Long, long ago, when I was a teenager, I had a part time job in the food service of the local hospital. I learned about nutrition, and I learned about hard work. I learned about balancing school and work, saving money, and getting homework done – well, most of the time. 

I learned that hospital food wasn’t as bad as it was reputed to be. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t horrible, either. I’m sure I gained a few pounds sampling extra desserts with my coworkers. 

The local hospital system (let’s just call is Local Hospital System) doesn’t use the tray line and simple choices that we used when I was a teen and even when my babies (now 26 and 30) were born. Local Hospital System has a menu, almost restaurant style, in place. The patient calls the kitchen to order a meal, and someone brings it up in 30 to 45 minutes. 

I have to admit, I’m impressed. 

Vegetable Stir Fry with Rice and Chicken

These beans were good – so good that I asked the nurse if they were locally choice. Surprise! She knew, and the answer was yes! Local Hospital System owns and operates a garden. 

Pot Roast with Vegetables

I didn’t ask – the floor was pretty busy when I had my lunch – but my prediction is: carrots, fresh and local; peas, very possibly local; potatoes; hard to tell. But in any case, it was delicious. That little container in the upper left corner was my dessert: angel food cake and strawberries with whipped cream. Simple and perfect for my healing body and tired tummy. 

I don’t plan on another hospital visit soon, but if I have to stay overnight, I know I’ll be well fed. 

Here it is again; the radiologists taking a group selfie. If I’m smiling as I go under the anesthesia, it’ll be with this in mind. 

Last time I had my head examined (literally), Doctor Intervention noticed that the aneurysm in a major artery had grown. That growth was measured in millimeters, but it was still significant growth. He recommended treatment; I agreed. 

The insurance company sat on it for as long as they could before approving the procedure. Don’t they know that school starts for teachers in two weeks? Before you say, “Um, no, they don’t know or care,” keep in mind that when a health care group takes on a school district as a client, the school calendar matters. It matters a lot. 

So, anyway, I’m having a major surgery today. By the time you read this, I may already be finished and regaining consciousness. I trust my doctor – he’s brilliant – and I hope the anesthesiologist who works with him is equally fantastic. 

Readers, I’ll fill you in when it’s over, with a minimum of TMI, I hope. Wish me luck.

Our local music community is tight knit. We may all excel in different genres of music, we may all play or sing different instruments, but the common thread of music runs strong in all of us. Indy performers, backstage technicians, classroom teachers, and more; we appreciate each other for the diverse talents and thrive on the knowledge that builds enjoyment.

When a musician dies – oh, whenever someone special and amazing passes on – I think of Brahms. In my teens I was a pretty good pianist. I loved to play Debussy, Chopin, Bach, and works by other composers. I couldn’t quite get the hang of playing Brahms. I could play the notes and handle the technique, but I couldn’t master the emotion and the expression that really gave the piece the richness that was Brahms. 

My teacher stopped me mid-phrase and began to talk. “When I was young, I didn’t know what to say at funerals. And when I was young, I couldn’t play Brahms well, either.” 

I took my hands off the keyboard and listened. 

“And then my husband died.” She was young, in her twenties, with a toddler daughter, when her husband died from a massive heart attack. “And I learned that there is nothing you can say at a funeral. All you can do is be there.” She paused. “And then, I could play Brahms.” 

This conversation happened about forty years ago. I was a teenager at the time. Despite the years, I remember it clearly. I can see the room, the other person in the conversation, and I can hear the words in her voice. I remember my initial reaction was to balk at Brahms and his connection with death. As I grew older and experienced more life, I learned to understand and enjoy the exceptional depth of Johannes Brahms’ compositions.

This conversation happened about forty years ago. I was a teenager at the time. Despite the years, I remember it clearly. I can see the room, the other person in the conversation, and I can hear the words in her voice. And that catch in my throat? Maybe it’s Brahms; maybe it’s knowing that music soothes as it allows us to grieve. Maybe it’s the bittersweet nature of musicians, the sensitivity that leads us to enrich lives of others as we enrich our own. 

I didn’t say it. I didn’t ask, “What else can go wrong?!” I just looked at the calendar and added one new commitment. One! And it messed up much of the summer. According to The Tarot Lady, here’s why the remainder of the summer might be difficult.

Mars will be retrograde today (Tuesday) starting at 5:04 PM EDT. We’ve been in the shadow period for a bit now so the energy has already been evident. Mars retrograde tends to bring out aggression while at the same time slowing down progress and ambition. Frustration is the norm and everyone wants to vent at SOMEONE or SOMETHING.

Because this Mars will be in Aquarius, the online world will be especially testy for the next few months. We can expect people to be at their worst, most aggressive behavior. Some people should just put their phones away and stay off social media until they can keep that crap in check. For the rest of us, do NOT feed the trolls. Do NOT let the news get you down. Watch your anger. Use it as fuel for art, good things but don’t bother trying to educate the angry (xxx) who wants to crash your party with their vitriol. Keep STRICT boundaries both online and off (especially online). This will help you to remain sane and productive, rather than mired in BS and drama.

Oh, dear. I guess I’d better stay off Twitter – or at least refuse to read anything tweeted by POTUS. After all, Mars is in retrograde, and the negative energy is everywhere.

When Aaron Rodgers and Danica Patrick go somewhere, who drives?

Why does The Weather Channel still think we live in Spindale, North Carolina?

If the Schwann’s food truck goes through the McDonald’s drive-through, is that a negative for Schwann’s or a positive for McDonald’s? Or does it have no meaning at all?

Where is Spindale, North Carolina?

When will our kitchen be finished? Never mind, don’t answer that. Let me live in my dream world of “soon, very soon” instead.