Another Story Monday

its another story. I think I've been officially Darylized. This is a short one..

At least I hope so.

To see the picture of whence I speak, go here.

Laura cursed, frantically, trying to type faster, and faster on her Phone. She had a bid on a gorgeous silver toe ring on Ebay and she didn't want to lose it! She didn't even look up as the foot traffic flowed past her, so intent she was on her bidding war. Whomever 'surftart 211' was in California was, Laura hate, hate, hated her!! She was sure California was the land of sunshine and toe rings, and that surftart could walk out her front door, then down a block to the toe ring shop and choose from thousands of them. As for Laura, well. Sure, she lived in NYC, but finding the perfect toe ring was a difficult thing.

So she stood there, bidding, back and forth, back and forth. At some point, the money ceased to matter. It was the principle of the thing. Surftart was not going to be wearing her toe ring!

In the end, though, it wasn't to be. Laura stood, tearful, and considered the distance she could throw her orange clad phone. Then, one of the street vendors walked up to her, and said

"Haven't you ever heard of bid sniper?

It took the doctors 2 hours to dislodge the cell phone from his mouth. She'd shoved it in that far.

As for Laura?

She's sitting in the mental hospital, on a 72 hour hold, without ANY jewelry, and her thumbs are still working frantically, in the air...

friday Mieography

Sylvia Plath was born during the Great Depression, in Massachusetts. Her mother, Aurelia, was a first generation American of Austrian descent, and her father, Otto, was an immigrant from Germany. He was a professor of biology and German at Boston University, and he wrote a book about bumblebees. His wife was 21 years his junior. He was alienated from his family, because he did not become a Lutheran minister like they wanted him to be.

Eventually, a younger brother was born, Warren. At eight years old, Sylvia's first poem was published in the Boston Herald, in the children's section. Sadly, a week and a half after her eighth birthday, her father passed away. Interestingly, he didn't have to die. One of his friends had died of lung cancer, and, convinced he had lung cancer, he completely ignored his diabetes, and died of complications following the amputation of his foot because of this.

After her father died, her mother moved she and her children in with her parents, in Wellesley, Mass.

Sylvia attended Smith College, and dated a young man named Dick, who fell ill with TB. He was sent to a Sanatorium, and while visiting him, Sylvia broke her leg in a skiing accident. Her third year in college, Sylvia went to NYC for a month, as a guest editor at Mademoiselle magazine. It was not a good experience for her, and her first medically documented suicide attempt soon followed. She crawled under the house, and took sleeping pills. She was committed to a mental institution, where she was treated with Shock Therapy. She recovered, returned to college, and graduated with honors. She continued her education, obtaining a Fulbright Scholarship to Newnham College, in Cambridge. She continued to write poetry, and was published in the student newspaper. At a party, she met an English poet named Ted Hughes, whom she married.

They relocated to the United States, where, initially, Sylvia taught at her alma mater, Smith College. They eventually moved to Boston, where Sylvia audited seminars. When they discovered Sylvia was pregnant with their first child, they moved back to the UK. She published her first book, a collection of poetry called "The Colossus." She also suffered a miscarriage of her pregnancy. Her marriage was difficult, especially because her husband had a girlfriend. They eventually separated. They had two children, a boy and a girl.

Sylvia Plath died, by all accounts, by her own hand. She completely sealed the rooms between her sleeping children and herself, with wet towels, and stuck her head in the gas oven. It has been suggested by some that she did not mean to actually die, however, because she'd asked a downstairs neighbor about what time he actually left, daily, and had left him a note to call the doctor. Whatever she meant, her head was far enough in, and die, she did. She was found by the au pair hired to look after her children. Royalties from her vast body of work were placed into a trust fund for her children. Here then, is one of my favorite poems by Sylvia:

Sylvia Plath - A Life

Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball, This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear. Here's yesterday, last year --- Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast Windless threadwork of a tapestry. Flick the glass with your fingernail: It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer. The inhabitants are light as cork, Every one of them permanently busy. At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file. Never trespassing in bad temper: Stalling in midair, Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses. Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy As Victorian cushions. This family Of valentine faces might please a collector: They ring true, like good china. Elsewhere the landscape is more frank. The light falls without letup, blindingly. A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle About a bald hospital saucer. It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg. She lives quietly With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle, The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture She has one too many dimensions to enter. Grief and anger, exorcised, Leave her alone now. The future is a grey seagull Tattling in its cat-voice of departure. Age and terror, like nurses, attend her, And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold, Crawls up out of the sea.

