But, I digress.

Behold, new things are old. The United States Navy has(d) a schedule that was intended to reduce the life span of anyone who worked it. The 2-2-2/80 schedule may have been efficient for coverage, but generally left one quite exhausted. Two day shifts from 8-4 the second day you returned 8 hours later to work 2 12-8 shifts and at the end of that second shift you worked 2 shifts 4-12 followed by 80 hours off. I always wondered why the schedule used days to describe the first part and hours to describe time off. I digress. So, we were quite the tired lot and usually found our circadian rhythm ectopic (arar). Following my discharge, I worked from 11-7 at lone star gas company (still not sure what I did) followed by 7 broken up hours of college courses. I think I am too old for this. This weekend I worked nights (morning?) at the Psych House. I never thought that calling a Psych Hosp at 2am drunk would be fun. Actually, I have been quite amused at some of the inquiries. All those lost years of entertainment. I digress again. Some interesting quotes include "I want to admit my family", "how soon can you commit me?", and one very intoxicating call asking "can you give me directions". The later I have not seen and its been 4 hours. Where am I going with this you ask? Ask? ASK? I'm getting to old for this! This afternoon I watched the local news and the reporter was doing a story on something or other (not that important), what was important to me at least, was when the reporter asked a man "were you surprised by these events" and he said, "I'm 54, I'm not surprised by much anymore". Am I digressing. Well I'm tired! I am rambling and that's ok. Since, I'm the only one reading this, I am entitled to drift. I digress once again. So, I'm not 54, but inevitably I will be. Even if I die, I will be 54. Just dead. I think I am going to keep track of all the interesting questions. Well, a chair thrower, gotta go.

Every on has a Hobby, mine is Fred

Fred Thompson the next possible President for The USA is arriving at Hobbly Airport. I had stirred the chidruns to get ready. We are going to see the great Senator and his entourage. To rest on his laurals would be enough. Oh, I know. His record on, well, the other record, well he stood up and voteddd.....hmmmm, I liked Hunt for Red October. I was somewhat relieved when the grand poo pah of domestic plan poopers alerted the public that a t*%$($ stic threat had been issued. The torahist (a little irony)are making dry runs. I am not sure what that translates into airport security, but I do know it would be quite difficult to get our bohineys in there expecially heading INTO traffic after this loooong midnight shift. Fred will wait.

More rain in the forecast here. Its not even about rain on the news. The gambling is about what percent of rain and the "dew point". Our ditch in the front yard is still unfinished, but this will be the test to ascertain its utility at all. I will get some work out of Danielle on that ditch if we dig in the mud. She enjoys that. I also will get work from her because, pretty soon I'm going to announce that I purchased some very sought after tickets for the Ally & AJ concert this weekend. When we asked for back stage passes, they looked at us and asked who our "entourage" was? We were the AjAlly and bup (back up) singers. I was to do a skit acting like Allys father and have her look at her watch. The almost did not give us the grass seats. They call them grass seats, well, there is more to that later. Well, I'm off a nighter getting sleepy.

Dig man Dig

Aristotle once said that all virtue is summed up in dealing justly. So, advocating that with a strong desire to exact revenge, consideration for action not only employs justice, but as Proverb puts it a hypocrite with his mouth destroys his neighbour: but through knowledge shall the just be delivered. When a person has the ability to clear ones good name based upon facts, it is always tempting to do so by lashing out at the perverse nature of those that fondle your reputation dishonorably. Yet, by that proclamation, we call upon ourselves the ill repute for which we are accused. Years ago (15) I perhaps should have defended myself against a similar incident I now find myself in, however their fate did not go impuned. My natue really demanded me to call to everyones attention and to everyones delight the error and degrading nature of the ones that brought charges (accusations) against me. The other nature requested to walk away. I obliged the later. Consequently, though I find no joy in the demise of others, I gained knowledge and wisdom by their subsequent plight. I moved onward and upward and did well for my family. So, now I consider where I am. Midnights, making more money, not in a fulfilling job, yet paused in lifes affairs to wonder. Why am I here and where will I go. Short term with passing the boards for PMHNP is not in question, but I ask why am I doing what I deplored to ever do again (mainly midnights). It's not easy. Today, my eyes are tired, spirit willing, but my mind is weaker. I am not sure how to proceed with my mind in this state. I trust my help will come from the most likely source in my life. That He will deliver me as he always has. This is expected. It will improve, but why am I here? What am I to learn? These things detract from my time with the family and people in my life. Am I suppose to be distracted in order to focus more on them? I have another ditch to dig to drain water off my property. The rains lately have caused large bodies of standing water that require leveling to drain into the main water way. Somehow, I think it relates, but my mind is too weary to figure it out. Atleast I know I need to get out there right now and dig.

