My weekend so far. . .

Well my diabolical plan to spend the weekend outside has been working well, so far. I spent most of today browsing the downtown area of my tiny hometown. Its an old fashioned looking Main Street, clock and all. I did notice today that no one has set the downtown clock an hour ahead at daylight savings time, though. Cracked me up. So, my town is not going to capitulate to the evil plot of the world to confuse the rest of us. I went to a few of my favorite shops that I have not visited in quite awhile. I found a cute tank, and wrap around skirt at one place, and was eyeballing some new Chemises they have. I might buy a new one before me and Deb make our annual trip to the Northern Cal. Ren faire. We are going to go to the faire in Lake Tahoe this year, too. I can't wait! I also found some great variegated red yarn that I bought to knit a pillow cover with. It will be the first pillow I attempt, so, hopefully it will turn out well. I also went into this store and found the perfect mothers day present for my Mom. Its made in Sweden, which she will love, and its a wooden ring with little birds done in yellow and blue (swedish flag colors)and in between the birds, you put little candles. I put a picture of it above. I got myself one as well because the little birds are so cute! Its strange that they don't have eyes, though. Anyhow, she loves anything Scandinavian. So, she'll be thrilled. I also found a great cookbook, its recipe's from Diner's all across America. Pot Roasts, and Meatloafs and some you wouldn't expect, like Braised Lamb, and Spanikopita (which I adore.) It even came with a CD with 50's music on it! Classic. I can't wait to try some out, blaring 50's music the whole time. I feel like I should find an old waitress outfit, and call myself 'Flo'. Hey. It could happen.
Sadly, I forgot that I am working tomorrow night, so I will spend my Sunday sulking around the house, and getting mentally prepared for whatever the ICU brings to the table. No new family drama, thank God. Though someone did call me somewhere around 6 am, and I don't have a clue who it was. My caller ID only said "private number." Whoever you were, if you find this blog, wake me up again and I will be forced to retaliate!

Girls gone wild

Yes, you can eat your lunch while reading this one. No it won't burn your eyes out. Its innocent, really it is.
My best friend and adopted sister, Deb (who doesn't care if I use her name)has been a bachelorette this week. Her husband is out of town, visiting sick family. We decided a few weeks ago I would go over Friday (today) and we would BBQ. Her husband was skeptical, (two women, bbq? ooook, sure.) He even called her this week, and told her what color our charcoal should be when it was time to put the meat on the fire. We did a fantastic job. Steak marinated in basalmic vinegar, some pasta, asparagus, salad, and pints. It was a blast. We didn't even burn down the house, or any of her five cats. The dog even escaped injury. Men are silly. Of course, when he comes home, we will "dumb bunny" it again, because we like it when Mr. Deb BBQ's for us. Because we're female.

who knew?

I'm a Mercedes SLK!

You appreciate the finer things in life. You have a split personality - wild or conservative, depending on your mood. Wherever you go, you like to travel first class. Luxury, style, and fun - who could ask for more?

Take the Which'>http://www.tomorrowland.us/sportscar">Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.

instead of a pedicure, try. . .

I had the television on yesterday, as background noise, while I was writing something for another project I am working on. It was playing something silly that I wouldn't pay attention to, 101 of the strangest things on television, or something along those lines. As I got up to refresh my iced tea, I glanced towards the screen. I'd just heard a very peculiar phrase, and thought, in my sleep deprived state that I'd heard it wrong. "Did they just say anal bleaching? EEw, what the hell is anal bleaching? Mystefied, I watched the little segment. (wishing now I hadn't.) Seems some porn star by the name of Tabitha Stevens (hey, if she didn't want people to use her name, she should not have changed it to "tabitha stevens". We all know its not her real name). It seems she found some whack job who invented this paste that one can put around their anus, and it will bleach the skin so that its the same color as the rest of your butt. Because thats important in the porn industry I am guessing. So the next time your in a spa, ask them if they have a whack job who does anal bleaching, because if its good for Tabitha Stevens, it must be good for us, too, right?
After watching that segment, the television went OFF. The music came on, and I sat, banging my head against the wall to get out the horribleness of it. Obviously, it didn't work, so here I am, horrifying the rest of you with it. I am so sorry. . .

