A multi-Birthday day

The fabulous autumn birthday event took place this afternoon and evening. Since so many folk in my family were born in September, October, or November, it would be too much to have a party for each. So we have a big gala festivity to celebrate about ten birthdays at once. If one, like me, is incapable of stinting on the cake and ice cream, but hoping not to “take on flesh,” as they say somewhere, this is probably a good idea, as it is no doubt better to go to one party than ten, diet-wise, at least. As to the cake, it had a little accident on its way to the table. My aunt wears her reading glasses on a string, and somehow, the glasses got entangled in the cake, turning them into Spectacular Edible Birthday Spectacles. She wondered if she should try to return the frosting to the cake, but we assured her that it would not be necessary. Here are pictures of Aunt Pauline, the glasses, the cake, and some of the happy celebrants. I have eaten far too much and am feeling a bit ill. Perhaps I should have some chamomile tea like Peter Rabbit did after his unfortunate adventure in the vegetable garden.

A quizzical day

You Should Be a Teacher

You are patient, optimistic, and good at explaining things. You work well with all types of people, and you are a good role model. Success and positive outcomes are extremely important to you. You are both a good leader and instructor. People look up to and depend on you. You do best when you: - Can see the results of your work - Are able to teach someone a new skill You would also be a good nurse or non fiction writer.

What Should You Be When You Grow Up?

A leafy day

All week long, I planned to dig up a little area of my garden today – to prepare a spot for spring flowers, and to plant some bulbs there. I woke up, had my morning tea, decided that the Saturday NYT crossword was probably too hard, slouched out of bed and realized that – hurrah! – it was pouring rain, and I would be unable to garden! I went shopping at my favorite grocery store, and got in the line of my favorite checkout lady. She was complaining that she was not getting her lunch break, and this made me feel better because I thought nursing was the only job where one never got lunch breaks. I got home with my purchases and, quel horreur! The sun was shining brilliantly. The thought of digging up mud had really minimal appeal, so I used my guilt-free procrastination technique and opted to do some other previously-procrastinated-about but way-less-horrible task. I would rake leaves. Here is a picture of me surveying the monumental project. Last year, my fytophobe neighbor had, just after threatening to cut down Rebecca’s cherry tree, put her raked up leaves in my yard so I would deal with them for her. In a fit of rage, I threw them back in her yard, and have felt rather bad about this since. So this year, I picked up her little piles of leaves along with mine. She, true to form, came out to commune with me while I was doing the leaves, and said she would help me. This meant that she would watch me and be sure I got ALL her leaves. However, her rake was much better than mine, so it all worked out and was worth it for an increase in neighborly relations.

Beginning the day

Rebecca and I were chatting with friends, and she said that her favorite bit of the day was in the morning with her first cup of tea. I realized that this is very true. It is such a contented moment, sitting there, back in my cozy bed, after having given Margaret her breakfast and walkies while the teakettle comes to a boil, having made the tea and collected the newspaper; relaxing with the editorials, the comics, and finally the crossword puzzle, the wonderful warmth and comfort of a hearty cup of hot milky tea, and the promise that a new day brings. Rebecca refers her tea pale and wimpy, but I want mine thick enough so that a mouse could run across it -- strong, dark, and yummy. By the third or fourth cuppa, one begins to feel the need for a little something to complement it, and what better than an English muffin? The Eng muffies are equally perfect accompaniments for that second great moment of the day – when one returns to bed with the final cup of tea – after the day has run its course, and either (hopefully) fulfilled the promise of the early morning, or proved an ordeal to be gotten through. This time, the cuppa and the wonderfully versatile muffin are accompanied by one’s novel and knitting, rather than the newspaper. There you have it! Life sandwiched in between delightful cups of Lapsang or Earl Grey.
The three toppings shown are Zergut, a zesty spread of sweet peppers; an ersatz Nutella; and a Becca-made tomato marmalade – my favorite. We recently went to our favorite food import store, to get more Nutella, and there was a sign next to an empty shelf which said, “Life is nothing without Nutella.” But they were out and there was no Nutella. An potentially ominous situation!

