No, he never cared to change.” Why is it that he will not show this same strength in defeating his vices? There is but one of life’s great tragedies.

I feel deeply for Amy’s parents; the grief they must be experiencing I imagine is overwhelming. It is but a tragic end to what could have been a promising life and career. I remember watching Amy perform the year she swept the Grammy Awards, and I thought, "Here is a woman who is going to show the world that she can overcome anything and become stronger. We will hear her roar in song!" I now think about my family member and hope that he will overcome his problems and show his family that cares about his life. I will continue to carry hope for him; as a parent sometimes that piece of hope is all our children will allow us to have. When that hope is gone, there is only heartbreak, devastation.

Nostalgic Memorium

The passing of Sargent Shriver, saddens me greatly. Though I was a child of the 60's, I was much too young to remember Camelot and the assassination of one of my heroes, Bobby Kennedy. With Sargent Shriver's death goes the passing of a great man from a great era; an era that I wish I had been old enough to experience and remember. While reading the many tributes to Shriver, I came across this posting by a man who was a child during the Camelot years. He remembered...

http://www.politicsdaily.com/2011/01/18/sargent-shrivers-death-severs-the-last-major-link-to-the-kenned/

Stupid is as Stupid does

Even nerdy girls have their not so bright moments. Tonight, I had one of those moments, only this one is going to be rather costly.

Everyone knows that you should never attempt to catch something sharp, if it slips out of your hand, for fear that the falling object could cause injury to a body part. Knives, widgets, and blades are prime examples of what you should never attempt to catch.

My stupid moment began while I was cutting tulle with a rotary cutter. The rotary cutter has an extremely sharp 45mm blade and is supposed to have a functioning safety mechanism to prevent injury to users. While I was cutting tulle, the cutter slipped out of my hand, soared in to the air, and my immediate reaction was to grab it. Not so bright, I know, I know... Regardless, I grabbed for the cutter, only it came down blade end first, and the safety mechanism failed. I was left with a 1.5" laceration that extended from the base of my palm to the inner aspect of my wrist.

At 1:00a.m. I find myself in the waiting room of the local ED, feeling like a complete idiot with a dirty kitchen towel pressed against my wounded palm/wrist. The triage nurse asks, "What is the nature of your visit?" I wanted to say, "Stupidity," but instead opted for the other ridiculous response, "Laceration from a sewing accident." Imagine how that sounds to the ED worker...completely ridiculous. A question that was asked more than once, "Were you intentionally trying to hurt yourself?" Seriously, when the laceration was not over my radial or ulnar artery? I chuckled to myself, because of the hilarity of the whole situation. Yeah, this was my grand idiot moment where I wound up with three sutures and a sore hand and wrist. When I receive the bill from the ED, it will be excruciatingly painful.

Note to self: Do not catch rotary cutter when slips out of hand.

Lesson learned.

Evil Concoctions

I thought corn pudding was wrong to do to corn, but I have now found something that tops the inconceivable concoction. Chocolate covered bacon--that just sounds wrong. Instead of heeding to my inner voice, I tasted the evil duo, and, yes, it tasted as nasty as it sounds. I still have that awful aftertaste in my mouth...who would do such a thing to chocolate? Chocolate covered bacon sounds like a manly concoction, something for those going through male menopause perhaps? As I sit now savoring my Reese's cup, I curse the man who created this sin. Damn you!

She lies in a bed of flowers

I knew this day was coming, and I dreaded the day it would arrive...

These past few weeks, I noticed that she was not quite herself; she had slowed with age, but managed to still keep up with me. I glanced at her sadly, knowing her time as my companion was nearing it's end. It has been 5 days since her passing, and now I find it fitting to retell one of our past adventures. With this, I say goodbye, my little princess; you will be missed.



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. On this day, I was eagerly awaiting a call and 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 my 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 which was 6 feet from her stretcher. My patient 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 functioned 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.

Saying Goodbye

My week started off horribly and it has continued to be extremely sad. Saturday night and into Sunday morning, I cared for a former coworker who was gravely ill. Probably the entire staff of the medical unit I work on, at one point, assisted in trying to stabilize this person. All our efforts failed, thus my former coworker experienced a horrible death. It was utterly horrific.

