tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23780351102541195362024-02-19T00:28:10.710-05:00eats shoots and leavesa blog dedicated to the importance of pausesBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-70525973066341542782010-09-28T21:26:00.002-04:002010-09-28T22:05:12.201-04:00Missing Things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.planetdan.net/junk/missingpieces/puzzle_kitty.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 425px; height: 318px;" src="http://www.planetdan.net/junk/missingpieces/puzzle_kitty.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I tend to get a little homesick in the fall. I think it's because some of my favorite small town childhood memories were wrapped up in fall activities - high school football, the fall play, the day off of school and carnie extravaganza that is the Apple Festival. I also have a very vivid memory of walking the few blocks home from school after a Girl Scout meeting or something in the twilight and saw our home's kitchen light blazing and feeling warm and loved and happy. The last time I was in my hometown in the fall my sweet nephew was still an infant and now he's sounding out words, so it's been some time. My mom was getting ready to move south in a few months and I remember coming home from spending an hour or so at the Apple Fest for lunch and feeling nothing but glad that I wouldn't have to come back there on a regular basis as it was, frankly, a sad place. I don't want it back, but I miss it. <div><br /></div><div>Over the last several months I have, essentially, started my life over. Sounds dramatic, I know, but that's how I roll. I've committed to healthy(ish) eating and regular exercise. I've gotten girly and like things like facials, regular salon appointments and cute dresses. I've gotten to the final business-y stages of a divorce. I'm planning a move in a month to a lovely rental home with an actual washer/dryer and more space than 1 person and a little cat need. I am, for the first time in a very long time, happy. It's wonderful and genuine. Of course there are bad days when I feel like I may not be able to take the next breath, but somehow I do and life moves on. </div><div><br /></div><div>But... I miss things. I miss Five Guys burgers and the free time I had when I wasn't lacing up the sneakers every day. I miss the extra money I had before I started covering up the gray every 8- 10 weeks. I miss being married. A lot. I miss not having so much to think about. I'm going to miss my neighborhood and routine. I kind of miss the complacency. </div><div><br /></div><div>I absolutely don't want these things back. My everyday mood and energy and work life and relationships are healthier than they've ever been and I wouldn't trade that for anything. But I miss things. Can't help it. It's a feeling I don't really know what to do with other than acknowledge it and put it away. I suppose if I got rid of it completely I'd miss it. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This lovely image is from <a href="http://www.planetdan.net/junk/missingpieces/puzzle_kitty.jpg">here</a></span></span></div><div><br /></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-41462155096580341462010-06-20T16:01:00.002-04:002010-06-20T16:17:43.560-04:00Obama Made Me Do It<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://themovingtarget.files.wordpress.com/2008/09/obama-reading.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 395px; height: 500px;" src="http://themovingtarget.files.wordpress.com/2008/09/obama-reading.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />As part of the Better Speech and Hearing Month festivities, our usual weekly continuing education sessions get transformed in to fun, social, team building things. We've had a "book swap" in the past that operates like a Christmas gift exchange where you bring in 2 wrapped books, draw numbers, then pick a book or "steal" one that has already been opened. Some years it's a windfall, some years it stinks. This year was a good one, and I stole <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Netherland">this</a> book from someone based on the person who brought it in (I like what she reads) and when describing the book she said that Obama had read it. I'm simple enough to think that's cool.<br /><br />I can't really describe what it's about (it's a little obtuse), but I know I liked it and was really moved by the last quarter of it or so. The writing is lovely and clever. I wonder what else Obama would recommend...Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-80302077860592536702010-05-24T21:25:00.003-04:002010-05-24T21:36:32.561-04:00I miss it already<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.joeydevilla.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/hurley-from-lost.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 570px; height: 713px;" src="http://www.joeydevilla.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/hurley-from-lost.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Everyone who has a blog and watched Lost is writing about it today - I want to but haven't processed it yet. It was glorious but reminded me of when Six Feet Under ended and I was such a disaster over it that this many years later I still can't hear the song that plays in the final scene without coming undone. I need a little emotional room to be able to noodle it all, but it was so.... ahhhhhh.Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-20199541894623077512010-05-10T21:13:00.003-04:002010-05-10T21:29:26.574-04:00Inspiration<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.comparestoreprices.co.uk/images/vi/viking-helmet-with-large-horns-plastic.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 322px;" src="http://www.comparestoreprices.co.uk/images/vi/viking-helmet-with-large-horns-plastic.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Six weeks ago A. and I were getting facials and thoroughly enjoying our lives. <br /><br />The next week her dad was diagnosed with cancer and 5 weeks later he was gone. <br /><br />His memorial service today was attended by at least 400 people, and the theme of the remembrances was the generosity and hospitality of this man who laughed loudest at his own jokes and lived to see people be happy and comfortable. During the sermon, the priest even briefly wore the Viking helmet that anyone on their maiden voyage on his floating raft was asked to don. It was all about loving life. <br /><br />Our office essentially closed up shop so people could attend the service, except for the few who were willing to stay and worked really hard so others could go. As a group we've sent flowers, organized meals, and donated leave time. We've cried with and for A., and our physicians called in favors and greased wheels to make her dad's medical care go as smoothly as something like that can possibly go. <br /><br />As I looked at my friends huddled up at the back of the church after the service it was hard not to love life. I'm fortunate enough to know really good people - kind, generous people who laugh at their own jokes and only want other people to be happy. The majority of us had worn the Viking helmet at some point. I'm inspired to be better because of these people, and am thankful for the life of this man who inspired them. It was a very good day.Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-7462904356155999982010-04-29T21:28:00.002-04:002010-04-29T21:46:29.411-04:00A New Leaf<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bwog.net/uploads/new_leaf.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 297px;" src="http://bwog.net/uploads/new_leaf.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />My dad was always "turning over a new leaf". <br /><br />When I realized I had to figure myself out and pull myself out of the dumps, I tried turning over the Jim Carrey movie inspired leaf of saying yes to any offer extended unless there was a financial (or legal) reason not to do so. <br /><br />It's been a good exercise in bravery and getting over myself. <br /><br />So tonight, I took up my friend K.'s offer to do <a href="http://www.azuka-bom.com/Azuka-Bom/Home.html">this</a>. I learned there are alternate uses for bingo halls, and that I have absolutely no ability to booty pop. I can't wait to go back.Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-75367484853134636282010-04-23T20:44:00.003-04:002010-04-23T21:31:40.620-04:00It's a Small World After All<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://insanityoverrated.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/six-degrees1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 734px; height: 599px;" src="http://insanityoverrated.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/six-degrees1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />For the most part, Facebook is annoying. I don't care that you're doing your laundry, and I really don't care what you're having for dinner. I'm sure you don't care that I got a parking ticket (and yes, I'm aware that this is sort of an ironic statement to be made by a girl who writes a blog about nothing - I justify it by telling myself this is really a journal that happens to have public access). Sure, it's fun to see what people are up to but I spend more time being annoyed by spelling and grammar errors (vs. typos, mind you) and right-wing rants. <br /><br />But sometimes...<br /><br />I've been reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Columbine-Dave-Cullen/dp/0446546925/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1272072295&sr=1-1">this</a> book. It lets me check off a non-fiction book from my annual goal, but more importantly, it's riveting. I mean completely, totally riveting. I've been surprised by some of the little connections I've made to the life of one of the killers - he lived in Ohio briefly in the town that my high school nemesis transferred from and one of his relatives was a prominent Jewish leader in Columbus and I have very vivid memories of seeing an Anne Frank display at the center named for him as a pre-teen (and by vivid memories I mean that I remember that I was wearing fake fingernails and the grease from the Pizza Hut pizza we stopped for made the glue break down...and maybe a little about the actual display). <br /><br />The author chose not to use any photos or other images in the text even though they are widely available, but instead linked them in his website. When I got to the website, there was a Facebook link. Now I'm "friends" with the author, and that means that I know he's currently in LA thinking he won't win a book award for which he's been nominated. <br /><br />I'm also "friends" with 3 of the guys in a favorite band and know the front man was nervous before taping the George Lopez show and was looking to his wife and baby to comfort him. <br /><br />My longtime friend from Ohio M. was "tagged" in a photo album with my much more recent friend P. from here in NoVa. They don't know each other at all but had a common link through a friend of P.'s who had M.'s picture when she sent in a headshot for an audition for a student film. Weirrrrrd. <br /><br />One of the many reasons I liked living in Nashville was the likelihood of running into a celebrity in an unexpected place (like Elvis Costello in line in front of me at Tower Records) - it made it feel like a small town. I love these things that make it feel like a small world.Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-77859814184466286592010-04-18T14:34:00.002-04:002010-04-18T14:43:36.130-04:00The Last Year of My Mid-30s<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://rew2019.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/birthday_girl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 380px; height: 351px;" src="http://rew2019.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/birthday_girl.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />So it begins. <br /><br />Now that I am in my 36th year, I have a nice new hair color, opportunities to do indulgent things for my skin, good wine, a blood sugar spike from the amazing cake that showed up at work, and earrings that jingle in the wind. I spent time with people I love (crammed into 1 taxi at one point) and talked to more people I love and have had a lovely, lazy weekend. Thanks to all who made this possible.Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-61648848739111131042010-04-04T18:22:00.010-04:002010-04-04T19:12:16.436-04:00A Holy DayThe last time I didn't go to church on Easter, it was 1998 and I was in DC for an externship that was wrapping up a few weeks later. I spent the morning hiking around Great Falls with my friends/landlords-at-the-time J. and R., and had chicken fajitas for dinner. It was a really nice day, but not holy. <div><br /></div><div>There have been Easter Sundays that I did go to church and still didn't have a holy day (the first Easter I was married I insisted we have ham but didn't plan ahead for it and ended up with a 13 pounder... I'd wanted it because that was the Geitz family Easter tradition but when I called home later that day they were all eating fried chicken).</div><div><br /></div><div>I went to a Maundy Thursday service on the invitation of J. (who, since 1998 has gotten divorced and has been kind enough to become my divorce mentor) - it was Anglican and very foreign. I was too busy trying to figure out what was going on (oh, kneel? Ok. Um, those people are putting their lips on the communion cup...do I have to?) to really get anything out of it. I went to the Good Friday chapel service at the National Cathedral, and while beautiful and moving as always, it doesn't change from year to year so it's easy to kind of go through the motions (though the motions involve amazing, amazing music). </div><div><br /></div><div>I had no plans to go to church this morning, as I haven't looked/found one to be mine. I thought if I could get myself out of bed that I might go into town to see the cherry blossoms, but I wasn't going to set an alarm. I woke up around 6:45 and thought, well, it's probably too late to get near the park so maybe I shouldn't go. Then I read a Facebook post that said "Why do you look for the living among the dead?", and I thought, "yes, that's right... I am not dead so go out among the living". </div><div><br /></div><div>So, I took my cup of coffee for a walk around the Tidal Basin (and even found parking on the mall!). It was certainly not too late, though the crowds were already heavy, as was the trash from the day before. It was a beautiful, beautiful morning though, and it was easy to see signs of the resurrection everywhere - from the blossoms to the families to the wedding couples taking pictures among the blooms. There was even a moment when, walking from the FDR memorial towards the Lincoln, the crowds thinned and I was alone with my coffee and my thoughts and my God. It was definitely a holy day.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br />A few of the views...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWc0XvRDsHUrmLxmmmdD-Wxog7N_fAe8ocLBxm6ldCekfbVY6JZpS8XkptwhNbVULdCjldOKIHjReM39HCi88TWfSZXNE9zEuoVEhNHM3Rkt7SV30sOiCXs83n83RRFw5FIVGDHqEbd9o/s1600/IMG00367.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWc0XvRDsHUrmLxmmmdD-Wxog7N_fAe8ocLBxm6ldCekfbVY6JZpS8XkptwhNbVULdCjldOKIHjReM39HCi88TWfSZXNE9zEuoVEhNHM3Rkt7SV30sOiCXs83n83RRFw5FIVGDHqEbd9o/s400/IMG00367.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456421846637287762" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsUrjakmxbCyONNiMMFCm8dtGrj6NonNTu6Emz8ui6qF1hPJAX1H8yN-YESgg4rffx-N-llG5CubxUl8gY67nJcEDDHgY0iDoEz3JRcoAzNEtCAVPMaEitdvDo_3aZ4cJg7FPtgq3OFP7/s1600/IMG00368.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsUrjakmxbCyONNiMMFCm8dtGrj6NonNTu6Emz8ui6qF1hPJAX1H8yN-YESgg4rffx-N-llG5CubxUl8gY67nJcEDDHgY0iDoEz3JRcoAzNEtCAVPMaEitdvDo_3aZ4cJg7FPtgq3OFP7/s400/IMG00368.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456422243312224114" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFL-sq4Gj5lvKglPgT_Sl6oVh3ReDG5Y2l1UW9fFkvi8Sj_ShGyp-p3JkV_LarXEPkPaBCld5oxCjvw7OCJekhKABk96fXkgunuQxmwx7en1NWL6jyjg9lhNAtHKlqLi644E9MBRM7WKpl/s1600/IMG00370.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFL-sq4Gj5lvKglPgT_Sl6oVh3ReDG5Y2l1UW9fFkvi8Sj_ShGyp-p3JkV_LarXEPkPaBCld5oxCjvw7OCJekhKABk96fXkgunuQxmwx7en1NWL6jyjg9lhNAtHKlqLi644E9MBRM7WKpl/s400/IMG00370.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456422470883883250" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGtkBeksM4bd7EOMdayTLTzTyKRZQ3r7ZUu2le7OF8UA8MehC69e2Q88pIbRrmV3SLZkRXqyeILOMhntULD9rL2_zVtbUIFj1oOhP_mUBNEj2jj0ewKkE-q8YEbDQ5lXwLnyGsVx_mxuzC/s1600/IMG00371.