...or, "That's life, with books," to those non-Frenchies out there.
Against my better judgement, what with the happenings of last semester, I've started researching my required and non-required textbooks for my next round of classes. In my head, I had guesstimated roughly $400 or so for the cost of books and lab manuals, and, suffice it to say that my guesstimating skills, at least in the realm of school books, are not just rusty, but corroded and inept.
Three classes, one lab, and about $700 is what I'm looking at for next semester's books. That's right - not tuition, but books.
I suppose that the upside to all of this is that these books will likely stay with me throughout the remainder of my nursing school adventure, with the exception of maybe my microbiology text. The downside to all of this is that they are hella expensive, in case you missed that point one paragraph ago.
At some point, I would assume that textbooks will all be sold and read online, something which I have mixed feelings about. I love the smell of a book - any book - just about as much as I love the smell of baking cookies or the inside of the Home Depot (trust me - just take a big ol' sniff the next time you go!). I also love highlighting and underlining and making notes to myself on the pages; I love dog-earing and flagging and the literal and mental weightiness of a book. I love looking at a book after I've finshed reading it, and contemplating the wealth that I have gained from its inches of pages...unless it was last summer's Psych book, in which case, well, the wealth was traded for CRAZY!
With online books, all of those things would be lost, but I also have to think that maybe a century (or less) ago, there might have been some dreamy, romantic diarist penning an entry about the greatness of writing with ink on paper. I'm sure there would be some element of disgust if he or she could observe me click-click-clicking out this blog entry. Does change and advancement of technology always equal the loss of some elegant process? I hope not. Maybe one day skimming "pages" on a Kindle will be just as romantic as the thought of Abe Lincoln stretched out on his young belly in front of a fire, flipping through the pages of a book.
On second thought, that doesn't sound romantic at all. Poor Abe was probably freezing his you-know-what off. Maybe I'll take the Kindle and modern conveniences after all.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Whirlwind
After this crazy whirlwind of a semester, I finally have a chance to sit down for a post-semester wrap up. I am quickly coming to realize that writing a blog to chronicle my experiences with nursing school may not have been the best idea. I have a feeling that there will be numerous long stretches of time with nary an entry. After all, there are crazy body parts and their functions to memorize, you know.
I waited to post about the semester until I knew my grade, which was revealed to me yesterday over the glorious world-wide web. The last time my heart was in my throat that much while waiting for a site to load was when I checked my UT art history application status, and we all know how that turned out.
Thankfully, I earned my A in Anatomy. I wouldn't have been shocked with a B, but might have felt a wee twinge of whatever is an eloquent way of saying "ripped off." I worked SO hard for that A. I'm estimating here, but I don't think I am too far off the mark when I say that prior to each test, I must have studied thirty-ish hours, cumulatively. That's not counting any studying and/or homework and reading done prior to test studying. All of this is just to say that I busted my butt (er, buttocks, to be anatomically correct), and reaped my reward. God is good.
I rather enjoyed this past semester, and really enjoyed my professor. She turned out not to be the monster described on RateMyProfessor.com (imgaine that). Instead, she turned out to be the kind of professor who makes her students responsible for their own learning. She is not one to spoon feed, but come to think of it, I'd prefer that my medical professionals not have been spoon-fed through their educations...wouldn't you too?
Anatomy was an endlessly interesting class for me. I've always, always been captivated by the human body, and how it works, how it breaks down, and how, occasionally, it is perfectly capable of repairing itself with little to no medical intervention. Again, God is good. Never once was I bored this semester, and never once did I think that I'd have prefered to be in bed, rather than in the classroom. That last bit might be hyperbole, but more often than not, I was thrilled to be there.
I take my level of interest in the class as sort of a "sign" that this is the path that I've always been intended to go down, and I find that comforting. I can remember one point during the semester, when I was driving to the coffee shop to study (you try memorizing body parts with two hounds in the house), and I very briefly wished I were not going to memorize muscles and nerves, but instead, Old Masters and their chef d'oeuvres. I rationalized, however, and realized that how I feel about studying the body is not completely different than how I felt about studying art. I feel like it's such a priviledge to peer into a microscope, and see all these cells swirled together. Who gets to do that?! Even more, I feel like I'm unlocking a secret when I learn what those cells are doing, and what their "parts" are doing, and isn't it AMAZING that here we are, living and breathing chef d'oeuvres of these cells!
It's akin to standing in front of a Rembrandt, close enough to be able to see the crackling of the pigments. Who gets to do that?! All of the colours are working together to create different colours, to create shadows, to create lines and forms and eventually, a portrait...a realistic representation of a human being; a glimpse into what life was like six hundred years ago. To be able to study that is also a priviledge indeed.
I don't know that studying the body affects my emotions as much as art does, but I also think that it's not a fair comparison. I'm sure that once I begin my clincal rotations and hospital work, I will meet people and see things that art simply can never touch.
Next semester will be exponentially more demanding on me. I'm set to take the rest of my -ologies: Physiology, Pharmacology, and Microbiology. Twelve hours. Please start praying for me now. :)
I'll also be starting a new volunteer venture next semester, with an organization called The Care Communities. TCC assigns a team of volunteers to work with a terminally ill patient, and assist them with tasks such as upkeep of their homes, grocery shopping, trips to doctors, etc. Most of the folks receiving care from TCC are cancer patients, or individuals with AIDS. I'll admit that it scares me a little to work with a terminally ill person, and to create that attachment and bond that will, inevitably, be disrupted one day. However, as a future nurse, I feel like that's something I just need to grow accustomed to. After all, we're ALL going to die one day...these people just happen to know how they will. I am eager to bring some energy and vibrance into someone's life, even if it is through something as mundane as mowing their yard. I'm also excited to potentially be paired with an AIDS patient, as that is something that has been on my mind a lot lately. I'm not 100% sure what options there are for nurses working with the HIV/AIDS community, but I feel a bit of a calling in that direction these days. It's hard to explain, and it might not be where I wind up, but it's something that I feel strongly about right now.
Two of my friends are also going to become TCC volunteers, and we have asked to all be placed on the same team. I am SUPER excited about the opportunity to work with these ladies, as I know that they are positive, compassionate individuals who have much to give. We get training in early January, and will hopefully begin our service soon afterward.
I will still be volunteering with AMOA as well. I can't turn my back on that place! AMOA has been a great place for me to get my art fix, and I have had an
amazing time meeting new people and working with the community in that venue.
So I think that's it for now! Anatomy went well, and I'm looking forward to a successful, yet stressful spring semester. I'll be submitting my application to the ACC program before March, and if I don't get accepted the first time 'round (it is INCREDIBLY competitive!), then I'll likely try to find work in a hospital setting. But cross your fingers that the first time is the charm...I'd rather get going sooner than later!
I waited to post about the semester until I knew my grade, which was revealed to me yesterday over the glorious world-wide web. The last time my heart was in my throat that much while waiting for a site to load was when I checked my UT art history application status, and we all know how that turned out.
Thankfully, I earned my A in Anatomy. I wouldn't have been shocked with a B, but might have felt a wee twinge of whatever is an eloquent way of saying "ripped off." I worked SO hard for that A. I'm estimating here, but I don't think I am too far off the mark when I say that prior to each test, I must have studied thirty-ish hours, cumulatively. That's not counting any studying and/or homework and reading done prior to test studying. All of this is just to say that I busted my butt (er, buttocks, to be anatomically correct), and reaped my reward. God is good.
I rather enjoyed this past semester, and really enjoyed my professor. She turned out not to be the monster described on RateMyProfessor.com (imgaine that). Instead, she turned out to be the kind of professor who makes her students responsible for their own learning. She is not one to spoon feed, but come to think of it, I'd prefer that my medical professionals not have been spoon-fed through their educations...wouldn't you too?
Anatomy was an endlessly interesting class for me. I've always, always been captivated by the human body, and how it works, how it breaks down, and how, occasionally, it is perfectly capable of repairing itself with little to no medical intervention. Again, God is good. Never once was I bored this semester, and never once did I think that I'd have prefered to be in bed, rather than in the classroom. That last bit might be hyperbole, but more often than not, I was thrilled to be there.
I take my level of interest in the class as sort of a "sign" that this is the path that I've always been intended to go down, and I find that comforting. I can remember one point during the semester, when I was driving to the coffee shop to study (you try memorizing body parts with two hounds in the house), and I very briefly wished I were not going to memorize muscles and nerves, but instead, Old Masters and their chef d'oeuvres. I rationalized, however, and realized that how I feel about studying the body is not completely different than how I felt about studying art. I feel like it's such a priviledge to peer into a microscope, and see all these cells swirled together. Who gets to do that?! Even more, I feel like I'm unlocking a secret when I learn what those cells are doing, and what their "parts" are doing, and isn't it AMAZING that here we are, living and breathing chef d'oeuvres of these cells!
It's akin to standing in front of a Rembrandt, close enough to be able to see the crackling of the pigments. Who gets to do that?! All of the colours are working together to create different colours, to create shadows, to create lines and forms and eventually, a portrait...a realistic representation of a human being; a glimpse into what life was like six hundred years ago. To be able to study that is also a priviledge indeed.
I don't know that studying the body affects my emotions as much as art does, but I also think that it's not a fair comparison. I'm sure that once I begin my clincal rotations and hospital work, I will meet people and see things that art simply can never touch.
Next semester will be exponentially more demanding on me. I'm set to take the rest of my -ologies: Physiology, Pharmacology, and Microbiology. Twelve hours. Please start praying for me now. :)
I'll also be starting a new volunteer venture next semester, with an organization called The Care Communities. TCC assigns a team of volunteers to work with a terminally ill patient, and assist them with tasks such as upkeep of their homes, grocery shopping, trips to doctors, etc. Most of the folks receiving care from TCC are cancer patients, or individuals with AIDS. I'll admit that it scares me a little to work with a terminally ill person, and to create that attachment and bond that will, inevitably, be disrupted one day. However, as a future nurse, I feel like that's something I just need to grow accustomed to. After all, we're ALL going to die one day...these people just happen to know how they will. I am eager to bring some energy and vibrance into someone's life, even if it is through something as mundane as mowing their yard. I'm also excited to potentially be paired with an AIDS patient, as that is something that has been on my mind a lot lately. I'm not 100% sure what options there are for nurses working with the HIV/AIDS community, but I feel a bit of a calling in that direction these days. It's hard to explain, and it might not be where I wind up, but it's something that I feel strongly about right now.
Two of my friends are also going to become TCC volunteers, and we have asked to all be placed on the same team. I am SUPER excited about the opportunity to work with these ladies, as I know that they are positive, compassionate individuals who have much to give. We get training in early January, and will hopefully begin our service soon afterward.
I will still be volunteering with AMOA as well. I can't turn my back on that place! AMOA has been a great place for me to get my art fix, and I have had an
amazing time meeting new people and working with the community in that venue.
So I think that's it for now! Anatomy went well, and I'm looking forward to a successful, yet stressful spring semester. I'll be submitting my application to the ACC program before March, and if I don't get accepted the first time 'round (it is INCREDIBLY competitive!), then I'll likely try to find work in a hospital setting. But cross your fingers that the first time is the charm...I'd rather get going sooner than later!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
I had my last lab practical of the semester in Anatomy this morning. I sat at one particular station (for my allotted 90 seconds, of course), and after quickly answering, found myself staring at the model, its Voodoo pins sticking out like needles on a pine branch.
The model was a median section of the head and neck, meaning that it was sliced straight down the middle. On one side, skin, eyes and a nose, mouth and ears...the usual. On the other side, all the good stuff - all the guts, so to speak.
I stared at that model, and after a few seconds, realized that I was able to accurately identify all of the structures on that head model. No longer were these weird, arbitrarily-placed clumps of colour. I do believe that I learned a lot this semester.
Speaking of anatomy models, there seems to be a lucrative market for creating anatomically corect anatomy models. Sounds odd, right? Shouldn't an anatomical model be...ANATOMICALLY CORRECT?! Theoretically, yes. However, without fail, almost every lab this semester, my professor began with a warning to the class to avoid using a certain model due to this-or-that "mistake", or to disregard superfluous structures (on one torso model, that costs a cool $7K, there are three left carotid arteries! [there should only be two on the left, and two on the right - an internal, and external, before they join to become the left and right common carotid arteries...OH THE SHAME!!!...and I thought the weatherman was the only person who could perform so poorly at his job without any ramifications!])
AND IT COSTS SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!
All of this is just to say that if this whole nursing gig doesn't pan out, I know what business I'm going in to!
The model was a median section of the head and neck, meaning that it was sliced straight down the middle. On one side, skin, eyes and a nose, mouth and ears...the usual. On the other side, all the good stuff - all the guts, so to speak.
I stared at that model, and after a few seconds, realized that I was able to accurately identify all of the structures on that head model. No longer were these weird, arbitrarily-placed clumps of colour. I do believe that I learned a lot this semester.
Speaking of anatomy models, there seems to be a lucrative market for creating anatomically corect anatomy models. Sounds odd, right? Shouldn't an anatomical model be...ANATOMICALLY CORRECT?! Theoretically, yes. However, without fail, almost every lab this semester, my professor began with a warning to the class to avoid using a certain model due to this-or-that "mistake", or to disregard superfluous structures (on one torso model, that costs a cool $7K, there are three left carotid arteries! [there should only be two on the left, and two on the right - an internal, and external, before they join to become the left and right common carotid arteries...OH THE SHAME!!!...and I thought the weatherman was the only person who could perform so poorly at his job without any ramifications!])
AND IT COSTS SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!
All of this is just to say that if this whole nursing gig doesn't pan out, I know what business I'm going in to!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Cranium and Shoulders, Patella and Phalanges, Patella and Phalanges...
It's been awhile since I have last posted, thanks to school.
Class so far has been going well. I have finally reached the thankful point, in regard to being forced to drop Physiology. Strangely, this has coincided with preparing for my very first lab practical exam. Funny how that works out, isn't it?
For those of you who might not ever have had the pleasure of participating in an Anatomy lab practical, please allow me to explain it to you:
All of your seats at the workbenches in the lab have been transformed into small torture stations. Each desktop has some device on it, with an innocuous-looking little stick-pin plunged into some part of the device, a small flag with a number waving on the top of the pin. Typically, this pin is gauged into some poor preserved animal, arms and legs splayed on a tray, reeking of formaldehyde, all sense of pride and dignity lost.
The only thing you're allowed to bring to class on lab practical day is a pencil, and a Scantron, if your teacher is one of those multiple-choice types (mine is not). You start off at one station, and have approximately 2-3 minutes at each station. You must "identify the specific structure," "name the specific cell" or "indicate where this specific tissue would be located in the body." Note the use of the word "specific." In an Anatomy lab practical, specificity is the difference between an A and a B. It would be unacceptable to identify the specific tissue as "epithelium." Rather, you must go the full length: "psuedostratified ciliated squamous cell epithelium," thankyouverymuch. It is also unacceptable to say that the little pin is stuck in the "eponychium" (cuticle, to you and me). The correct answer is "eponychium of the NAIL." If eponychium occurs elsewhere on the body, we haven't gotten to that chapter just yet.
As if the pressure of specificity isn't enough, the worst part of a lab practical is when you've been asked to rotate stations, and you find yourself parked in front of a station for 2-3 minutes (which can either feel like an eternity, or a small blip in time, depending), recalling the names of all the structures and organs...except the one that the pin is sticking out from. It's akin to trying to remember someone's name at a party that you've met dozens of times before, and they've already greeted you with a "Hey Jen!" No amount of sweating (from your eccrine or apocrine sudoriferous glands, depending on where you sweat in moments of panic) will unearth their name from your mental recesses. Instead, you give that generic "Hey you!" And as we've learned, generic-ness gets you NOWHERE on an Anatomy lab practical.
There are typically anywhere from 30-40 of these torture stations, and in my opinion, the second worst are those involving a microscope. It never fails that the luddite in front of you jostled the microscope in some way, forcing you to use one of those precious 2 to 3 minutes readjusting the microscope image. Generally, my hands are shaking so badly at that point that getting any sort of image is a bonus - even if it's only a blurry, amorphous blob with no discernable nuclei or organelles. A pox upon your house, student who uses the microscope ahead of me!
