Monthly Archives: November 2012

Dear world; again? So soon?

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Dear clinic that shall not be named —

I’m sure she meant it in the best possible way. I won’t assume anything, but I’ll guess that the RN in charge of messaging didn’t mean to use a commonly known text-message and IM abbreviation. She must have been unaware that there could be another interpretation. So, dear clinic, you still might want to train your personnel to be more careful with their shortcuts, lest they tell an already frustrated patient to do this.

“Please call our office to schedule this f/u appt.”

Okay, Readers, here’s the rest of the story. As I make arrangements for multiple appointments, including another MRI for my neck and the start of a potentially lengthy series of Physical Therapy, I’m doing my absolute best to schedule at the beginning or end of a school day so I can get away with using less sick time. I used up years of accrued sick days in order to take a significant leave of absence in 2011. I started earning sick leave from scratch last year, so there’s not much in my sick bay at the moment. Dealing with cataract surgery and attempts to see a psychiatric nurse practitioner who only worked from 8 to 3 weekdays, I withdrew plenty from that account. And that reminds me —

Dear clinic that shall not be named —

Forcing someone with a severe depression to wait seven months for psychiatric care is a bad idea. Assigning a teacher (a field known for less-than-flexible schedules) to a psychiatric nurse practitioner who doesn’t see patients after 3:00 p.m., well, is yet another poorly considered idea. So think about it, clinic, oh you-who-claim-2B-efficient. A seven month wait? A medical professional with office hours that force the patient to take time off from work every single time? Efficient? Not for the patient.

Readers, I gave up on the psychiatric care. My family physician has done well treating my depression, as well as or better than the one-who-was-not-worth-the wait. I know from past experience that I need to put myself first. In the real world of employment, however, I need to balance my doctor time with my work time. I love my work and my job, too. I’d like to stay employed there. My supervisors would like me to remain employed there, too.

I guess it would be more efficient on my end to remember that laughter is the best medicine. The next time an RN writes “f/u” in a message, I’ll just respond by ROTFLMAO. Right? Right.

 

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Another Reason to be Thankful

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This could have gotten lost in last week’s holiday posts. It could have been mixed in with my friends and their Facebook “Thirty Days of Thanks” memes. It could have been buried by the busy-ness of a holiday week, when few regular readers have a chance to keep up with their favorite blogs. This piece didn’t get lost because I shared it initially with a small number of people. Now that the first in a long stream of holidays has gone its merry way, I’ll share this item with the rest of the world.

Background: I composed the first draft for our national blog last year, but it wasn’t really suitable for what was needed at the time. The marketing folks who run the web sites contacted me on Monday and said, Hey, Daisy, can we run it this week? With a few minor changes, it will make an excellent post for a Thanksgiving theme.

Of course I said yes. The revisions were, as they said, few. My content was still mine and still sounded like my voice on paper. So, folks, don’t be shocked by the picture (I’m not a smiley coffee mug in real life) or the real name. Follow the link below for my most recent contribution to the Connections Academy national blog..

I’m thankful for a wonderful job in a rewarding and evolving field. Read the entire story here.

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Dear world —

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Dear driver of dented black pick-up truck;

Your bumper stickers do not inspire confidence. When I see “9/11 was an inside job” next to “I Stand With Scott Walker” I wonder…oh, I just wonder.

  • Sincerely, An educated and informed voter. You wouldn’t understand.

Dear Pittsburgh Steelers;

Fire your designer. Now. Don’t bother auctioning those bumblebee suits; burn them. Please.

  • With bag over head, The Unknown Football Fan

Dear Shopkeeper;

I was relieved to find out that the vintage fur coat was beaver. I ran my hands down the front and it felt an awful lot like I was petting my bunny, Buttercup. The coat was lovely, but I was glad to know it wasn’t rabbit.

  • Yours truly, The Bunny Whisperer

Dear pharmacy that shall not be named;

You haven’t fixed the chopped-off voice mail message yet. It’s irritating. Does no one check these when they’re changed? Never mind. Obviously not.

