Angels Among Us

I worked in health care for many years. My specialty was Geriatrics, more specifically Geriatric Alzheimer's and Dementia. There are a million stories I could tell about the many wonderful people I cared for, but there are almost as many stories I could tell (good and bad) about my co-workers. This is a co-worker story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I worked with an angel.

She was an older lady who wore large, old-fashioned coke-bottle glasses and still had to tilt her head and squint to see sometimes. She kept her hair short because she "didn't have time to fuss with it." She was slow and methodical.

Everyone loved her, but not everyone could work with her. As I said before, she was slow and methodical. What I didn't say was the emphasis was on the slow. She wasn't slow because she didn't want to work, she was slow because she was exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. We worked the night shift.

She worked at night because her husband worked all day......... separate shifts for twenty nine years.

They had three children, a boy and two girls. The boy and oldest girl were healthy, grown, and out on their own. The youngest, however, was still at home. She was still at home because an institution was unthinkable. She was twenty nine years old.

When Lisa was born, the doctors said she wouldn't make it past two. She had mental and physical problems serious enough that the doctor recommended she be placed in an institution, to be "made comfortable until she passed." She would never walk, never communicate, never be aware of anything. The angel said "No, God gave her to me for a reason." A few months later, the angel took Lisa home.

The angel and her husband were not rich people. They had two other children and a modest home. The angel had not worked since the birth of their first child because her and her husband believed the best people to raise their children were, of course, themselves. All that had to change after Lisa.

Lisa had to have a special, expensive bed. She had tubes everywhere because she couldn't eat, or use the bathroom. She was on many different medications. Everyone and everything had to be clean and sterile, the slightest illness could be fatal. Lisa had to have medication, or breathing treatments, or feedings, or something else every two to three hours around the clock. For the first year of her life, she did little more than occasionally open and close her eyes. That was enough for the angel.

By the time I met the angel, Lisa was twenty five years old. That's twenty three years past two. Twenty five years of around the clock care. Twenty five years of sacrifice. The doctor had been right about only one thing; Lisa couldn't walk. The doctor would have been right about everything though, if not for the angel.

For four years I listened to the stories, about the first time Lisa became "aware," the first time she talked, the first time she tasted ice cream, how she learned to read, and she even eventually learned to use the computer and made "friends" with people online. She also became "healthy" enough to go out now and then without fear of getting sick. She loved old movies, and music, and animals. I heard so much about her I felt like I knew her.

I was working a double-shift, night-shift and morning. The angel called and asked if her check was in. I told her it was and she said "I think I'll bring Lisa with me to pick it up, so you can meet her." I told her that would be great.

An hour later the front doors opened, and the angel wheeled in this little tiny girl. She was surrounded by pillows on each side because she was oddly shaped and curved and couldn't sit up without them. She had little pillow things against the sides of her head because she had a hard time controlling her neck. Her arms and legs were all different lengths. She had big coke-bottle glasses......... and she had one of the biggest smiles I have ever seen.

I went over and knelt down in front of the wheelchair. She met my eyes and said in a clear voice "Hi, I'm Lisa. Do you have any dogs or cats?"

For the next hour I sat and talked to her about anything and everything. She told me about her friends, her pets, her favorite books. She asked me questions about my life, my friends, my likes and dislikes. We talked about her mom and dad and siblings. She asked if I thought there were dogs and cats in heaven. I told her I didn't know, but I'd like to think so. It was one of the most memorable hours of my whole life. When it was time to leave, she didn't want to. She took my hand as we went toward the door and she said "You're my moms friend. You're my friend now." I said "I sure am!" Then they left.

It was only a few months later that Lisa passed away. At the funeral, the pastor who did the eulogy knew the family well, knew Lisa well. He talked about her amazing life, and her amazing parents. Lisa, and her mother, were an inspiration to all whose lives they touched. There were so many lessons to be learned from them, to learn still, about who and what we are supposed to be in our own little part of the grand scheme.