damn kitty. . . an update

I almost forgot. An update for those of you who were rooting for that small kitten I gave away.
She is doing great! In true calico fashion, she has charmed my friends into almost hypnosis like love for her. She was going to be an outside cat. When P came to work today, she was snuggled on the bed, in the master bedroom. LOL. They named her Allspice, because of her coloring, and call her 'spice' or 'spicy' depending on the mood of said Calico. The kind of cool, but ultimately sad thing, is that P's husband was diagnosed recently with a very bad cancer. And I heard, that he now only has been given months at best. I am glad he has a little sweet friend to share his last moments with, and P will have the comfort of a warm body to hold. Pets can be very sensitive to mood and need. When I was crying the other night, all of my cats gravitated into my direction. I don't care what people say, they are not stand offish, fiercely independant creatures. I think people say that because they cannot get the approval and love of the allmighty cat. Those of us that have earned that priviledge are grateful

Orange Vodka in the morning

I have learned this morning, that Orange Vodka is not a good morning drink. Even after you have had a sucky night at work, taking care of a Meth head who wound up on a ventilator. Orange Vodka is not like Orange juice. I don't even like Orange Juice. What possessed me? Well? I dunno. I had to get another bottle of Vodka to finish off my kahlua (made two batches.) I decided to mix it up a bit and toss in some flavored vodka. I chose orange. (Next time, we're going chocolate vodka all the way. They make it, I checked. I have to order it online, though.) I opened this bottle, to dump it into the kahlua base, and it smelled so darn good. So I poured myself a tot. (Little for me, little for you more for meeee, lessssss for uuuuuu.) Ladies, thats when I almost died. Five minutes later when I could breathe again. . .
Sigh. Now I need a nap. It was just one little shot, I promised. Sadly, it smelled better than it tasted.

today's blog pre empted by. . .

family. I have tried on three separate occasions to write what I wanted to without getting into hot water with one or two particular family members, (not like they've ever been here, but can I take that chance?). So I just can't write it. Which kind of sucks. But its life. It would have been a rant, of sorts, anyhow.
The shoulder is much better on a thousand different levels. I am even going to work tonight. I might as well, it may do me some good and get me out of the funk I seem to have fallen into in the last twelve hours. The sun is shining, again, the rain is done, for the moment, and I plan on spending as much of this weekend out of doors that I can. I'm not even going to take my cell phone.

my tiny tree

Well I am sitting here, goofing off, and figured I would try to upload a picture of my tree, with its pretty, feathery leaves. Have I mentioned I love my tree? Of course, right after I took the picture, Jack, my naughty cat tried to get onto the table and eat the pretty leaves. He lost outside priviledges for that. Not like he cares.
I am also trying something new today, making Kahlua. I found a recipe, it seems easy. The base of it is simmering on the stove now. After it simmers, and cools, I add a bunch of vodka, then, let it sit for a month. So if it works, in a month I'll post the recipe. If it sucks? Back to the bottle.

stupid women

Well the sun is almost shining today, for a wee moment. We are supposed to be getting more rain, today. When I woke up, my shoulder was almost normal. It is still 'twinging' here and there. I am not going to work tonight, either, going to aim for one more day of rest and go back tomorrow. Better safe than sorry.
Staying home last night, watching TV and knitting on that one, stubborn piece of blanket, I noticed something. Not for the first time, but last night it really pushed my buttons. They were playing a commercial for that show, where multiple women go, and all hope to marry a man they have never met before, and they "compete" for dates with him. (that alone, is enough to irritate me.)I shudder to even mention the name. So I won't. My mother LOVES this kind of crap, and constantly asks me if I've seen it. (No! No! a million times no!) I have nightmares of our NY trip, and her needing to be back at the hotel in time to watch it. Anyhow. On these commercials, they are repeatedly showing this one woman (girl?) sobbing loudly, "I don't understand why I have to leave so soon!" Presumably, he bounces her first episode. Uh, Hello, lady? YOU DON"T KNOW THIS MAN!!! What the hell! Stop crying like a weak female, pull your thong out of your crack and move on! She gets what she deserves, thinking she is going to find the love of her life in six weeks on national television, anyhow. Maybe next year I'll sign my mother up to go. I'm sure my Dad won't mind, it means he doesn't have to watch the show!