Nights

Well, I am working midnights. I thought I was too old for that, but God has once again proved I was wrong. I can not complain, glad to have the money. Just wondering if it can come a bit easier. The time I get there is right at midnight. The sleep gone and the night short, I finish the morning with a good feeling. There are no suits during the night, just people like me that wish to be left alone to do the best job we can do. Sounds nice doesn't it. Mostly procedural things. Mental Health is a different mentality all together (arar). I work with a decent guy named Brian. This is the first time I think, I've not worked with a feminist. Someone that puts on rock music, but busts doing his job. Its a good feeling. No competition, just a job to do and lets get it done. He's a good guy, however I know that things do change and at this point, he's a good guy. Mary is a nice lady. She was encouraging the first day I met her. She made me feel welcomed and offered herself with any questions I would have had. Is it nights where the normal people are?

I'm a man and I nurse

It occured to me that I mention age frequently. I suppose that I am not old, relatively speaking. It just feels like it sometimes. They say (whoever they are) that once you pass fourty it all begins to repeat itself. I wish I never learned that little phrase. Let me digress with a purpose. I rather enjoy laying in bed watching Court TV. The shows about murder, plots, mysteries and mystics only surpase my all time favorite of Ghost Hunters. If you watch this long enough, you know where it is all going. The plot is kind of ruined, because your familiar with the "who donit" in the cases. My sprint into the other half of my life begins with the "who donit" kinda figured out. If you get a gutteral feeling that there is a story coming you 1) know me or 2) your over 40. When I first interviewed at Memorial Hermann for the Psych Crisis Response Team, I interviewed with this, let me be nice, lady (I own the option to capitalize where I want). This person named Dona Gambrel took a quick view at my qualifications and said "oh, you don't have alot of med-surg experience, that might hurt you here). Instantly, I felt an overwhelming inner sense, indescribable really. At first I thought it was gas, but then I realized it may have been, but it was not I that was stinking here. Think of it as a shot across the bow. I remember driving home thinking on that inner indescribable reality and quite frankly felt relieved they did not give me an answer that day. I knew I would turn it down, my intuition was mandating the little bit of wisdom I had. The jostle set, no more message necessary, I took to reclining myself to where I was currently stationed. The private practice did not pay much, but I didn't do if for the pay. The reward was not monetary. Patient after patient were amused or amazed that I took my time, expressed an interest and genuinely cared. I felt I cared. There were many embarassing moments about the married Mom's on Paxil asking me advise. My collaboration with a womans health practitioner helped. Eventually, I could use words that were not part of my routine vocabulary, to assist in bringing more value to their relationships without blushing. I was helping and when my rumination brought about familiar emotions regarding Herman, I knew that Dona Gambrel was absolutely not worth it. They did call me back. They stated, they wanted to talk to me again. Theresa Fawvor a social worker, wanted to talk with me about my CV and the position, etc . . . The interview was not with Dona and I reconsidered, because I wanted to explore what role Dona would have in my daily responsibilities. At that time, I was autonomous pretty much, making independent decisions and not caught up in office politics. So, having a micromanaged environment was not what I was after. Never the less, I went to speak with Theresa. Much to my chagrin, Dona was there. She was dressed up, looking quit spiffy for an old nurse. I also believed I could smell the fragrance of White Diamonds. I think. Anyways, she was the pleasant one during that interview. She laughed, smiled and said some very lifting statements regarding my qualifications. Naturally, being in the mental health field, I payed no mind to the contradictions in presentations from the first visit to the last. I volleyed briefly on my initial impressions and the current one. I dismissed my intuition and eagerly, happily and with zeal, took on my new position as Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner. Being a man in a very female dominated profession is not as advantageous as one would think. There is a place for a man, at home, at work and especially in nursing. I suppose if you could define a male nurse you would include this definition: "a person with genitalia protruding from the inferior aspect of the suprapubis, with usually two gonadal almond shaped glands of varying sizes below the protrusion, whose chemical constitution is derived from these gonadal glands producing 17β-hydroxy-4-androsten-3-one unlike the complex female hormones of estradiol, estriol, and estrone all of which contain one or two hydroxyl groups connected to the D ring or estrone of the ketone group. The classic characteristics for this genderized professional would be such that makes this species less flaccid than the opposing gender. Hence the symbolic sterotype of ♂. Their chivalrous character unfeminizing toward others, attempts to usurp progress in the field of nursing and requires (utilizing their terminology) conterinsurgency. Industrious efforts include unconvential venues passed along through maternal underpinnings of deceptive and covert effete efforts to demoralize their premises. Male nurses: Oxymorons of unknown origin". When a person decides to end their life, they have embraced hopelessness and despair with a conclusion of either drastic measures for help or ending the pain with suicide. It matters little that the person attempted to die 1 time or 8 times. The depth of the feeling is the same - pain. People I have spoke with and tried to help appeared satisfied that I gave of myself to them. I gave them attention, time and words to comfort their pain. I tried to help. Each person was a life, a real serious