Down here on earth walks an angel among us. Because of her, I had an unforgettable hour spent with a special person who might not have been. Because of them, I saw first hand that there is true joy in sacrifice. Because of them, I know that one can smile in spite of hardship, if only one wants to.

If there are dogs and cats in heaven, Lisa, I know for certain who cares for them.

My Nap-O-Tee

My five year old girl is hilarious. There is not a day that passes without her saying or doing something that makes me laugh out loud, or smile so big that my cheeks sting. The other day, she swore to me that she heard a herd of spiders. I asked her what they sounded like. She said "Sssst ssst sssst ssst-like that."

One of my favorites was when she asked for a pet "hump-a-denia" after watching Animal Planet one day. I almost never figured that one out. She kept telling me "Hump...A.....deeeen...ya" very slowly, as if that would help me suddenly know. Finally, after becoming very frustrated with me, her eyes lit up. "I forgot! It's a laughing hump-a-denia!" I probably sounded like one for the next ten minutes.

This morning we returned from church and as we entered the door she paused, closed her eyes and sniffed deeply. She turned around, smiled at me and said "Ahhhhhhhh....the sweet, sweet smell of home!"

Moments ago, we were in the kitchen making macaroni, or as she calls it, Macanonri. We added all the "gredients" and stirred with our separate spoons as she chattered away. She got a spoonfull of macanonri, but as she started to raise it, my spoon bumped her spoon, and all the macanonri fell off.

She gave me a stern look and said "Hey! You made me lose my nap-o-tee!"

I laughed and said "Your what?"

"My nap-o-tee! You made me lose my nap-o-tee!"

I searched my mind for a possible related word but came up with nothing, so I finally asked "what is a nap-o-tee?"

In a very serious voice she said "You know, it's something chefs say when they start to eat their food. My nap-o-teeeee."

I laughed until I hurt.

Remember Me

I did not produce this, but I wish I had.

Space Invaders

My best friend of *muffled numbers* years and I were on the phone this morning, (yes, if you haven't noticed, we pretty much talk on a daily basis, and usually on multiple occasions throughout the day. So often in fact that one of her biological sisters - she knows who she is - has nicknamed me "the other woman.") Any-who, we were on the phone trying to have a conversation, and as always happens, our collective five children decided that was the exact moment they all needed to say something, ask something, do something, chit-chat, or whatever. Our conversations tend to go something like this;

Me: "So as I was thinking about my blog-----no, honey, I cant help you with the video game right this second, I'm on the phone---Where was I? Oh yeah, the blog, I was thinking I would-----no, son, I said no company today, give me a second to talk on the phone---OK, I'm back, sorry. What was I saying?----stop honey, you're going to get in trouble and have to get off the computer.....

Meanwhile, on the other end of the phone;

Her: "yeah, I was thinking about mine too---no I already told you you couldn't have anyone over today, can't you see I'm on the phone-----yeah, blog, that's what you were saying---you're going where with who? We'll talk about that in a minute, let me finish this conversation---you were saying you were thinking about----what do you think you are doing?.......

And thus goes almost every conversation we ever have. Why? It's the space invaders.

The moment my hand touches the phone, they go on red alert. They don't even have the courtesy to start off with the slow, alternating "BUMP bump BUMP bump" (you 80's children will hear that sound in your head right about now.) NOOOOOO, they jump right into the "I'm about to smash through your defenses and there's nothing you can do about it" rapid cycling "BUMPbumpBUMPbumpBUMPbump" with their little alien pincher thingies opening and closing as they do that rapid crab-like sideways approach!