No pox that could rain down upon someone's house is worse than an Anatomy lab practical. Afterwards, once the time has concluded, everyone grabs their bookbags and keys, and sort of shuffles out of the door, completely defeated by those little stickpins and tissue slides. It causes many a student to question their study skills, class attendance and participation, and sometimes, future career goals. Bad-mouthing the professor and his or her practical is almost a given following this experience. It's the only way students feel like they can take revenge on the beast that has just conquered them so adeptly.
I have been studying now for three days. My first lab practical is on Monday. We will see who slays the beast this time around.
We started studying the axial skeleton bones during our last class period, and it caused me to have one of those self-indulgent pity parties. I sat over our dining room table later that night, trying to identify these bones in the face and skull from a crappy 2-D lab manual. I felt very overwhelmed. Again, it's not enough to identify the temporal bone. I must identify the temporal bone and all of its parts: the mastoid region, the petrous region (or is that part of the sphenoid bone? or ethmoid bone?), the zygomatic process, etc. In other words, each bone has at minimum, 5 parts to identify. And heaven forbid should we be shown the bone "in situ" during a lab practical. We will instead be shown just that bone, removed from the face or skull...and we will need to note whether it is the left or right bone, and which end is "up" and which is "down." So yes - I was feeling overwhelmed.
I had to remind myself that I am responsible for my own decisions. In other words, I have chosen this career path for myself. My frustrations with all this identifying simply comes with the territory. I don't have it within myself to be the nurse who skated through her pre-requisites, or worse, her nursing school. It will not serve me well in the future, nor will it benefit my patients in any way. Sure, I might not have to identify an ethmoid bone removed from a skull in the "real" nursing world, but wouldn't I feel ashamed if that situation arose, and I couldn't do it? I'm not saying that I need to know everything; what I am saying is that I need to trust that my professors are not feeding me superflous information. They are providing me with the tools that I will need to succeed in the nursing world, and for now, I have to play their game. I have to play THE game. It is the choice I have made for myself.
Instead of wallowing for too long, I went online to eBay and looked at the prices of skull models that I could purchase and use at home to study. Good LORD, those things are expensive! I found one that was about $25, and I will likely purchase it over the weekend.
If it turns out to not really be all that useful, I can always use it as some sort of Anatomy lab practical voodoo device, and plunge into it little stickpins of my own.
Class so far has been going well. I have finally reached the thankful point, in regard to being forced to drop Physiology. Strangely, this has coincided with preparing for my very first lab practical exam. Funny how that works out, isn't it?
For those of you who might not ever have had the pleasure of participating in an Anatomy lab practical, please allow me to explain it to you:
All of your seats at the workbenches in the lab have been transformed into small torture stations. Each desktop has some device on it, with an innocuous-looking little stick-pin plunged into some part of the device, a small flag with a number waving on the top of the pin. Typically, this pin is gauged into some poor preserved animal, arms and legs splayed on a tray, reeking of formaldehyde, all sense of pride and dignity lost.
The only thing you're allowed to bring to class on lab practical day is a pencil, and a Scantron, if your teacher is one of those multiple-choice types (mine is not). You start off at one station, and have approximately 2-3 minutes at each station. You must "identify the specific structure," "name the specific cell" or "indicate where this specific tissue would be located in the body." Note the use of the word "specific." In an Anatomy lab practical, specificity is the difference between an A and a B. It would be unacceptable to identify the specific tissue as "epithelium." Rather, you must go the full length: "psuedostratified ciliated squamous cell epithelium," thankyouverymuch. It is also unacceptable to say that the little pin is stuck in the "eponychium" (cuticle, to you and me). The correct answer is "eponychium of the NAIL." If eponychium occurs elsewhere on the body, we haven't gotten to that chapter just yet.
As if the pressure of specificity isn't enough, the worst part of a lab practical is when you've been asked to rotate stations, and you find yourself parked in front of a station for 2-3 minutes (which can either feel like an eternity, or a small blip in time, depending), recalling the names of all the structures and organs...except the one that the pin is sticking out from. It's akin to trying to remember someone's name at a party that you've met dozens of times before, and they've already greeted you with a "Hey Jen!" No amount of sweating (from your eccrine or apocrine sudoriferous glands, depending on where you sweat in moments of panic) will unearth their name from your mental recesses. Instead, you give that generic "Hey you!" And as we've learned, generic-ness gets you NOWHERE on an Anatomy lab practical.
There are typically anywhere from 30-40 of these torture stations, and in my opinion, the second worst are those involving a microscope. It never fails that the luddite in front of you jostled the microscope in some way, forcing you to use one of those precious 2 to 3 minutes readjusting the microscope image. Generally, my hands are shaking so badly at that point that getting any sort of image is a bonus - even if it's only a blurry, amorphous blob with no discernable nuclei or organelles. A pox upon your house, student who uses the microscope ahead of me!
No pox that could rain down upon someone's house is worse than an Anatomy lab practical. Afterwards, once the time has concluded, everyone grabs their bookbags and keys, and sort of shuffles out of the door, completely defeated by those little stickpins and tissue slides. It causes many a student to question their study skills, class attendance and participation, and sometimes, future career goals. Bad-mouthing the professor and his or her practical is almost a given following this experience. It's the only way students feel like they can take revenge on the beast that has just conquered them so adeptly.
I have been studying now for three days. My first lab practical is on Monday. We will see who slays the beast this time around.
We started studying the axial skeleton bones during our last class period, and it caused me to have one of those self-indulgent pity parties. I sat over our dining room table later that night, trying to identify these bones in the face and skull from a crappy 2-D lab manual. I felt very overwhelmed. Again, it's not enough to identify the temporal bone. I must identify the temporal bone and all of its parts: the mastoid region, the petrous region (or is that part of the sphenoid bone? or ethmoid bone?), the zygomatic process, etc. In other words, each bone has at minimum, 5 parts to identify. And heaven forbid should we be shown the bone "in situ" during a lab practical. We will instead be shown just that bone, removed from the face or skull...and we will need to note whether it is the left or right bone, and which end is "up" and which is "down." So yes - I was feeling overwhelmed.
I had to remind myself that I am responsible for my own decisions. In other words, I have chosen this career path for myself. My frustrations with all this identifying simply comes with the territory. I don't have it within myself to be the nurse who skated through her pre-requisites, or worse, her nursing school. It will not serve me well in the future, nor will it benefit my patients in any way. Sure, I might not have to identify an ethmoid bone removed from a skull in the "real" nursing world, but wouldn't I feel ashamed if that situation arose, and I couldn't do it? I'm not saying that I need to know everything; what I am saying is that I need to trust that my professors are not feeding me superflous information. They are providing me with the tools that I will need to succeed in the nursing world, and for now, I have to play their game. I have to play THE game. It is the choice I have made for myself.
Instead of wallowing for too long, I went online to eBay and looked at the prices of skull models that I could purchase and use at home to study. Good LORD, those things are expensive! I found one that was about $25, and I will likely purchase it over the weekend.
If it turns out to not really be all that useful, I can always use it as some sort of Anatomy lab practical voodoo device, and plunge into it little stickpins of my own.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
RIP
My uncle John died last night.
During a break between my lecture and lab, I checked my phone and saw that I had missed four calls, all from my mom and dad. I panicked, and prepared myself for a voicemail about my grandma. I don't think my heart has ever raced so fast. It was definitely one of those things I had to sit down for.
Instead of grandma, though, it was uncle John...completely out of the blue. I'm not sure what the cause is, but all I know right now is that there was a trip to the hospital via ambulance, and a doctor that just couldn't save him.
To say that I am sad doesn't even hit the tip of the iceberg.
I'm trying to sort out all of these things I am feeling right now. I AM sad. Extremely, deeply sad. Aside from my grandpa passing away when I was in the 5th grade, and my great-grandma shortly after, my life has been blessedly loss-free, as far as my family is concerned. I didn't cry nearly this much when grandpa Ashbrook died, nor granny Boughner, but I think a lot of that was due to my age...or at least that's what I think.
I also feel a little conflicted, because my uncle John and aunt Pat-Pat got divorced. Divorce is a tricky thing that almost always makes one pick sides, and that sucks. I have no idea what was at the root of their divorce, but all I know is that I liked them both equally.
Uncle John was wicked smart and witty. He was quiet and always seemed a bit flushed in the face. He was also very generous - despite the divorce, he would often send gifts for big occasions to my sisters and me.
I also remember a very specific example of his type of humour: it was my first year to participate in my school's spelling bee, and due to a case of extreme nervousness, I struck out on the first round for misspelling "charcoal."
Everyone in the family gave me a hard time about it, I suspect because they knew that, had I not been under extreme duress, I could have spelled "charcoal" quickly and easily.
A couple of weeks after I thought the teasing had subsided, I received a letter in the mail with no return address. I was stoked to get something in the mail (back when I was young, and didn't ever get bills!), so I opened it, only to find a Xeroxed page of the dictionary, with the entry for "charcoal" highlighted. It was from uncle John.
I also can't quit thinking about my cousin Justin, who rode with him in the ambulance. Having to call 911 for any reason is scary. Having to ride in am ambulance is even scarier. Having to return home without your fellow passenger is something that I can't imagine.
I also can't quit thinking about the doctor at the hospital, who must have tried so, SO hard to save him. What is that like, to have to walk out of a room where you've just been so swiftly defeated, and tell someone that you just couldn't save their loved one?
I think that often, people see doctors as gods. Doctors are the people who fix everything on everyone, and put things back in working order. They are the people who make life-saving decisions on the fly; they are the people who prescribe treatments that overcome diseases and infections. They can make the blind see; they can make the deaf hear, and they can take someone with no legs, give him prosthetics, and teach him to walk again. It is easy to understand why doctors are seen as saviours, in some cases.
It must be hard to be a doctor, though, and to not be able to save someone, or fix what's broken. I want to say that it must become easier the more one is exposed to it, but in reality, I just don't see how that can be the case. So aside from thinking of John, Justin and Pat-Pat and John's family (and my OWN family), I am also thinking of that doctor who did everything that he could, and still couldn't fix John. It must be hard to bounce back at work after something like that happens. On some level, it makes me confront the reality that, as a future nurse, I will see doctors fail. I will see bodies fail, and I will see diseases and infections and traumas win. It isn't necessarily something to look forward to, but it is certainly something to consider.
At last update, my cousin had finally fallen asleep, and my aunt is with family, I think. We still don't know why John died. He was young - mid-40s, I think.
Whenever someone dies, I always think to myself, "Now they know what the rest of us don't." It's funny how, as much as I crave knowledge about everything, that final step of knowing is something that I can definitely wait for.
Rest in peace, uncle John. Say hi to Ted Kennedy for me.
During a break between my lecture and lab, I checked my phone and saw that I had missed four calls, all from my mom and dad. I panicked, and prepared myself for a voicemail about my grandma. I don't think my heart has ever raced so fast. It was definitely one of those things I had to sit down for.
Instead of grandma, though, it was uncle John...completely out of the blue. I'm not sure what the cause is, but all I know right now is that there was a trip to the hospital via ambulance, and a doctor that just couldn't save him.
To say that I am sad doesn't even hit the tip of the iceberg.
I'm trying to sort out all of these things I am feeling right now. I AM sad. Extremely, deeply sad. Aside from my grandpa passing away when I was in the 5th grade, and my great-grandma shortly after, my life has been blessedly loss-free, as far as my family is concerned. I didn't cry nearly this much when grandpa Ashbrook died, nor granny Boughner, but I think a lot of that was due to my age...or at least that's what I think.
I also feel a little conflicted, because my uncle John and aunt Pat-Pat got divorced. Divorce is a tricky thing that almost always makes one pick sides, and that sucks. I have no idea what was at the root of their divorce, but all I know is that I liked them both equally.
Uncle John was wicked smart and witty. He was quiet and always seemed a bit flushed in the face. He was also very generous - despite the divorce, he would often send gifts for big occasions to my sisters and me.
I also remember a very specific example of his type of humour: it was my first year to participate in my school's spelling bee, and due to a case of extreme nervousness, I struck out on the first round for misspelling "charcoal."
Everyone in the family gave me a hard time about it, I suspect because they knew that, had I not been under extreme duress, I could have spelled "charcoal" quickly and easily.
A couple of weeks after I thought the teasing had subsided, I received a letter in the mail with no return address. I was stoked to get something in the mail (back when I was young, and didn't ever get bills!), so I opened it, only to find a Xeroxed page of the dictionary, with the entry for "charcoal" highlighted. It was from uncle John.
I also can't quit thinking about my cousin Justin, who rode with him in the ambulance. Having to call 911 for any reason is scary. Having to ride in am ambulance is even scarier. Having to return home without your fellow passenger is something that I can't imagine.
I also can't quit thinking about the doctor at the hospital, who must have tried so, SO hard to save him. What is that like, to have to walk out of a room where you've just been so swiftly defeated, and tell someone that you just couldn't save their loved one?
I think that often, people see doctors as gods. Doctors are the people who fix everything on everyone, and put things back in working order. They are the people who make life-saving decisions on the fly; they are the people who prescribe treatments that overcome diseases and infections. They can make the blind see; they can make the deaf hear, and they can take someone with no legs, give him prosthetics, and teach him to walk again. It is easy to understand why doctors are seen as saviours, in some cases.
It must be hard to be a doctor, though, and to not be able to save someone, or fix what's broken. I want to say that it must become easier the more one is exposed to it, but in reality, I just don't see how that can be the case. So aside from thinking of John, Justin and Pat-Pat and John's family (and my OWN family), I am also thinking of that doctor who did everything that he could, and still couldn't fix John. It must be hard to bounce back at work after something like that happens. On some level, it makes me confront the reality that, as a future nurse, I will see doctors fail. I will see bodies fail, and I will see diseases and infections and traumas win. It isn't necessarily something to look forward to, but it is certainly something to consider.
At last update, my cousin had finally fallen asleep, and my aunt is with family, I think. We still don't know why John died. He was young - mid-40s, I think.
Whenever someone dies, I always think to myself, "Now they know what the rest of us don't." It's funny how, as much as I crave knowledge about everything, that final step of knowing is something that I can definitely wait for.
Rest in peace, uncle John. Say hi to Ted Kennedy for me.
Monday, August 24, 2009
House Pics
Pardon the captioning...I have not quite figured out the pictures and captions thing yet in Blogger.
In the master bathroom...dual sinks make for a happy marriage!
Shower in the master bathroom
Master bedroom
Tile in the guest bathroom...exactly what we had back in Dallas, but probably not 100+ years old!
Guest bathroom
Guest room
Close-up of the front door handle and new paint job...painting a front door is harder than I thought it would be...
Front door, newly painted...it used to be a powdery blue colour...not my style!
Some flowers along the front walk-way...thankfully, they are drought resistant
Front view; the big window is a bay window in the kitchen...things get nice and toasty in there when appliances are running, and the sun is shining
More to come later...and by "later," I mean "when those rooms are clean."
In the master bathroom...dual sinks make for a happy marriage!
Shower in the master bathroom
Master bedroom
Tile in the guest bathroom...exactly what we had back in Dallas, but probably not 100+ years old!
Guest bathroom
Guest room
Close-up of the front door handle and new paint job...painting a front door is harder than I thought it would be...
Front door, newly painted...it used to be a powdery blue colour...not my style!
Some flowers along the front walk-way...thankfully, they are drought resistant
Front view; the big window is a bay window in the kitchen...things get nice and toasty in there when appliances are running, and the sun is shining
More to come later...and by "later," I mean "when those rooms are clean."
First Day Fail
Several fails from today...some funny, some not-so-funny:
1) My class this semester is in the ghetto. For those of you who are locals, it is five minutes away from ABIA. Not only does that give you an idea of how far I have to drive, but it should also give you an idea of the surrounding digs. The facility is old, and the lab looks ancient. I realize that, so far, I have been spoiled in the quality of environments in which I have learned.
