Saturday, April 20, 2013

Masters with Money

Overheard while undergoing a 'Clean and Clear' Saturday.

"Mama!!"

"What?"

"I NEED YOUR HELP CLEANING MY ROOM!"

"Um, I have the rest of the house to take care of... And I helped you with it two weeks ago.  Pick a corner of your room, start there and work your way around."

"But... But... MA-MAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

"JB! I'll help you if you pay me fifty cents."

"Ok!  I have thirty five cents! Thank you!"

"OK! It's a deal. And! I can make change for you!"

And off they ran to tackle the pit that evolved over the course of the last three weeks.  Monies were exchanged and all was peaceful.  Except for Charles and I who were shaking our heads in steadfast 'Uncle'.

Yes, both identified as math wizards at school, 'geniuses' at counting money.

*sigh*




Wednesday, April 17, 2013

While My Garden Sleeps

A surprise spring snow has come to River City burying us in nearly 18 inches of white stuffs, and it's moments like these that I realize that even though I am ready for my little growing space to wake up, Mother Nature has a very different idea at the moment.

Shockingly this spring my schedule, the gardening bug and my energy level all peaked at the same time this spring and I've successfully started and recently transplanted what I hope to be this years crop of Tomatoes, peppers, eggplants.

Pumpkins, melons, spaghetti squash, cucumbers and the obligatory zucchini have all been planted in their little seed trays, and hopefully sprouts that give rise to ropes of vines laden with fruit will soon be seen.

As mentioned in last years post on garden planning it is while it is bitterly cold outside and the wind howls loud and long that it is time to clean and sharpen tools if that work wasn't done with Autumn's fall, to inventory and pull seeds for the year's planting and replenish supplies depleted from last season's efforts.

This spring has been a wildly warm one with more days in the 60+ temperatures than those at or near freezing. Snow and other forms of precipitation have been noticeably absent this season, and water restrictions for this spring and summer have been announced.

With such a warm spring already in place, it is so terribly challenging to resist the urge to dig into the soil and smell it's freshness and feel the dirt beneath my nails as the sun burns my skin. It's at those moments when my 'Toad list' reminds me of all I've left to do before I can play in the dirt.


Even though it can be a challenge to write down and note all the "shoulda's, woulda's and coulda's" that have been come up during the previous years growing season, and during conversations around 'oh! wouldn't it be nice if...' are cataloged and later drawn upon when the overwhelming urge to dig in too soon strikes.

As I learned from a professor many years ago as a student of horticulture, you don't want to work the soil too soon, because it is a delicate eco-system and when you are too eager you can cause so much damage that it will take years for the soil and beneficial microbes to recover and become the source of life you were so eager to create.


Nearly every successful farmer and gardener knows this, but it can be so challenging to keep it in mind when the Chinook winds blow through, the sun is bright and high in the sky and the spring flowers are bursting with color.


Today I am thankful for the snow. Not only for the greatly needed moisture that it provides, but also for the 'pause' it puts into place creating a moment to relax, look at the beauty and appreciate the silence that comes with it as the inches begin to accumulate.

Soon enough spring will truly be here and the free moments in these longer days will vanish with the snow. I will busily transplant happy seedlings into their spot in the garden, or other niches around the house and watch as they grow and mature, offering their gifts by way of fruits and vegetables and other yummy treats.

But until then, I am enjoying this moment, looking out over the blizzard that has formed and enjoying a cup of coffee before having to tend to chores that never seem to end when there are children in the house.

I am truly blessed.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Study Habits

Every now and again I stumble upon a picture that I've taken along the way that so aptly demonstrates the insanity that sometimes rules the house.

One such picture is this. 



Captured on a hellish weeknight while slogging our way through homework, we finally gave up on how studying for spelling 'should be done' and let the boy go about it on his own terms. 

*Sigh* If you notice, the only thing in the picture that is fuzzy is the feet. That's because they were actively waving about, as the child called out each word, letter by letter. 

Considered by Charles and I to be one of the more ridiculous study sessions we've had thus far in BW's short academic career, we all managed to escape without too many bumps or bruises and it seemed to work, for the boy at least.  He scored a 95% on his spelling test.



Thursday, April 11, 2013

The Winding Road

It has been a long trek. One filled with endless hours of studying, countless words strung together, and reams of paper hole punched and hauled about from one class to another.

Recently I received a little book in the mail from an unexpected source and within it's pages I found the following quote to be eerily applicable to the journey I've undertaken as I attempt to move into a field so far removed from that which I trained when I was younger.

"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned
so as to have the life that is waiting for us."
- E.M. Forester, British writer (1879-1970)

My quest to move into the field of medicine has been in effect since the Spring of 2010. After many sleepless nights trying to figure out what to do with my life, how to best use my talents and develop my interests I came to the conclusion that the people I was happiest around and enjoyed socializing with were nurses and doctors. So I began to investigate how to become one of them.

After looking into and determining that the best option for myself and my little family was to register for and attend a nearby community college and ultimately acquire an RN.