That doesn't just apply to phone conversations either. When I sit at my computer and simply look at it, they will leave me alone. When my hand reaches for the keyboard, however, here they come. BUMPbumpBUMPbumpBUMPbump. Mom, I'm hungry again----just one second, let me finish typing this sentence----Mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom----WHAT sweetie---can we have three dogs and four cats?-----hold on just one second, let me just----Hey Mom, can *insert friends name here* come over? I haven't had anyone over today, pleeeeease---just let me---mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,------sweetie, just a----but cant we have four dogs and three cats then?----

It doesn't stop with bathroom boundaries either. You would think that would be a safe place at least, but nooooooo. Ah, the quiet, peaceful bathroom. A moment to sit and reflect and plan and dream...... but the second the cheeks hit the seat, I am effectively trapped. BUMPbumpBUMPbumpBUMPbump. knock knock knock---who is it, what do you want----Mom, *insert friends name here* just called, can he come over for a few hours?-----I'm in the bathroom, we'll talk when I get out---mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,---WHAT?!?!?!?!?!---can we have a turtle and a bunny and four cats and three dogs?----Go----A----WAY---knock knock knock---WHAT! WHAT! WHAT!----can *insert friends name here* please please please come over. If he doesn't come over now he will be stuck at his grandmas for hours and hours and he really doesn't want to go but his dad said if he cant come over here now he has to go over there and he will be bored to death and he said please please please------*FLUSH*---- mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom----so much for peace and quiet and reflection.

Some of you might say I should simply ignore them until I am finished doing whatever it is I am doing, but that does not work. The last time I did that, my barely five year old daughter found a phone book, looked up pet stores and called one on the phone. The lady answered and my little girl said "I want a pet!" She then handed me the phone and said "I called a pet store.....here." I could hear the lady talking. I looked at the phone in disbelief. I did what any normal person would do..... I hung up.

Because I am a mother, I have effectively lost all peace and privacy privileges. If only I had known! Bah, that isn't true. They may drive me crazy, but I wouldn't trade them for all the peace and privacy in the world. For every moment they drive me nuts, there are a million that make me smile, that entertain me, that make me proud beyond my wildest dreams. Still, it would be nice to go to the bathroom alone once in a while, to talk on the phone uninterrupted now and then, to get on my computer and.....wait........whats that sound in the distance?......

BUMPbumpBUMPbumpBUMPbump

What the HELL is non-hispanic?!

Okay, somebody somewhere besides me has got to wonder why the hell the designation "non-hispanic" was created to describe every race except, well, "hispanics.". Google "non-hispanic." You will see studies of "non-hispanic whites", "non-hispanic blacks", "non-hispanic american indians"...WHAT THE HELL?! Have the "hispanics" so invaded every race that each race must now have the designation of "non" attached if they have no "hispanic" ancestry? I don't call myself a "non-asian white", even though, as far as I know, I have no asian ancestors.

Can you imagine creating a job application that encompassed everyone?

Check one of the following;
non-hispanic white
non-hispanic black
non-hispanic american indian
non-hispanic asian
non-hispanic european.....
non-asian hispanic
non-asian white
non-asian black
non-asian american indian
non-asian european
non-white american indian
non-white black
non-white asian........skipping to page 35.....
non-hispanic non-black non-american indian non-asian european
non-hispanic non-black non-american indian non-european asian
non-............. you get the idea.

OR, even better, here is mine;
non-hispanic non-black non-asian european (scottish, english, irish) american indian (blackfoot, seminole, chiricahua apache, cherokee and honorary comanche.)
I am insulted that there is no designation specifically for me!

In light of the above, calling myself non-hispanic makes as much sense as saying I am "non-male." I am also non-rock, non-piece of furniture, non-cloud, and non-liberal, among innumerable other "nons." The last I knew, you were defined by who or what you were more than by who or what you were not.

Many people define themselves and others by color. My best friend of *muffled number* years and I discussed this moments ago, and we agreed that you cannot truly define someone by a "color". Take 500 "black" people, and you will not find two with the exact same color of skin....none if them will truly be "black." Take 500 "white people", and you will have 500 different colors of skin, none of which is truly "white." Same with red, yellow, or any other color ever used to describe someones skin color.