2) While I was waiting for the professor to arrive this morning, I overheard the following conversation:
"So, uh, does anyone know what this class is all about?"
"Um, I just know that I need it to complete my nursing program thing...I think it's pretty pointless."
I almost fell off of the bench I was sitting on. Thank goodness there was a large, startling, taxiderm-ized (taxidermied?) wolf immediately to my right, which scared me almost equally, but would have at least broken my fall.
After that moment, I became even more grateful for crappy pre-requisite classes, for those are the classes that weed out the "future nurses of America" from the REAL future nurses of America.
3) Same person who asked if anyone knew what this class was about ALSO told the professor that the liver is a part of the urinary system...because it breaks down waste, y'know? I almost wept at that point, but was pleased that the professor didn't rip him to shreds and feed him to the taxidermied wolf outside the room.
4) To make a long story short-ish, I wound up having to drop my Physiology class immediately after coming home from Anatomy. It isn't "illegal" to take them concurrently, but the professor is against it, and wouldn't allow me to stay enrolled, despite my protestations of previous science classes (including A&P I many years ago). This sucks on many levels, but mainly because it prolongs things even further in terms of being able to apply to a nursing program. I talked to K about it at home, and explained that for the next several semesters, I will be taking one class at a time, because you can't take Physiology until you've taken Anatomy; you can't take Micro until you've taken Physio; you can't take Pharma until you've taken Micro, and so on and so forth. After awhile, K suggested that I look at several four-year BSN programs, since it will be at least three more years before I have my RN. This is a really attractive idea to me, since that would give me more options in the long-run, in terms of what kind of nursing I could do. (RANDOM ASIDE: Did you know that a nurse anesthetist, with a minimum-required education of an MSN, earns, on average, $146,000 PER YEAR?!?!?!)
So really, only four fails today. Four isn't bad, and if I look at the bright side, this means that not taking Physiology equates to more study time for Anatomy. Another win for today comes from the fact that my professor actually seems really good. She tried to impress upon my class how much WORK this class will be, and walked us through a "typical" lecture and lab, and all of its sundry preparations and tests. Come September 28th (my first exam), I just might be thankful that I only have one lab science to worry about, instead of two. I also really like the fact that she is encouraging us to study the material in many different "active learning" ways. She seemed far from the moster I read about online yesterday, and instead, more like someone who has been doing this for many years, and has reached a few conclusions about what differentiates a successful student from a slacker.
I'll give you three guesses to figure out which category I'm going to fall into, and the first two don't count.
1) My class this semester is in the ghetto. For those of you who are locals, it is five minutes away from ABIA. Not only does that give you an idea of how far I have to drive, but it should also give you an idea of the surrounding digs. The facility is old, and the lab looks ancient. I realize that, so far, I have been spoiled in the quality of environments in which I have learned.
2) While I was waiting for the professor to arrive this morning, I overheard the following conversation:
"So, uh, does anyone know what this class is all about?"
"Um, I just know that I need it to complete my nursing program thing...I think it's pretty pointless."
I almost fell off of the bench I was sitting on. Thank goodness there was a large, startling, taxiderm-ized (taxidermied?) wolf immediately to my right, which scared me almost equally, but would have at least broken my fall.
After that moment, I became even more grateful for crappy pre-requisite classes, for those are the classes that weed out the "future nurses of America" from the REAL future nurses of America.
3) Same person who asked if anyone knew what this class was about ALSO told the professor that the liver is a part of the urinary system...because it breaks down waste, y'know? I almost wept at that point, but was pleased that the professor didn't rip him to shreds and feed him to the taxidermied wolf outside the room.
4) To make a long story short-ish, I wound up having to drop my Physiology class immediately after coming home from Anatomy. It isn't "illegal" to take them concurrently, but the professor is against it, and wouldn't allow me to stay enrolled, despite my protestations of previous science classes (including A&P I many years ago). This sucks on many levels, but mainly because it prolongs things even further in terms of being able to apply to a nursing program. I talked to K about it at home, and explained that for the next several semesters, I will be taking one class at a time, because you can't take Physiology until you've taken Anatomy; you can't take Micro until you've taken Physio; you can't take Pharma until you've taken Micro, and so on and so forth. After awhile, K suggested that I look at several four-year BSN programs, since it will be at least three more years before I have my RN. This is a really attractive idea to me, since that would give me more options in the long-run, in terms of what kind of nursing I could do. (RANDOM ASIDE: Did you know that a nurse anesthetist, with a minimum-required education of an MSN, earns, on average, $146,000 PER YEAR?!?!?!)
So really, only four fails today. Four isn't bad, and if I look at the bright side, this means that not taking Physiology equates to more study time for Anatomy. Another win for today comes from the fact that my professor actually seems really good. She tried to impress upon my class how much WORK this class will be, and walked us through a "typical" lecture and lab, and all of its sundry preparations and tests. Come September 28th (my first exam), I just might be thankful that I only have one lab science to worry about, instead of two. I also really like the fact that she is encouraging us to study the material in many different "active learning" ways. She seemed far from the moster I read about online yesterday, and instead, more like someone who has been doing this for many years, and has reached a few conclusions about what differentiates a successful student from a slacker.
I'll give you three guesses to figure out which category I'm going to fall into, and the first two don't count.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Last Dregs of Freedom
School starts again tomorrow.
I promised myself a "relaxing" weekend, and I have come to learn that I have an odd way of defining "relaxing," since I have spent the last two days organizing, worrying and painting the front door. All is not lost, however.
I have Anatomy and its corresponding lab tomorrow, in far, FAR south Austin. My class begins at 7:45 a.m., which means I will probably leave the house at around 6:45. I suppose now would be as good a time as any to thank my internal clock for resetting itself, and making me wake up earlier, at my own will, than any other time I can remember in my life.
Tuesdays and Thursdays will be Physiology and its corresponding lab, same time and place, and at some point in September, I will also start my required Speech class, which I am looking forward to just as much as I look forward to confrontations. Let the record show that I am not afraid of public speaking (although, occasionally, I will find myself forgetting to inhale!); rather, I wish there were some way I could demonstrate my mastery of speech that would allow me to "test out" of this class. Such is life, no?
I'm trying not to get worked up about my professor. I decided to take the same professor for both A & P, and I also decided to do the totally fair thing and look her up on RateMyProfessor.com. I say "totally fair" with about as much sarcasm as my phalanges can muster (Phalanges! See? I am one step ahead in Anatomy already!). Each of her 21 reviews was scathing. The complaints were the same across the board: she does not grade in a timely manner, answers questions with questions (not always a bad thing, in my book), is bitter, and her tests are utterly impossible. I am trying to console myself with the reality that it is against our human nature (most of the time) to share praise. Instead, we vociferously bitch and moan about everything, so that others may hear our complaints and offer their sympathy toward our experiences, further validating our chosen role as The Martyr. I have also been consoling myself with the notion that perhaps each of these former students is just a good, old-fashioned Austin slacker who didn't want to put forth the effort required for a good grade. We shall see if these consolations are on the mark or not in a mere 17 hours. I have confidence in my abilities as a student, and I am BLESSED to be able to focus solely on school and my volunteer activities, without the added stressor of working. I'm feeling optimistic about everything right now, and hoping that it stays that way.
Oh, and for those who were wondering, the front door is green. A saturated, rich kelly green.
I promised myself a "relaxing" weekend, and I have come to learn that I have an odd way of defining "relaxing," since I have spent the last two days organizing, worrying and painting the front door. All is not lost, however.
I have Anatomy and its corresponding lab tomorrow, in far, FAR south Austin. My class begins at 7:45 a.m., which means I will probably leave the house at around 6:45. I suppose now would be as good a time as any to thank my internal clock for resetting itself, and making me wake up earlier, at my own will, than any other time I can remember in my life.
Tuesdays and Thursdays will be Physiology and its corresponding lab, same time and place, and at some point in September, I will also start my required Speech class, which I am looking forward to just as much as I look forward to confrontations. Let the record show that I am not afraid of public speaking (although, occasionally, I will find myself forgetting to inhale!); rather, I wish there were some way I could demonstrate my mastery of speech that would allow me to "test out" of this class. Such is life, no?
I'm trying not to get worked up about my professor. I decided to take the same professor for both A & P, and I also decided to do the totally fair thing and look her up on RateMyProfessor.com. I say "totally fair" with about as much sarcasm as my phalanges can muster (Phalanges! See? I am one step ahead in Anatomy already!). Each of her 21 reviews was scathing. The complaints were the same across the board: she does not grade in a timely manner, answers questions with questions (not always a bad thing, in my book), is bitter, and her tests are utterly impossible. I am trying to console myself with the reality that it is against our human nature (most of the time) to share praise. Instead, we vociferously bitch and moan about everything, so that others may hear our complaints and offer their sympathy toward our experiences, further validating our chosen role as The Martyr. I have also been consoling myself with the notion that perhaps each of these former students is just a good, old-fashioned Austin slacker who didn't want to put forth the effort required for a good grade. We shall see if these consolations are on the mark or not in a mere 17 hours. I have confidence in my abilities as a student, and I am BLESSED to be able to focus solely on school and my volunteer activities, without the added stressor of working. I'm feeling optimistic about everything right now, and hoping that it stays that way.
Oh, and for those who were wondering, the front door is green. A saturated, rich kelly green.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Pupdate
We've had the dogs for twelve days now, and I figured it was high time for an update.
The dogs, a basset hound named Colonel Buford T. Beauregard, CSA (yes, after the Civil War general...and yes, named by K!) and a beagle named Cosmo Brown (after Donald O'Connor's character in "Singin' In the Rain"), are fabulous.
It's been a rough first few weeks; I don't think K or I were mentally or physically prepared for the arrival of two dogs into our household ONE DAY after moving in to the new house. I think we sorely underestimated how closely they would need to be watched, and how much attention they would want from us. Dogs are certainly not cats.
Buford already came housetrained, and Cosmo, bless his heart, has given it his all. Twelve days later, I believe that he finally gets it, as he is running to the back door when he needs to go now, instead of me taking him outside forty times a day.
We are kennel training them as well, and Cosmo has taken to that better than Buford has. You have not overcome an obstacle in life until you have attempted to get the back-end of an obstinate basset hound into a kennel.
The dogs are best friends, and have serious separation anxiety issues, both in terms of being separated from one another, and from K and me. Buford follows us everywhere - into the kitchen, in the bathroom, on to the couch (after a bit of a struggle), and into the garage. Cosmo follows as well, but insists on following and biting your ankles or pants. It's a fun little game he likes to play. I think otherwise.
The cats have adjusted very well. We were completely worried about Fightin' Joe (Yes...named after the Civil War general "Fightin' Joe" Hooker...and yes, named by K...what household isn't complete without two Civil War general-named animals?!), since he is scrappy, to say the least. Joe is the cat that we see out and about the most. The dogs hardly seem interested in him. He has nabbed Cosmo once, after he got in his face and barked, but aside from that, there has been 'nary a skirmish. We rarely see Mouser, Fatty and Osanfay anymore. They spend most of their days lying in the cool darkness under the kitchen counters.
We took the dogs to the vet Saturday, after seeing them both have issues with diarrhea for a couple of days. After tests and other measures, it was determined that both have hookworms and roundworms, and Buford has heartworms.
I wrote a nastygram (OK, so it wasn't nasty at all...just an assertive expression of how dissatisfied I was with the rescue organization's failure to disclose the health of both dogs) to the rescue group, and we have since then started treatment for both dogs. Cosmo is too young to be tested (and treated) for heartworms, so we are crossing our fingers that he comes back clean in a couple of months, once he is old enough. It will be an expensive treatment, but there's no way we could NOT treat it. How can anyone ignore sad basset hound eyes?!
And speaking of basset hound characteristics: Buford has some of the worst gas I have ever smelled, and some of the slobberiest jowls I have ever seen. He always seems to feel the need to come put his head in my lap when he's finished drinking some water. At times like these, I am happy to be a student who can wear casual pants and jeans every day...I can't think of a single pair that hasn't been given the Buford Drool Treatment. He's also thrown his head back and given us several good howls already...Cosmo's howl we have yet to hear.
We have really been enjoying these dogs. They get us outside more, and they just have such distinct personalities and spirits. It sounds silly to say this after only two weeks, but I really couldn't imagine our lives without them. We have two fantastic, fantastic dogs.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
As Promised
I mentioned a few blog posts ago that I needed to write about two fairly profound experiences that I had recently, and as promised, here goes.
K and I went to New Orleans for the 4th of July weekend, as I believe has already been blogged. One of the things I love the most about NOLA is the spirit of the city. No, I am not looking at it through rose-colured glasses; I have been to the Ninth Ward, I have been outside of the Quarter, and I am uncomfortably familiar with the poverty and lousy hand with which New Orleans seems to have been dealt time and time again. In spite of these lousy hands, New Orleans is a city of vibrancy and life, a city prepared to celebrate every little thing, as often as possible. Most people mistake this excess revelry as a form of sinful gluttony, but really, it's just enjoyment of life, I think. Something we could all use a little more of, in my opinion.
The night before we departed NOLA, K and I sank into our air mattress on our friend's living room floor. Keith lives about two blocks from Bourbon, right in the heart of the Quarter. Going to bed in Keith's living room means falling asleep in a pitch-black environment, with the pulse of club music shaking the wooden slats in the floor and stray clips of conversations from passers by on their way to the party. This happens regardless of how early or how late you go to bed.
I had drifted off that night, and was in that place of not-quite-sleeping-soundly-but-not-coherent-either when I heard another sound that I love so much that seems to come only from New Orleans, and Friday night football games in Texas: brass instruments being blown into fortissimo, and a huge bass drum, strapped to someone's chest, being beaten as if his life depended on it.
The sound of New Orleans is something that helps me to identify it. I have, on many occasions, shut off the radio and rolled down the windows of the car as we drive into the city along Decatur, past Jackson Square and Cafe du Monde, simply to hear the city. Every time, my ear strains to pick out that beating of a drum and blowing of a horn that signals to me that we have, indeed, arrived.
I lay on the air mattress that night, approaching 1 a.m. I heard the drum, heard the horns. It was unmistakably one of those fabulous New Orleans brass bands - the kind that awakens in me some primal urge to move and dance. The kind that, if you aren't clapping in rhythym and bopping around to the beat, you must be seriously lacking a pulse. And so, I lay on the air mattress, squirming and dancing as best I could, without waking K. I imagined trailing behind the band, dancing deep into my knees. I imagined the stream of people around me, also dancing. I thought to myself, "how wonderful it would be if this happened a few hours earlier, and I could go out and dance in the street, and feel that music."
For those of you who know me well, you know that there is little that can get me out of bed once I am there. In fact, I would say that the only things that can get me upright again are flat-out emergencies, or gross acts of Mother Nature.
The fear of regret got me off the air mattress that night in New Orleans. It was 1:00 a.m., and I flopped off the side of the bed, threw on my sneakers, grabbed the gate key to the courtyard and my phone, and headed out the door. I bopped along to the corner of St. Ann and Bourbon, where the band had parked itself, and reveled in the music. An impromptu jam session broke out in the intersection, and I found myself tearing up at this spontaneous celebration that just seems to happen organically in New Orleans.
The band finished a few short minutes after I made it to the corner, and I turned back around and went back to Keith's, sort of marvelling at the fact that I based my decision to go solely on the fact that I would have regretted it had I not, instead of the inconvenience caused by getting back out of bed (as lazy as that sounds). I would have woken up in the morning, hypothesizing about how it must have felt, or what it might have sounded like, or how the people would have reacted to the beat. Instead, I had no hypothesis - I had a memory.
I made a decision that next day that, when presented with the opportunity, going forward, I would make a serious effort to PARTICIPATE in life, rather than be a bystander. It's safe to be a bystander, certainly, but is it deeply gratifying? Not a chance.
I had an opportunity to seize my inner New Orleanian a few weeks later here in Austin, but blogging that experience will have to wait!