Today, my son's dog, Molly, was put down. In 2002, we found Molly at the SPCA when my son, Seth, wanted a dog for his birthday. I told Seth, "The smaller the better," and so he settled on Molly, a cute 1 yr old 5lb terrier mix. Molly was one of the smartest dogs we welcomed in to our home. When she was younger, Molly would do what we asked of her with spunk in her step. Her favorite toys were a tennis ball and the latex squeaky chew creations the pet store offered. With the tennis ball, if you rolled the ball to her, she would stop it with her nose, and then very precisely roll it back to you...she loved this. The squeaky chew toys, she wrestled with...she was our comic relief. Molly also loved car rides, hanging ten with her nose out the window taking in all the scents. In more recent years, Molly had lost her sight, but not her spunk. Though Molly was tiny, her personality remained huge. It is sweet to know that someone so small can leave such a warm feeling in your heart. We will always love you, our little Molly-bo-Bolly. We miss you dearly...

Baby Bella

Today I traveled to Roanoke so I could meet the newest addition to the Walker family. Weighing in at 8lbs 6oz is baby Isabella, aka Bella. I normally do not like babies because they cry. Bella is so beautiful and content...I already adore her. In the 2nd photo, I look like I am ready to run off with her...but do not worry bro. As soon as she starts crying, I will return her ;0 Congrats Noel and Janet!!

Spiteful

Here is Edgar Allen, "Eddie" or "Kitty!," giving me one of his many spiteful looks. I think he gets it from me....

Exceptionally Evil = Wicked

There are some days and nights where you have the best intentions, but fate or circumstances (call it what you will) thwart your every effort.

In trying to control my patient's pain, I advocated that his/her pain med be increased. The med was increased, but in doing so, I created utter frustration for myself when the time came to adjust my patient's PCA pump. After an hour of not being able to change the program for the pump and having phoned others for guidance on how to solve the problem with no resolution, I was ready to bend and melt the PCA key, punt the PCA pump like I was going for a goal in World Cup, and administer aggressive pillow therapy to anyone who dared suggest something I had already attempted.

I decided to walk away and readdress the issue in 20 minutes.

Next I decided to give the PCA key to a different RN, who knew nothing of the problem, and let her go for it.

She was able to turn the pump off--that was all I had been trying to do. In my mind, I fell to my knees and bowed at the waist to her, arms outstretched, and I kissed the ground she walked on. OMG! WTF! I thanked her repeatedly, even though she could not tell me how she had completed this elusive task.

With the pump now appropriately set, and my patient's pain better controlled, I proceeded to change his/her abd dressing. My patient cried, yelled, and carried on like a non-compliant detainee at fat camp having his/her last chocolate bar torn from his/her pudgy fingers.

As tempting as it was to pack the wound a little more than necessary, I refrained.

This same patient had an ostomy appliance that needed frequent emptying, because of gas collection. I suggested that because he/she could help with this, I would leave the collection container at hand, for he/she to use as needed. My patient proceeded to use this container as his/her personal trash can, then called me to the bedside. "Does this pouch need emptying?," my patient asks.

As tempting as it was to give a wry sharp tongued response, I refrained.

I emptied the "trash" container, decompressed the pouch, put the container out of my patient's reach, and exited the room.

My next patient had concerned family members, with one becoming what I like to term a "monitor vigilante." This patient had an AICD/pacer, and the monitor misread the pacing spikes/rhythm as PVCs. The monitor kept alarming "trigeminy," "bigeminy," "VT." It was maddening. I reset the alarms, to make it stop. I then observe the patient's "monitor vigilante" almost nose to screen, wondering why it was not alarming.

As tempting as it was to call into the room, using the call system, and say to the "monitor vigilante," "didn't your parents teach you not to move close to the screen! You will ruin your eyes! Back away from the screen!," I refrained.

From there, my night got worse (like it could actually do that!)...

Normally, I am a quiet, happy person. When I left work this morning, I felt positively evil. I believe I even walked about the unit, daring someone to ask me how my night was. I had that evil grin on my face and glimmer in my eye that I normally reserve for people I loathe.

And I still am feeling positively evil, as I glare at my spiteful cat...

Spring's Surprises

I travelled to visit my brother and his family today, and was shocked when I realized that my 11yo niece, Adrianna, sprouted upward and is now taller than me. I have always thought that I was at least 5'3", but during my last doctor visit, I measured in at only 5'2.75"...sigh... That is ok... I still have many inches over my two youngest nieces, Gabby and Elise, and I will for at least the next 5-6 years. Hah!