My natural, non-sun exposed skin is considered "olive." Let me get in the evil sun for more than two hours, and I become a beautiful golden brown. (Oh it's really pretty, thanks to my american indian ancestors!) Give me a few hours a day for a week, and I resemble a raisin in color, sans wrinkles. (Okay, I have a few, but they're really small and you have to look close, so they don't count!)

The term "Hispanic" was coined by the federal government in the 1970's to describe people who were born in any of the Spanish-speaking countries of the Americas or those who could trace their ancestry to Spain or former Spanish territories. I am certainly non-hispanic by that definition of hispanic. Once upon a time I would have said I was "caucasian"......but that was the "name" given by some man named Blumenbach to describe the races that lived near Mount Caucasus, and basically encompassed the chief races of europe (where I've never been), North Africa (does that mean I can say I'm african?) and southwest asia (damn...there goes my non-asian identity!) Don't that beat all? Some invisible all knowing source knows what I am better than I do! Perhaps that leaves my best description as non-hispanic. Dammit.

From an actual job application:

Check one of the following:

Hispanic or Latino A person of Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, Central or South American, or
other Spanish culture or origin, regardless of race.
White (Not Hispanic or Latino). A person having origins in any of the original peoples of Europe, the Middle East, or North America. *my entry-middle east? Wth?*
African American or Black (Not Hispanic or Latino). A person with origins in any of the Black racial groups of Africa.
Native Hawaiian or Other Pacific Islander (Not Hispanic or Latino). A person with origins in the any of the people of Hawaii, Guam, Samoa, or other Pacific Islands..
Asian (Not Hispanic or Latino). A person with origins in any of the original peoples of the Far East, Southeast Asia, or the Indian Subcontinent. This includes, for example, China, Japan,
Korea, the Philippines, Cambodia, Malaysia, Pakistan, Thailand and Vietnam.
American Indian/Alaskan Native (Not Hispanic or Latino). A person with origins in any of the original peoples of North and South America (including Central America), and who maintains cultural identification through tribal affiliation or community recognition.
Two or More Races (Not Hispanic or Latino). All persons who identify with more than one of the above five races.

Notice the (Not Hispanic or Latino) beside everything except Hispanic or Latino? WHAT THE HELL? TAKE it out, take IT out, take it OUT! Put in a blank line to write in a specific race or races if someone wants to write it in! Seriously though, how the hell are people supposed to define themselves any more? I don't have the space, time or energy to attack everywhere that "non-hispanic" appears, so I will finish with this. I don't believe how liberal, how "inclusive", how humanist, centrist, etc this is going to sound from a highly conservative right-winger. If race is not an issue, at least when it comes to hiring people, then if only for the sake of shortening an application, why not this:

Check one of the following:

Non-human
Human

Just call me NPC.

No, gamers, not a "non player character." It means "Non-Politically Correct." In a world gone mad, don't you all think it's time to call things what they are again? For instance (some of you will hate me for this) the phrase "mentally challenged." Aren't most of us? If not all the time, I do know I am mentally challenged on a regular, no, a daily basis. True, it is mainly to do with my five year old, and how to get her to stop yelling every time I'm on the phone, or to do with my sons math homework. (Whoever invented algebra should be shot! Yes, I said SHOT. With a GUN. I am pro-second amendment. *sticks out tongue*) Where was I? oh yeah, mentally challenged.

That phrase came about because "mean people" started shortening the word retarded to retard, emphasis on the re. Retard is a perfectly fine word when the emphasis is on the tard. "Do not reTARD my progress by taking my keyboard!"

According to the dictionary:
v. re·tard·ed,
v. tr. To cause to move or proceed slowly; delay or impede.
v. intr. To be delayed.
n. A slowing down or hindering of progress; a delay.