K and I went to New Orleans for the 4th of July weekend, as I believe has already been blogged. One of the things I love the most about NOLA is the spirit of the city. No, I am not looking at it through rose-colured glasses; I have been to the Ninth Ward, I have been outside of the Quarter, and I am uncomfortably familiar with the poverty and lousy hand with which New Orleans seems to have been dealt time and time again. In spite of these lousy hands, New Orleans is a city of vibrancy and life, a city prepared to celebrate every little thing, as often as possible. Most people mistake this excess revelry as a form of sinful gluttony, but really, it's just enjoyment of life, I think. Something we could all use a little more of, in my opinion.
The night before we departed NOLA, K and I sank into our air mattress on our friend's living room floor. Keith lives about two blocks from Bourbon, right in the heart of the Quarter. Going to bed in Keith's living room means falling asleep in a pitch-black environment, with the pulse of club music shaking the wooden slats in the floor and stray clips of conversations from passers by on their way to the party. This happens regardless of how early or how late you go to bed.
I had drifted off that night, and was in that place of not-quite-sleeping-soundly-but-not-coherent-either when I heard another sound that I love so much that seems to come only from New Orleans, and Friday night football games in Texas: brass instruments being blown into fortissimo, and a huge bass drum, strapped to someone's chest, being beaten as if his life depended on it.
The sound of New Orleans is something that helps me to identify it. I have, on many occasions, shut off the radio and rolled down the windows of the car as we drive into the city along Decatur, past Jackson Square and Cafe du Monde, simply to hear the city. Every time, my ear strains to pick out that beating of a drum and blowing of a horn that signals to me that we have, indeed, arrived.
I lay on the air mattress that night, approaching 1 a.m. I heard the drum, heard the horns. It was unmistakably one of those fabulous New Orleans brass bands - the kind that awakens in me some primal urge to move and dance. The kind that, if you aren't clapping in rhythym and bopping around to the beat, you must be seriously lacking a pulse. And so, I lay on the air mattress, squirming and dancing as best I could, without waking K. I imagined trailing behind the band, dancing deep into my knees. I imagined the stream of people around me, also dancing. I thought to myself, "how wonderful it would be if this happened a few hours earlier, and I could go out and dance in the street, and feel that music."
For those of you who know me well, you know that there is little that can get me out of bed once I am there. In fact, I would say that the only things that can get me upright again are flat-out emergencies, or gross acts of Mother Nature.
The fear of regret got me off the air mattress that night in New Orleans. It was 1:00 a.m., and I flopped off the side of the bed, threw on my sneakers, grabbed the gate key to the courtyard and my phone, and headed out the door. I bopped along to the corner of St. Ann and Bourbon, where the band had parked itself, and reveled in the music. An impromptu jam session broke out in the intersection, and I found myself tearing up at this spontaneous celebration that just seems to happen organically in New Orleans.
The band finished a few short minutes after I made it to the corner, and I turned back around and went back to Keith's, sort of marvelling at the fact that I based my decision to go solely on the fact that I would have regretted it had I not, instead of the inconvenience caused by getting back out of bed (as lazy as that sounds). I would have woken up in the morning, hypothesizing about how it must have felt, or what it might have sounded like, or how the people would have reacted to the beat. Instead, I had no hypothesis - I had a memory.
I made a decision that next day that, when presented with the opportunity, going forward, I would make a serious effort to PARTICIPATE in life, rather than be a bystander. It's safe to be a bystander, certainly, but is it deeply gratifying? Not a chance.
I had an opportunity to seize my inner New Orleanian a few weeks later here in Austin, but blogging that experience will have to wait!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Half-Way Mark
This post is just to say that I have completed 2 of 4 tests in one of my classes thus far (actually, by Monday, it'll be 2 of 4 in BOTH classes), and I am kicking butt and taking names. For reals.
I caught myself thinking this morning, and I am amazed that the material I am learning right now is sticking with me. In other words, I am reading and comprehending; listening and participating in conversations in class. I feel like I understand everything, which has not always been the case in some classes I have taken.
Perhaps some of that is better study skills, better focus and attention, and simply getting older.
Or perhaps it's because I've really been busting my tail and spending into the double-digits of numbers of hours each day (during the week, and maybe one day per weekend) invested in studying and learning.
Yeah...maybe that's it.
I caught myself thinking this morning, and I am amazed that the material I am learning right now is sticking with me. In other words, I am reading and comprehending; listening and participating in conversations in class. I feel like I understand everything, which has not always been the case in some classes I have taken.
Perhaps some of that is better study skills, better focus and attention, and simply getting older.
Or perhaps it's because I've really been busting my tail and spending into the double-digits of numbers of hours each day (during the week, and maybe one day per weekend) invested in studying and learning.
Yeah...maybe that's it.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Blogging Break
Another week, and another week dominated by schoolwork and test-prep. Such is the life of a career student, I have come to learn.
School is going well; well, if not exhausting. I am beginning to think that I was under the influence of something when I decided it would be a great idea to take six hours in a five-week period.
My Human Growth & Development (HGD) class is really interesting. I am learning that there are myriad of ways to screw up young minds. :) My professor is an interesting woman - she teaches at two campuses, and is a clinical counselor as well. I appreciate that she illuminates certain topics with anecdotes from her clients. I also appreciate that she has charisma in spades, and therefore, can hold my attention for the four hours that I am in her class. The caveat is that she is a talker...which means that she frequently gets off-topic, as talkers are wont to do. For example, we have 1.5 class periods between Test 1 and Test 2. The first .5 of a class consisted of about 45 minutes of test-related material, with the rest of the class devoted to talking about the ramifications of co-sleeping, and whether or not certain types of corporal punishment constitute child abuse (for the record - only slapping the buttocks with an open palm is OK!) I'm all for getting off-topic, but when you only meet 10 times for the semester, off-topic can be a huge impediment to being prepared for an impending test.
Just call me a party pooper.
My Psych class is a bit more of a challenge for me. I can comprehend the material easily, and am caught up with reading material. My main beef is my professor.
In my opinion, there is a certain divinity in being a human being. I believe that human beings are special, unique and glorious creations. I believe that the brain of a human being is a marvelous, mystical thing.
My professor, on the other hand, does not. He maintains that, since homo sapiens are so genetically similar to most all other species, that we are not very special. He believes that our brains are just like the brains of all other animals, differing only in size and certain sensory reception functions. He also believes that environment plays little to no role in who we are as human beings...in other words, your destiny lies completely within your genetic makeup.
I often leave his class feeling very down and disheartened. Not only do I vehemently disagree with his theories (however grounded in science they may be), but I also find that I am hyper-critical of him specifically because of that fact. Don't get me wrong - he's a nice guy, and funny as anyone - but I just can't help but wonder why he doesn't see the incredible in being a human being on this planet.
He's not clinically depressed, and he's certainly not the most cynical person I have known...we just differ greatly in our perception of this experience of life. I have to remind myself every day that 1) these are just his THEORIES, and 2) I will come out of the class with a much better foundation for my belief system, since I will have spent five weeks trying to justify MY theories against his. In simpler terms: no pressure, no diamond. As a good friend has pointed out to me a few times, faith without test isn't really faith at all.
This week will be a little less intense, I think - no dual tests on the same day. Instead, there's only one test, over 4 chapters, and one of the chapters will be covered in the lecture AFTER the test. If it doesn't sound fair, that's because there is little fairness in six hours in five weeks. :) But I'm not complaining. Really.
My other "stressor" right now is our move, which is looming at the end of these next two weeks. Don't get me wrong - I will be soooo glad to get out of a rental situation and into an equity situation. HOWEVER, the idea of having to keep up my demanding reading schedule and help pack up an entire household is daunting, to say the very least. I have my closet packed, with the exception of my clothes and shoes, but aside from that, we have not yet begun to fight.
This last paragraph is a reminder to myself that I need to blog about two profound experiences I have had lately - I shall refer to them here as NOLA band, and dancing. When the reading subsides a bit, or when I am in desperate need of a break, I'll share them here.
Back to the books.
School is going well; well, if not exhausting. I am beginning to think that I was under the influence of something when I decided it would be a great idea to take six hours in a five-week period.
My Human Growth & Development (HGD) class is really interesting. I am learning that there are myriad of ways to screw up young minds. :) My professor is an interesting woman - she teaches at two campuses, and is a clinical counselor as well. I appreciate that she illuminates certain topics with anecdotes from her clients. I also appreciate that she has charisma in spades, and therefore, can hold my attention for the four hours that I am in her class. The caveat is that she is a talker...which means that she frequently gets off-topic, as talkers are wont to do. For example, we have 1.5 class periods between Test 1 and Test 2. The first .5 of a class consisted of about 45 minutes of test-related material, with the rest of the class devoted to talking about the ramifications of co-sleeping, and whether or not certain types of corporal punishment constitute child abuse (for the record - only slapping the buttocks with an open palm is OK!) I'm all for getting off-topic, but when you only meet 10 times for the semester, off-topic can be a huge impediment to being prepared for an impending test.
Just call me a party pooper.
My Psych class is a bit more of a challenge for me. I can comprehend the material easily, and am caught up with reading material. My main beef is my professor.
In my opinion, there is a certain divinity in being a human being. I believe that human beings are special, unique and glorious creations. I believe that the brain of a human being is a marvelous, mystical thing.
My professor, on the other hand, does not. He maintains that, since homo sapiens are so genetically similar to most all other species, that we are not very special. He believes that our brains are just like the brains of all other animals, differing only in size and certain sensory reception functions. He also believes that environment plays little to no role in who we are as human beings...in other words, your destiny lies completely within your genetic makeup.
I often leave his class feeling very down and disheartened. Not only do I vehemently disagree with his theories (however grounded in science they may be), but I also find that I am hyper-critical of him specifically because of that fact. Don't get me wrong - he's a nice guy, and funny as anyone - but I just can't help but wonder why he doesn't see the incredible in being a human being on this planet.
He's not clinically depressed, and he's certainly not the most cynical person I have known...we just differ greatly in our perception of this experience of life. I have to remind myself every day that 1) these are just his THEORIES, and 2) I will come out of the class with a much better foundation for my belief system, since I will have spent five weeks trying to justify MY theories against his. In simpler terms: no pressure, no diamond. As a good friend has pointed out to me a few times, faith without test isn't really faith at all.
This week will be a little less intense, I think - no dual tests on the same day. Instead, there's only one test, over 4 chapters, and one of the chapters will be covered in the lecture AFTER the test. If it doesn't sound fair, that's because there is little fairness in six hours in five weeks. :) But I'm not complaining. Really.
My other "stressor" right now is our move, which is looming at the end of these next two weeks. Don't get me wrong - I will be soooo glad to get out of a rental situation and into an equity situation. HOWEVER, the idea of having to keep up my demanding reading schedule and help pack up an entire household is daunting, to say the very least. I have my closet packed, with the exception of my clothes and shoes, but aside from that, we have not yet begun to fight.
This last paragraph is a reminder to myself that I need to blog about two profound experiences I have had lately - I shall refer to them here as NOLA band, and dancing. When the reading subsides a bit, or when I am in desperate need of a break, I'll share them here.
Back to the books.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Cross-Eyed
That's what is happening to me right now, as I have spent roughly 6 of the last 10 hours I've been awake today READING.
4 chapters down today, and two more to go. I would estimate that, by bedtime today, I will have read close to 300 pages of text and notes, if not more. Fortunately, I have learned a lot, and have never gotten bored.
Among the things I have learned today:
1) The plurality of God in the book of Genesis is questioned in the very first verse. In the original Jewish text, instead of saying that ..."God created the heavens and earth," the word "Elohim" is used, instead of "God." The suffix "-im," in Hebrew, denotes plurality. I'm still chewing on that one, but found it interesting nevertheless.
2) In the Dark Ages, Christian converts were so preoccupied by the second coming of Christ that they celebrated Easter EVERY SUNDAY! It wasn't until they realized that there may be a slight delay in that second coming that church leaders (correction - the First Council of Nicaea) decided to sanction an official, annual holiday...and the date was chosen based on the first Sunday after the full moon following the spring equinox.
3) NEW VOCABULARY! "legerdemain" refers to skill or adroitness. It comes from the French "leger de main," or "sleight of hand."
4) The Mozart Effect is a hoax. Not exactly a hoax, because that makes it sound nefarious and misleading, but it has not been able to be replicated outside of it's first "observance," and therefore, can not be considered a theory which is true.
5) We have only a 1.7% variation in our DNA from that of a Bonobo, which is a type of pygmy primate. There are traditionally no Bonobos found in zoos because they are so sexually promiscuous!
That's all for now, I am afraid. There is laundry to be done, more reading to be had, and more retinas to be burned...but hopefully not my bad one.
4 chapters down today, and two more to go. I would estimate that, by bedtime today, I will have read close to 300 pages of text and notes, if not more. Fortunately, I have learned a lot, and have never gotten bored.
Among the things I have learned today:
1) The plurality of God in the book of Genesis is questioned in the very first verse. In the original Jewish text, instead of saying that ..."God created the heavens and earth," the word "Elohim" is used, instead of "God." The suffix "-im," in Hebrew, denotes plurality. I'm still chewing on that one, but found it interesting nevertheless.
2) In the Dark Ages, Christian converts were so preoccupied by the second coming of Christ that they celebrated Easter EVERY SUNDAY! It wasn't until they realized that there may be a slight delay in that second coming that church leaders (correction - the First Council of Nicaea) decided to sanction an official, annual holiday...and the date was chosen based on the first Sunday after the full moon following the spring equinox.
3) NEW VOCABULARY! "legerdemain" refers to skill or adroitness. It comes from the French "leger de main," or "sleight of hand."
4) The Mozart Effect is a hoax. Not exactly a hoax, because that makes it sound nefarious and misleading, but it has not been able to be replicated outside of it's first "observance," and therefore, can not be considered a theory which is true.
5) We have only a 1.7% variation in our DNA from that of a Bonobo, which is a type of pygmy primate. There are traditionally no Bonobos found in zoos because they are so sexually promiscuous!
That's all for now, I am afraid. There is laundry to be done, more reading to be had, and more retinas to be burned...but hopefully not my bad one.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Exhaustion...already
This has been a big week for me, for us, and yet, here it is, only Thursday, and I feel like I could collapse into a big pile and sleep for three days.
First of all - WE BOUGHT OUR HOUSE! It's taken about two and a half months, but in spite of that, IT IS DONE! No one can take it away from us...unless we foolishly decide to not make our mortgage payments!
The closing was fine; in fact, it was filled with much less anxiety than I anticipated. I thought we would be met with a mile-high stack of papers, requiring us to sign over our souls. Not the case! Instead, we were met with a plate of warm, freshly-baked cookies and a Lowe's gift card from our realtor. We were in and out in about an hour (can you really call that in-and-out?!), and another hour later, we were homeowners. We will get the keys probably toward the end of the month, so in the meantime, there is a lot of packing to be had.
The other big deal with this week is that I started school. For the next five and a half weeks, I'm taking Intro to Psychology and Human growth & Development.
Both of my professors are outstanding; the premises for both of the classes are outstanding as well. Intro to Psych is not your traditional Psych class...in other words, don't expect me to be able to analyze you at the end of the semester! Instead, it's a focus on the science of the brain - more of how it works, and less the philosophy behind it. When the professor was explaining this to us, I felt like a kid on the night before Christmas; I was SO STINKING EXCITED! My mind also jumped to the exhibition we currently have down at the museum...what a nice compliment my class will be to my docenting!
My professor is great, and I really enjoy him. Any professor who picks on his students (out of affection) is OK in my book. He's sarcastic and direct, funny and interesting. He is also very science-minded, which I enjoy.
I did find myself a little verklempt today, however. We were talking about the idea of biology versus environment; that is, we are who we are primarily because of our biology, and NOT because of our environment. My professor ended our lecture with the assertion "When it's biology versus environment, BIOLOGY ALWAYS WINS!"
