Fathers Day

i was about 9 years old.  

my dad was in state to visit with my brother and i.  he was to take us on a vacation.  the plan was to stay in hotels, and swim in their pools, and just drive here and there, seeing "things" and doing "stuff"...whatever it is people do on summer vacations in the Midwest.

the day prior to our departure, my mother made an attempt to gather contact information: what was the plan?  what phone numbers could be reached in the event of an emergency? 

the usual things folks ask, i guess, when their children are heading off on a trip.

yet, my father wasn't casual or usual about this line of questioning.  he became very agitated.  he tried to argue.  they sort-of argued, right there in the middle of Court Street.  i was only a little embarrassed, wondering if anyone saw or heard.  but, mostly, i was nervous about Dad's agitation, and how it might effect the plan.  he took my brother out after that exchange, with and old friend of Dad's and his sons (just a boys' thing, no girls allowed!), delivering my brother home later to prepare for the Big Trip.

the next day, the Big Day, i was all packed and ready- likely earlier than necessary.  but, hey, i was excited for my special vacation with my daddy- what girl wouldn't be?? 

i watched and watched out of that dining room window for hours, teeming with anticipation.

at some point in the waiting i realized the truth.  but, especially for an optimist like myself, hope always springs anew, and faith always prevails.

when the phone rang, i knew before it was even answered.  but i did have to hear it for myself.

"Hi, Daddy, when will you be here?"

He told me he was already back in Arizona.  Plans had changed.  Vacation was canceled.

i didn't cry.

i went to the McDairmant's house.  i felt safe there. i had fun there.  i always did feel good with them.

we began to play, and things were going as normal.

we were outside, i had some sort of ball in my hands, like a beach ball or kickball.

and then the question was asked:  "weren't you supposed to go on vacation with your dad today?".

i tried, but the tears could not be held back.  i could not stop them.  i used the ball to cover my face.  and then, when i realized that this wouldn't be sufficient enough a shield, i just dropped it.  and i ran home.

the humiliation and shame was overwhelming.

though the the actual problem of my failed visit with my father was disappointing enough in itself, i remember feeling more ashamed about not being able to suppress my emotion.

i have been who i am for a really long time.

The attached photo is one that makes me happy. It's from a lot of years ago, but it's the only one I have of my Father and myself, and my stepmom of sorts. Bless you, Bonnie.  Thank you for making sure Mel is so well cared for.

Bean

This is my favorite coffee cup. A gift, of course, that represents my fondness for the warm beverage as well as a nickname that I'm rarely referred to by these days. Bean was a moniker my husband came up with when we were dating. My initials were LLB, so this was an offshoot of the retailer LL Bean, finally shortened to Bean. It became even more fun when his brother started dating another tall brunette also referred to by her people as Bean (her actual last name) for years before we'd met her. 

Everyone at work called me Bean as well. And I can't quite remember anymore why it wore off, or when most people stopped calling me by the nickname. But it was fun while it lasted. And every time I use this mug, my heart does a little flip, I grin to myself, and I remember younger times before all of our hearts got a little heavier with experience and loss.

A Gatherer

I am a gatherer. I gather in beings that are not mine, and I nurture them. 

Then I free them. Because I have loved them just enough, and as they needed. 

Inherent Goodness

I'm relaxing at home this morning after a long work week. Suddenly, the garage door starts to spontaneously operate. Very random- up, half down, back up, all the way down, etc. I'm kind of creeped out and trying to decide if I should just disable it. I peek outside several times and don't see anyone but a little kid, kicking at the ground, waiting for the bus. Finally I get brave and head outside. A man walking 2 beautiful dogs waves and yells "hey!! I think this is yours!", and holds up the garage door opener we lost last week. Apparently he has been clicking it on all his dog walks lately, trying to find the right house. People are better than we think. Mostly. Thanks, awesome neighbor!! 😁

P.S. I even got to play with the pooches a little, which made it even more perfect. 

How I Became A Bitch

I didn't write this. More borrowed words. But I'm glad someone did, and that I can use their words to share and explain. 

I never thought of myself as someone who thrives on chaos and crisis. But after all those years, I do know that I'm a person who manages such things rather well. I also know that it did truly change me.  I'm pretty sure I allowed it to affect my family and other relationships along the way.  I'm also glad that I switched out from it when I did. Now is the healthiest I've felt in years. It makes me want to be even healthier. And it drives me to support my ER brothers and sisters even better than I could when I was in the thick of it. Here's to all my favorite bitches! Don't let yourself get too hard, and stay well. 