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGtkBeksM4bd7EOMdayTLTzTyKRZQ3r7ZUu2le7OF8UA8MehC69e2Q88pIbRrmV3SLZkRXqyeILOMhntULD9rL2_zVtbUIFj1oOhP_mUBNEj2jj0ewKkE-q8YEbDQ5lXwLnyGsVx_mxuzC/s400/IMG00371.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456422800896716226" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfS9aPWuytbN7RN4672Y8sTaCXxWOZ-jO-az1wIZwhsxIFyeGwTHJUQqwtd-WnTboFpVo0LLc8zaRgiPhFt9X5K_G1RRlCraNARQn9WHsLQ7jRvG49ar4ZYmKTn1Om1TBJ2s6DmErQA5CH/s1600/IMG00372.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfS9aPWuytbN7RN4672Y8sTaCXxWOZ-jO-az1wIZwhsxIFyeGwTHJUQqwtd-WnTboFpVo0LLc8zaRgiPhFt9X5K_G1RRlCraNARQn9WHsLQ7jRvG49ar4ZYmKTn1Om1TBJ2s6DmErQA5CH/s400/IMG00372.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456422997029487890" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkG98yb3i0kikFYP7uhd6LyHeRVsw15BaZEm5Uut7Tyy6j9IhulqVG4lYDV3rDu4F_TbElXK3WloyPZtp-JyDglv2nIdEOsHHR8H4-OZE6gcIKPIaqdb2Tks_Upll42cjt9XnVOjdbo0i/s1600/IMG00373.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkG98yb3i0kikFYP7uhd6LyHeRVsw15BaZEm5Uut7Tyy6j9IhulqVG4lYDV3rDu4F_TbElXK3WloyPZtp-JyDglv2nIdEOsHHR8H4-OZE6gcIKPIaqdb2Tks_Upll42cjt9XnVOjdbo0i/s400/IMG00373.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456423222952589938" /></a><br /><br />Hmmm...homeland security concerns about the Smoke Monster?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdmqvNBOdzNXAXjLDBWws-SL23-AtjqUR49EauI1fjfahbcjymkyxo95jS2nGFYji_MVLp-um-BFIn5kip6DYRj8MLyyftVowLL-14g3qYIExD2eSQVsbUbodYIz840fS9VmjPAchs4JA/s1600/IMG00365.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdmqvNBOdzNXAXjLDBWws-SL23-AtjqUR49EauI1fjfahbcjymkyxo95jS2nGFYji_MVLp-um-BFIn5kip6DYRj8MLyyftVowLL-14g3qYIExD2eSQVsbUbodYIz840fS9VmjPAchs4JA/s400/IMG00365.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456421354098509474" /></a>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-27877044457787815492010-03-28T19:01:00.003-04:002010-03-28T19:41:27.232-04:00Comp Days<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAKurrtEyrh-7dM0wrmtloLJVIn8cXIf2jsjNSHua6VCL7v-rtt1JQI1B15lUVCirndH2bxGWZXVmfyhFRomzXaH2fHntEeJ8LuBinwsf4HD55UaJyJLXEz2nNOcwfAf_Afl3N7l1ssnKM/s1600/IMG00357.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAKurrtEyrh-7dM0wrmtloLJVIn8cXIf2jsjNSHua6VCL7v-rtt1JQI1B15lUVCirndH2bxGWZXVmfyhFRomzXaH2fHntEeJ8LuBinwsf4HD55UaJyJLXEz2nNOcwfAf_Afl3N7l1ssnKM/s400/IMG00357.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453833975827771090" /></a><br />There is some discussion upcoming at work about who should have to work Saturdays, or more specifically, who should be exempt from working Saturdays. <div><br /></div><div>Currently it only comes up every 6 - 7 weeks in the rotation of our staff, and everyone is in the mix including all of the outpatient team (though only inpatients are seen on a Saturday), both managers, and our "flexi-pool", which is primarily people who had babies and didn't come back full-time. It's not a hard day as all you do is see patients (so no meetings, email, phone calls, etc) and you leave when your schedule is done, and in return you get an 8 hour comp day. Lately, though, a few of people who have been working for a long time are thinking about asking to be relieved from their place in the rotation for a number of reasons - it makes a long week, you get enough leave that you don't really need the comp time, older bodies have a harder time doing the more physical work (anyone over 40 is on the outpatient team except for the inpatient manager), etc. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'd be more than happy to NOT work Saturdays. I like my down time and I have lots of paid days off, so the only reason to do it is because it's part of the way we work. But, I don't really think that using an age cut-off is the way to go as young pregnant women are working them, and young hungover women are work them, and young women who are less efficient because they haven't done the job very long are work them. I'm hoping that if there is a change in policy they base on it on length of service as an incentive plan (may I suggest 12 years?). I usually try to get out of mine by offering it up to anyone who may be looking for extra comp days, and usually someone takes them. A few weeks ago I couldn't find a taker though, so I spent a rainy Saturday hanging out with people who needed a little practice on things and requested my comp day for this past Friday. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was so, so, so worth every second I spent on that Saturday fixing the talk. </div><div><br /></div><div>My newly pregnant friend A. and I spent Friday driving to her sister's family place in a ski resort area outside of Charlottesville, VA. We left around 11 and chattered away for a couple of hours until we stopped for wine tasting and lunch at Barboursville winery, which is definitely my favorite in the area. After tasting 15 wines in their cozy tasting room we had a big fat lunch in their restaurant (lobster stew, frittata, hazelnut caramel tart), closing the place down. We stopped at one other winery down the road and bought chocolate wine and did a minor car repair. </div><div><br /></div><div>We drove the rest of the way to the resort, getting to her family's completely charming home around 5:30. A. "took to her bed" and I watched basketball and worked a crossword. We went for burgers. We went to bed early. </div><div><br /></div><div>The next day we ate a comically large breakfast then headed to the resort's spa. A. has been my driving force for all things luxury - she forced my 1st pedicure by leaving me a gift certificate before running away from the beach last year, and this time she booked us facials without telling me. I can't even explain how amazing an experience it was - totally indulgent but a life changer. We joined up again kind of greasy-haired and stole some Splenda from the lounge for our morning coffee before heading out for a long walk in the cool sun around the resort's lake. After a pizza and a lonnnnnng nap, our other friends who DID have to work on Saturday rolled in for dinner and drinks and conversation. We caught up on all kinds of things, work and non-work, and continued on through another fat leisurely breakfast this morning before heading back to NoVa in plenty of time for things like groceries and laundry. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even though I'm getting up there compared to my younger colleagues, if working the occasional Saturday opens the door for long luxurious weekends, I'll do it. And I won't even complain. </div><div><br /></div><div>Much.</div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-54192458059833707922010-03-10T18:17:00.003-05:002010-03-10T19:03:02.078-05:00Law and Order<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.virginia-divorce-lawyer.com/images/virginia-divorce-attorney.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 333px; height: 332px;" src="http://www.virginia-divorce-lawyer.com/images/virginia-divorce-attorney.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />So today was the first meeting with the lawyer. <div><br /></div><div>A few years ago when I thought I might buy a house (ha), I signed up for a benefit for legal services through work. They pointed me to a firm, the only one that handles uncontested divorce, so I took a deep breath and set an appointment. I googled the attorney and found very little other than his bio on the firm website (but deduced that I may feel like I could be the guy's mother). I didn't sleep that well last night, wondered what I should wear, agonized over what I thought the guy would make of my paltry finances. I was over an hour early so that I wouldn't be late and enjoyed a tour of Fairfax. </div><div><br /></div><div>He was 15 minutes late - no biggie. He winked a few times - no biggie. He made reference to the fact that it "sucked" for him that I was using a subscriber plan - kind of a biggie. But, he answered questions and explained the process in detail. He said he would draw up our agreement not this week, and probably not next week because of his "queue" (said with a wink), and once that's done and signed we're looking at about a 2 month time frame. If I had questions I could email him ('cause he has an iPhone - wink). 15 minutes later I was out the door.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So there's that done. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am constantly learning through this process - every new experience teaches me something about how to be a better me, and today I learned a little bit about how important it is to make a good first impression as a professional when you have someone trusting that you will help them. That's really a huge responsibility.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-70103173648393857862010-03-02T19:29:00.003-05:002010-03-02T20:38:52.501-05:00Liturgy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIYtMQeqfAMCnN4tYmf0WujNt4I6mM5ZGgHGpx09QQVxv5iLyQYQQKekx4fac_Zgk7uy5owl7U7mmKcva8WDEbYuxTEv80RQFSgS4kIaEage1G9Xo8zk-BcrAyJYxd8-6cF7rRc679O3Lo/s1600-h/Cliff+Notes+Liturgy.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 252px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIYtMQeqfAMCnN4tYmf0WujNt4I6mM5ZGgHGpx09QQVxv5iLyQYQQKekx4fac_Zgk7uy5owl7U7mmKcva8WDEbYuxTEv80RQFSgS4kIaEage1G9Xo8zk-BcrAyJYxd8-6cF7rRc679O3Lo/s400/Cliff+Notes+Liturgy.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444215612601109650" /></a><br />I was spending some time knitting with M. and S. last week, and in the process of teaching S. to knit on double-point needles (NOT my strong suit), M. told S. to pull the connecting stitch "tight, tight, tight". Each time S. needed to do that she said to herself "tight, tight, tight". <div><br /></div><div>One of my favorite friends had a license place that said "Box TTR", which is a type of turn in the OSU Marching Band but also what she would say to herself to perform it accurately. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I was an inpatient therapist, one of the physiatrists, a wonderful Iranian woman, would start her part of a family conference by saying "As you know, you have had a stroke". It always made me kinda smile. </div><div><br /></div><div>My high school history teacher would end every class on Fridays by saying "If you can't be good, you better be careful", in response to which at least half of the class would mumble "And if you can't be careful, name it after me". </div><div><br /></div><div>As a part of Grand Assembly during my Rainbow days, they would do a memorial service for any member who had passed on during the year. It was always moving but not very personal, until the person in charge, the Worthy Advisor, would say "I can not say, I will not say, that they are dead". They almost always got choked up, and so did our 13 year-old selves. </div><div><br /></div><div>One of my favorite ways to participate in the leadership of the church was to be the liturgist - the one in the service who writes the prayers, announces, explains, and transitions each component of the worship service up until the sermon. The words might have changed slightly from time to time and liturgist to liturgist, but the theology was always the same and was a way to connect to those who have come before and those who will come after. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's become painfully clear that words that signal actions, emotions, or transitions by their content and repeat-ability are necessary. My husband and I are going to end our marriage, so it's time to tell not just the close circle of friends who have known the whole process but not-so-close friends, other people in our individual and collective communities, and customer service reps. It is awkward by its nature, though I am committed to trying not make others feel uncomfortable with it. I need liturgy for this. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's hard for me to say "divorce" - it sounds scandalous. It's not. I need a way to say it that doesn't make someone say "oh, I'm so sorry" as their first reaction. Now I'm stumbling all over the place but have been opting for "we're ending our marriage", but that almost sounds too trivial, like ending a cell phone contract. I want my words, when discussing it, to reflect that it is a transition, and while very, very sad, life-will-surely-go-on-so-please-don't-say-I'm-so-sorry-or-cringe. Argh.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Ooooo.... Cliff Notes. Awesome.</span></span></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-70790807949423297452010-02-18T21:05:00.004-05:002010-02-18T21:40:08.752-05:00Remember Me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.easyart.com/i/prints/lg/8/0/80992.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 500px;" src="http://images.easyart.com/i/prints/lg/8/0/80992.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I've been working with a beautiful young girl who had everything going for her - enrolled in a prestigious university, a world traveler as a teenager, talented in a million ways - until she got sick and everything changed. She has bravely fought her way back and recently was in a situation where she was trying to talk herself into doing something that would have been easy for her pre-injury but very scary for her post-injury. She needed to take a risk and had almost decided not to do it when she said to herself, "Remember who you are". <div><br /></div><div>When she told me that I got teary, and not just because I was in the exact same situation a week before and I chickened out. This is such a fundamental truth - we were designed to be brave, beautiful, happy people, and when we're not behaving that way we are not bad people, we have simply forgotten who we are. We deserve happiness and though miserable things may happen the person we were created to be is still in there. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm ready to remember who I am. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The art is from the beautiful, lonely work of Edward Hopper.</span></span></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-56832095471458820402010-02-13T14:50:00.003-05:002010-02-13T14:57:09.863-05:00Digging OutThose who were fortunate enough to not have to go to work all week (and there were lots of them) are digging out today and EVERYONE is going to the grocery. I would so love a fresh fruit or vegetable, but it's not gonna happen today. Is it possible to get scurvy in a week? <div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-74047815342397392082010-02-09T20:54:00.004-05:002010-02-09T21:14:21.029-05:00Deja Vu All Over Again<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq8Yi-ENNLEjtt6EM9pDbdoPkqJ-2Vq5PkHoEoazQ64ytXs-1faZeTdVvOgmTM4_u1CD3w0339fXfbWvSfOxo2DaPrI9-IQqRt5iTAIuEUMoiaciVsCiRGuPxlBgrY1neWCS9C1KnrFy9J/s1600-h/IMG00326.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq8Yi-ENNLEjtt6EM9pDbdoPkqJ-2Vq5PkHoEoazQ64ytXs-1faZeTdVvOgmTM4_u1CD3w0339fXfbWvSfOxo2DaPrI9-IQqRt5iTAIuEUMoiaciVsCiRGuPxlBgrY1neWCS9C1KnrFy9J/s400/IMG00326.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436432008315529202" /></a><br />Snowmegeddon? I don't get it - 'snow' sounds nothing like 'arm'. Stormegddon, maybe. <div><br /></div><div>In a nod to one of my favorite movies, I kind of liked Kaiser Snowze. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today's is the most fitting - Snoverkill. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's snowing again, as much as another 10 plus inches. I spent as much time yesterday driving to and from doing speech therapy than I did actually doing therapy. In trying to dig out on Sunday I didn't have a shovel but I had a plan - turns out shovels are better than good ideas. People are showing their true colors in all of this, and I'm wishing DC had adopted Boston's policy of being able to "save" a parking space with lounge chairs or whatever for 2 days after the snowfall. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have had power the whole time despite flickering, I met a nice chatty neighbor who didn't say a word but just started shoveling me a "drive way", and I'm not one of the ones tagged to spend the night at the hospital tonight to guarantee that the inpatients have an uninterrupted experience. Lost is on (really, writers, new characters in the last season?). I have more than enough to eat and even a little wine left over. </div><div><br /></div><div>Let it snow.</div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-11645164116727788222010-02-06T17:53:00.007-05:002010-02-06T18:03:02.058-05:00So That Happened<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsvdWYFvHCA6OQNn6X9TGyZy8EOA7LhxgC_X6GjYjAZJbP2jS4U5YVMHoPh4amjRrqZtp41gn8kN_jcwANwjUaPNOF62g-VNtExEne5QVwmY9O2_pPLLxM91gSwO90RU0ZXXype6DalkU/s1600-h/IMG00325.