As I drove home, I felt myself feeling really dismayed and almost depressed about the note on which class ended. I have never belonged to that school of thought that we are just "dust in the wind," or specks of dirt on the planet as human beings. I believe that all of us have some sort of higher calling in life - really, that's just fancy-talk for my belief that we are all called to be the best versions of ourself that we can be in this life. We can't control everything that happens to us, but we can control the way we tread upon our planet, and the compassion we have toward animals and other human beings. Anyhoo, I began to ruminate on the idea that NO MATTER what decisions I make, or paths I choose, my destiny is pre-determined by my biology, and that I have nothing more to await than some genetically pre-determined fate.
What I HAVE arrived at is a couple of things, one primarily being that THIS IS COLLEGE, and there will be professors that I have, and don't agree with. After all, the whole biology versus environment thing is just a theory, no? All of science is theories, not facts.
I also arrived at the conclusion that I do believe that biology controls about 90% of who we are...but it can greatly be affected by environment and other external factors (medications, therapies, accidents, etc.) that can alter our biology, whether it be temporarily or permanently.
My HG&D class is a bit of a beating - and I mean that only in the sense that it is four hours long. My professor is a talking maniac, but she's so captivating, and wildly entertaining. She also works as a clinical counselor, and uses stories about her clients to illustrate topics we are discussing.
I sorta feel like I joined the rest of the universe today, in that I learned all about Freud...or, as much about Freud as one can learn in that timeframe. I have always known that Freud was an important figure, and that he had all sorts of wicked theories about childhood, sexuality and dreams, but today, I feel like I could actually participate in a conversation about some of those things. That's a very good way to feel about anything, I think.
A rather unintended consequence of this class is a little fear - the fear of just how impressionable we are as human beings, particularly as LITTLE human beings. Just based on some of the discussions that we had today, I realized HOW IMPORTANT it is when we choose our words and actions toward one another, be it toward our children, parents, siblings or spouses. I'm not sure how else to articulate that, but to be aware of my words and actions, going forward, is going to be at the forefront of my mind.
The nice thing is that the two classes I am taking right now are very complimentary; in fact, many topics in my second class were reiterated from my first class. I like that, with these classes and professors, I am getting two sides of the same coin, so to speak. In one class, I'm getting the "how," and in the other, I'm getting the "why"...or at least one person's opinion about the "why."
On the other hand, this semester is pretty much going to kick my rear end...to North Dakota and back again. Both classes are reading and studying-intense, and to further illustrate that point, I will admit that I have a test on 4 chapters of HG&D in a week...and here I am, blogging! (one thing I learned in class: procrastination is validated by prior experiences [and successes] in PROCRASTINATION!)
So, in a nutshell, suffice it to say that I am STOKED about this semester, but may very well go missing in the next few weeks...I have a lot of reading and writing to get done!
First of all - WE BOUGHT OUR HOUSE! It's taken about two and a half months, but in spite of that, IT IS DONE! No one can take it away from us...unless we foolishly decide to not make our mortgage payments!
The closing was fine; in fact, it was filled with much less anxiety than I anticipated. I thought we would be met with a mile-high stack of papers, requiring us to sign over our souls. Not the case! Instead, we were met with a plate of warm, freshly-baked cookies and a Lowe's gift card from our realtor. We were in and out in about an hour (can you really call that in-and-out?!), and another hour later, we were homeowners. We will get the keys probably toward the end of the month, so in the meantime, there is a lot of packing to be had.
The other big deal with this week is that I started school. For the next five and a half weeks, I'm taking Intro to Psychology and Human growth & Development.
Both of my professors are outstanding; the premises for both of the classes are outstanding as well. Intro to Psych is not your traditional Psych class...in other words, don't expect me to be able to analyze you at the end of the semester! Instead, it's a focus on the science of the brain - more of how it works, and less the philosophy behind it. When the professor was explaining this to us, I felt like a kid on the night before Christmas; I was SO STINKING EXCITED! My mind also jumped to the exhibition we currently have down at the museum...what a nice compliment my class will be to my docenting!
My professor is great, and I really enjoy him. Any professor who picks on his students (out of affection) is OK in my book. He's sarcastic and direct, funny and interesting. He is also very science-minded, which I enjoy.
I did find myself a little verklempt today, however. We were talking about the idea of biology versus environment; that is, we are who we are primarily because of our biology, and NOT because of our environment. My professor ended our lecture with the assertion "When it's biology versus environment, BIOLOGY ALWAYS WINS!"
As I drove home, I felt myself feeling really dismayed and almost depressed about the note on which class ended. I have never belonged to that school of thought that we are just "dust in the wind," or specks of dirt on the planet as human beings. I believe that all of us have some sort of higher calling in life - really, that's just fancy-talk for my belief that we are all called to be the best versions of ourself that we can be in this life. We can't control everything that happens to us, but we can control the way we tread upon our planet, and the compassion we have toward animals and other human beings. Anyhoo, I began to ruminate on the idea that NO MATTER what decisions I make, or paths I choose, my destiny is pre-determined by my biology, and that I have nothing more to await than some genetically pre-determined fate.
What I HAVE arrived at is a couple of things, one primarily being that THIS IS COLLEGE, and there will be professors that I have, and don't agree with. After all, the whole biology versus environment thing is just a theory, no? All of science is theories, not facts.
I also arrived at the conclusion that I do believe that biology controls about 90% of who we are...but it can greatly be affected by environment and other external factors (medications, therapies, accidents, etc.) that can alter our biology, whether it be temporarily or permanently.
My HG&D class is a bit of a beating - and I mean that only in the sense that it is four hours long. My professor is a talking maniac, but she's so captivating, and wildly entertaining. She also works as a clinical counselor, and uses stories about her clients to illustrate topics we are discussing.
I sorta feel like I joined the rest of the universe today, in that I learned all about Freud...or, as much about Freud as one can learn in that timeframe. I have always known that Freud was an important figure, and that he had all sorts of wicked theories about childhood, sexuality and dreams, but today, I feel like I could actually participate in a conversation about some of those things. That's a very good way to feel about anything, I think.
A rather unintended consequence of this class is a little fear - the fear of just how impressionable we are as human beings, particularly as LITTLE human beings. Just based on some of the discussions that we had today, I realized HOW IMPORTANT it is when we choose our words and actions toward one another, be it toward our children, parents, siblings or spouses. I'm not sure how else to articulate that, but to be aware of my words and actions, going forward, is going to be at the forefront of my mind.
The nice thing is that the two classes I am taking right now are very complimentary; in fact, many topics in my second class were reiterated from my first class. I like that, with these classes and professors, I am getting two sides of the same coin, so to speak. In one class, I'm getting the "how," and in the other, I'm getting the "why"...or at least one person's opinion about the "why."
On the other hand, this semester is pretty much going to kick my rear end...to North Dakota and back again. Both classes are reading and studying-intense, and to further illustrate that point, I will admit that I have a test on 4 chapters of HG&D in a week...and here I am, blogging! (one thing I learned in class: procrastination is validated by prior experiences [and successes] in PROCRASTINATION!)
So, in a nutshell, suffice it to say that I am STOKED about this semester, but may very well go missing in the next few weeks...I have a lot of reading and writing to get done!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Bits and Pieces
In no particular order:
1) 4th of July plans are SET! We are headed to New Orleans Wednesday night or Thursday morning. Big Cash (a friend) will be the "celebrity" guest bartender at The Ritz, and we are going to see him...and take advantage of the free Ritz martinis! I am looking at this weekend as a last hurrah before school gets going.
2) Thank you JESUS for the rain today! Normally, I get very anxious and nervous during a thunderstorm, but we haven't had rain in what seems like a decade, and I knew the rain would knock at least ten degrees off of the temperature. What a BLESSING the rain has been - all morning, until about 12:30ish. I don't even know if we have hit 90 degrees yet today.
3) I went to purchase my summer school books. Two books, one used, one new (they are using the newest edition)...total price, $255 and some change. *sigh* Can't wait to buy three books come fall! I am excited to take the classes, though. And, excited to get them out of the way. :)
4) K found my car to have a flat tire this morning. I went to air up the tire, and saw a big, shiny screw head nestled into the tread. Awesome. I drove across the street to the place where I get my oil changed regularly (where Fightin' Joe has a part-time job), and they informed me that they would patch the tire GRATIS! FOR FREE! NO CHARGE! I was stoked. Everyone in Austin, please visit FOUNDATION AUTO REPAIR, at McNeil and Corpus Christi. They are fabulous, and I love them.
5) We are still waiting for the financing to go through on the new house. The sellers agreed to extend the closing date, since everything is moving forward, but we are very, very tired of chasing our tails, trying to get the necessary documentation. It's not enough that we have to get bank statements - instead, we have to get bank statements plus letters plus things from K's HR department time and time again. I understand the need for the documentation, but I wish they weren't sending us to the pantry so often. If we had a dollar for every time we've been told, "Thanks, I think that's all we're going to need," we would easily be able to afford another downpayment for another house. Closing has been moved to 7/9, so cross your fingers that we sign some papers that day, and can stop running around in circles!
6) The End.
1) 4th of July plans are SET! We are headed to New Orleans Wednesday night or Thursday morning. Big Cash (a friend) will be the "celebrity" guest bartender at The Ritz, and we are going to see him...and take advantage of the free Ritz martinis! I am looking at this weekend as a last hurrah before school gets going.
2) Thank you JESUS for the rain today! Normally, I get very anxious and nervous during a thunderstorm, but we haven't had rain in what seems like a decade, and I knew the rain would knock at least ten degrees off of the temperature. What a BLESSING the rain has been - all morning, until about 12:30ish. I don't even know if we have hit 90 degrees yet today.
3) I went to purchase my summer school books. Two books, one used, one new (they are using the newest edition)...total price, $255 and some change. *sigh* Can't wait to buy three books come fall! I am excited to take the classes, though. And, excited to get them out of the way. :)
4) K found my car to have a flat tire this morning. I went to air up the tire, and saw a big, shiny screw head nestled into the tread. Awesome. I drove across the street to the place where I get my oil changed regularly (where Fightin' Joe has a part-time job), and they informed me that they would patch the tire GRATIS! FOR FREE! NO CHARGE! I was stoked. Everyone in Austin, please visit FOUNDATION AUTO REPAIR, at McNeil and Corpus Christi. They are fabulous, and I love them.
5) We are still waiting for the financing to go through on the new house. The sellers agreed to extend the closing date, since everything is moving forward, but we are very, very tired of chasing our tails, trying to get the necessary documentation. It's not enough that we have to get bank statements - instead, we have to get bank statements plus letters plus things from K's HR department time and time again. I understand the need for the documentation, but I wish they weren't sending us to the pantry so often. If we had a dollar for every time we've been told, "Thanks, I think that's all we're going to need," we would easily be able to afford another downpayment for another house. Closing has been moved to 7/9, so cross your fingers that we sign some papers that day, and can stop running around in circles!
6) The End.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Retro Redux!, Part One
I've been trying to sort through some Tupperware bins (re: JUNK) in preparation for packing and moving lately. The idea of purging all of this stuff that I have been carrying around is really appealing to me, especially when considering the fact that we will be moving in, at the very least, mid-July, if not later into the summer.
I started in on one bin Saturday morning, and found a bunch of stuff from my school days: various awards and certificates, band programs, yearbooks, etc. I also found about 4 or 5 of my journals that I kept as a child.
I decided to read them (of course!), and post some of the entries on here, for a couple of reasons: 1) entertainment, and 2) further preservation. Not that I expect to be someone famous, but in doing a little research into my family's history, I find myself very disappointed when I come upon a dead end. In other words, I can find a distant relative's name, but there is very little information about them. What were they like? What did they do?
And so, in the primary interest of entertainment, I present to you some of my earliest writing. I also found a packet of letters exchanged between my great-grandmother and myself, and I plan to post some of those as well.
Without further ado, here is the first installment of a new series I'll be calling "Retro Redux"...
DATE: 7-7-88
Dear Diary
Yesterday we went horse back riding and on a hay (ride) in Durango Colorado
till tomorow
dear Diary
DATE: 11-5-89
Dear Diary
I saw one of our Christmas presents in my mom and dad's closet but I didn't get to see the other things but we got [Battiling] Tops out. That was one of our presents.
till tomorrow
dear Diary
DATE: 1-27-90
Dear Diary
Last night I made my 1st [reconcillyation]. I didn't make a fool out of myself although I whispered first and then he goes I can't hear you and it went like a song "I can't hear you" but the embarrassing part was that my mom went to confession when children were doing it!
Till tomorrow
Dear Diary
DATE: 9-27-90
Dear Diary,
So school is the subject here I guess well Spelling = Boring! Reading = Kinda English = Kinda Math = fun Writing = Fun Science = Very Fun Soc. St = Fun Art = ART I LOVE!
More to come. :)
I started in on one bin Saturday morning, and found a bunch of stuff from my school days: various awards and certificates, band programs, yearbooks, etc. I also found about 4 or 5 of my journals that I kept as a child.
I decided to read them (of course!), and post some of the entries on here, for a couple of reasons: 1) entertainment, and 2) further preservation. Not that I expect to be someone famous, but in doing a little research into my family's history, I find myself very disappointed when I come upon a dead end. In other words, I can find a distant relative's name, but there is very little information about them. What were they like? What did they do?
And so, in the primary interest of entertainment, I present to you some of my earliest writing. I also found a packet of letters exchanged between my great-grandmother and myself, and I plan to post some of those as well.
Without further ado, here is the first installment of a new series I'll be calling "Retro Redux"...
DATE: 7-7-88
Dear Diary
Yesterday we went horse back riding and on a hay (ride) in Durango Colorado
till tomorow
dear Diary
DATE: 11-5-89
Dear Diary
I saw one of our Christmas presents in my mom and dad's closet but I didn't get to see the other things but we got [Battiling] Tops out. That was one of our presents.
till tomorrow
dear Diary
DATE: 1-27-90
Dear Diary
Last night I made my 1st [reconcillyation]. I didn't make a fool out of myself although I whispered first and then he goes I can't hear you and it went like a song "I can't hear you" but the embarrassing part was that my mom went to confession when children were doing it!
Till tomorrow
Dear Diary
DATE: 9-27-90
Dear Diary,
So school is the subject here I guess well Spelling = Boring! Reading = Kinda English = Kinda Math = fun Writing = Fun Science = Very Fun Soc. St = Fun Art = ART I LOVE!
More to come. :)
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Food Inc.
Eager to stay in a well air-conditioned environment yesterday (it only got up to 108 degrees! HOORAY!), K and I decided to go see "Food Inc." at the theatre. I love a documentary just about more than any other movie genre (except maybe "Old"!), and having loved "Super-Size Me," this seemed like a no-brainer.
The movie is a collaborative effort from several food informants - Michael Pollan, author of "The Omnivore's Dilemma," and Eric Schlosser, of "Fast-Food Nation," among others. The premise is to enlighten audiences about where, exactly, their food comes from. It focuses mainly on the meat business, as well as farmers and their crops, and how a small number of mega-corporations controls just about every aspect of EVERYTHING. Like Tyson chicken and Smithfield Farms pork? Yeah, I used to as well. Not so much anymore.
The film did a great job of not being vulgar - it could have been very easy to make this a "go vegetarian" movie, or a "the Republicans have screwed up again" movie, but I found it to be very fair and balanced. Yes, there were several shots of animals being taken to slaughter (I covered my eyes), but it was necessary. The film's director made the point that companies who treat the animals with little respect often treat their employees in the same manner.
There were a lot of scary things in this film that I was entirely unaware of:
1) Tomatoes are usually ripened with ethylene. ETHYLENE! It's a naturally-occuring chemical in plants, but ethylene is also used for things like ANTIFREEZE! Gah!
2) There exists a company that produces a ground beef filler, which is made of, among other things, AMMONIA!
3) When cows are fed corn instead of grass (which is the norm now, since corn is so easy and cheap to grow...but evolutionarily speaking, cows were not made to eat corn!), their gut grows more succeptible to E Coli, and they can not rectify the situation naturally. If a corn-fed cow switches its diet back to grass, within a week, it is able to rid its system of 80% of the E Coli...and yet, we still feed our cows corn!
I can't recall everything, but suffice it to say that my eyes were opened to what I've been putting into my body over the last 27 years.