  • Just another customer
Dear Chuck;
I know my NFL predictions have been pretty close to right on in the past weeks. Unfortunately, I don’t think I could make a living betting on football games. Sorry, honey.
  • Love, Daisy

 

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Small Business Saturday

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Small Business Saturday is a day intended to relieve the pressure and the mobs and the sheer craziness of Black Friday. Taking my own path as usual, La Petite and I decided to visit a few small shops yesterday, Friday.

Shop Number One: a few blocks from my workplace, a shop with an eclectic mix of vintage and upcycled items for the home. We picked up some cute frames and wine cork boards in a variety of sizes. Better yet, I got some great ideas to substitute for wrapping paper.

I gave up using commercial wrapping paper a few years ago, and I’ve stuck to that vow. I’ve used a few scraps of leftover paper, finagled a few bits of tissue into service as packing and wrapping, and salvaged all kind of larger scraps for reuse. A more accurate motto might be No New Wrapping Paper. More later on the trimmings and trappings – now back to regularly scheduled program, Small Business Saturday.

Downtown Appleburg had some goings on to draw customers downtown. Shops planned cookies and beverages. Some had prize drawings. Many participated in the window dressing contest. Participants had creative displays that showed their wares and celebrated the season. I’d offer you pics, readers, but my little camera doesn’t do the displays justice. Imagine bright red ballet shoes hanging alongside a tutu made of tulle, with silver bells and more, all in the front window of a dance apparel shop, and you’ll get the idea.

We finished up the morning at two vintage and crafty shops directly across from each other. I treated myself to a cool vintage hat, one that goes well with both of my winter and middle-weather jackets and works with my hearing aids, too. So many hats make them squeak and squeal; this was a deal for that point alone!

With a final stop at Walgreen’s for hearing aid batteries, we were done. Fun times, money spent at small local businesses, and found some unique gifts. For the real Small Business Saturday, I’m thinking of visiting thrift stores.

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But…but… it SHOULD!

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(an encore post from the very humble beginnings of Compost Happens – enjoy!)

Comparing the “should” with the reality and the end result

When one major appliance breaks down, nothing else should.
Reality: After the dishwasher died and I was getting grumpy about washing dishes, the cordless phone and the coffeemaker both quit. Of course, we just bought a pack of 200 coffee filters yesterday.
End result: I’m reading the sale ads. And the new coffeemaker has to take the same kind of filters.
2012 Sequel; our refrigerator gave out earlier this week. Appliance repair people were closed for the holidays. We are facing a Big Box Appliance Store on Black Friday to replace it. Hold me. 

Every family member should empty his or her pockets before putting clothes in the washing machine.
Reality: Husband sent his jeans through the wash with the cell phone in one pocket.
End result: It’s still sitting on the kitchen counter (near the nonworking dishwasher) drying out. Thank goodness he didn’t put the phone through the dryer, too!

When taking a car in for service, the mechanics should look it over thoroughly.
Reality: 5000 miles ago we took the car in. The computer couldn’t muster a code to tell them what to do. Despite our detailed description of the symptoms, they gave us the stock reply: “We can’t just throw parts at it!” Incidentally, when we called the dealer in the next big town, their customer service rep gave us the same line (“We can’t just throw parts at it!”) without even looking at the car.
End result: 5000 miles and several dangerous moments later, the computer finally gives them a code that leads the service folks to a likely repair.

I should be eating fresh tomatoes and other yummy veggies.
Reality: I planted the garden three weeks late, so everything will ripen later.
End result: I’ll be serving BLTs every day when school starts.

2012 sequel: I brought in piles and piles of unripe tomatoes just before the killing frost arrived. We’re still putting yellow pear and red cherry tomatoes on our salads. Summer 2012 was a good year for tomatoes at the O.K.Chorale.

When the university sends out an email bill, the online site for payment should work.
Reality: The site was down for approximately three weeks.
End result: When the site finally came up, it was excruciatingly slow while every family that paid online tried to pay at the same time.

When I upload a digital picture to the computer, I should be able to find it again easily.
Reality: Pictures always seem to get saved somewhere random instead of in the file I thought I used as a destination.
End result: I grumble and use bad words when I’m searching for the pictures I just took!