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsvdWYFvHCA6OQNn6X9TGyZy8EOA7LhxgC_X6GjYjAZJbP2jS4U5YVMHoPh4amjRrqZtp41gn8kN_jcwANwjUaPNOF62g-VNtExEne5QVwmY9O2_pPLLxM91gSwO90RU0ZXXype6DalkU/s400/IMG00325.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435269748049458482" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPWSH5lq9x940eWKKYMjQ58hmDqG1KqXTYDJjDExvzKlYfTDiER5cxI3cZ9cuXOV_O9PqAB1MmiE9PyyWlYP5VkEKJjlDqhK8t5xPxi6IBnnwrsRQcm8L5XxeO9ZBAK8oQg1iYIQUX40fz/s1600-h/IMG00321.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPWSH5lq9x940eWKKYMjQ58hmDqG1KqXTYDJjDExvzKlYfTDiER5cxI3cZ9cuXOV_O9PqAB1MmiE9PyyWlYP5VkEKJjlDqhK8t5xPxi6IBnnwrsRQcm8L5XxeO9ZBAK8oQg1iYIQUX40fz/s400/IMG00321.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435268420220323202" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcXT3M-BJ8jekPh7uM8JZtFQp9h8T-ESr_c1KN2cUJk5lmGtdBlUYlbhmmbMigpVN7-3C8DBBWQA45OcYMUXX66-0mPTEuE6i10A6yFzWwlFAZURrWrG-L5CwSOhsOgkjs_O-_QLBbne87/s1600-h/IMG00320.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcXT3M-BJ8jekPh7uM8JZtFQp9h8T-ESr_c1KN2cUJk5lmGtdBlUYlbhmmbMigpVN7-3C8DBBWQA45OcYMUXX66-0mPTEuE6i10A6yFzWwlFAZURrWrG-L5CwSOhsOgkjs_O-_QLBbne87/s400/IMG00320.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435267970328667458" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMoimUJ3u9KIebgn9bRbmwkfdjCztFFy6U4rTG75DquOLt3JLm_r0IuMWDE0oEhuZ4Z4crsG4x1-jhp58rlnEBbTdcafmNgsHKquHDJkvPkrQA_l2p-H8XWZixSbBgJ-1Y99F0CQG9SjgO/s1600-h/IMG00322.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMoimUJ3u9KIebgn9bRbmwkfdjCztFFy6U4rTG75DquOLt3JLm_r0IuMWDE0oEhuZ4Z4crsG4x1-jhp58rlnEBbTdcafmNgsHKquHDJkvPkrQA_l2p-H8XWZixSbBgJ-1Y99F0CQG9SjgO/s400/IMG00322.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435267877519067106" /></a><br />It's finally tapering off. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-29090811018206679182010-02-05T20:42:00.006-05:002010-02-05T21:15:26.446-05:00See You Monday<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_UcdcrHZYuhuzn2I1XnYK2txeT4pEKwrb-4NtX7BJEM7TwpHjsT0WsYs6d_tS04O-vLi0hodKBXKvAL2ofxO83kpXKwKZ6N_J2_WEkTU7xmgY1Se3Tj0qd6b21VYcGCiACQHutTMpi96/s1600-h/IMG00316.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_UcdcrHZYuhuzn2I1XnYK2txeT4pEKwrb-4NtX7BJEM7TwpHjsT0WsYs6d_tS04O-vLi0hodKBXKvAL2ofxO83kpXKwKZ6N_J2_WEkTU7xmgY1Se3Tj0qd6b21VYcGCiACQHutTMpi96/s400/IMG00316.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434947630803894498" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhLGoJG1EYHCVYVPj2vXQrP9lNbdGNTY4FoXnA06OMsTwh4XfOmnfrDluxDZHkek1zom7P5zDt-8Q0V-nBoAvbuVvcPIAISoH4ppE0NK5EvVoDfKtSl4Wl9XSgP_HGKwf_9wC7IvxCSOw/s1600-h/IMG00315.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhLGoJG1EYHCVYVPj2vXQrP9lNbdGNTY4FoXnA06OMsTwh4XfOmnfrDluxDZHkek1zom7P5zDt-8Q0V-nBoAvbuVvcPIAISoH4ppE0NK5EvVoDfKtSl4Wl9XSgP_HGKwf_9wC7IvxCSOw/s400/IMG00315.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434947546164796034" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So it may be snowing 30 inches between now and this time tomorrow with 35 mph winds. This is how the DC area has responded: <div><br /></div><div>1. Area schools closed today, even though it really didn't snowy until much later in the afternoon. </div><div><br /></div><div>2. What I have affectionately called the Russian Safeway grocery store for it's long lines and empty shelves for years (vs. the Not-So-Safeway) lived up to it's moniker - at 9:30 last night there was literally no meat in the store other than bacon, sausage, and a sad lonely package of bratwurst. This was after a local store, which has 350 shopping carts, had lines of people just <i>waiting to get carts</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>3. 2 of my colleagues who apparently won the unlucky lottery were told to pack a bag and stay the night at the hospital to be sure that they were there to do speech therapy tomorrow - because that's so stinking critical. </div><div><br /></div><div>4. I watched the DC news anchors sit and read Tweets about whether or not the roads were slick. Seriously. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm kind of loving it though - this is snow like I've never seen and apparently we're still 2 hours away from the "heavy snow". I have stuff for pancakes in the morning, 2 knitting projects, a mission to see as many Oscar nominees as possible (Inglorious Basterds is already knocked off the list), and Lost to catch up on. Oh, and Wuthering Heights (still). If the power stays on - life will be cozy and sweet. If it doesn't, the kitty and I will still be just fine. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:16px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The pictures are at 3:30pm and 7:30 pm from outside my apartment window. More to follow. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></div></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-33577059618319026232010-01-16T16:38:00.003-05:002010-01-16T17:01:36.664-05:00A Friday Bright Spot<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ocf.berkeley.edu/~krystles/bubbleBoy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://www.ocf.berkeley.edu/~krystles/bubbleBoy.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />One of the many things we worry about for people with aphasia is social isolation - if you have a significant language impairment it is difficult to engage in a personal conversation, understand a television program, order your own coffee, read for entertainment, and sometimes even talk about something beyond basic human needs. As you can imagine, it can limit a person's desire to engage in communication if you know it's going to be a struggle and frankly pretty boring, and you can end up living in a bubble. <div><br /></div><div>Yesterday I had the pleasure of stepping in to a well establish treatment group when my colleague was away - this group is made up of men and women of different ages, races, and backgrounds, but they are united by their aphasia. On average, they could produce 2 - 3 words to get a message out and need to really concentrate to understand each other. They use other ways to communicate, like writing and pointing to things in pictures, to communicate so their are always tools on the table for their access. I had an activity planned if they needed it, but when I opened up the group by saying "Is there anything on your minds today?" one of the men wrote H-A-T-I and we were off and running. </div><div><br /></div><div>Through lots of ways to get it out, each person shared that they were horrified by the events in Haiti and even though our country had seen devastation from Hurricane Katrina, we can't even imagine the hell that is Haiti right now. They did everything right - they tried to talk and when it failed they tried something else. They asked questions of each other. They clarified points for each other. The communication was so complex and meaningful, and then the most amazing thing happened. </div><div><br /></div><div>One of the guys had really been struggling to follow the conversation despite a very slow rate and lots of written key words for reinforcement. When I asked him directly what he thought about all this, he talked about how his heart was broken for them (well, he said "that lady" but we knew what he meant) and then he reached out and grabbed the hands of the other patients and led them in a prayer. It was so moving - his prayer was littered with difficult utterances but we knew what he meant and surely God did too. This was really a lovely thing to do, but my favorite part of it was despite the fact that I was sitting beside him, I wasn't included in this circle of prayer. He didn't reach for my hand, he reached for the person sitting on the other side of me who was walking his walk. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, so cool.<br /><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Photo is from the movie "The Bubble Boy". It says Moops!</span></span></div></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-44123666543827158052010-01-12T20:02:00.005-05:002010-01-12T20:51:30.995-05:00New Habits<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_AR4DZ1-75W8WOYGpsJik4BSrypV2_RblaKOl5eJmm9u5_bckqAjFpZ5uOpH2cH6NLbFMCcLoOGqwcsyDnzzHe6AB8ImS6kkxgsgVLoSX4RVum-1BURhBGoPcpVbvU7Y6kuVFkyW-Jyh/s1600-h/onion_imagearticle1087.