Also according to the dictionary;
Main Entry: mentally challenged
Part of Speech: adj
Definition: a euphemism for mentally retarded or disabled

And yet again, in the dictionary (this one is scary):
euphemism [(yooh-fuh-miz-uhm)] An agreeable word or expression substituted for one that is potentially offensive, often having to do with bodily functions, sex, or death; for example, rest room for toilet, lady of the evening for prostitute. The Nazis used euphemism in referring to their plan to murder the world's Jews as "the Final Solution."

The folk at "America Heritage New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy", Third Edition, wrote that, not me.

Retarded is an appropriate word for someone born with a mental handicap (get over it, do I need the dictionary for handicapped, too!) which causes them to learn or develop at a slower pace. I would not simply describe someone as "retarded," because it leaves too much open to interpretation. For instance, I am retarded at least three times a week on the way to pick up my son by the lady in the red SUV with the goofy mouse sticker on the back window. To clarify, I would not be a bad, mean person if I referred to someone as "mentally retarded" if they had a mental handicap which caused them to be developmentally slow. And what is this "handi-capable" thing? That is just silly. They are handicapped people who are capable of doing *insert what they are capable of here.*

Has anyone here read 1984? Quote: "It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words." In a very, very short synopsis, the goal of the government is to use "newspeak" to remove any creative, logical thinking/speaking ability and reduce it inevitably to "yes." No ability to think or speak freely, no ability to disagree.

How about Demolition Man, anyone? A great spoof of political correctness, "have a joy joy day" or "her life force was terminated" or "You have been fined one credit for a violation of the verbal morality statute." Rent it! Watch it! Laugh at it! Peer into the PC future. Ok, not really, but it could be! Only Taco Bell is actually Wal-Mart. Watch the movie.

Back to "mentally challenged." Why, oh why, did I do this blog on that subject? To be true to my NPC self, that's why, and I do my best not to be a hypocrite. The word retarded even makes me a little uncomfortable, because so many today have been taught that it is a disparaging word. No, retard is a disparaging word. I do not like euphemisms as a general rule, and I do not like Dysphemisms as a general rule. They have their places, certainly, or they wouldn't have their own names, but society as a whole should not adopt them in place of perfectly good words which generally relay the true meaning in shorter time and with less effort and more clarity.

One other quick point to the fast-food places. THERE IS NO MEDIUM WITHOUT A SMALL!

In short, say it like it is.

P.S.
Example of PCness run amok compared to NPCness

My Greeting;
Happy New year!
May God bless and keep you and yours,
Love, Me

Politically Correct Greeting;
Please accept, with no obligation, implied or implicit, our best wishes for a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling, and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2008, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great (not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country or is the only "AMERICA" in the Western Hemisphere), and without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith, or sexual preference of the wishee.*

*(By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others, and is void where prohibited by law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year, or until the issuance of a subsequent greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.)

SEEEEE!?

How NOT to lose your mind

Yeah, right.

If you knew me, you would already know that title is an obvious joke. Those who do know me.....Breathe! Lack of oxygen causes dain bramage. See, truth is, I think I lost my mind long ago. So long ago, in fact, that I wouldn't know where to start looking if there were even the remotest chance of actually finding it. Besides, I wouldn't really know what to do with it anymore anyway.

My best friend of *muffled number* years and I have had this discussion before. I call it the "Edith Bunker" syndrome. For those who don't know, Edith was married to Archie Bunker- HINT: google "All in the family." Archie was chubby, grouchy, opinionated and bigoted. "Oh, how horrible!" you exclaim! No, the strange thing was, he wasn't horrible. You couldn't help but like him in that "bless his chubby, grouchy, opinionated, bigoted little heart" kind of way. He wasn't malicious, just a product of his times. Still, I would have had to kill him if he were my husband.

Edith, however, was the opposite of Archie. The "Anti-Archie," if you will. She always had a smile. She waited on Archie hand and foot. She loved everyone. When Archie called her a dingbat (which was often) she would giggle in her dingbat way, smile and say "Oooooh Arrrrchiiiiie," then do whatever he wanted, with that same old smile on her face. Nothing seemed to phase her, ever.