A joyous day

I am sooooo happy! I was worried about working on Election Night, as I feared making a spectacle of myself if the Other Persons won. Well, they didn’t win and I made a spectacle of myself anyway. When the happy moment came, I was in the room of a sleeping patient whose family told me they would have liked to vote for Sarah Palin for President, and were sad that was not an option. Yikes! These people were very nice, but, I fear, not politically astute. Fortunately, they went home early on. Anyhow, as I went about my job, I kept glimpsing these state returns on my patient's TV's, and they were all red. I was so upset and worried, and when ABC announced that, “Obama is the President-elect!” I started to cry, and could not stop. When I left the room, still crying, a woman came out of a room at the other end of the hall. She was a large, comfortable African woman whom I had not met, but her father’s nurse told me the day before that they were from Africa, and members of the same tribe as Obama’s father, and that the woman had cried with joy when her father was able to vote on a special hospital emergency ballot. I made a happy sign to her, and we rushed down the hall and collapsed into each others’ arms, both in sobbing for joy. One of our nurses, also from the same tribe, and who had greeted me earlier with “Yes, We Can!” joined the heap of sobbing women, and we had wonderful three way hugs. Everyone was jubilant, and I was glad that I was at work after all, and able to share this wonderful moment in our history with my co-workers. On the midnight bus ride home, I saw streets blocked off – filled with people celebrating the end of our national nightmare. Halleluia!!!!

A mysterious day

The Requiem was as wonderful as anything could be - as wonderful as Christmas even. Every year I get shivers when Mozart’s marvelous opening chords play. To hear it in its intended context, the Mass for the Dead, and to actually participate - it seems as though I am unbelievably blest. And it was so solemn - even the gospel was chanted. I felt the spirits of Tom and my father there, and felt enveloped in them and the music. My mother, on the other hand, really didn’t like this sort of thing – a long sitting in one place (unless it was a bridge table) and with such a crowd of people, so she probably remained in heaven doing whatever they do there - in her case, maybe bidding five hearts and eating those little mints and nuts they have at card parties. But Tom and my dad were definitely present. And having my little Rachael there singing was yet another gift. You can see her in the lowest row of the choir.
These pictures are courtesy of my friend Maria, and you can see her full album here.

A uniformly uniform day

My job has decided that we all should be wearing uniform uniforms because patients can better distinguish what our roles are if we all have the same attire. My thought on this is, if they can’t read the huge RN sign beneath our nametags, they probably are not going to grasp the color-coding system either. Also, “patients want color!” they tell us, so we will all be wearing Prussian blue and gray – a very cheery color selection, don’t you think? We had to go and try them on and make our style selection, which I put off doing till the very last minute. I had heard from my coworkers how horrible and cheap the uniforms were, but I was nonetheless totally unprepared for the reality. They are made of plastic material, which, with the frequent washings needed, will be ragged in no time at all. There were various styles of pants and tops in the same colors, but only one dress – white, of course. Since I always wear dresses or skirts to work, that was it for me. My boss, ever the optimist, said, “You will like the dress! It is really cute.” So I thought it might be okay. It was obviously a lot more cute to someone who would never have to wear it. In fact, when I saw what I would be wearing every day for the next several years, I was flummoxed. It was a trip down memory lane, reminding me of the housecoats my mother-in-law bought for about $5 at Woolworth’s many years ago. Or of what the waitresses at The Doghouse might have worn. I am not excited about this new epoch at my job. My mother-in-law, God rest her soul, was a remarkably wonderful woman but not a fashion icon. She is shown here in one of her house dresses – at least it is not white – making noodles for soup. Yummy! Her soup would be a comfort in the sartorially grim days to come.
Addendum: Looking at the picture of Grandma Rossi, I realize that the dress she is wearing is actually nice, and would be an okay nurse dress, and that I cannot find the picture of her in the exact dress (with - shudder - a zipper front) that will be our uniform. That picture is around here somewhere, though.