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 340px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_AR4DZ1-75W8WOYGpsJik4BSrypV2_RblaKOl5eJmm9u5_bckqAjFpZ5uOpH2cH6NLbFMCcLoOGqwcsyDnzzHe6AB8ImS6kkxgsgVLoSX4RVum-1BURhBGoPcpVbvU7Y6kuVFkyW-Jyh/s400/onion_imagearticle1087.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426035379096299794" /></a><br />I'm still kicking around my 2010 resolutions (or "commitments" as someone recently suggested they be called) but one I'm firm about is a change in my reading selections. Last year I borrowed a goal from my mom and set out to read at least 6 non-fiction books, which is something I haven't done since text books in grad school. I've always associated non-fiction with stuffy historical records of an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">individual's</span> life that would read more like an obituary than a narrative ("born on a mountaintop in Tennessee..." and so on) or cornball self-help books. I want to be entertained and moved and don't always want to learn something. Unless cookbooks count I just don't read non-fiction.<br /><br />But I watch the Daily Show and Colbert Report and when they interview authors about their non-fiction books I think, "Now that's not boring - I can read that". I also know that I have huge gaps in my fund of knowledge regarding the workings of the world at large, so I thought Mom's goal would be a great toe in the water.<br /><br />I read Joe Torre's book and learned I couldn't care less about the Yankees. As previously mentioned I read Beautiful Boy and Tweak, which I think gave me a different kind of empathy for the complexities of addiction and definitely made the show Intervention a little less entertaining. I read a fun book by the former NY Times restaurant critic describing how different her dining experiences were when in various disguises versus her notable self, and learned that any book read while standing in a swimming pool on vacation is a good one. I read a story of a boy soldier and felt lucky to grow up in a small, safe town where the worst threat to safety was gossip. I listened to Blink and had a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hmmmmm</span> thought bubble over my head the whole time. I did sneak in one biography, if you can call it that, as I read about the meteoric rise of my favorite TV ninny Sandra Lee and learned that not only is she truly nuts she is even more of a loon than I could have guessed (on one page she wrote "we all had a good laugh at my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">sassiness</span>" then a few pages later quoted Nietzsche). Despite my best intentions I did not get to the anchor of my stack, Team of Rivals, though I was re-inspired recently when on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Simpsons</span> Moe said "now that's some good Doris" as he <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">perused</span> it at a bookstore. I loved everything I read for different reasons and will keep at it (suggestions are welcomed).<br /><br />So this year I'm resolving/committing to reading at least 6 of the books I know by name and/or author but have never read. I started <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Wuthering</span> Heights, which I bought in October when the cover art caught my eye. It's, um, something. But just as one of the many reasons I like traditional worship is the tie to all the saints who have worshiped or will worship in the same day, there is something special about these books. I'm looking forward to meeting them.<br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The image is, again, from The Onion.</span></span></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-57839180610732146362009-12-12T18:29:00.003-05:002009-12-12T18:55:32.762-05:00Now is Now<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.plimoth.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/5e06319eda06f020e43594a9c230972d/C/a/Carpe_Diem_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 240px;" src="http://www.plimoth.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/5e06319eda06f020e43594a9c230972d/C/a/Carpe_Diem_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />On the recommendation of friends, I read the book <a href="http://davidsheff.com/">Beautiful Boy</a>, and now am reading it's companion, <a href="http://www.nicsheff.com/">Tweak</a>. <br /><br />Beautiful Boy is written by a father whose son grew up addicted to crystal meth with a cycle of relapses, lies, and distrust. Tweak is the son's story. It is hard hard hard to read as he describes the irrational thinking of his inner addict and the depths to which he fell and the hopelessness of trying to recover. In a conversation with his sponsor, who has become the cornerstone of his life, the sponsor tells Nic "now is now", in an effort to help him understand that you can't change the past and can't just wish for the future, but that you have to just be in the moment and accept what it is. And enjoy it. <br /><br />Yes, yes, yes. <br /><br />I worry so much about the mistakes of the past and how they may have so negatively impacted the goals I had for my life. I've been feeling there are things I will never have, and will never do. I've been feeling that certain aspects of my work are unchangeable and difficult. I've been sick and so very tired, and that makes it easy to wallow in the junk. <br /><br />But when I read this chapter it made we teary as I looked around at my lovely Christmas tree, the wine glass set out for Dinner Club tomorrow night, my cat all fluffed up from the chill in the air, and the receipt from my car repair that was $600 cheaper than I was anticipating. Today was a very, very good day. This moment is a very, very good moment. Now is now, and now is good. That's all I can do.Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-43585588546315735912009-11-06T19:56:00.004-05:002009-11-06T21:52:14.758-05:00CrankyI am, as my freshman roommate would say, fussy. <br /><br />So, these are things that are making me laugh - I offer them in a selfish attempt to shake my mood. <br /><br />1. The Office episode with Prison Mike and Andy singing Rainbow Connection to Pam with Pig Latin sprinkled in. <br /><br />2. This, and the fact that my sister and I have chatted about it via Facebook with an aside comment from one of long lost SLP friends...<br /><br /><object width="512" height="296"><param name="movie" value="http://www.hulu.com/embed/ovYI7ZF7gZYZDS7o7v4X7w"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.hulu.com/embed/ovYI7ZF7gZYZDS7o7v4X7w" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowFullScreen="true" width="512" height="296"></embed></object><br /><br />3. The Sookie Stackhouse books from Charlaine Harris - Sookie is being courted by a werewolf, tiger shape shifter, and no fewer than 2 vampires. Good times. <br /><br />4. The fact that the Tuesday night trivia team had 2 new members who are ridiculously smart and we still ended up as 1st place losers and proud owners of 30 free chicken wings next week. I guess just because you can save the world from terror threats while explaining quarks doesn't mean you know that "hoi paloi" is a Greek phrase. <br /><br />5. Some Girl Scout troops sell their cookies in November but the housekeepers at work ate mine. Better them than me, in the long run. <br /><br />6. I spent a day earlier in the week being told by more than one patient that I am not only a horrible therapist but a horrible person only to have a lovely session with someone later in the week in which a patient, in the midst of working on a math problem, told me she liked my nail color and was it the same as what's on my toes (she has some attentional issues)then was told by another patient at the close of an hour-long session "You're a very good person", then followed up with "Who are you again?". <br /><br />I feel a little better. Thanks for indulging me.Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-61906750950886623302009-10-14T21:26:00.002-04:002009-10-14T22:17:30.946-04:00Norming<a href="http://img2.timeinc.net/ew/dynamic/imgs/060315/92428__norm_l.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 256px" alt="" src="http://img2.timeinc.net/ew/dynamic/imgs/060315/92428__norm_l.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht0H72dZgyttVh61XZe7yPlcmF8MxZjP7kfDpKi76O-rjAn-lZi9lFCTUa4-wTxpE6FYbygZZRF_Ru0aumsAmw8copw-2tO93OlMV0Ew-Oo2XB6gA_ErcanlEJhXdIZa52w9cN5kFvKis/s320/012308_schwarzkopf.