Solar Rehab

Hell Week

Yep, it's here. This week and next week will be organized (I hope) chaos.  I won't have a break until next Saturday, which seems eons away... Until then, I'll be dreaming in technicolor between the papers and projects, about everything and nothing in particular...

... but especially of sapphire waters, boat drinks, and Caribbean nights...

Pray for me.  Or make me a margarita.  Extra tequila, por favor.

Something.  Anything.  The next week and one day is going to hurt.

A lot.  The last few weeks of the nursing program is anything but casual.

It'll all be over soon...

Weekday Locks, Weekend Lessons

Easter break is over, but there are a few eggs that were hidden too well that will begin to putrify with the warmer weather, I'm sure.  Forgotten Easter eggs aren't the only things that can stink to high heaven...

I left my house for 4 days.  I made a round trip from Pennsylvania to Virginia to North Carolina to Virginia and back again to Pennsylvania in that time.  Whew.  The oil gods and gas gurus are laughing at my expense.  When I came home last evening, I discovered, to my utter shock, that someone had shampooed my carpets.  Someone had rearranged the things on my kitchen table.  Someone had taken it upon themselves to scrub out one of my cupboards.

And someone listened to the messages on my answering machine...

This is the usual, random bullshit that I've come home to before.  The perpetrators of these intrusions are not strangers; I know them perfectly well.  I've trusted them too easily in the past (which explains how they still have a key to my back door).  Although they insist that they are just trying to "help" me, I see through the smiles and implications of kindness.  This is nothing more than nosiness and power tripping.  And I'm sick of it.  The locks will be changed on my doors quicker than they can sneak out an old key. 

And then I'll surprise them by packing up everything we own and getting the hell out of dodge.  Yessirree.

While someone was cleaning my carpets and listening to my personal messages (I'd venture to bet that they read my mail, as well...), I was enjoying a bright Easter weekend with my family and friends.  I always manage to escape with a few lessons, some of which I will gladly share:

• Do NOT pass a cop on the interstate, even if you are going the speed limit.  Passing them pisses them off even more than speeding, apparently.  I had my cruise control set at 65 miles per hour, passed the cop, and a moment later, the lovely blue lights were in the rear view mirror.  Resist the urge to pass.  No exceptions.
• Never pay attention to exit numbers on the interstate, either.  These change more often than you think.  Watch for the route numbers and you'll be fine.  Exit numbers be damned.  The mapquest gods lie like rugs.
• There is at least one man out there (who is neither married, gay, or dead) who will pay for dinner and not expect you to be dessert later that night.  Score! 
• Chocolate Rain by Tay Zonday (one of the youtube dudes) can and will be sung repeatedly by children who think it's as funny as I think it is irritating. 
• Expect the unexpected.  Seven months ago, we didn't expect my dad to live more than a few weeks.  Although he is still afflicted with liver disease, he has surprised us all by returning from the brink of death.  He is doing fine, mind and body intact. 
• Don't give anyone a key to your house unless you are prepared to change your locks at later date.  See above...
• Time flies when you're having fun; that's not a euphemism.  It also creeps by like molasses when you're not.  Isn't it May yet?!

Seasons

Spring has officially sprung.  Winter's ghost is refusing to retreat, however; snow flurries were flying this morning when the kids left for school.  I suppose the changing of seasons is difficult for Winter (the old hag), despite the fact that her fight is inevitably futile.  But it's not today.  The battle rages on.  We all know who will win in the coming weeks, however.  Spring's victory won't be denied for long... and neither will mine...

I'll be leaving later today for a four-day visit with the family in Virginia; I may even swing down to North Carolina and drop in on my brother for a night.  That familiar restless feeling is creeping through my veins again, and like Spring, it will not be denied.  Gas prices be damned.

The changing of seasons reminds me that we are not so different from nature.  We have seasons, as well.  Our seasons change when we gain wisdom, no matter how few the pearls.  Some people dread and fear change; it is somewhat discomforting to abandon an old road for a freshly beaten path.  It is definitely easier to swim in a familiar (even stagnant) pond than to venture into a vast sea of mystery.  I try to keep in mind, however, that stagnant water attracts little more than malaria... Change is good.  It is the fragrant spice of a bold and meaningful existence. 

Although I know this, that familiar dread and fear still tug at my thoughts.  In six weeks I'll have finally completed another degree; that's another season that will pass into history.  I'm sure that change will come with it, although I am uncertain what it will be exactly.  Uncertainly is what breeds fear, you realize.  I am in the process of creating a rough draft of what I picture as the next season of our lives.  My mental images are still somewhat hazy. 

My solace lies in knowing that uncertainty will slowly but surely pass, just as all seasons do.