Rantings From My Inner Nerd!

I should have known better...

I had been eagerly anticipating the release of the new version of Clash of the Titans, so much so that I had built up this image of some great theatrical spectacle that would blow all others away. On entering the theater, I was giddy with excitement. As the movie wore on, my excitement faded, and I began asking "why this?" and "why that?" in my mind. The 3D was awful; I felt like I was in the dark, during many action sequences, squinting to see. At it's conclusion, I was filled with immense disappointment, and angered by this Hollywood distortion of an incredible story. The 1981 version had less distortion of the story, and had better acting and costumes.

Here are some things that I found perplexing: Why was it necessary to kill Perseus's mother in the beginning? Her predicament was the reason Perseus set out on his adventure. Why would Hades begin a spree like that of a serial killer? The three brothers, Poseidon, Zeus, and Hades, decided amongst themselves who would rule what--there was no trickery involved. Why was the Kracken (sea monster) a "child" of Hades? It came from the sea, so should it not have been Poseidon's "child?" It was Andromeda's parents who angered Poseidon, so the Gods sent the sea monster to destroy their city. Why was it necessary to add the "cougar-like" character Io? It was Athena who coached Perseus on where to find the necessary equipment to defeat Medusa. Why were additional new characters added--the black magic beings in the desert? They look like something stolen from Star Wars (Tusken Raiders, perhaps). Why was a task from the myth of Psyche and Eros stolen and used in this film? What am I talking about you ask? Perseus never bribed the ferryman, Charon, to get to the underworld. Psyche bribed Charon to complete an impossible task given to her by Aphrodite. Does Hollywood think no one reads anymore or that no one will notice the stealing of part of a story from another myth? (This really angers me) Why the team of men to defeat Medusa? It would have been much more interesting to see Perseus using the winged sandals, mirrored shield, sword, and helmet of invisibility that were given to him. If Hollywood wanted to add-lib, why not add in Medusa's sisters after her decapitation? Pegasus was born of the blood of Medusa and Poseidon. The winged sandals made Perseus's get-away easy, not Pegasus. Why the color change for Pegasus? Why was Zeus wrapped in a glowing tin foil looking war suit? Andromeda became Perseus's mate, not the "cougar" Io. Why was it necessary to change that? Why, why, why?

There are many other distortions of this story that irk me; I will just stop here. I should have known better... to expect more of Hollywood was foolish of me.

Wanderings and Such...

Lately, I have come to cherish any "free time;" the demands of work, both my real job and home business, have left me with so little time to spare. I have been able to squeeze a few movies in with my son and spouse, though. During previews at one of the movies, I found myself scratching my head during one and heavily salivating during another.
Which ones you ask? Let us start with the movie I believe to be completely idiotic, Repo Men. The movies' premise is that our society will digress from a somewhat moral and ethical one to a society of murder, when you fall behind on bill paying. Seriously?? I am to believe that our future society will become like that of the mafia? I am to believe that organ recipients, who fall behind on their payments to the hospital or company that provided it, will be murdered and the organ will then be repossessed?? Seriously?? I am left wondering the following: What is done with those repossessed organs? Are they reissued (EWWW!!)? What is the blood born pathogen contamination rate for those reused organs? Is there a discount for a used organ? Murder is now acceptable, because they had it coming?
It just sounds completely ridiculous. Seriously Hollywood, this crap is the best new idea for a movie? The person who thought of this storyline should be slapped for insulting our intelligence.

The second movie preview made my mouth water, to the point that I felt I may drool. My inner nerd was awakened when I saw clips from Clash of the Titans. The special effects look incredible. In the 6th grade, I studied Greek mythology, and fell in love with the story, The Adventures of Perseus. The son of Zeus is raised as a mortal and is given an impossible task to complete. How he completes the task, the help he receives from the Gods, and the adventures after the task is completed make this story amazing. When I saw the 1980 or 1981 movie version I could not get enough of it. The actors taking on the roles for the new movie look equally incredible. I am highly anticipating the movie release date of 4/02...my inner nerd is screaming with joy!

One cup or two?