Blah Blah Blah

Last night, I stayed up way too late watching re runs of Northern Exposure I had DVR'd. I forgot how much I liked that show. Its such an odd little program. I woke up today to the rainstorm that we have been getting promised for the last few days. Wind, rain. I actually really like the rain, but today, for some reason, its depressing me. I was really enjoying the sunshine we were having. So right now, I am sitting at my computer, and looking out a wet window. OOOH thunder and lightning~ that just started. OK, that was kind of cool. My cats are running and hiding, now. Hee hee.
I am not going to work tonight, either. My shoulder is killing me ( I blame the trashbag incident) and I just feel, well, BLAH. Just not good at all, and I really don't think I can spend 12 hours nursing someone else, when I just want to sit here and take care of myself.
I am also having a knitting schism today. I finished the second to the last piece of the blanket I am making my grandmother, only to pull it apart. It didn't look right to me, so I am going to do it over. Am I crazy? Yes, probably. But I want it to look right. She has been knitting forever, and will be able to pick out any flaw that exists. Not that she would care, she is just thrilled I have taken up the craft.
Well this is a boring, BLAH blog, just like me today. So I am going to finish it, and try to enjoy the rain.

lazy Sunday

I have made a concentrated effort not to do anything much today. Finishing my laundry, picking up a few groceries. Thats it. I like having quiet Sundays. It just seems to be the speed of the day. When I have to work on Sunday nights, it never feels right. I always feel like I don't belong there. Especially during football season. Football season is NOT to be messed with.
I did try some of my wine that I got from wine.com. Since I am going to say something nice about it, I think that the winemaker's won't mind if I mention their product. If they do, then I'll change my review!
Anyhow, yesterday, I tried "Santa Margherita NV Prosecco." It was very good. My notes say "nice bubbles." I do like the nice bubbles. I had a glass plain, then, added some OJ to make mimosa's. Very yummy. I would order it again.

Pulla recipe, if anyone is wanting it.

Ingredients:
2 packages dry active yeast
1/2 c. warm water (110 deg.)
1 1/2 c. warm milk
1 c. sugar
1 tsp. salt
4 eggs
2 tsp. cardamom (fresh ground is best)
9 c. flour
2 cubes melted butter

In a large bowl, combine yeast and water, let it sit for 5 minutes to soften the yeast. Then, blend in milk, sugar, salt, eggs, cardamom, and 4 cups of the flour. Beat until smooth. Add the butter, then blend. Next, you STIR in 4.5 cups of flour (this is where it is very sticky, and you might add tiny bits more of flour.)
Coat a breadboard with remaining flour, scoop dough onto it, pat flour over the surface, and knead until it is smooth and satiny. (5-10 minutes.) Place the dough in a greased bowl, and let rise until double in size. (usually around the 2 hour mark.)
Knead the dough once more on a lightly floured board just to expell the air. Divide the dough into 12 pieces, then roll out the pieces to resemble rope. Usually 12 inches long. Do this 3 pieces at a time, then braid the pieces, just like you braid hair. Tuck the ends under, and set aside, letting it re rise for 30 minutes. Bake at 350 degrees for about 25 minutes.

Before I bake mine, I brush it with egg wash, then sprinkle on slivered almonds.

This is traditionally made for Easter, and if you braid it very loose, you can actually put easter eggs into the braid after its done. We eat it so fast that I never even bother to do that. It is also so very good toasted.