things that make me go

Hmmm
I rarely blog about my nursing, but, bear with me, because I have some thoughts.
Recently I found a blog of a student, now almost ready to graduate, nurse. I really can't tell you how I found it. I just did.
She posed an interesting thought on her blog, about how someone told her she wouldn't be a great nurse until she was a parent.
In all my 13 ish years of nursing I've not ever heard anything like this. Honestly, though she certainly didn't mean it this way, it was rather insulting. I did not have the luck to meet MM at a younger age where we could, realistically, have children together. That, accompanied with the fertility issues the women in my family share make it kind of hard for me if I were to consider having a baby. (We are not having a baby)
but does this mean I can't be a great nurse?
I have family, and friends that mean the world to me, that I am VERY attached to. I have empathy for every human being laying in a hospital bed. I always stop and think of what I would want to see/hear/experience were it MY family in that bed.
Sure. I haven't birthed a child. MG is, for all intents and purposes, the closest I am going to get. She is my daughter by another mother ;).
But adding her to my life didn't make me a better nurse.
I have lots of patients who think I am a great nurse. They tell me, and I love that. Granted, I've also had a handful of crazies who think I am the devil incarnate. But those are few and far between. Really, I have a pretty high happy rate with those I take care of.
Hmm
may have to ponder this more.
Any thoughts on this out there?

Wordless Wednesday

I feel like I really do need to explain this one...

MM and I were at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, looking at a rather large tank display that had garbage in it that the crafty under sea animals had turned into their own habitat. We are looking at all the stuff, and MM see's this first. Of course I had to snap the picture.

Patrick Starfish must be truly sorry he ended up prison...

Queen Meme Tuesday

Easter has come and gone. But I'll bet you have stories to tell! We present: The Peep Peep Meme. I feel a sugar rush coming on....

1. What does Easter mean to you (if that is not too personal)? Easter means the Resurrection of Christ to me.

2. When did you last go on an Easter egg hunt? Did you find anything? I help hide the eggs now. Then I have to help hunt for the ones we hide too well...

3. Your favorite celebrity is dressed up in a bunny outfit and about to jump out of a cake. Who is it? Kenny from South Park

4. What is the most unusual thing you've ever done with Easter eggs?This is going to sound pathetic, but dye them. I was over thirty the first time I dyed an egg. My Mom didn't do that with us, we got the plastic kind. Always.

5. What's your favorite color of peeps? Burnt

6. Do you believe in the Easter Bunny? I AM the Easter Bunny...

7. Imagine: You are invited to the White House for the annual Easter egg hunt. What surprise should President Obama put in each egg for the kids? Certificates for a Teeth Cleaning

8. What's your favorite kind of candy to eat at Easter? Those crunchy malted ball eggs

9. Have you ever dyed eggs for Easter? Twice, now


10. You have just found a genuine Faberge egg worth millions of dollars. Would you keep it or sell it for cash at auction? What would you do with the money? Depends on which egg I found, some of those Faberge eggs are amazing

11. Do you have an Easter bonnet with all the frills upon it?
Show us a picture of your hat. Nope. No bonnets, no colored eggs

12. Please share any special Easter memories or traditions you have with us. I usually make a special Finnish Easter Bread, called Pulla. You can make it at any time of year, but to me it is especially good (to me) at Easter time..

as usual, for more fun, go here

Short Story Monday

for the inspiration of my story, please go here, and visit the lovely Daryl

Imelda had pressing issues on her mind when she'd gotten dressed that morning. She'd gotten up, very very early, unable to sleep any longer.

"At least I am in The City", she thought to herself as she groped around her closet for a pair of comfortable shoes. She'd grown up in NYC, married in NYC, and had her babies here, too. Then her husband, Joe, had gotten some strange idea in his head that they needed to move, to the Florida Keys, of all places. She'd convinced Joe not to sell the apartment, thankfully, but just to rent it out for the first year. She bit her tongue, packed up their years and years worth of belongings, and followed Joe to the keys. Where he promptly died, less then 2 weeks after they'd moved. She had her attorney toss the nice couple who'd rented their space, repacked the few boxes she'd unpacked (NYC just DID NOT fit in the Keys), and returned back to the only home she ever really cared to know.

She'd been back for a month, now, and her home was still chaotic. Without Joe around to pester her, offer his opinion on virtually everything, then wonder what she was going to make for dinner, she wasn't quite sure what to do with her space. Because it was HER space, now. It didn't feel right, somehow, to put everything back the way it was before they moved, so, she was lost, in a sea of packing boxes, memories, and the desire to do things different.

With that thought, she jammed her shoes on, tossed on her oldest, warmest coat, and flew out the door. Turning left, she stopped, briefly, and got a bagel and hot tea from the street vendor that was always on the corner. On the move, she ate her breakfast, and began her search...

Hours went by, and yet, what she needed eluded her, even in her city. Frustrated, she stopped at yet another cart, and ate a hotdog for her lunch. Her children, and grandchildren were all going to come to the apartment for dinner tomorrow and she HAD to have what she was looking for. It was bad enough that she still had a sea of boxes filling her space, she had to have what she wanted.

