…at least it was for me.
I was an RN from 1968 to 2010. I worked in a hospital on acute care units and then Rehab. I also worked in home care and in long term care, retiring with the dubious honor of being the VP of nursing for a company that managed nursing homes. You would think that a “desk” job would be easy but it was even more difficult for I was always found to be butting heads with TPTB.
For most of the years I worked, I had low back pain — bad low back pain. And in the age of no CT Scans or MRIs I was told to suck it up and take the aspirin and, oh, yeah, get that 300 pound patient out of bed three times on your shift. …
Except I didn’t throw up.
It started out really nice with my husband’s kids and his daughter’s family. Let me say that I love them all very much — especially the grandson I won by marrrying his grandfather.
My stepdaughter and stepson did most of the talking. My husband, as usual, did very little. And it was all very much virus around their neighborhood and family staying safe type of comments.
Until it turned to writing — something most of the family does. (Stepdaughter is a “real” published author). Then it went off the rails.
“Dad, are you writing?” …
As the veil between the worlds thins, it’s time to remember those innocents put to death in Salem for no reason — greed, sexual desire, lies:
The Dead of Salem
Nineteen accused witches were hanged on Gallows Hill in 1692:
June 10, 1692
July 19, 1692
August 19, 1692
George Jacobs, Sr.
September 22, l692
One accused witch (all witches were often called) was pressed to death on September 19 when he failed to plead guilty or not…
As a Registered Nurse for more than forty years, I spent lot of time in hospitals and nursing homes bathing old people — more women than men because — -well, women live longer and usually men have wives who take care of them at home.
I remember the old lady with no face from cancer.
Then there was the sweet old lady who couldn’t walk because of pressure ulcers on her heels. “I will never have another beautiful day.”
This is the story about the last old woman I will ever take care of.
My last old woman sat on the edge of the tub, transfer seat — -something that made it easier for her to have some semblance of independence with her bathing. She could sit on the seat in the tub and wash and then use the shower head for her hair and to rinse off the soap — she always used a creamy soap for her skin. The bench was easy to use and she didn’t have to fear falling in the tub. …
“Mac, I really don’t want to do a Halloween party.”
Mac looked at his wife over the rims of his glasses. “You’re still cute when you try to cross me.”
Jeannie stood up from the dining room chair as quickly as her fifty-plus knees could push her, “Joseph Macadam, we finally have the house to ourselves and you want to clutter it up with people.
“Well, if you put it that way,” Mac laughed. “Aw, honey, it won’t be that bad. Just some neighbors and a few old friends for a couple of hours. We can ask them to come in costume, bob for apples…all the fun stuff. …
And, strangely, you still love him…
The first time was not long after our wedding — second one for me (64), divorcee and for him (70), widower.
The den where he sits in his recliner and watches television is open to a hallway that connects the kitchen to a large room I use as my office/library. One day as I was walking to my office with my coffee, I heard him on the phone say, “I hardly get any fruits or vegetables.”
I stopped dead in my tracks and thought about the bowl of fresh fruit on the kitchen table and the vegetable side dishes I would serve along with salads. …
Now it’s one of those days — you know where you were when you heard the news- and you will always remember:
President Kennedy killed — I was in chemistry class — news station was broadcasted over the classroom’s loudspeaker
John Lennon murdered — I was just getting up and heard it on the radio
9–11 (and that’s all you need to say):
I was sitting in my car in front of a nursing home in western Pennsylvania. …
Or maybe not…
If I suddenly disappear and someone decides to call missing persons and they investigate my online history, they will find lots of articles about suicide.
Now don’t all willied-up and have a friend call me to see how I am or if I still “am.” The real thing is there is no “friend” to call me — I don’t even think my sister would — see I haven’t emailed her in weeks — nothing to say. in my depression. And everytime I make a mistake, it’s her voice I hear reproaching me.
As a former RN I know all the BS procedures — suicide hot line, etc. …
Mabon — September 20–24
Being a pagan and celebrating the various holidays does not mean you need a multi-colored robe, a staff, or a fire pit — all are nice but as one who celebrates daily in her heart (just as Christians should do) and in solitary practice, I know it can be simple if the desire and love is true.
Mabon will be here in two weeks:
Dates September 2020: 21–24
Mabon is a fairly modern pagan ritual celebrating the Autumnal Equinox and given the name “Mabon” in 1970 by Aiden Kelly from a character in Welsh mythology and Arthurian lore: Mabon ap Modron. …
At least not yet…
I’m not agoraphobia. I couldn’t be during the many years of being our small family’s major bread winner, trying to get my degree in the evening and then being a single mom.
I just seem to enjoy the company of specific people.
I’m also not afraid of crowds — one of my favorite places to visit is New York City. And I’ve attended many Romance Writers of America conventions of 2K people.
You don’t know what a crowd is until you’ve been in NYC on 9/15/01 or Shea Stadium for a Beatles concert.
However, I seem to be enjoying this “new Normal.” …