Every time I eat Brie

Every time I eat Brie, on toast, (like I am now, for lunch), I think of my Aunt N. (otherwise known as CamiKaos' mom, and K's Nana.). I was visiting them once, and she is the one who gave me brie for the first time. I remember that first taste, yum! Without really knowing it, she introduced me to a whole new world of cheeses. My own mom is a cheddar cheese (and nothing else) kind of woman, so I only got brie when I visited Aunt N. Knowing now the cost of that particular cheese, I have to thank her for sharing it with a child. As I grew older, and gained independance, I started buying my own brie. Not all the time, I still consider it a treat. I'll eat almost any kind of cheese now,but whenever I eat brie, even if its just for a moment, I think of Aunt N.
Whenever I make, then eat Pulla, (a finnish easter bread), I think of my great grandmother, Mary. She used to make the family pulla. I actually talk to her sometimes while I am making it, because it can be tricky. If you add even one bit more of flour than is supposed to be, the bread won't rise, and you are left with a mess. I find talking to Grandma Mary helps me insure the bread will rise. I also always think of her daughter, grandmother to both me and CamiKaos. She never learned to make pulla, because the one time Grandma Mary showed her how, she got in trouble for braiding it wrong, because she is left handed. I guess Grandma Mary was picky about how the bread was braided. I hope I braid it to her satisfaction. Funnily enough, I also think about Uncle R. while I make pulla, because he is the one that gave me the recipe! And he makes great pulla.
Whenever I eat ice cream, I think of my father. Whenever I make enchilada's, I think of my mom. When I see ketchup, I think of my nephew, B. He douses ketchup on everything he can. I guess where I am going with this is food memories. I am sure everyone has them. Its kind of sweet, actually, how a trip to the store, or to the kitchen, will make us remember things. So whatever you are eating today, along with the physical nourishment, I hope it brings spiritual nourishment as well, with many memories.

why, why why?

At the risk of angering the entire conglomerate trash bag industry, I must pose this question. They advertise their bags on the all powerful television with the concept that they can hold up to, but not over, an asteroid that is about to hit the earth. Well, I have either found something heavier than an asteroid travelling at a high velocity, or they are liars. Liars, you say? Yes. But they wouldn't lie to us millions of viewers of the all powerful television, would they? And surely, wet and soiled cat litter cannot be more heavy, and detremental than an asteroid, can it? Well. Yes it can. I can testify to it. After spending part of the last hour sweeping up outside because their strong, flexable, can hold anything trashbag broke on the way to the outdoor garbage recepticle. No, I did not put a years worth of used litter into a bag, and no, my cats do not eat asteroids, or anything comparable. I actually did my weekly litterbox change EARLY, because, well, I wanted to. (That chore is usually saved for Sundays, for some reason.) The bag was not full to capacity. I have been fighting a work incurred shoulder injury for the last month, and have been taking great cautions not to lift heavy things, especially trash bags full of used cat litter. So, to those who make those extra special, flexable asteroid holding trashbags, (and you know who you are), next time you are in the mood to develop a trashbag, I suggest you bring in lots of cats, and a giant litterbox. Maybe then, you can get it right.

good kitty

If you have not read the post I wrote this morning, stop, go there first, because this is the conclusion.
After chasing the silly little calico around this morning, I left it to my neightbors, and took a nap. Then, I had a nice lunch with a few friends, and came home. About 6:30, my neighbors knocked on the door, we had her! I went out with the carrier, and she came right to me like it was no big deal, didn't even mind going into the cat carrier. I swear most calico's have a multiple personality disorder. I took her to my friend, who fell in love with her at first sight. So all is well that ends well.

here, kitty kitty kitty... damn!

Another pet titled post. No, I did not feed a kitty to satan on its birthday. I almost want to, though! There has been this wee little calico living out my door, someone dumped her here almost a month ago. Usually, she is a sweet cat, lets me pick her up, feed her, ect. I tried to bring her in once, but true to calico fashion, she hissed, and growled at my other cats, then shit on the floor. (sounds like some men I know.) So, she's been outside. This morning, I was talking about her at work, and one of my co workers said "I'll take her! I need a good outside cat, and I don't have any others, I love calico's!" A ha! match made in heaven, I thought. So I drive home all happy that I found a home for the little thing. I get the carrier ready, and go out, to pet her and snuggle her and force her into the carrier, and the little beast won't come to me for love nor money! She knows I am up to no good.
Now, keep in mind I have been up all night, and last night wasn't easy. I had to take care of a drunk lady going through the DT's AND, a 14 year old boy with leukemia. I am not in the mood to play, Kitty. Those are my cheesy poofs. I spent over 30 minutes trying to catch her, while she mocked me. Damn cat. Then my neighbors came out. Right when I was picking up the cat food dish to take it away from her and put it in a nice open space, all the better to catch you with, my pretty. Of course, it was their food dish. Caught in the act. Sigh. Once I appraised them of what I was doing, they were all for it. They have been trying to find a place for her, too. So, they are outside doing the kitty wrangle now. I left them the carrier, and the old towel to wrap her in if need be. Let them get scratched and bloody. Damn cat.