Finally, finally, she found it. Or rather, them. Tall, cool, tangerine colored drinking glasses, with just the right weight to pleasingly fill your hand. Thick enough that her grandchildren wouldn't break them when they dropped them. (Not if, when). She bought thirteen of them, one extra, just in case. She waited impatiently as the salesgirl wrapped them to her specifications, she needed them safe as she carried them home. She had no interest or desire to take a taxi. She was tired, they were heavy, but it was her city, and she would walk. Finally, the girl finished, and handed her the heavy bags. Imelda could now go home.

It was a long, long walk. "My these shoes are comfortable, I should wear them more often" she thought to herself. She kept going, her arms getting heavier, the glasses getting heavier. She envisioned those tangerine glasses on her table, though, and what the look would be on her family's face when they saw her new, self designed dining room, with the piece de resistance, those tangerine glasses. With this incentive, she made it home. Gratefully, she smiled at the doorman, and caught the elevator up to the eleventh floor. Entering, she did not stop, she practically ran to the dining room, and smiled when she got there. Walls painted a bright happy orange greeted her, an electric, lime green table with shocking white chairs took the center of the room, and bright blue plates awaited their first meal. Lovingly, she set the tangerine glasses in their place, admiring their glow.

Then, looking down she noticed she was wearing two different shoes.

"Oh, how tacky!" she thought to herself. "How will I ever live this down? Maybe, no one noticed..."

Friday Mieography

This lady wins the award for persistence (and 80's hair..)
Lita Rossanna Ford was born in London, the daughter of an English Army Veteran, and his Italian wife, whom he'd met during WW II.

She was very young when the family relocated to the United States. They moved to Long Beach, California.

When she was eleven, she was given a nylon string guitar, and she began to teach herself to play. The first concert she went to was a Black Sabbath concert when she was thirteen, and it was a life changing moment for her. She knew right then that she wanted to play guitar with a rock band. At home, she began to play along with Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, and Hendrix, and got a job heating up patients dinners at a local hospital so she could earn enough money to buy herself more guitars.

While Lita was in high school, she played Bass in a band made up of local boys that had her taste in music. Word got around about Lita, and she was contacted by Kim Fowley, who was forming a band called "The Runaways". He'd heard Lita could play bass, and she could, but she told him she wanted to play lead guitar. He told her they needed one of those to, so she went, with her parents encouragement, to the audition. She passed the audition, but ended up quitting the band after two days, related to a problem with musical differences, and the fact that Fowley was a very abusive man. The Runaways played very simple music, and Lita didn't want to be made fun of at home. Fowley called her back a week after she quit, asking her to reconsider because he needed her strong guitar. Lita went back. She was sixteen.

The Runaways stayed together for five years, releasing four studio albums and one live album. They toured all over the world. Lita was writing songs for them by the third album.

Unfortunately, there were always musical differences with the band. Lita wanted to branch off into much heavier music, they did not. Despite their moderate success, The Runaways were never really taken seriously, and they split.

Lita went her own way, and played guitar with a few different LA bands, while she worked at different jobs, like selling mens cologne, pumping gas, and being a health instructor. She was friends with Eddie Van Halen, and he encouraged her to get serious about her guitar playing again. She put together her own band, and, unable to find a vocalist, started to sing herself. She eventually released her first solo album, "Out For Blood". At this time, she was living with Nikki Sixx from Motley Crue, and they were both heavily addicted. The album did not do well, and the cover, which featured Lita scantily dressed and holding a bloody guitar was banned, because it was deemed too gory. Undaunted, Lita soldiered on, and released a second album. She had a better support system, had moved on from her relationship with Nikki Sixx, and was instead engaged to the guitar player from Black Sabbath. (It didn't last long). A third album was completed, but the record company deemed it "too heavy", and scrapped it. Lita left the record company. She hired Sharon Osborne to be her manager, and got a new band, and a new record deal. She also wrote songs with various friends, such as Lemmy from Motorhead, Nikki Sixx, and, of course Ozzy. She finally got some major hits under her belt, first with her solo song "Kiss Me Deadly", and then, a duet with Ozzy called "Close My Eyes Forever". She was in heavy rotation on MTV. She began to tour more during this time. She met, and married her first husband, and released a new album, Stiletto, which was rated very highly, but yet, fell flat, as did her marriage. She put more time and energy into another metal album (she is persistant), but yet, Grunge was making its move, and Lita once again had a critically acclaimed album that went no where. Lita continued to tour and perform, and was even nominated for a Grammy, (which she lost to Melissa Etheridge). She met Jim Gillette in 1994, and married him after two weeks. She entered the studio, again, and along with her husband, made the album "Black", which is only available in Europe. She did some Gibson Guitar clinics, and formed a new band with her husband, called Rumble Culture. She and Jim have two boys, and live happily on an island in the Caribbean, and Lita still plays, releases albums, and has been touring the US. She is also immortalized in "Guitar Hero".