   

Charity

Yesterday morning I got up at the butt crack of dawn -- on my day off -- to fulfill a few mandatory clinical hours.  As part of my 5 credit community nursing rotation, I was scheduled to spend the day with parish nurses at a food bank in a very rural, destitute community (which is more than an hour's drive from my house).  The parish nurses also happened to be nuns.  Sisters of Charity, no less.  I am not Catholic; I don't think I'd ever even spoken to a nun before yesterday.  I wasn't sure what to expect...

We showed up at the food bank, my friend Dave and I, at 8:00 in the morning.  Two nuns were already there; they were friendly and hospitable people, which didn't surprise me.  They were making coffee and tea and they graciously offered us some.  One of them took a pizza out of the freezer, added extra cheese to it, and cooked it for breakfast... which did surprise me.  I had an ignorant mental image of nuns drinking water and eating bread without butter.  They didn't wear black habits, either; they wore plain, matronly skirts and granny shoes and had short hair.  I'd expected the whole "holier than thou" thing, I suppose. 

Before the nuns had finished their morning pizza, the food truck arrived.  We unloaded it; my arms are sore today from carrying sacks of potatoes, cases of soup, boxes of cereal, and miscellaneous foodstuffs from the truck into the food bank.  That process alone took a few hours. 

Soon after, folks began to creep in to collect.   They had laundry baskets and huge boxes with them to make their food collection process easier.   I saw elderly couples, single mothers with small children, old men, young women.   

As usual, I made a few subjective observations concerning charity itself...

Some people truly need it.  And deserve it, as well.  The elderly couples who have to choose whether they buy their medications or eat.  The single mother who's juggling two jobs, both of which pay minimum wage, plus raise her kids and keep their bellies full.  Some situations call for charity.

Some don't.

Since Dave was the only guy there, he was elected by the nuns to be the official box and bag carrier.  For hours, he carried boxes of food to the backseats of these folks' cars.  Some of these vehicles were nicer than the ones that he and I drive.  When he would open the back door to put the box of charitable food items in, he more than once sat them next to a case of beer or a carton of cigarettes.  I was inside handing out loaves of bread and sacks of potatoes.  One woman asked me if I had any rye, and when I said I didn't, she complained and requested that next time, damn it, she'd rather have some rye.  "Have" is the operational word there.  I assumed that beggars can't be choosers, but I suppose I was as wrong about that as I was about the nuns and their butterless bread.

Another woman stumbled into the food bank dead drunk; she could barely walk, much less carry a heavy box.  The sisters filled her box for her, and Dave carried it to her car -- and then she drove away.   

It is blatantly obvious to me that charity, the epitome of humanitarianism, is far too often abused and used by those who actually believe that this big, bad world owes them something.  Give a man a fish; feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish; feed him for a lifetime.  I think Tzo had something there.  Giving is fine, and in some cases, perfectly feasible.  But how much is expected of us?  How much are we expected to give?  How far does charity go before it begins to become a crutch?  And worse, downright expected by those who receive it?  The woman that wanted rye... She has obviously become so desensitized to charity that she now believes it is  her right.  Not only to be given free bread, but rye bread, damn it.  You nuns get your act together and get the right kind of bread up in here, for the love of God. 

I have to hand it to those sisters -- they are true humanitarians.  They prayed for compassion and nothing else.  They prayed to be able to serve others graciously.  They ask nothing for themselves.  I saw them hug people that I would have taken a bar of soap and a garden hose to first.  They deserve that morning pizza with extra cheese.I pray for compassion, too.  I also pray that the rye lady endeavors to deserve the bread that she so shamelessly complained about. 

I won't hold my breath.

Like a Lion

Hello, March, you beastie, you.  I have to say, I'm quite glad to see you.  I've thought about it, and I don't believe I saw a day of sunshine in the entire month of February.  There are people here in western Pennsylvania who are so pale that the sclera of their eyes match their skin tone.  Vitamin D is nowhere to be found.  If there is indeed a link between a lack of sunlight and multiple sclerosis as recent research suggests, then it's running rampant around here.

But here you are, the third muse, in like a lion and out like a lamb, or so they say.  When I woke up at 7:30 this morning, there wasn't a fleck of snow on the ground.  You managed to put down several inches of the stuff within a half hour.  Good job.  You're living up to your lioness reputation.  I have a few requests, if you're able...

Don't roar for too long.  Ignore the shit out of Punxsatawney Phil, for the love of all that's decent and holy.   Do your thing, and then get on with it.  Oh yeah, if it's not too much trouble, could you spare a little sunshine?  I'd really appreciate it.  January and February nearly put the entire northern east coast under the table with a serious case of seasonal affective disorder.  The psych hospitals are full. 

I don't intend to sound ungrateful; as I said, I'm quite glad to see you.  You took your sweet time, though, didn't you?  A procrastinator, are you?  Eh, I'm guilty of it myself at times.  Just get on with it, okay?  Pretty please?  I'm looking forward to the lamb, my dear lion...   

   

The wooden "fishing bear" on the front porch... March laid down the law in just a few minutes... 30 minutes before these photos, there was no snow anywhere...