I fed the puppy to satan. . . on his birthday, no less

No, the title is not code for "come invade NorCal, the coast is clear", its what I did last night. The puppy, in this case, is a new, wet behind the ears nurse who is still optomistic about the world of nursing in general. If he had a tail, it would wag. Big brown eyes and everything. Satan ended up being the family of a patient that I so graciously turned over to him when we needed to balance off the assignment. Did I know that this family was going to be difficult to deal with? Weeeeel, yes, I had an inkling. They kept coming out of the room to glare at any nurse who was within range. But new nurses NEED to learn to deal with this. That was my rationale. Plus, its not like my other patients were a piece of cake right? (actually, they ended up being very easy patients. Oops.) I felt a twinge of guilt, but figured he'd be ok.
Those family members were very unhappy. What I knew was the tip of the ice berg. They whipped the poor puppy for hours over everything they felt was wrong. The patient was confused about many things, and I even heard the family in there yelling at him a couple times, just because he was confused. Through it all, the puppy didn't even whimper. He did his best to placate the family, even giving the confused old man a bath at 10:30 at night. Were they happy? No way in hell. One of them came out complaining about his method of bathing the patient, while he was still in there cleaning the guy! Finally, the family left. My guilt over turning that patient over to him was at an all time high. Then, looking at his watch, the puppy says "at midnight, its my birthday! Gosh, its been a rotten one so far. . ."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAArgh! the guilt rises even higher. So, I did what any good, jaded nurse would do. I find sugar, lots of it, in the form of ice cream and girl scout cookies. I arranged them beautifully in a bowl, and put some strawberries on top, just so it will look somewhat healthy, and gave the puppy a treat. My co workers all felt that redeemed me, a little bit, from feeding the puppy to satan on his birthday.
The moral of this story (for me) before I give a patient to a new nurse, I will ask them first if its their birthday!

I have leaves on my tree!

I have a small japanese maple tree that lives on my balcony. The lady that sold it to me last year reassured me it was one of the more "rare" kinds, not often found in the US. Its a cute little tree, more of a bonsai sized tree so far. Just a baby, really. It looked great until winter set in. Then it kind of crept in on itself, (like I would like to do sometimes.). It looked so bare and forlorn this winter I was sure I had killed it. I worried about it intermittantly all winter long. My friend's, Deb and Dan, who have lots of maples, were not so secretly laughing at me every time I brought it up to them. Over the last few weeks I have been watching my wee tree oh so carefully, waiting, hoping, for signs of life. It started slow, with a little peek at some tiny leaf buds. "Do I see what I think I see?" Maybe I hadn't killed it, after all. Every day, I check the soil, look at the tree, and send it quiet messages of life. (I really love this tree.) Today, on a nice, spring rainy day, I get out of bed, look out onto my balcony, and a reward. Some of the leaves are cautiously opening, like little tiny hands. Looks like my beautiful tree has decided to live, and I will try to remember this, and not fret so much about it next winter.