Working in the ER changes you. 

It is unlike any other place in the hospital. You are dealing with a constant stream of people who are having some kind of stressful event in their lives.  We may not think it is a crisis, but for them it is. 

The ER never ends. It never closes. Its 24/7.  There is never a break. It can be quiet one minute and chaos the next. You can be dealing with a stubbed toe and in rushes someone with a gunshot wound or a cardiac arrest We live our life on the edge.

You are dealing with everyone from A to Z.  Many of the people who frequent ERs are living dysfunctional lives. They bring that dysfunction into the ER with them. They can be drunks, junkies, criminals, the homeless, the mentally ill, the neurotic.  We deal with violent drunks, drug seekers,  homeless people who haven't bathed for months, out of control psych patients, manipulative people who can turn on a dime if they don't get what they want.

We work in a chaotic environment of ringing alarms, yelling patients, ringing phones, overhead paging... When it ramps up its overwhelming.

You know all of the above going in, or at least you think you do.  When you choose to take a job in the ER, you are the kind of person who thrives on chaos and crisis.  Bring it on.

Here's the thing about the ER that people don't get: It is not like ER on TV.  We are not constantly dealing with a car accident, a shooting, a cardiac arrest.  We get critical patients. Often. That's actually the fun part of my job. Ninety nine percent of the time it is routine, dull even. 

My job is the everyday world of the ER: the abdominal pains, back pains, chest pains, mental health, etc. etc. etc. that make up the daily operation of an ER.  Its boring really.  Its predictable.

Being an ER nurse, you see a lot of tragedy.  Tragedy in the form of suffering people with cancer who are dying, terrible chronic diseases or conditions, unwanted elderly people..  People die.  Families suffer.  It is sad.

Then you see people who are such ineffective copers that a cold sends them over the edge and into the ER.  They are the type of people who will never have their own doctor.  There lives are such chaos that the concept is foreign to them. 

Every day you deal with drug seekers in their various forms.  They lie and manipulate to get what they want.  You learn to recognize them a mile away.

Then there are the just plain mean people. You learn just how many of them there are in the world. They yell at you, verbally abuse you, threaten you, may try to hit you and succeed. They are the out of control people down the hall yelling at the top of their lungs because they didn't get what they wanted.

All this changes you.  Hardens you.  Makes you cynical..  You develop a shell that protects you most of the time. It changes your view of people, the world.   It exposes you to things most people don't see. It gives you a perspective on your own life and how it ain't so bad.

Being an ER nurse is so very difficult.  You cannot understand how difficult unless you do it. The only things that saves you is the occasional thank you, the thought that you made someone feel better or participated in extending someones life at least enough to get them out of the ER.

Last but not least, you will work with people who are hilarious, smart, dedicated and some of the nicest people you will ever meet.  They keep you coming back.

Fight Song

Tonight on Social Media I've seen lots of Notre Dame pics and posts. 

The Notre Dame fight song is the same tune as both my elementary and high school fight songs. 

Though I was a cheerleader, I can't recall the words of my own schools' fight songs. 

That's because my mom taught me a parody to the same tune many years ago in our church's parking lot, and they're the only words I've been able to associate that tune with since. 

Sing with me:

Beer, beer for old Bippus High

You bring the whiskey, I'll bring the rye

Send those freshmen out for gin

Don't let a sober sophomore in

We'll never stagger

We'll never fall

We'll sober up on wood alcohol

As our loyal faculty 

Lie drunk on the ballroom floor

I can still perform an entire dance routine to that tune, but the words always remain as above. 

Stolen words

"I'm basically a huge coward about making new friends. I'm awesome at making acquaintances. But actual friends? As a grown-up? It all feels like such a risk. It's not uncommon for me to know someone for years before we decide if we like each other enough to make the transition from chatting in Target to actually being real friends."

http://www.rantsfrommommyland.com/2013/12/for-auld-lang-syne.html?m=1

Worth the read. I thought I only felt this very way because I got "messed up" somewhere along the way. I've blamed my work. I've blamed various losses of important people. I've felt I had even more to feel guilty about because I don't have a passel of kids I'm chasing after as a "good excuse". 

Turns out, I'm normal. I'm validated.