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 191px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 217px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht0H72dZgyttVh61XZe7yPlcmF8MxZjP7kfDpKi76O-rjAn-lZi9lFCTUa4-wTxpE6FYbygZZRF_Ru0aumsAmw8copw-2tO93OlMV0Ew-Oo2XB6gA_ErcanlEJhXdIZa52w9cN5kFvKis/s320/012308_schwarzkopf.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://imagecache5.art.com/p/LRG/7/789/JJEI000Z/norman-rockwell-norman-rockwell--triple-self-portrait.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 201px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 175px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://imagecache5.art.com/p/LRG/7/789/JJEI000Z/norman-rockwell-norman-rockwell--triple-self-portrait.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>So maybe I have Bruce Tuckerman to blame to for the cone of semi-silence within which my class has been operating. </div><div><br /><br /> </div><div>In 1965 Mr. T. invented the stages of group dynamics -- "forming" where the group starts to get to know each other, "storming" where there is jockeying for leadership positions, "norming" where the group essentially finds its stride, and "performing" where the group starts actually doing what it came together to do (apparently several years later he added "adjourning" - must have been a slow moving group). </div></div><div> </div><div><br /><br /></div><div>Yes, I know it's more accurate to say he described them rather then invented them, but that seems to somehow absolve him of responsibility. No no no.<br /></div><div> </div><div>The first week of class we did basic intros. This is me, this is you, this is what we're going to talk about. No, we won't have class the night before Thanksgiving, thanks for asking. Forming, check.</div><div><br /> </div></div><div><div>Commence storming. </div><div><br /><br /> </div><div>Subsequent weeks started the review of why adults sometimes need communication systems other than speech, and how to figure out what that system should be. I'd review a Power Point slide and hear the "click click click" of notetaking on a lap top and not much else. Thoughts? No? Okay, moving on.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>As the 2nd and 3rd weeks went buy I tried to bribe them into interaction with by forcing them to do interactive things (here, collobrate the eye gaze system for each other; hey, let's have a relay race to see which team can construct a sentence on a speech generating device using a switch.... whee!). I get a questions that have the undertone of "are you for real?". Other than that - crickets.</div></div><div> </div><div><div><br /><br /></div><div>Weeks 4 and 5 come and go with a f e w talkers - a couple who have immediate concerns based on what they're doing in their clinical practicum and maybe, just maybe, a few who are starting to find all this stuff interesting. They have to talk to each other to present brief research projects and they mostly seem to be listening. A fun conversation about how icky trach care can be. A<br />few more questions emerge from new talkers. Hmmm.... maybe we're getting somewhere.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>And then, tonight, boom. EVERYONE either asked a question, answered a question, or shared a thought. Woot. I think we're norming. </div><div><br /><br /> </div><div>It's sooooo much more fun than the other junk.</div><div> </div></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-7758413814309475702009-10-08T21:36:00.003-04:002009-10-08T22:20:01.044-04:00Membership has its...<a href="http://www.chaophyapark.com/upnewspic/cpygoldcard.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 187px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.chaophyapark.com/upnewspic/cpygoldcard.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>When doctors are permitted to see patients in a given hospital, they "have privileges" there.<br /><br />In the past few weeks I have:<br /><br />-- heard a person with ALS say "I have hope now" when shown that even though they can no longer move their hands or arms that they can still surf the internet<br /><br />-- hung out with someone who has the same <a href="http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/neurofibromatosis.html">disease the Elephant Man had</a>, and helped figure out some strategies for him to successfully interview for the job position he wants instead of the job position he has<br /><br />-- seen someone who had a stroke several months ago realize that he didn't need therapy as much as he needed people to talk to<br /><br />-- gotten the good news that a former patient who was fired from his job because of his speech impairment, now, over a year later, has a job offer in hand<br /><br />-- watched graduate students start to put the pieces together that what we do is actually pretty cool and is so much more than working with autistic kids (though that is certainly noble work)<br /><br />-- had colleagues in my office in tears, laughing hysterically over the things our patients do and say, and thinking through big professional changes<br /><br />-- breathed a sigh of relief that a long-time patient is 4 short hours away from returning to work full-time<br /><br />-- comforted a colleague I was observing when her patient told her that her fly was down, and it was<br /><br />-- met a woman who listed "alpaca farming" as her primary leisure activity<br /><br />-- heard someone from Columbus, Ohio sound like they were from the West Indies because of their stroke<br /><br />-- talked with doctors, lawyers, judges, auto mechanics, housewives, office managers, people with fancy homes in Potomac and people with no homes at all<br /><br />For all the days I want to put my pencil down and walk away from it all, most of the time I have a crazy, wonderful job.<br /><br />Clearly I too have privileges.</div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-19396218902866931662009-09-27T21:07:00.002-04:002009-09-27T21:11:23.092-04:00MotivationLooking for inspiration to get myself going on some stuff for class... You Tube is not helping...<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/s8MDNFaGfT4&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/s8MDNFaGfT4&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-7719664832167281962009-09-27T16:41:00.002-04:002009-09-27T18:34:14.019-04:00INTJ<a href="http://www.sockjockey.com/uploaded_images/farside-726274.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 600px;" src="http://www.sockjockey.com/uploaded_images/farside-726274.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Guess what I have in common with Ayn Rand, Rudy Guiliani, and Chevy Chase. Guess. Come on, guess. <br /><br />Fine, I'll just tell you. <br /><br />We share the same Myers-Briggs personality profile, which is, according to its authors, 75% accurate. Wikipedia describes it thusly: <br /><br />I – Introversion preferred to Extraversion: INTJs tend to be quiet and reserved. They generally prefer interacting with a few close friends rather than a wide circle of acquaintances, and they expend energy in social situations (whereas extraverts gain energy).<br /><br />N – iNtuition preferred to Sensing: INTJs tend to be more abstract than concrete. They focus their attention on the big picture rather than the details and on future possibilities rather than immediate realities.<br /><br />T – Thinking preferred to Feeling: INTJs tend to value objective criteria above personal preference. When making decisions they generally give more weight to logic than to social considerations.