During a routine checkup with my doctor, (who after so many years, was also a friend) I mentioned to her that after many months of reflection and soul searching that I'd made my decision as to my future career path. I shared that I was going to work towards an RN and hopefully become a valued member of the field. And we began talking about the details and timeline for this goal.

As she was about to leave, she paused with her hand on the opened door, and as she turned she closed it and said. "Amy, I cannot in good conscious leave this room without letting you know that I think that you would make a good nurse but a great doctor. As a nurse you would be fired a lot because you have too inquisitive a mind, and you don't hesitate to challenge others when you think they are wrong and no doctor that I know would be welcoming of that."

Over the next twenty or so minutes (which is precious time for a doctor) she laid out how it was possible for me to attend medical school, pass my boards and begin practicing as an MD. She steadfastly dismissed each of the reasons that I had as to why her suggestion of medical school was not only outlandish, but impossible.

At dinner I mentioned the conversation to Charles, and after some thought, he set his fork down and stated in a matter of fact voice that our friend and health provider Lyn was absolutely correct.

And so began the 'scenic route' that Charles calls the last few years.

I have jumped through hoops, challenged the unquestionable, accomplished what many doubted and gotten up when beaten down. And I've done it for three years.


But today I am tired. And it's hard not to think of all the time, events and experiences that I've missed with my family without an obvious reward to make it all seem worthwhile.

Twice I've submitted applications; twice I've received an impersonal email rejection. It does not matter how eloquent I write my essays, or the quality of the recommendations I assemble or the timeliness in which I submit my application. I have come to the stark realization that even though I have the talent, the interest the endurance and the intellect to become an awesome practitioner of medicine, it is likely that I will never be given the opportunity to do so. But again, I will submit an application over the summer, hopeful that one of the programs I seek to attend will grant me entry.

I'm trying hard to not let the frustration and disappointment turn into bitterness, and on some day's I'm more successful than others. After surviving CNA boot camp over Christmas break, and with great prospects of getting a job at one of the 'nicer' long-term care facilities, I have still not turned in my application for work. The idea that I shot for the moon and landed in... a black hole is just too much at the moment.

I currently have a stimulating job that is just the right level of stress and that I find is intellectually challenging on a regular basis. I've met wonderful people, and developed lasting relationships. I've learned more about myself than the subjects I've covered or the people I've worked with.

I wonder though, how long the social element will let me continue in my position as a captioner. I suspect that at some point I will be wholly rejected by the students that I work with due to my greying hair, sagging skin and warbling voice, not to mention my slowing reflexes when it comes to word processing.

So I wonder what the future has in store for me. At this moment the fire in my belly is but embers, ready to take off and burn hot and strong, or conversely, extinguish.

As one of my favorite fortune cookie sayings goes "fall will see your worries slip away."  I know that time will tell, and that fall might just see my worries slip away, but I sure wish that it would do it sooner rather than later.

My soul has sure taken a beating.





Wednesday, April 10, 2013

My life is a Zoo Part III

Squirt is losing her mind.

Since posting of our last adventures with Ricky and friends, our girl has convinced herself that there is "SOMETHING" living in our fireplace.

Yes friends. A creature of seemingly ill repute is living in our fireplace. But only Squirt is able to detect it, and she has taken to 'guarding' us from the fireplace.

But we aren't entirely sure what she is guarding us from. She was so convinced that something was in there, that she had me going.

Charles and I pulled out the damping material from the insert, got a hoe and dug about the fake 'logs' in there just in case there was anything taking up roost.  There wasn't a single thing. Rodent traps, bird traps and the motion-activated cameras have caught nothing to date.

Unfortunately, while I was digging around in the fireplace, Squirt stuck her head in, sniffed about and let out a series of fierce 'warning barks' only to have them echo back at her and scaring her pee-less and further convincing her that 'It' is in there.

Until the raccoons moved into a neighbors yard last fall, we had never heard her bark (yes, 9 years without a single bark!) ... and now she is fully exploring her new-found voice, leaving me on edge.

I'll be working quietly along on a transcript for Kait and BAM! This giant black streak bursts into the office, and lets 'It' have it. Exhibit 27 is attached.  The Great Defender in action.

Seriously, who needs coffee when random barks of don't-mess-with-me-I've-people-to-protect heart stopper like Squirt's can keep me going?

And here I thought the boy was going to do me in before my time.




Tuesday, April 9, 2013

RIP Roger Ebert

There is nothing like seeing the announcement of the death of one of those you admire to put a dent in your day.

I was crunching along on Kait's lectures with impressive focus and speed when the news flash about the passing of Roger Ebert came across my screen. And with a snap, my motivation was gone.

As with many of my age, I grew up with Roger Ebert seeing him on TV as my parents watched his weekly show 'At the Movies' where he and Gene Siskel reviewed the latest movie releases and gave them either a thumb up, or a thumb down.

Later as an adult, Charles and I came to rely upon Ebert's movie reviews to decide if a movie was worth spending what few dollars we had on date night. He was also the one we looked to when, after watching a movie and having a 'what was THAT all about' moment to see if his words could provide any clarification. We became so reliant on Ebert's opinion, that even now we ask 'What did Roger say?' before settling on a movie to see at the theater.