The film also touched on things like affordability of organic, natural foods, the prevalence of Type II diabetes as a result of modern diets, and how intimate the relationship is between the heads of government organizations (think the FDA and such), and THEIR ROLES AS FORMER LOBBYISTS!!! It blew my mind to see how little our government cares about ensuring the safety and well-being of its citizens when it comes to what we eat.
I left the movie feeling enraged and motivated to change. It was a lot like how I felt after seeing Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth." When we were walking out of the parking lot, I said to K, "Well, I think I'm done with meat now," and he agreed. While I'm not sure if I can get off the meat bandwagon entirely (I only eat it on occasion as it is), going forward, you can bet I will be eating 100% organic, grass-fed, free-range beef/chicken/pork, etc. I never knew how important that stuff was until yesterday.
We also came home yesterday and immediately signed up to join a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture), where we were put on a 2-3 month waiting list. We have decided to buy all produce from the Austin Farmer's Market from now on, and to buy produce that is in season.
We also stopped by the HEB on our way home yesterday, and I felt a little like I was in the lion's den. When I went to go see Body Worlds a few years ago, I had the odd experience for several weeks afterward of imagining everyone with their skin missing, as if I could see through it, and look at their musculature and organs. It was a very, very weird experience. I felt a little bit like that in the grocery store - I was no longer seeing the produce section...instead, I was seeing all of the fruits and vegetables that were A) expensively priced, and therefore unaffordable to low-income families, and B) flown in from places thousands of miles away from Austin. It was nice to have that extra layer of understanding, although, it made it difficult to buy anything. That was the first time I have ever walked out of the grocery store empty-handed.
I'm sure that some of this will wear off. Any time we are excited and motivated to change, the adrenaline always subsides, or is difficult to keep up. I am pleased, however, with our decision to join to CSA, opt out on meat the majority of the time, and buy organic going forward. Am I going to be a crazy about everything, and reject meals or dinner invitations just because they aren't in alignment with my new moral compass? No. Am I going to pass on my dad's burgers going forward? ABSOLUTELY NO! (but I might offer to buy the ground beef!) Am I going to boycot the HEB? Definitely no. Am I happy that we have decided to make some changes in our diet? Positively yes.
The movie is a collaborative effort from several food informants - Michael Pollan, author of "The Omnivore's Dilemma," and Eric Schlosser, of "Fast-Food Nation," among others. The premise is to enlighten audiences about where, exactly, their food comes from. It focuses mainly on the meat business, as well as farmers and their crops, and how a small number of mega-corporations controls just about every aspect of EVERYTHING. Like Tyson chicken and Smithfield Farms pork? Yeah, I used to as well. Not so much anymore.
The film did a great job of not being vulgar - it could have been very easy to make this a "go vegetarian" movie, or a "the Republicans have screwed up again" movie, but I found it to be very fair and balanced. Yes, there were several shots of animals being taken to slaughter (I covered my eyes), but it was necessary. The film's director made the point that companies who treat the animals with little respect often treat their employees in the same manner.
There were a lot of scary things in this film that I was entirely unaware of:
1) Tomatoes are usually ripened with ethylene. ETHYLENE! It's a naturally-occuring chemical in plants, but ethylene is also used for things like ANTIFREEZE! Gah!
2) There exists a company that produces a ground beef filler, which is made of, among other things, AMMONIA!
3) When cows are fed corn instead of grass (which is the norm now, since corn is so easy and cheap to grow...but evolutionarily speaking, cows were not made to eat corn!), their gut grows more succeptible to E Coli, and they can not rectify the situation naturally. If a corn-fed cow switches its diet back to grass, within a week, it is able to rid its system of 80% of the E Coli...and yet, we still feed our cows corn!
I can't recall everything, but suffice it to say that my eyes were opened to what I've been putting into my body over the last 27 years.
The film also touched on things like affordability of organic, natural foods, the prevalence of Type II diabetes as a result of modern diets, and how intimate the relationship is between the heads of government organizations (think the FDA and such), and THEIR ROLES AS FORMER LOBBYISTS!!! It blew my mind to see how little our government cares about ensuring the safety and well-being of its citizens when it comes to what we eat.
I left the movie feeling enraged and motivated to change. It was a lot like how I felt after seeing Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth." When we were walking out of the parking lot, I said to K, "Well, I think I'm done with meat now," and he agreed. While I'm not sure if I can get off the meat bandwagon entirely (I only eat it on occasion as it is), going forward, you can bet I will be eating 100% organic, grass-fed, free-range beef/chicken/pork, etc. I never knew how important that stuff was until yesterday.
We also came home yesterday and immediately signed up to join a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture), where we were put on a 2-3 month waiting list. We have decided to buy all produce from the Austin Farmer's Market from now on, and to buy produce that is in season.
We also stopped by the HEB on our way home yesterday, and I felt a little like I was in the lion's den. When I went to go see Body Worlds a few years ago, I had the odd experience for several weeks afterward of imagining everyone with their skin missing, as if I could see through it, and look at their musculature and organs. It was a very, very weird experience. I felt a little bit like that in the grocery store - I was no longer seeing the produce section...instead, I was seeing all of the fruits and vegetables that were A) expensively priced, and therefore unaffordable to low-income families, and B) flown in from places thousands of miles away from Austin. It was nice to have that extra layer of understanding, although, it made it difficult to buy anything. That was the first time I have ever walked out of the grocery store empty-handed.
I'm sure that some of this will wear off. Any time we are excited and motivated to change, the adrenaline always subsides, or is difficult to keep up. I am pleased, however, with our decision to join to CSA, opt out on meat the majority of the time, and buy organic going forward. Am I going to be a crazy about everything, and reject meals or dinner invitations just because they aren't in alignment with my new moral compass? No. Am I going to pass on my dad's burgers going forward? ABSOLUTELY NO! (but I might offer to buy the ground beef!) Am I going to boycot the HEB? Definitely no. Am I happy that we have decided to make some changes in our diet? Positively yes.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Squirrelly
Today, I led my first "normal" group tour at the museum. I say "normal" because, until today, the groups I have led were all filled with exceptionally bright students. I know this because they came from organizations called "Leaders of Tomorrow" and the like. I also know this because, based on their observations from the tour, they could have easily been the docent(s). Either they were brilliant, or they had a brilliant docent. I happen to think it was a nice mix of the two.
I was a little concerned with getting a normal group of squirrelly little kids, ages 5 through 11. I had not yet had a group where I have had to be an enforcer of the rules (because, let's face it - no self-respecting Leader of Tomorrow is going to touch a piece of art, or run in a museum), and frankly, I'm not used to little kids. I am used to adult and young-adult learners, and squirrelly little kids are just not on my radar right now.
The first group I had was good. There is always a kid in each group, whether Leaders or Squirrells, who wants to answer all of the questions or share all of his or her thoughts. I find that I have a difficult time shushing this kid, because more often than not, the kid is insightful and usually hilarious. This first group was no exception, as one little boy had at least three stories to share (pertinent or not) about each piece we stopped to discuss. At one point, I asked the kids if a compilation of Chuck Jones cartoon landscapes deserved to be in an art museum, and Answer Kid said yes, because it's a drawing, and drawings are art. And wouldn't you know it, but Answer Kid knows a guy who is a "big-time artist," because one time he drew a picture of a bull and sold it to a guy for "five bucks." How exactly do you respond to that?! If you're me, you give him the thumbs up, say "Right on!" and escort everyone in to the next gallery, in an attempt to mask the fact that you do not, in fact, know how to respond.
My second group also had an Answer Kid. This boy was older than AK #1, and again, following true form, so insightful. One of the first pieces in the front gallery is a Deborah Aschheim piece, commemorating three of her childhood birthdays. She made three sculptures of what appears to be a big neuron encapsulating a video image of her father's home movie of her birthday perty, surrounded by a wild bird's nest of glowing green synapses. Of course, I recognize this because I am an adult, and have had a fair amount of science classes. I asked the students to tell me what they thought these sculptures were, and AK #2, without hesitation, explained that it was like the pathways in your brain that store memories and help you remember.
Again, how do you respond to that?!
As I was revelling in AK #2's genius, we wandered over to a John Copelans photograph, and started talking about muscle memory. I asked the kids if they were familiar with muscle memory, and they all shook their heads no. I asked them to guess what it might mean. AK #2 piped up, and said it was what happens when you get old. He then proceeded to give us a demonstration. He hunched over and clutched his lower back with his hands, as if he were pregnant, and said, in his best old man voice, "Son, I remember a time when my biceps looked like they belong to Hulk Hogan!"
A whole 'nother way to think about muscle memory, courtesy of being a museum docent.
All things begin equal, the tours went well. I had several incidents where kids touched things on the walls (I can think of no other thing that strikes as much fear in my heart currently than seeing a grubby finger making its way toward a pane of glass over the top of a photograph or painting!), and I also had a couple of kids who were totally checked out from the very beginning. I think this was actually my final tour for this particular show, since I have summer classes beginning on July 8th. In August, we will get a Chuck Close exhibit, which I am so entirely excited about. August 18th, baby!
As if I didn't have enough squirrel-ness today, K and I braved the 100-degree heat and went on a walk for about an hour. As we were making our way through one arbored area, K jerked on my hand and said, "Watch out!" I jumped and squirmed and shrieked and ran away in that way that girls do - the way that makes them look like they are football players doing that exercise where they are jumping through the tires on the ground - in other words, knees coming straight up, very high. I had come *this close* to stepping on top of a very, very flat, dead squirrel. Ew.
The rest of this week should be relatively uneventful. I take the remaining two cats to the vet on Friday ("Hey! Remember me? I had the horrible orange cat, and now I am bringing you two grotesquely overweight, incestuous gay cats!"), and we have friends coming to visit for the weekend later that afternoon. On Monday, we are slated to close on the house, assuming that there are no glitches with the financing. Cross your fingers, everyone!
I was a little concerned with getting a normal group of squirrelly little kids, ages 5 through 11. I had not yet had a group where I have had to be an enforcer of the rules (because, let's face it - no self-respecting Leader of Tomorrow is going to touch a piece of art, or run in a museum), and frankly, I'm not used to little kids. I am used to adult and young-adult learners, and squirrelly little kids are just not on my radar right now.
The first group I had was good. There is always a kid in each group, whether Leaders or Squirrells, who wants to answer all of the questions or share all of his or her thoughts. I find that I have a difficult time shushing this kid, because more often than not, the kid is insightful and usually hilarious. This first group was no exception, as one little boy had at least three stories to share (pertinent or not) about each piece we stopped to discuss. At one point, I asked the kids if a compilation of Chuck Jones cartoon landscapes deserved to be in an art museum, and Answer Kid said yes, because it's a drawing, and drawings are art. And wouldn't you know it, but Answer Kid knows a guy who is a "big-time artist," because one time he drew a picture of a bull and sold it to a guy for "five bucks." How exactly do you respond to that?! If you're me, you give him the thumbs up, say "Right on!" and escort everyone in to the next gallery, in an attempt to mask the fact that you do not, in fact, know how to respond.
My second group also had an Answer Kid. This boy was older than AK #1, and again, following true form, so insightful. One of the first pieces in the front gallery is a Deborah Aschheim piece, commemorating three of her childhood birthdays. She made three sculptures of what appears to be a big neuron encapsulating a video image of her father's home movie of her birthday perty, surrounded by a wild bird's nest of glowing green synapses. Of course, I recognize this because I am an adult, and have had a fair amount of science classes. I asked the students to tell me what they thought these sculptures were, and AK #2, without hesitation, explained that it was like the pathways in your brain that store memories and help you remember.
Again, how do you respond to that?!
As I was revelling in AK #2's genius, we wandered over to a John Copelans photograph, and started talking about muscle memory. I asked the kids if they were familiar with muscle memory, and they all shook their heads no. I asked them to guess what it might mean. AK #2 piped up, and said it was what happens when you get old. He then proceeded to give us a demonstration. He hunched over and clutched his lower back with his hands, as if he were pregnant, and said, in his best old man voice, "Son, I remember a time when my biceps looked like they belong to Hulk Hogan!"
A whole 'nother way to think about muscle memory, courtesy of being a museum docent.
All things begin equal, the tours went well. I had several incidents where kids touched things on the walls (I can think of no other thing that strikes as much fear in my heart currently than seeing a grubby finger making its way toward a pane of glass over the top of a photograph or painting!), and I also had a couple of kids who were totally checked out from the very beginning. I think this was actually my final tour for this particular show, since I have summer classes beginning on July 8th. In August, we will get a Chuck Close exhibit, which I am so entirely excited about. August 18th, baby!
As if I didn't have enough squirrel-ness today, K and I braved the 100-degree heat and went on a walk for about an hour. As we were making our way through one arbored area, K jerked on my hand and said, "Watch out!" I jumped and squirmed and shrieked and ran away in that way that girls do - the way that makes them look like they are football players doing that exercise where they are jumping through the tires on the ground - in other words, knees coming straight up, very high. I had come *this close* to stepping on top of a very, very flat, dead squirrel. Ew.
The rest of this week should be relatively uneventful. I take the remaining two cats to the vet on Friday ("Hey! Remember me? I had the horrible orange cat, and now I am bringing you two grotesquely overweight, incestuous gay cats!"), and we have friends coming to visit for the weekend later that afternoon. On Monday, we are slated to close on the house, assuming that there are no glitches with the financing. Cross your fingers, everyone!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Health = Wealth
I was scheduled for two tours at the museum today - kindergarteners from a local daycare. Believe it or not, I was really looking forward to this one - I have yet to give a tour to such little museum-goers. I was also a little skeptical about my ability to get this particular show on the level of such little kids, but it has been my experience thus far as a docent that I tend to underestimate my audiences, and what they know. Each group I have facilitated so far has been exceptionally bright and engaged. I kinda feel like I have been spoiled, in getting groups from "overachieving" schools or "smart kid" groups. Who knows what I would have done with a group of "regular" kindergarteners...or how they would have behaved!
I spent about an hour up at the museum, waiting for the group to arrive. After waiting for an hour, someone called the school, and it was determined that there was an error in scheduling, and they were not coming today. Not sure who to blame for that one, but oh well.
While I was waiting (and before I understood that there would be no tour!), I realized that I was not feeling well at all - as in, wondering how I would lead this tour in an upright position, and away from a bathroom. I kinda fell into this woe-is-me-pity-party-for-one-please-bring-a-gift-and-your-condolences thing; why could I not have felt gross the previous day, or perhaps tomorrow. It was, in plain language, inconvenient for me to not be feeling well.
As if there is ever a convenient time to not feel well...
On my way home from the museum, I stopped off at my doctor's office (which happens to be in a hospital) to pick up a coupon for a prescription that she promised. Because the hospital has three wings, twelve entrances and more than enough long hallways to confuse even the most adroit maze-running mouse, I parked in the wrong place, and wound up becoming the mouse, looking for my doctor's office.
Not to be too "heady" about this, but I believe that I was meant to park in that crappy parking spot, and trek my way through that hospital. Not only did it give me positive reinforcement about my decision to go in to nursing (I fought the urge all the way through to chat up anyone wearing scrubs, or, even better, a white lab coat!), but it sort of made my lovely pity party come to a rather abrupt end.
Having parked on the south wing of the building meant that, before hitting my doctor's office, I would pass by a dialysis center, the intensive care unit, the surgical waiting area, a wound care center, a cardiology wing and the ER. I was also not oblivious to the fact that I was 1) much younger than most of the people I was seeing, 2) walking much faster than most of those people, and 3) moving on my own two feet, and not with the aide of a cane, walker or wheelchair.
By the time I found Dr. McNelis, it was not lost on me that, yes, I was not feeling well, but that I was HEALTHY. I was not in this hospital to receive care, or to take someone in for a procedure. I wondered how many of those people I passed by would have given anything to trade places with me, if only to have my health, instead of their own.