Edith's life was Archie and her family. She lived to serve. She lived to cook and clean and do laundry and bring beer to Archie. That's what she did, that's what she was, and she was perfectly content in her tiny little house with her chubby, grouchy, opinionated, bigoted husband who called her a dingbat.

I am not content. I have too many important decisions to make every day. I have too many people who turn to me for assistance, for guidance, or to just plain do things for them that they could or should do for themselves, or worse, they can't do themselves. If it's broken, I'm supposed to fix it. If it's lost, I'm supposed to find it. If it's not done, I should have done it days ago. If theres a question, I should have or find the answer.

And, unlike Edith, I actually have interests of my own. I like to write, to paint, to read books, to build things. I like to be creative. There is little time for creativity between the routine duties of Mother and house-wife, and all those extra things that come at me from every direction. I haven't read a book in seven years, and it bothers me immensley.

I sometimes catch myself longing for "dingbat-itis." To be able to smile no matter what, to have my most dificult choice of the day be "chicken fried steak" or "fried chicken" for dinner. (Sorry, back to the fried stuff....But I'm from Texas! We fry everything!) To have no one ever ask me anything except "do I have any clean socks?" If I could be "mindless" like Edith, then I would have no mind to lose.

But....

I wouldn't have that cool five foot painting done on a scrap piece of wood hanging over my desk, or that "uber awesome" entertainment center I built for my kids (who adore me) to put their video consoles in, or that cute paper mache elf that everyone exclaims "you MADE that?!!!" or a nephew that says I'm the coolest Aunt ever, or parents that proudly brag "I must have done something right," or a best friend of *muffled number* years who is so much like me we know we were separated at birth.

Perhaps I have the answer after all. How do you not lose your mind?

Perspective.

Grits - the RIGHT way to eat 'em.

First of all, NO, I will not be writing about grits and eggs after this. At least it is highly unlikely. However, being about as southern as you can get without having come from Tara, (not necessarily in my writing style, but in my God-Family-Country loving way), it behoves me to inform those less fortunate souls who have tried, and disliked, grits on the proper way to eat a grit. True southerners, please skip the next sentence.

It does not matter if you use instant grits, they can still be very, very tasty.

First of all, the grits must be neither too runny, nor too dry. Runny grits are like grit-soup, and I just can't imagine why anyone would want to eat grit soup. If you must err, err on the side of dry, but if you can actually slice the grits into cakes, they are too dry.

Second, bacon grease. Any true southerner will have a handy supply, most likely in a jar, but possibly in an empty can with a piece of tin-foil over the top to keep the dust out. You must add enough to give your grits the bacon flavor without the grits looking greasy. Scoop some grease on a spoon, stir into hot grits and taste. If you taste a hint of bacon, good job. If you only taste grits, scoop again. If you happen to be one of those people without bacon grease handy, that's easy to remedy. Take a pound or so of good fatty bacon, fry it up crunchy, and pour the grease in a jar or can, whichever you prefer. Keep the bacon, too, it's good on the side.

Third, fry (yes, FRY) an egg or too (depends on how many servings of grits you have) and it/they must be over-easy or sunny-side-up. In fact, you can fry the eggs in bacon grease for a little extra bacon flavor! Do NOT break the yolk while frying, a cooked yolk is useless for grits!

Fourth, put the egg(s) in the grits, chop them to pieces with your spoon, and mix in the yolk until the grits are a nice, pale yellow. (This is why the grits can't be runny!)

Serve with a couple pieces of toast, that bacon if you had to fry some, and a hot cup of coffee. Mmmm Mmmm. A bit of southern heaven. If you still don't like them, you did something wrong. Do it again. Repeat until you get it right, and you'll know you got it right when you love them!

'Til next time.