I often write about the faux pas or short comings of others, and now it is time to write about my own. There are many things that I consider myself the 'go to' person for, such as if you want furniture or a toy put together, or if you would like a history lesson. My son Brett loves those history lessons {wink}. I also like to think that I have decent problem solving skills with most things. Where I fall short is a technical issue with anything electronic, including appliances. Common sense sometimes leaves me, and I stand before whatever the issue like a complete ass. My husband, being the technical genius, likes to rub that in sometimes, and, yes, I have flames coming from my ears when he does. Recently, however, I just stood and laughed at my stupid resolution to a technical problem, after my husband called me on it. Let me explain...
Winters in our old farm house can be very harsh. There is no insulation anywhere, it is frigid throughout the downstairs, and the pipes that lead to the washer and half-bath freeze constantly. We have not been able to use our washer for approximately two weeks. Two days ago I tried to wash a load, because there was a trickle of cold water; the Neptune top-loader's display kept yelling 'uF', which meant that it was under filled. My bright idea was to add water, only I was insure of how much to add. This is when the wheels really started grinding...'what if I added too much? Would I somehow damage the machine?' More wheel grinding...'It is a high efficiency washer, so I should not have to add a lot.' Smoke rolls out now...'I'll just add a few LARGE cups and see what happens.' I proceed to add several large Big Gulp sized cups of water to the washer, and then pressed the button for it to start. Again it yells at me, 'uF.' Now I am getting a bit peeved, so more smoke rolls out...'ok. add a bit more water.' This goes on twice more, where I add water, try to run the washer, and then it yells at me. By this time, I have lost count on the exact number of cups I have added, and I start to fear the worst, that I have somehow broken my highly efficient, water saving, dream of a washer. I immediately stop adding water and abandon the attempt.
A day later, my husband makes an attempt to run the washer, and he too has the brilliant idea to add water. I try to dissuade him, and mention that I have already tried that, and it did not work. He states, "well how much water did you add?" I tell him, "many cups of water." He shakes his head and wanders off to get a bucket. I stand watching this, panicking that he is going to destroy my metal baby. He adds 4-5 buckets, presses the start button, and much to my surprise, the washer begins it's cycle. He asks why I added only cups of water, to which I reply, "Because it's a highly efficient washer. Shouldn't it use a lot less water?" He laughs...did I say something funny? I then realize just how silly I sound and laugh at myself. Even nerdy book smart gals have their short comings...and there you have it; that is one of mine.

Lurkin' for a merkin?

Yesterday, I found something rather raunchy, but I have to post a photo of it. The picture had me in tears; I was laughing so hard, it was difficult to catch my breath. I am someone who is easily amused (obviously), and when I saw this (the title for the post was 'Bush League' on http://www.regretsy.com ) I immediately thought, "OMG! someone actually made fur pie panties!" A piece of fake fur glued onto granny panties...imagine all the titles for this photo you could come up with. Oh the fun, and and these are still for sale on Regretsy for $12--what a steal!

History Channel Foretells the Future

I used to enjoy watching the History Channel, but lately while channel surfing, all the History Channel seems to air are specials on the Apocalypse/dooms day or prophecies related to Dec. 21, 2012. If you do not believe me, tune in one night, late night that is, and you will see what I mean.
Once I decided to watch a History Channel special on prophecies related to Dec. 21, 2012, and though it was a bit interesting, as both sides of the argument were presented ( it should always be that way), I found it bizarre that so many people believe in and try to relate Nostradamus' quatrains to modern day. Yeah, people really do, and that is so sad. His quatrains are so vague how could anyone relate them to anything???? How are they predictions of the future? I want hard facts, like time, place, and event, or who, what, when, where, why, and maybe how to be answered. If those important pieces are missing, how does that qualify something as a prophecy? I also believe that many of his writings were wildly misinterpreted or mistranslated, which lends more fuel to my argument. My husband refers to Nostradamus as Nostradumbass, and I am afraid that I concur only when people start talking about his quatrains and foretelling the future.
Oh, and lets talk about movies, build-ups to releases, and then the eventual let down. I think most will know where I am headed with this; the movie 2012. Wow what a disappointment that was. The special effects were cheesy at times, the story line was almost stupid and quite predictable, and the acting was mediocre. A worldwide flood will be the end of days?? Seriously?? What a waste of money.
Anyway, leave it to the History Channel to instill a sense of doom and depression in you. Seriously, what is the point of going back to college now to earn my MSN, if I will be dead in two years? My brother rolls his eyes when I say this and tells me that I need help. I retort with, "Oh yeah! Well you need to watch the History Channel dumb ass." [joking Noel--you know I love you]

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.