Perhaps I am being presumptious, but it really made me think. I spend more time than I would like being critical of my body: of its size, of its shape, of its shortcomings and, on occasion, its failings. But why? I have a body that is HEALTHY. I can breathe, I can walk, my circulation is good, I have my wits about me (though, that is debatable on some days), and while you might never see me on "American Gladiators," my body is strong.
Walking through the hospital today was a little like going to Body Worlds a few years ago - I left feeling inspired by my body and its abilities, and I also felt more inspired to take better care of myself. I want to know that, should I eventually need to be in that hospital to receive care, it's not for a reason that I could have easily prevented.
I also left feeling really good about the decision to be a nurse. It is very, very difficult to convince or incentivize people to take better care of themselves - it's often not a fun thing, there is not usually any kind of instant gratification (and oh, we love that here in this country!), and frankly, it's often hard to get motivated and stay with it. Being a nurse means that, while I won't always be able to make all my patients compliant, I can at least take care of them when they need me to.
I spent about an hour up at the museum, waiting for the group to arrive. After waiting for an hour, someone called the school, and it was determined that there was an error in scheduling, and they were not coming today. Not sure who to blame for that one, but oh well.
While I was waiting (and before I understood that there would be no tour!), I realized that I was not feeling well at all - as in, wondering how I would lead this tour in an upright position, and away from a bathroom. I kinda fell into this woe-is-me-pity-party-for-one-please-bring-a-gift-and-your-condolences thing; why could I not have felt gross the previous day, or perhaps tomorrow. It was, in plain language, inconvenient for me to not be feeling well.
As if there is ever a convenient time to not feel well...
On my way home from the museum, I stopped off at my doctor's office (which happens to be in a hospital) to pick up a coupon for a prescription that she promised. Because the hospital has three wings, twelve entrances and more than enough long hallways to confuse even the most adroit maze-running mouse, I parked in the wrong place, and wound up becoming the mouse, looking for my doctor's office.
Not to be too "heady" about this, but I believe that I was meant to park in that crappy parking spot, and trek my way through that hospital. Not only did it give me positive reinforcement about my decision to go in to nursing (I fought the urge all the way through to chat up anyone wearing scrubs, or, even better, a white lab coat!), but it sort of made my lovely pity party come to a rather abrupt end.
Having parked on the south wing of the building meant that, before hitting my doctor's office, I would pass by a dialysis center, the intensive care unit, the surgical waiting area, a wound care center, a cardiology wing and the ER. I was also not oblivious to the fact that I was 1) much younger than most of the people I was seeing, 2) walking much faster than most of those people, and 3) moving on my own two feet, and not with the aide of a cane, walker or wheelchair.
By the time I found Dr. McNelis, it was not lost on me that, yes, I was not feeling well, but that I was HEALTHY. I was not in this hospital to receive care, or to take someone in for a procedure. I wondered how many of those people I passed by would have given anything to trade places with me, if only to have my health, instead of their own.
Perhaps I am being presumptious, but it really made me think. I spend more time than I would like being critical of my body: of its size, of its shape, of its shortcomings and, on occasion, its failings. But why? I have a body that is HEALTHY. I can breathe, I can walk, my circulation is good, I have my wits about me (though, that is debatable on some days), and while you might never see me on "American Gladiators," my body is strong.
Walking through the hospital today was a little like going to Body Worlds a few years ago - I left feeling inspired by my body and its abilities, and I also felt more inspired to take better care of myself. I want to know that, should I eventually need to be in that hospital to receive care, it's not for a reason that I could have easily prevented.
I also left feeling really good about the decision to be a nurse. It is very, very difficult to convince or incentivize people to take better care of themselves - it's often not a fun thing, there is not usually any kind of instant gratification (and oh, we love that here in this country!), and frankly, it's often hard to get motivated and stay with it. Being a nurse means that, while I won't always be able to make all my patients compliant, I can at least take care of them when they need me to.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Vet Visit with Mouser and Fightin' Joe
So this morning I had the distinct pleasure of taking Mouser and FJ to the vet (another perk of unemployment!). It was a brand new vet down here, and I was hoping that one cat in particular would turn over a new leaf, in terms of his behaviour with people who need to examine him...and still want to live to tell about it.
Mouser was great - so great, in fact, that he didn't crap all over himself in the carrier, or nervously pee on the examination counter. He shedded like crazy, but he went through his exam with no trouble whatsoever. He's a chunky mouse these days, though - 15 pounds!
Fightin' Joe, on the other hand...
I tried to warn the lady at the front that he usually has to go to the "kitty dunk tank" - in other words, he usually gets knocked out so that the doctor may keep his limbs in tact and blood in his body. The assistant told me that the vet was going to see how far he could get, and then make a decision about knocking him out.
This vet was AWESOME, and his assistant was no slouch either. They managed to get Big Orange out of his carrier (which he really enjoys...seriously), keep Tinsel Ball in there, and put Orange on to the kitty scale with not a peep out of him. Twelve pounds.
Orange was moved to the examination table, and the vet was able to get his stethoscope under his belly, at which point, Joe's alter ego that we call "Cobra Cat" was unleashed.
Cobra Cat is mean, and loud. Mostly loud. Cobra Cat will sink back into his hind legs, gather up his energy, and then strike at anyone within three inches, baring his tartar-encrusted fangs and black-speckled gums.
Cobra Cat was no match for the vet and his assistant. Assistant held him by the scruff of his neck (giving him that lovely "Slow down! You're driving too fast!" look on his face), and later found out that he would also need to pin down his back legs. Cobra Cat must be restrained at all costs.
And then came the exorcism noises. Cobra Cat let out some of the most ungodly, primal noises I have ever heard. Assistant put a towel on CC's head after a couple of incidents that resulted in both Assistant AND Vet leaping back in fear, and tons of CC's fur being jettisoned off of his body. Tinsel Ball looked on silently, worriedly. As if the noise weren't bad enough, we were also all treated to the smell of Cobra Cat's rancid breath, which filled the room with each hiss. At one point, I said, "Buddy, your breath STINKS!," and Cobra Cat hissed at me in defiance.
To make a long story only somewhat shortish, Cobra Cat was given BOTH of his vaccines without the aide of anesthesia. He would not, however, give a fecal sample or let the vet check his ears. The only dental exam he got was what the vet was able to see when his fangs were bared.
My sweet orange cat returned once he was in the carrier, and we walked up front to pay. A man waiting with his pug in the reception area exclaimed, "I thought there was a tiger in there." I turned the carrier around to show him that Big Orange is, in some respect, a smallish tiger.
I thanked the vet and assistant profusely, and told them that they needed to take the rest of the day off. As I was watching the vet finish his chart, I noticed the last two words:
VERY AGGRESSIVE!
We're all at home now, and our blood pressures are just about back to baseline. Mouser is sleeping in front of the fireplace, and my big ball of fluff is sleeping with his head on my shoe. Tinsel Ball is resting comfortably under the couch, like always.
I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that it is only 10:30.
Mouser was great - so great, in fact, that he didn't crap all over himself in the carrier, or nervously pee on the examination counter. He shedded like crazy, but he went through his exam with no trouble whatsoever. He's a chunky mouse these days, though - 15 pounds!
Fightin' Joe, on the other hand...
I tried to warn the lady at the front that he usually has to go to the "kitty dunk tank" - in other words, he usually gets knocked out so that the doctor may keep his limbs in tact and blood in his body. The assistant told me that the vet was going to see how far he could get, and then make a decision about knocking him out.
This vet was AWESOME, and his assistant was no slouch either. They managed to get Big Orange out of his carrier (which he really enjoys...seriously), keep Tinsel Ball in there, and put Orange on to the kitty scale with not a peep out of him. Twelve pounds.
Orange was moved to the examination table, and the vet was able to get his stethoscope under his belly, at which point, Joe's alter ego that we call "Cobra Cat" was unleashed.
Cobra Cat is mean, and loud. Mostly loud. Cobra Cat will sink back into his hind legs, gather up his energy, and then strike at anyone within three inches, baring his tartar-encrusted fangs and black-speckled gums.
Cobra Cat was no match for the vet and his assistant. Assistant held him by the scruff of his neck (giving him that lovely "Slow down! You're driving too fast!" look on his face), and later found out that he would also need to pin down his back legs. Cobra Cat must be restrained at all costs.
And then came the exorcism noises. Cobra Cat let out some of the most ungodly, primal noises I have ever heard. Assistant put a towel on CC's head after a couple of incidents that resulted in both Assistant AND Vet leaping back in fear, and tons of CC's fur being jettisoned off of his body. Tinsel Ball looked on silently, worriedly. As if the noise weren't bad enough, we were also all treated to the smell of Cobra Cat's rancid breath, which filled the room with each hiss. At one point, I said, "Buddy, your breath STINKS!," and Cobra Cat hissed at me in defiance.
To make a long story only somewhat shortish, Cobra Cat was given BOTH of his vaccines without the aide of anesthesia. He would not, however, give a fecal sample or let the vet check his ears. The only dental exam he got was what the vet was able to see when his fangs were bared.
My sweet orange cat returned once he was in the carrier, and we walked up front to pay. A man waiting with his pug in the reception area exclaimed, "I thought there was a tiger in there." I turned the carrier around to show him that Big Orange is, in some respect, a smallish tiger.
I thanked the vet and assistant profusely, and told them that they needed to take the rest of the day off. As I was watching the vet finish his chart, I noticed the last two words:
VERY AGGRESSIVE!
We're all at home now, and our blood pressures are just about back to baseline. Mouser is sleeping in front of the fireplace, and my big ball of fluff is sleeping with his head on my shoe. Tinsel Ball is resting comfortably under the couch, like always.
I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that it is only 10:30.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Static-Free
Mouser threw up last night. He heaved and hacked, and finally blew chunks on the carpet.
The culprit?
His midnight snack of choice: a dryer sheet that had fallen out of the laundry basket, and on to the bedroom floor.
A dryer sheet.
That is all.
The culprit?
His midnight snack of choice: a dryer sheet that had fallen out of the laundry basket, and on to the bedroom floor.
A dryer sheet.
That is all.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Tested
I ran up to school this morning to pick up my test scores from my anatomy pre-req re-test, and my physiology pre-req first-attempt. I was delighted to find that not only did I pass both, but I did about 20 points better on my second attempt at the anatomy pre-test. I was a little disappointed to find out, however, that because of the scheduling, I can not take both A & P this summer semester. I've really been trying to figure out a way in which I can avoid taking three classes in the fall semester that all end in "-ology", but I suppose that's just not meant to be. I am grateful (sort of) to not have a job, which means not having to worry about the whole work-school balance, which has been a battle I have been waging for the last ten years now. It can certainly be done, but boy is it difficult.
Tomorrow, I work the front desk at the museum and will probably have a meeting to coordinate my first docent tour of this new exhibit, which will be on Saturday morning. I am really looking forward to getting my feet wet on this exhibit, especially since I have SIX tours lined up for the month of June alone. After June, no tours again until the fall, since I will be in school during the daytime.
Speaking of the museum, we got an email last night from the executive director/curator, addressing further budget cuts. As a volunteer, I am not directly affected; however, it's hard to read about something that you love so much having difficulty. I realize that most arts organizations are dealing with this same issue, but at the same time, I've never been so involved with one before now.
Tomorrow, I work the front desk at the museum and will probably have a meeting to coordinate my first docent tour of this new exhibit, which will be on Saturday morning. I am really looking forward to getting my feet wet on this exhibit, especially since I have SIX tours lined up for the month of June alone. After June, no tours again until the fall, since I will be in school during the daytime.
Speaking of the museum, we got an email last night from the executive director/curator, addressing further budget cuts. As a volunteer, I am not directly affected; however, it's hard to read about something that you love so much having difficulty. I realize that most arts organizations are dealing with this same issue, but at the same time, I've never been so involved with one before now.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Inspection, Schmecktion
In spite of everything that transpired today, we managed to make it over to the new place for the inspection. As soon as we walked through the front door, the inspector greeted us with, "You must be the Petersons!"
Um, no.
He went over everything with us, and thankfully, the house is in immaculate condition. The roof (which was replaced in April 2009) has a couple of spots where the shingles weren't affixed properly, and the wooden floor in front of the garage door creaks a bit, but aside from that, the only things on his list were the components of a fine "Honey Do" list. The water heater is about 12 years old, but that is under warranty to us, so we are hoping that if it decides to blow, it does so within the first year that we own it.
We deicded to ask them to repair or fix about half a dozen things, and we should be done negotiating that within a day or two. After that, it's time to get an appraisal, and then wait for the financing to go through.
Rose, our relator, was telling us today that she really believes that the reason we got the house was because we said the current owners can stay there until 7/20 or longer if needed (we have our apartment until 8/31). According to her, the seller's realtor said the other offer was much higher than ours was. Maybe it's karma. Maybe this was just supposed to be our house. Who knows. At any rate, I am happy that the planets have been in alignment thus far.
Um, no.
He went over everything with us, and thankfully, the house is in immaculate condition. The roof (which was replaced in April 2009) has a couple of spots where the shingles weren't affixed properly, and the wooden floor in front of the garage door creaks a bit, but aside from that, the only things on his list were the components of a fine "Honey Do" list. The water heater is about 12 years old, but that is under warranty to us, so we are hoping that if it decides to blow, it does so within the first year that we own it.
We deicded to ask them to repair or fix about half a dozen things, and we should be done negotiating that within a day or two. After that, it's time to get an appraisal, and then wait for the financing to go through.
Rose, our relator, was telling us today that she really believes that the reason we got the house was because we said the current owners can stay there until 7/20 or longer if needed (we have our apartment until 8/31). According to her, the seller's realtor said the other offer was much higher than ours was. Maybe it's karma. Maybe this was just supposed to be our house. Who knows. At any rate, I am happy that the planets have been in alignment thus far.
Expect the Unexpected
Neither K nor I have purchased a house before, so the last bit of May, all of June and half of July has been, and will be, a huge learning experience for us. Thankfully, we have a few brain cells to rub together. One of the things I like most about being married to K is that we are a TEAM. I have always felt that we make a good team, whether it was while teaching dance lessons, working together professionally, or navigating whatever life has handed to us. The fact that I feel like we can overcome whatever comes our way is something that I would not trade for the world.
One of the things I never would have planned for while buying a house is blatant theft. More specifically, blatant theft of $900 from K's checking account. The rat bastard has his online banking information, his PIN, and $900.
Today, we are scheduled to have the house inspected, and I will be paying for that, rather unexpectedly. We are able to do it, but not with the cushion that we originally had. Apparently, the theft is being resolved by the bank, but final resolution will be in ten business days.
So I guess the moral of the story today is, well, not a moral at all, but rather, trying to remind myself of what I already know: 1) we will get through this; 2) always expect the unexpected.
The expected is just so nice, though!
One of the things I never would have planned for while buying a house is blatant theft. More specifically, blatant theft of $900 from K's checking account. The rat bastard has his online banking information, his PIN, and $900.
Today, we are scheduled to have the house inspected, and I will be paying for that, rather unexpectedly. We are able to do it, but not with the cushion that we originally had. Apparently, the theft is being resolved by the bank, but final resolution will be in ten business days.
So I guess the moral of the story today is, well, not a moral at all, but rather, trying to remind myself of what I already know: 1) we will get through this; 2) always expect the unexpected.
The expected is just so nice, though!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Memory
The museum where I volunteer, the Austin Museum of Art (downtown), recently got a new exhibition: "The Lining of Forgetting: Internal and External Memory in Art." Sounds very cerebral, right?
We had our docent training last Friday, where the curator, Xandra Eden, came to speak about the show. The whole exhibit is comprised of works of art by artists whose pieces are influenced by the idea of memory - what it is, how we create and preserve memories, what happens to them as we age, and what our modern reliance upon technology (particularly as a storage device) does to our memories. It is a fantastic exhibit that really highlights something that I have taken a strong interest in lately - the idea that science and art can co-exist and influence one another in a major way.
At first glance, I thought this show would be especially difficult to make "accessible" to the everyday museum visitor. Perhaps people would not really be receptive to such a metaphysical discussion. Perhaps the show would go far, far over school-aged kids' heads. Perhaps visitors would find boring a discussion teetering between the brain and the brush (or picture, or sculpture, whatever).