Saying “should” is like saying “assume”; neither jives with reality.
Thank you for listening to me rant; I feel better already.
Smile. (Or is that an evil grin?)

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Cracks in the rose colored glasses

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I like to claim I’m an optimist. I see the rain barrels as half full, not half empty. I’m pleased by simple achievements.

Whatever is going on in my brain – stroke, migraine, or otherwise – makes the positive difficult to find. If I’m honest with myself, (which I’m not very often because it’s tough to face the truth that the worst may be yet to come), there are positives in this situation. Unfortunately, most of the positives are more along the lines of “At least it’s not….” which is a poor excuse for a bright side and more like a silver lining in a bank of tornado-producing thunderheads..

But here goes anyway.

I have a good ER nearby – less than 10 minutes away – which meant Chuck could leave the hospital while I was getting my MRI and make sure Amigo was doing okay (he was) and then come back to my side when the doctor had information. 

I work with compassionate people. They’re concerned, and they ask how I am, and yet no one is nosy. They accept what I’m willing to tell and respect what I don’t want to say. Within three minutes of my arrival at work this week, I had a stack of phone numbers from people willing to give me a ride to work if I feel unable to drive.

The neurologist wears awesome shoes. Dark red suede short boots with a jet black zipper center front – don’t judge me, people, I enjoy footwear. It’s a simple pleasure.

Still upsetting:

  • the inability to walk to work in nicer weather
  • the need to grab a wall or a countertop when I’m wobbling
  • the fear that the leg will fall out from under me while walking down a hallway or carrying a hot cup of coffee
  • parking in the crowded lot so I can use the elevator
  • feeling off-balance unexpectedly
  • the sheer irritation of feeling perpetually numb on one side of my face
  • the unpredictability of the weakness and wobbles in my left side overall
These make it tougher to don the rose-colored glasses each day. Optimism must be tempered with reality, and that reality is cloudy with a dense fog advisory carrying low visibility when I try to look ahead.

And yet, I feel thankful every day that the effects of this condition, whatever its name might be, have so far been purely physical. Nothing indicates cognitive trouble. My speech is clear and my language functioning is still strong. I can communicate. I can still think.

Maybe those rose-colored lenses have a little more wear left in them.

 

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Eating the opponent continues!

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In case you wondered, we are continuing the tradition of Eating the Opponent. Each week during the NFL season, we look up the Packers schedule and choose a signature dish from the area of the opposing team. We’ve stretched on occasion: Bear claws for breakfast, for example, or turnovers when Favre was still throwing picks for the Vikings. This weekend, while Chuck drives a company car to Detroit for the occasion, we chose to eat a Michigan food not out of Detroit, but from the Upper Peninsula. You guessed it, locals, we had pasties.

Any questions?

For a little pasty history, see last year’s post.

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Shopping Season Looms

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From an old post – can you figure out how much I saved on this jacket? It’s still in my closet. I’ve worn it a few times, about once a year, and that’s enough to get my $1.97 worth.


I am bargain-hunter, hear me roar! I rode along with La Petite while she was in search of a specific summer sweater that might be on clearance. I did not plan to buy anything for myself. Then I found this — and had to buy it. Frankly, if I wear it once I will get my money’s worth.

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Virtual Talent?

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Dear science students;

You may think it shows talent, but it’s a trait. A recessive trait, at that. Rolling your tongue, no matter how cool it seems, is a trait. If you said talent, it got marked wrong.

Dear Social Studies students;

It’s Social. S-o-c-i-a-l. If you can’t spell it, try calling it History. United States History. But please, my dear young ones, Both of these wild and crazy errors came out of my Gifted and Talented group. GT parents, let’s work to teach your children how to pick up a book (a dictionary, maybe) and look it up if they’re unsure.

Oh, you wanted to see the disastrous spellings?

1. Socil Studies (He left out the a in Social. Needs improvement, but there’s hope.)

2. Souchil studis (I don’t know where this one came from. Mars?)

Dear math students; 

Never mind. Today, you were the cream of the crop. All of the tests made me smile. None invoked tears or hysterical laughter. Keep up the good work.

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