size does matter

I used a phrase last week that I hate. "Plus sized women." Is that really a nice description? I prefer "botticelliesqe", but most people don't get that reference. Why do we even have to have a term for women who are larger than others, anyhow? And its perceived so derogatory. Are there any "plus sized men?" I have never met any. Nor have I ever seen a specific area in a store designated for them. Now, I have seen plenty of men who could meet the criteria, and for the life of me, cannot think of what we are to call them. The only thing that flashes through my mind are the commercials for the "big and tall" store for men. "Beer belly" also comes to mind, but, are there any catalogues for "beer bellied men?" I don't think so. Plus, I know plenty of larger men who don't drink beer. "Food belly?" ahh, I don't know.
And what about these women who starve themselves into minute sizes, so small they have to shop in the teen department at their local whatever. Do I walk around calling them minus sized women? Would they like to be called that? Probably. Because women are so much more hung up about this. I know this is an age old problem that get's discussed in many magazines, feminist groups, and by women of all shapes and sizes. Its just been on my own mind ever since I used that phrase. I think I am going to stick with "botticelliesque", and to hell with the ones who don't get it. They can just refer to me as the crazy, plus sized woman with cats.

aaah, spring

Spring is here, my allergies tell me so. But I still am happy to see the sun. Yesterday, after a quick nap, I went with a few friends to a place nearby called Bridgeport. Its on the Yuba river, and is really nothing more than a covered bridge that spans the river, and some trails to walk along. The trails, though. Amazing. Especially at this time of year. The wildflowers are blooming, and they are everywhere. Poppies, Lupine, and other things that I don't know the name of. Hundreds of them. They put little signs up saying what the flowers are, its nice. What makes me laugh, though, is that amidst all these beautiful wildflowers is a lot of poison oak. Did they put up a sign for that? No. So, people were everywhere, and leaning into this poison oak to take pictures of the pretty flowers. They are going to bring home a fun souvenier from their day in the country. We talked to people from Hawaii (aloha, she says as she passes us on the trail) and from the East Coast. (oh, I forgot about Poison oak, I was looking for Poison Ivy.) We met 4 teenage boys who weren't there for the flowers, but, instead to climb to the top of a steep path, so that they could be above everyone else. We saw them after the fact, flushed with victory, and very pleased with themselves. They were friendly, and open, quite the opposite of what I usually see in boys their age. They were sure to point out the rugged path they had taken to the top, so that we could ooh and aah over their skills. After they left, Deb went halfway up herself, to take a picture only her eye could see. I took plenty of pictures there, myself, and if any of you are on facebook, you can see them there, later on this evening after I have cleaned them up, and posted them. Well. Some of them, anyhow. Just go to facebook, and look for me. (Traci Mancini).
I never made my corned beef, (but its slow cooking, now) because we decided to go out for an early dinner after our hike. I did have my guiness, though. I am going to go back to the trail, maybe one day this week, because I want to explore it by myself. I love my friends, but sometimes being alone, on a sunny day, surrounded by poison oak and wildflowers can be a beautiful thing.

Happy St. Patricks Day

I happen to love St. Paddy's Day, I have corned beef at the ready, a head of cabbage, and some dark irish beer waiting for me as I type. Of course, its only 4 am, so I won't be eating and drinking that anytime too soon. But still. I know its there. I remember making green flowers out of toilet paper as a kid and wearing the hideous things. I remember pinching the hell out of anyone not wearing green. Tonight, at work, at midnight, I pinched most of my co workers for this same thing. Thank God they had the good humor to laugh. I drew the line at pinching the patients, though. My friend, fellow nurse "G" (the same one who owes me 600,000) tried to convince me that his underwear was green, because he hadn't washed it in a month. I cooly informed him that did not count. It will be a cold day in hell before I get my money. LOL
On a more disgusting note. I am taking care of a child tonight, a four year old. Don't fash, people. He isn't that sick. I went to get him a toy, we give all the kids toys, and there was a cockroach beanie baby in the pile. I kid you not. Its name is "Scurry." Scurry is sitting on my work computer now, mocking me as I cheat, and post a blog from work. The minute "the man" figures out I am doing this, they will block the sight, I just know it. But for now, its just me and scurry, and "G", still chanting happily at the computer next door. . . sigh
PS, and I hope you all figured this out. The disgusting thing was the stuffed cockroach, not the four year old boy. He is all better now and at home harrassing his siblings.