<br /><br />J – Judgment preferred to Perception: INTJs tend to plan their activities and make decisions early. They derive a sense of control through predictability, which to perceptive types may seem limiting. <br /><br />I never really put much stock in this, but I was feeling every inch of my type last weekend during an end-of-season beach trip with 5/6ths of the girls from Dinner Club. We spent almost all of our time together in group conversation, hanging out on a deck wtih books or knitting on our laps, cocktails in hand, chatting about anything and nothing (though after several bottles of wine one night the conversation would have been deemed offensive in a NFL locker room). <br /><br />From previous bigger group weekends at my friend's place on a ski resort I knew I had a tendancy to remove myself from the core group at times, even if just for a few minutes to clean up the kitchen or flip through a magazine. But I noticed I was really tired at the end of the first day, and would feel truly relaxed only in the times when a group of 3 would go shoe shopping, or a group of 2 would go on a beer run, or everyone was taking a mid-afternoon nap except for one other person. <br /><br />I love these women, each of them, and there were moments where I was cognizant of the fact that I was so happy to be a part of this as I know it's a rare and special thing to have good women friends. I'm just wired the way I'm wired, and I can feel myself burning energy to stay involved in a group conversation. <br /><br />It makes me think that professionally it would help to know the cognitive functioning style of our patients, as I can't imagine that these basic tendancies change post injury. The whole point of communication is to enter into exchanges that connect you to someone - to meet a basic need, draw someone close to you, exchange information. Successful communication is a spiritual process, in my humble opinion, and if it is a situation that fits our profile, then it feeds us and gives us energy that we continue to shower back onto those around us. I wonder how often we press patients into communication situations that don't feed them because we're using our own models of what feels good. <br /><br />There definitely seems to be something to this personality style business. My sister recently took the test and in four letters explained the reasons we wanted to kill each other for the majority of our teenage years under the same roof - ESFP, the exact opposite of INTJ. Nature, not nurture.Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378035110254119536.post-38843120026730548862009-09-13T16:58:00.004-04:002009-09-13T18:22:38.230-04:00Fallout<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQH9ueu_Tteeiyvcs9zPjo5gb1JUWADXrXeH6WZt-4dIO3QipGkjBerGd9rKtrcPH1wjaJV5a23MyvDzog_dRl7VeKCGA9Cx8fhxlA_lFmyLNljyS0KskokctoplNXuDM855u4R7Iz6UO/s400/Noah's+Flood+Dore+1.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 318px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQH9ueu_Tteeiyvcs9zPjo5gb1JUWADXrXeH6WZt-4dIO3QipGkjBerGd9rKtrcPH1wjaJV5a23MyvDzog_dRl7VeKCGA9Cx8fhxlA_lFmyLNljyS0KskokctoplNXuDM855u4R7Iz6UO/s400/Noah's+Flood+Dore+1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="left">On September 11th this year, many of my "friends" updated their Facebook status to describe what they remember from that day eight years ago, as in "WP, who was in the capitol that day, remembers", or "RR: I was in my dorm room asleep when a friend called to tell me to turn on the TV. 'What channel?' I asked. 'It doesn't matter' he said." Many people said where they were when they first heard the news, others wondered what we'd learned in the time that has followed. Others just looked forward to the OSU game on Saturday.<br /><br /><div align="left">I remember being on the unit when I overheard someone say a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. The medical resident standing beside me said, "I've been in that place, it's a fortress. That building isn't coming down". At that point most assumed it was an accident. Patient care went on.</div><br /><div align="left">I stopped by the TV in the atrium just in time to see the 2nd plane crash, confirming this was no accident. But patient care went on. </div><br /><div align="left">Then my long time supervisor and friend, J., saw me in the hall and said, "Did you hear they hit the Pentagon?". "Who is they?" I said. "Terrorists. They're coming for the Capitol". But patient care went on.</div><br /><div align="left">There was a brief time where I thought I was personally in danger. Silly now looking back on it, but powerful in the moment. </div><br /><div align="left">Patient care that day involved business as usual for our inpatients, who for the most part didn't have the awareness to understand what was going on given their injuries, and prepping for the admissions from the acute care hospital as they were sending anyone who was medically stable over to us to make room for burn or other trauma victims from the Pentagon scene. They never came, as people either survived unscathed or were incinerated on the spot (a friend who worked the recovery later told me that they found people still sitting at their desks doing whatever it was they were doing on impact, only they were no longer people but piles of ash).</div><br /><div align="left">Where I work is in the northwest quadrant of the city, and to get to Virginia you have to go over a bridge leaving the city unless you want to go into Maryland and around. We were hearing that people had simply walked home in order to evacuate downtown DC before they knew all the planes had been grounded, and there were rumors flying that there were no open roads into VA. After the single longest day of my life, it was finally time to go home but no one knew how to do it. One of the guys in the Rehab Engineering department went first and called within 10 minutes of leaving to say that roads were not only open, they were wide open. </div><br /><div align="left">I made my way home and didn't see a single other car on the road for the whole trip, which was the most disturbing part of it all to me as this route was usually a traffic snarled nightmare. As I came out of the 3rd St. tunnel to merge on to 395 I could see the smoke plume from the smoldering Pentagon, and as I drove by it alone on the freeway, expecting at any moment to get stopped by military police or the National Guard or the Secret Service or something, I could see the giant hole that used to be a wing of a building and people who loved their country. It was horrifying. </div><br /><div align="left">When I got home, pictures had been knocked off the wall from the impact of the plane hitting many miles away.</div><br /><div align="left">It was simply a surreal day, and these things I remember. </div><br /><div align="left">But what I remember more strongly and spend more time thinking about is the fallout. </div><br /><div align="left">Today's sermon was about Noah, which is what got me thinking about this. Noah, the first winemaker, after being back on dry land got drunk and took off all his clothes in what was likely a response to the total devastation he had witnessed. This lead to the cursing of his son who found him, which lead to a whole mess of hurt. </div><br /><div align="left">I worked with a man a month later who after years of controlling his drinking had fallen off the wagon when his friends were killed at the Pentagon, and crashed down a flight of stairs in a drunken stupor. The hospital's international program which housed primarily people from Arab countries immediately shut down, and some relationships that were really meaningful for me were lost. </div><br /><div align="left">But just as the story of Noah is really a story of love, there were so many amazing acts of love the day of and the days that followed all of this awfulness. Having a moment, even if only a moment, where you feel like the world is probably ending as you know it makes subtlety seem ridiculous. Strangers all over the world gave money, and blood, and time to help people they'd never met before in places they'd only seen on TV. I took risks and told people I loved them, and I meant it, just because I thought they should know. There was no such thing as small talk - every exchange was meaningful for awhile.</div><br /><div align="left">But just like patient care, life went on.</div><br /><div align="left">Though God promised to never again destroy the earth there is no guarantee that some other force won't. As horrific as that day was, I'm thankful to have at least one time a year that reminds me of how rich love can be when boldly professed and shown to friends, family, and strangers. </div><br /><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#000099;">The image, the antithesis of the warm-fuzzy feeling of cute animals on the ark, depicts the destruction that Noah saw from his view high and dry in the ark. I can't find the artist's reference, but thanks to J. for mentioning it this morning in the sermon. It would surely drive a man to drink.</span></div></div>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15495939006137450170noreply@blogger.com0