Charles's is an avid reader of Ebert's blog and his twitter feed. Over the years, Charles has sent me links to those entries that he felt explained something he felt, or that he thought was particularly insightful or touching.

Over the course of our life together there has been one question that remained unanswered. That was, until Charles sent me an email with the following link and the simple statement...

"The words that Roger uses are far better than anything I could ever come up with to answer your question of why I love and am in love with you."


Many tears have been shed since learning of Ebert's passing. For the words that will be left unwritten, sentiments unexplained and observations or controversies to be documented. We have also shed tears for Roger's wife. Our heartfelt condolences are with her and her close ones and we wish her strength in the long days ahead of her, and the ability to mourn when she is able.

Now that he is no longer with us in body, we hope that his spirit lives on through his website rogerebert.com and the legacy that he leaves behind.

You are already missed Mr Ebert. I hope that you and Siskel are busily at work catching up with each other now that you are rejoined. Perhaps that will be the new reasoning behind the thunderstorms that so heavily populate Colorado's summer nights.


~ Amy






They don't smell so good

When the Vet's tech tells you "Um, not those ones, they don't smell so good." Take her word for it.

It turns out that while Squirt was 'busting a move' in the snow a few weeks ago, she pulled her iliopsoas - a teeny tiny muscle in the inner thigh that stabilizes the hip. When pulled, the pain is breath-takingly bad, is easily re-injured and generally takes forever to heal. As a result, we need to give her meds for the course of her healing.

The only problem is that Squirt doesn't 'do' meds.

 Hide them in whatever edible you wish, she will gingerly nibble away each bit of the treat and spit the pill across the room, with the same level of interest as an old man spitting chaw into a spittoon.

On a whim, and not looking forward to the battle of the meds, I asked about the Greenies Pill Pockets that were on display, opting to try them since we'd tried everything else. They had three flavors available; chicken, beef and duck with pea.

Asking which was the most popular, the Cheryl, the tech replied that "Dogs really seem to enjoy the duck, but they don't smell so good."

Heck, if the dog gobbles them down and takes her meds, how bad could the duck really be?

I should have paid more attention to the look on the Cheryl's face when I checked out.

We tried them with Squirt when we got home, expecting her to once again spit out her meds, but she didn't. Drooling, she sat, raised her paw to shake, and tried every trick in the book, begged for another.

Charles and I were too amazed to notice anything but what the dog was doing.

JB and BW came into the kitchen asking what we were giving Squirt. Showing them the bag, we asked why.

"It smells,” they said, "and not in a good way."

"Well, the Tech said they don't smell so good."

"Mama," JB said "When the Tech says they don't smell so good, I think that is polite for 'they smell like... well, like..."

"Ass" contributed BW.

"Yes, ass." confirmed the girl.

Indeed. We've discovered over the last few weeks that Squirt goes crazy for them; with the slightest rustle of the bag and she's awake and running to the kitchen, ribbons of slobber forming at her mouth.

But the smell.

Oh my god the smell. It just won't leave, no matter how many times you wash your hands, or the air freshener that you use. It is only a matter of time before the smell discipates, or you become numb to it.

It's not the dog who dreads med time anymore.  I'm just hoping the beef one's aren't so 'memorable'.






Monday, April 1, 2013

My Life is a Zoo, Part II

Some days, it's a miracle that the never ending wave of chaos doesn't sweep me off my feet and onward to the nuthouse.

Our newest 'guest' ala Mother Nature has been christened 'Ricky' by JB. She was the first to see him hanging out on the deck by the grill, waiting for the opportunity to raid Squirts rawhide basket.

We had noticed that Squirt was going through them more quickly than usual, and she was continually
searching for 'just the right one' to no avail. We had figured that she was dropping them off in hidden corners of the yard, waiting for them to develop just the right blend of flavors. Never did it cross our minds that Ricky and friends were making good use of them.

After a couple of nights where Squirt woke us with barking and a seriously strong 'attack mode' posture and we found the deck furniture moved about, we set up an infrared camera to see if we were able to identify our newest friend.

Only, it wasn't one friend, it was three. (The third is hiding behind Ricky and isn't seen in this photo, but the bugger is there!)

None of them paid any attention to either the camera which we were able to monitor and control remotely, nor Charles or I when we went to take a closer look at them and made no attempt to be quiet when doing so.

Rather, they began to paw at the glass deck doors as if to try and find a way into the house and join us for a midnight snack.

Two weeks later, Charles came into the house, and mentioned that I really shouldn't leave my garage open past sundown.

It seems that just as the sun tucked itself into bed, one of the buggers had made its way across the yard, over the fence, around the front of the house and into the garage on the faint hope of snagging some of Squirt's dog food.

Running at nearly $2 per pound for our pampered pet (Greyhounds have hideous teeth and horribly gassy digestive systems), this 'friendly' pest has good taste. Sadly for him, Charles foiled his plans and the bastard was run off before he was able to dine in style.

But not to worry. I happen to know that the older couple who lives three doors down has quite the assembly of foods set out for Ricky and friends.

They, unlike us, think he's 'cute'.