What nurses do when they are bored

Sitting here at work, we are having some "down" time. Most of the patients are asleep, and, we are, for once caught up. So, what are we doing in our spare time? Me and a nurse i'll call "G" are playing the online version of "Deal or No Deal". Yes, its lame. "G" is next to me talking to his computer like he's in a batting cage with money "penny penny penny, come on, penny! Ahhh, just knocked out a million dollars." Meanwhile, I have won 750,000 twice. But I lost the million, because "G" told me to take the deal, so I am pouting like a little girl, and told "G" that he owes me 600,000 dollars (because I settled for 400,000.) Thats what I get for listening to a man. Oh, dear, one of my patients is beginning to awaken. I guess that I must go tend to his needs, and let "G" sit here, chattering away at his computer. I hope he ponies up my money soon, I need a vacation. . .

I love snapdragons!

I am a Snapdragon What Flower Are You?

Defrosting hell

Why is it once we commit to taking something out of the freezer, and waiting for it to defrost, we don't want to eat it anymore? I took some smoked porkchops out 2 nights ago, and put them in the refrigerator, imagining that on my nights off this week I would make myself a good dinner. Every time I think about them, now, I just don't want them. ANYTHING else sounds good but porkchops. Today will be the third day, and, I go back to work tonight. So I HAVE to eat them. I have a 3 day rule here in my tiny world. I read once if you don't eat something after it has been made in 3 days that it should be tossed. So today, before I go to work I will be making pork chops, and trying to avoid the temptation of all the other good things in my refrigerator that I could be eating, instead. The only other option is to get rid of the pork chops, which I refuse to do because that is wasting food, and I know full well that plenty of people have none. So I will eat pork chops and be happy with them. I think part of my resistance to the pork chops, and, most things that require defrosting is that I have no one else to cook for but me. For all the trouble he ended up being, and the giant conablach muc (pig carcass in gaelic, thank you very much) he turned out to be, that was a nice thing about Jeff. He was here for me to cook with, and, sometimes he even cooked for me. That doesn't mean I want him back. Maybe I just want a body to fill the other chair at the table. Then again, after hearing the story my sister told me this morning about something her husband did, I am not so sure about that. . . and if any of you know either of my sisters, do not give them directions to this blog! I may need to "vent" about them in here someday!

Never go to bed after just having watched Miami Ink

I eventually made my way inside from my lovely balcony last night (after having finished the 7 deadly Zins) and decided to watch a little television, and read. (I frequently do both at the same time.) The book I am reading at the moment is this twisted novel that is written by Chris Bohjalian. Its about a schizophrenic homeless man who used to be a photographer, and the social worker that helps him. The author has also tossed in bits and pieces of "The Great Gatsby" to make things more interesting. Its called "The Double Bind." One would think that possibly I would get my interesting dreams from this book, but no. . . au contraire as my french friends would say. Instead, I watched Miami Ink, and dreamt about Ami, and Yoji. Yes, stop laughing. Yoji. At one point in the dream, I was so mad at him I told him to "go back to Bridgitte!" Strange. Now, if I was going to choose one of the men on Miami ink to, ahem. Tattoo me, I would choose Chris Garver. I like his tattoo's, and his smile. I wish he would get rid of the beard, though.
I have been thinking more about my book, and actually began the chapter yesterday where my female character gets to see the knights riding out of her cave. She is in pure shock. Here is a question I want to pose to anyone who reads this, and cares to respond. Take your time and think about it.
Which historical person would you most like to see ride out of the cave? Keep in mind, if they have only been dead a short time, they can't stay long.
The follow up question, is who would you like to see not come out of the cave? My friends at work have given me some very interesting answers to this question. . .

Toes, who needs toes?