Perhaps I don't have enough faith in the everyday museum visitor!
After our brainstorming session today, I discovered how positively rife with potential this exhibit is. We all have memories, and we interact with them daily, whether it is by choice or not. We have our private, insular memories, and we have shared experiences. We have cultural memories as certain ethnic groups, as a country, as a specific religion. We have muscle memory in our bodies that allow us to repeat, without much effort, monumental tasks such as walking or riding a bike. Memories are everywhere.
I really like the idea that one of the docents brought up - the idea that we can never truly look at something new in a fresh way. In other words, you might come across a new kind of car you have never seen before, but it's not entirely foreign to you. Maybe its shape reminds you of an animal, or its colour is that of your parents' car from your childhood. Maybe the hubcaps remind you of that great restaurant in New Orleans where they cook burgers under old hubcaps. Suddenly, this new car is not so new to you. Our memories constantly influence what we see, and how we perceive those things.
I also like the idea that the choices that artists make (either in their media, colour choices, placement of objects, shadowing, etc.) greatly affect what our personal experience is with their art. Is all art propaganda in that respect? Are artists capable of pulling us along, and guiding us into feeling a certain way about whatever the subject is, or do we always bring our own eyes and opinions to the experience, as well as our own memories?
One of the pieces that really made an impact on me is a series of old-school-looking slides, flipping by on a projector aimed at the last wall as you walk out of the galleries. In every slide is an outdoor shot, with the artist placing his thumb squarely over the sun in order to block it out. The artist based his work on a technique invented by Galileo, who would use his thumb to block out the sun (the known) in order to explore other celestial bodies in the sky (the unknown). The idea is that, in order to make room for more memories and more knowledge (the unknown), sometimes, we have to block out old information (the known). It seems a very poetic way to end the show, and leaves me pondering what I will remember about today, and what I will forget.
We had our docent training last Friday, where the curator, Xandra Eden, came to speak about the show. The whole exhibit is comprised of works of art by artists whose pieces are influenced by the idea of memory - what it is, how we create and preserve memories, what happens to them as we age, and what our modern reliance upon technology (particularly as a storage device) does to our memories. It is a fantastic exhibit that really highlights something that I have taken a strong interest in lately - the idea that science and art can co-exist and influence one another in a major way.
At first glance, I thought this show would be especially difficult to make "accessible" to the everyday museum visitor. Perhaps people would not really be receptive to such a metaphysical discussion. Perhaps the show would go far, far over school-aged kids' heads. Perhaps visitors would find boring a discussion teetering between the brain and the brush (or picture, or sculpture, whatever).
Perhaps I don't have enough faith in the everyday museum visitor!
After our brainstorming session today, I discovered how positively rife with potential this exhibit is. We all have memories, and we interact with them daily, whether it is by choice or not. We have our private, insular memories, and we have shared experiences. We have cultural memories as certain ethnic groups, as a country, as a specific religion. We have muscle memory in our bodies that allow us to repeat, without much effort, monumental tasks such as walking or riding a bike. Memories are everywhere.
I really like the idea that one of the docents brought up - the idea that we can never truly look at something new in a fresh way. In other words, you might come across a new kind of car you have never seen before, but it's not entirely foreign to you. Maybe its shape reminds you of an animal, or its colour is that of your parents' car from your childhood. Maybe the hubcaps remind you of that great restaurant in New Orleans where they cook burgers under old hubcaps. Suddenly, this new car is not so new to you. Our memories constantly influence what we see, and how we perceive those things.
I also like the idea that the choices that artists make (either in their media, colour choices, placement of objects, shadowing, etc.) greatly affect what our personal experience is with their art. Is all art propaganda in that respect? Are artists capable of pulling us along, and guiding us into feeling a certain way about whatever the subject is, or do we always bring our own eyes and opinions to the experience, as well as our own memories?
One of the pieces that really made an impact on me is a series of old-school-looking slides, flipping by on a projector aimed at the last wall as you walk out of the galleries. In every slide is an outdoor shot, with the artist placing his thumb squarely over the sun in order to block it out. The artist based his work on a technique invented by Galileo, who would use his thumb to block out the sun (the known) in order to explore other celestial bodies in the sky (the unknown). The idea is that, in order to make room for more memories and more knowledge (the unknown), sometimes, we have to block out old information (the known). It seems a very poetic way to end the show, and leaves me pondering what I will remember about today, and what I will forget.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Backstory
About one month ago, I had the distinct pleasure of checking my application status for the UT art history program while my mother-in-law and aunt-in-law were visiting. Two minutes away from jetting out the door to dinner, I was gobsmacked by the reality that I didn't get in.
Five years of master-planning my curriculum and dreaming of my life as an art history major (oh, to make $30,000 for the rest of my life! SUBLIME!) down the crapper. Awesome.
With our guests in town, and my own extraordinary talent of brushing my emotions under the rug, I was able to keep a stiff upper lip about everything. Yet when they left, here I was, confronted by reality.
The Reader's Digest condensed version of all of this is that I have decided to pursue art and art history as a hobby. I have decided to continue with my volunteer work at the Austin Museum of Art downtown (AMOA), and have decided to keep my hands in as many cookie jars up there as possible...because I like cookies.
It's weird to think of art in this different context. Art will not cause me to rack up student debt, nor will it pay my bills. Instead, it will be nothing more than a delightful pleasure for me; it will be a place to rejuvenate my soul and ponder the realities of life. If all of that sounds mighty lofty, I have five words: get thyself to a museum! Simply put, art is capable of doing just that.
I think back to high school, when I aspired to being a music ed major, and teaching high school band for the rest of my life. I very quickly realized that there were very necessary aspects to being successful in that area that, frankly, I hated - practicing my instrument being one of them. It's not that I hate practicing, per se; it's that I hate the stress and repetition of rehearsing for some audition or gig or recital. Blargh. As soon as I opted not to go down that path, my pleasure in music grew tenfold. The idea of practicing when I wanted to? Incredible. So, with the art thing, perhaps I should be grateful for not getting in. Perhaps this way, art will never lose its lustre with me.
Almost immediately after finding out that I was jilted by the UT College of Fine Arts, the first thing that came to my mind was, well, I guess I can be a nurse now.
What the crap, right?
Here's the backstory: for about the last ten or so years, I have felt a very strong calling to the medical profession - most specifically, to being a doctor or a nurse. The human body fascinates me - I mean REALLY fascinates me, but I think the idea of learning all of that fresh out of high school was a little daunting. At that point, I still figured that I did not have a brain capable of internalizing science, and I believe that, largely, it's not because my brain was incapable, but I just didn't see the allure in science at that point in my life.
So, for the past decade or so, I have been living vicariously through others: reading medical articles for fun, listening to Doctor Radio during my spare time (no, really.), and feeling pangs of jealousy every time I would meet someone who was a real or aspiring medical professional. Anyone who has ever lived vicariously through another knows that this is deeply satisfying for awhile - no risk, but a small portion of the rewards! It is for those same reasons, however, that after awhile, vicarious living turns out to be deeply dissatisfying.
I also feel like that whole time, I had been making excuses to myself: Doctors and nurses have no personal life! They never see their families! All they do is watch people die all day! Bedpans! (need I say more than "bedpans?") These miniscule excuses, when gone over in rapid-fire succession in my head, amounted to being one big clump of obstacle, and compelled me to call upon my Olympic-grade ability to, again, shove what I was feeling under the proverbial rug.
Not getting in to the UT art history program was a huge let-down for me. At the same time, I can not help to believe that this was the universe's (and by "universe," I mean "God") way of grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me, and saying all of your excuses are gone now. GO DO THIS!
The irony in all of this is that my application essays for UT turned out to be quite prophetic. One prompt was to write about an experience with a work of art/exhibit/place that profoundly affected me. To that, I wrote about seeing the "Body Worlds" exhibit - a museum space filled with preserved human bodies, organs, tissues, etc. That, coupled with a recent successful experience in a Biology for Majors class, caused me to want to study the synthesis of art and science. Funny that I did not choose to write about seeing the Barnes collection at the Kimbell when I was twelve, eh?
The other essay prompted that I write about any personal experience. After struggling to come up with an idea, I leaned on that old sage writer's advice to write what you know. I wrote my second essay on what I have learned about flexibility in life, the main idea being that if you are open to the universe, experiences will come your way and forge you into a multi-faceted human being. It sounds contrived, but that seems to be the one thing that the universe has been trying to cram down my throat over the past year - being flexible in my life, and learning to roll with the punches. In other words, I can't control everything, and the ride will be a lot less bumpy if I just surrender to that notion. Novel concept, isn't it?
So what now?
I have decided to go ahead and pursue a career in nursing. I am taking some pre-requisite classes over the summer (anatomy and physiology again! HOORAY!), and hopefully, in a year or less, I will be able to apply to the nursing program, and graduate with my RN in two years. That's the plan for right now, but I am OK with being open to whatever else falls into my lap in the meantime. Flexibility, you know.
I went to school yesterday morning to take a pre-assessment for registering for the anatomy class. I assume this is to weed out the "non-serious" students from the more studious ones. I knew the test would cover "basic high school biology material," and figured that I would be good to go without any studying beforehand.
WRONG! The test was HARD!
So, I spent most of yesterday making a nice stack of flashcards, and thanking God that I didn't trash all of my Biology tests/notes/handouts. My flashcard stack...she is a formidable one...almost four inches high.
The relief in all of this is that as I have been reviewing things, my Biology brain is coming back to me. Trying to become familiar with the cell respiration cycle is a lot easier the second time around, though I still cringe at the very words "Kreb's cycle" or "acetyl coA." ATP no longer means adenosene triphosphate to me; instead, it is now known simply as "aggravating to process!" Oxidative phosphorylation is something that I haven't thought about in about 18 months, but my goodness, I'm glad it hasn't stopped in me (or any of you!) during that time!
I will go and take the test again on Friday morning - am feeling like I will pass it this time! Until then, it is back to the world of carbohydrates, proteins and lipids; back to the world of mitochondria and their christae; back to the world of enzymes and substrates, lock-and-keys, and all of that stuff that fascinates me so.
The idea of starting this blog is to sort of chronicle my road to nurse-dom. I'm sure it will be much more interesting when I get into clinical stuff (maybe some real-life bedpan stories!), but for now, it is what it is. C'est la vie.
Five years of master-planning my curriculum and dreaming of my life as an art history major (oh, to make $30,000 for the rest of my life! SUBLIME!) down the crapper. Awesome.
With our guests in town, and my own extraordinary talent of brushing my emotions under the rug, I was able to keep a stiff upper lip about everything. Yet when they left, here I was, confronted by reality.
The Reader's Digest condensed version of all of this is that I have decided to pursue art and art history as a hobby. I have decided to continue with my volunteer work at the Austin Museum of Art downtown (AMOA), and have decided to keep my hands in as many cookie jars up there as possible...because I like cookies.
It's weird to think of art in this different context. Art will not cause me to rack up student debt, nor will it pay my bills. Instead, it will be nothing more than a delightful pleasure for me; it will be a place to rejuvenate my soul and ponder the realities of life. If all of that sounds mighty lofty, I have five words: get thyself to a museum! Simply put, art is capable of doing just that.
I think back to high school, when I aspired to being a music ed major, and teaching high school band for the rest of my life. I very quickly realized that there were very necessary aspects to being successful in that area that, frankly, I hated - practicing my instrument being one of them. It's not that I hate practicing, per se; it's that I hate the stress and repetition of rehearsing for some audition or gig or recital. Blargh. As soon as I opted not to go down that path, my pleasure in music grew tenfold. The idea of practicing when I wanted to? Incredible. So, with the art thing, perhaps I should be grateful for not getting in. Perhaps this way, art will never lose its lustre with me.
Almost immediately after finding out that I was jilted by the UT College of Fine Arts, the first thing that came to my mind was, well, I guess I can be a nurse now.
What the crap, right?
Here's the backstory: for about the last ten or so years, I have felt a very strong calling to the medical profession - most specifically, to being a doctor or a nurse. The human body fascinates me - I mean REALLY fascinates me, but I think the idea of learning all of that fresh out of high school was a little daunting. At that point, I still figured that I did not have a brain capable of internalizing science, and I believe that, largely, it's not because my brain was incapable, but I just didn't see the allure in science at that point in my life.
So, for the past decade or so, I have been living vicariously through others: reading medical articles for fun, listening to Doctor Radio during my spare time (no, really.), and feeling pangs of jealousy every time I would meet someone who was a real or aspiring medical professional. Anyone who has ever lived vicariously through another knows that this is deeply satisfying for awhile - no risk, but a small portion of the rewards! It is for those same reasons, however, that after awhile, vicarious living turns out to be deeply dissatisfying.
I also feel like that whole time, I had been making excuses to myself: Doctors and nurses have no personal life! They never see their families! All they do is watch people die all day! Bedpans! (need I say more than "bedpans?") These miniscule excuses, when gone over in rapid-fire succession in my head, amounted to being one big clump of obstacle, and compelled me to call upon my Olympic-grade ability to, again, shove what I was feeling under the proverbial rug.
Not getting in to the UT art history program was a huge let-down for me. At the same time, I can not help to believe that this was the universe's (and by "universe," I mean "God") way of grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me, and saying all of your excuses are gone now. GO DO THIS!
The irony in all of this is that my application essays for UT turned out to be quite prophetic. One prompt was to write about an experience with a work of art/exhibit/place that profoundly affected me. To that, I wrote about seeing the "Body Worlds" exhibit - a museum space filled with preserved human bodies, organs, tissues, etc. That, coupled with a recent successful experience in a Biology for Majors class, caused me to want to study the synthesis of art and science. Funny that I did not choose to write about seeing the Barnes collection at the Kimbell when I was twelve, eh?
The other essay prompted that I write about any personal experience. After struggling to come up with an idea, I leaned on that old sage writer's advice to write what you know. I wrote my second essay on what I have learned about flexibility in life, the main idea being that if you are open to the universe, experiences will come your way and forge you into a multi-faceted human being. It sounds contrived, but that seems to be the one thing that the universe has been trying to cram down my throat over the past year - being flexible in my life, and learning to roll with the punches. In other words, I can't control everything, and the ride will be a lot less bumpy if I just surrender to that notion. Novel concept, isn't it?
So what now?
I have decided to go ahead and pursue a career in nursing. I am taking some pre-requisite classes over the summer (anatomy and physiology again! HOORAY!), and hopefully, in a year or less, I will be able to apply to the nursing program, and graduate with my RN in two years. That's the plan for right now, but I am OK with being open to whatever else falls into my lap in the meantime. Flexibility, you know.
I went to school yesterday morning to take a pre-assessment for registering for the anatomy class. I assume this is to weed out the "non-serious" students from the more studious ones. I knew the test would cover "basic high school biology material," and figured that I would be good to go without any studying beforehand.
WRONG! The test was HARD!
So, I spent most of yesterday making a nice stack of flashcards, and thanking God that I didn't trash all of my Biology tests/notes/handouts. My flashcard stack...she is a formidable one...almost four inches high.
The relief in all of this is that as I have been reviewing things, my Biology brain is coming back to me. Trying to become familiar with the cell respiration cycle is a lot easier the second time around, though I still cringe at the very words "Kreb's cycle" or "acetyl coA." ATP no longer means adenosene triphosphate to me; instead, it is now known simply as "aggravating to process!" Oxidative phosphorylation is something that I haven't thought about in about 18 months, but my goodness, I'm glad it hasn't stopped in me (or any of you!) during that time!
I will go and take the test again on Friday morning - am feeling like I will pass it this time! Until then, it is back to the world of carbohydrates, proteins and lipids; back to the world of mitochondria and their christae; back to the world of enzymes and substrates, lock-and-keys, and all of that stuff that fascinates me so.
The idea of starting this blog is to sort of chronicle my road to nurse-dom. I'm sure it will be much more interesting when I get into clinical stuff (maybe some real-life bedpan stories!), but for now, it is what it is. C'est la vie.
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