I had not intended on writing again tonight, but events of today have stimulated me. I woke up later than I wanted to, but working nights, that is a usual occurance. I am used to sleeping during the daytime, in the sunlight. When I wake up late, I have a hard time getting motivated to do anything.
We are having a wonderful spring day here, so I quickly decamped out to my balcony, with a good book, and some knitting. After a few hours, I started really looking around at my surroundings, and my balcony has been hit by winter, hard. It looked terrible! So, I put everything down, and decided today was the day to clean up the balcony, and make it happy. Its a small space, shouldn't take long, right?
I got started, music blaring, iced tea flowing. I moved every piece of balcony furniture inside for the moment, and swept up all the old pine needles, and detrius from the winter months. Needing my dustpan, I went inside, and started moving around said balcony furniture, so I could get around it. Now, I should mention, my sister has a sister in law who makes adirondack chairs. Nice ones. Nice, heavy ones. I picked one up to turn it, so I could get past, and dropped it, right on my big toe. Then, did the hopping "Oh God Oh God OH GOD! dance, indicating pain, stopping myself from uttering every curse word I know. I don't know why I didn't let them fly, I don't have any impressionable kids, my neighbor wasn't home to hear me scream, and my cat's are not that protected from life. I just knew, once I started, I wouldn't stop, and I would probably invent some new ones. It hurt so bad I was nauseous. After my hopping dance, I called my best friend, Deb, and promptly ignored her advice to sit down, ice it, and elevate it. Instead, I finished cleaning my balcony, and then I finished my bottle of wine, on said, now clean balcony. The toe, bruised, and slightly swollen. Who needs toes, anyhow? I have a clean balcony.

Dreams

Ever have those nights where you have really strange dreams? For me, its every night. I am a very vivid dreamer, and, for better or worse, I can usually remember most of them. I remember some dreams I had years ago. The oldest dream I can remember was one I had when I was a small child. I was sitting on a high wall, fishing with my Grandfather, and there were alligators in the water below us. And, of course, I fell. It was one of those falling, but never landing dreams. I had it more than once. I also dreamt, as a child, of a McDonalds, built entirely out of chocolate chip cookies. We rarely got McDonalds, but apparently, I liked it. Four years ago, I had this dream about me living on a piece of property that had a cave where people who had died could come out, and stay for a time. The length of time they could stay depended on how long they had been dead. I am writing a book about this dream, because it intrigued me. Its a slow process, trying to write a book. I want to do it right. No one else may ever read my strange story, but still. . . So far the people I have let out of the cave are a group of knights from the 12th century, Rasputin, Ghengis Khan (he doesn't last long) the dead Beach Boys (they want to find Brian Wilson), and Jim Morrison. Those are the people that were actually in my dream. What I am trying to hash out now is how to keep the bad people, i.e Hitler, Mussolini and those of that ilk, in the cave. Who gets to deside who is bad, and who isn't? After all, Rasputin got out, and some people consider him the face of evil. . .
Anyhow, compared to that dream, the dream I remember from last night was simple. It involved my Dad, one of his brothers, who is now deceased, and his brother having a daughter I never knew he had. . . strange. I haven't ever dreamt of Uncle Bill. Wonder if he was trying to tell me something?

pour a big glass of wine, and relax (you, too, ladies)

So, I am venturing away from the my space blog, and trying my hand at this one, huh? This is supposed to be in lieu of me keeping a journal, which I always start with the best intentions, but never follow through on. Maybe, this will work for me.
For those of you that are strangers to me, here is a brief description of life so far. I live in Northern California, and work as an ICU nurse, a job I love most of the time, with moments of "why did I pick this career?" thrown in. Why did I pick nursing, you ask? I still don't know. After four years in the Navy, nursing seemed like a wise decision. I can support myself to the style in which I am accustomed to, so I have no complaints. I am 37 years old, and single. One marriage, a long time ago, that failed, mainly do to being youthfully stupid. It happens, I'm over it.
Right now, I am enjoying a glass of red wine, (7 Deadly Zins, if anyone is keeping score.) I was hoping for a Malbec or Sangiovese, but I guess I drank those. In any case, the Zin is fine. In the background, the Craig Ferguson show is playing ( I love TiVo), hence the "you too, ladies." I have a great family, and 2 of the best friends a girl could ask for, so, life is good.
Nothing too exiting happened to me today, unless you are interested in how I put beads into a blanket I am knitting. If you are, send me a line. I learned a great, new easy trick that involves a dental floss holder, the bead, and some yarn.