single person crying, screaming in the darkness of their despair. It was either death or life when they came to the emergency room and I, I would either do little to influence one way or the other, be impersonal and treat them as a bed I needed to clear or finally this option which I chose, a positive surprise they were not expecting. A person who understands, empathizes, listens and feels what they feel. Then helps. Dona Gambrel wanted to know what was taking me so long. Why I could not just "get that patient out of there". Saving a buck. Each patient that stays in that bed will cost the hospital money. They need to "clear the bed". I erred in an effort to provide a service of humanity in a corporate environment. In my protest toward "time management" and being bullied, I was and am summarily discharged of my responsibilities. There story does not end there. The rule of radical feminism in nursing is exclusionary. Their aim is to disrupt the oppressive male dominated system. Dona Gambrel is such a person. Her collusion with Jane Mahoney RN PhD has come back to haunt me. One day in 2005, I mentioned to Jane Mahoney that men have a unique and impressive strong trait that can compliment nursing. This was my error. From that point forward there was conflict. As a radical feminist she abhored my recommended reading of "The Village Blacksmith". http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/longfellow/thevillage.shtml. I had attended a group, this group was unique, but had a sister group. It was called "Men's Sexuality" and concurrent was the womans group appropriately titled "Womens Sexuality" which I had not attended, since I was at the mens group. I mentioned this to Mahoney. One day during our psychiatric discourse, I had stated "I attended a men's sexuality group". This seemed to astound the radical feminist. I held my peace. Her intrusive aberrant thoughts excreted from her mouth "So, what do they talk about, child molesting?". The battle was lost long before it began. The network of radical feminists run deep. Their ties are known, there actions need no explanation. They want to undermine male dominance and men in any position, especially nursing. It pangs me to know that such an important profession, such delicate lives (patients) are actually affected by radical feminists http://fathersforlife.org/feminism/feminism_terms_defined.htm. So, as Dona and Mahoney colluded and succeeded I have resigned myself to acknowledge my plight. I must move on. Men are different than women. This is a big surprise to the feminist. Men are predictable, compassionate, great advocates, defenders and liberators. Yet, we are victims when playing in the field where feminist reside. A very good analogy is this. Let's say Janice Joplin had a job at a major corporation. She talks to the VP: "Your proposals were outstanding and well thought out, good job, sir" Imagine Janice Joplins voice and looks. The VP looks at her and said "thank Janice, did you finish the project I assigned you?". Next we have Janice Joplin average looking with white teeth, washed hair and not too bad looking. Janice Joplin: "Sir, I must compliment you on that proposal, everyone likes it, well done sir". VP looks at her and said "Why thank you Jan. Your very observant, you may go places here" NEXT, Janice Joplin, looking fabulous, make up, Dollish figure, an absolute knock out. "Sir, You were fabulous on that presentation, wow, that was really good. You worked real hard on that and it shows". VP looks at her and said "Well, hello J. Your looking really good yourself. Hey, know what goes before J? Huh??? Huh??? laughing" Janice says "Sir, you are sooo funny. I have not heard that one". NOW the feminist Willie Nelson is the figure for this one: "Howdy Gloria, you did a fine job on that proposal, mighty good". VP Gloria said "Yea, thats my job, you got work to do?" Willie Nelson shaved, dressed in a nice suite, smelling like the cologne Black with cuff links on. "Gloria, that was a might fine job on that presentation, it was very creative and well, wow" VP Gloria "Listen, BILL, I can do that right? I am capable of that and much more. Where are your productivity charts. Have you been keeping up with them?" NEXT Willie Nelson not looking like Willie, buff, clean, blue eyes, shaved sharp looking suite, leather shoes polished, teeth whiter than an egg shell and smelling like money". Willie said "Gloria, great job, your really moving out there, congrats" VP Gloria, "Listen Billie, you have nothing creative to say, then get back to work. What are you working on anyways?". I'm done. I feel better getting this out. I know that no one will really read this so . . . I have sent this sight to family and friends. Some have emailed me back, others, well there are no notes posted. That is ok. Talk about isolated. Self esteem check here. Is this battery working on the self esteem gauge? I need to get new batteries. I'm going to take a shower, dig a ditch tomorrow (very masculine ditch) and probably watch Court TV. Laying in bed all day sounds good too. Oh, doing that requires that I validate my existence by having a job. Got one. A good filler til I pass my boards. Doing Psych Family this time. I will be an NP one day. I plan on management so I can defeat the radical feminist and smell like sweat, have a 5pm shadow all day and rule, rule RULE! ahhahahahahaha. I'm in charge one day and no one, no one can stop me! hahahaha. I forgot to buy the milk at HEB. Note to self, get milk. Rambling. Update tomorrow. Story needs to be finished as boring as it is.

Life is like a fruit basket

Have you ever saw the future and hoped in it only to have it redefined? Sometimes, the future just takes a curve and I don't know why. The divine purpose is clear to someone, but not obvious to me. I wonder if it gets even weirder as we age? I sit in a new leather chair, cushioned bottom and suited to my spinal issues. I type looking for employment. This is a very delicate place for me. The storm has come and I have been swept on shore. Now, somehow, I must find my way back to the waters. To sail, catch the wind and embrace another way. Life is not like a box of chocolates. Life is like a fruit basket. Some apples look good, but there are worms in the core. Some have coconut (I hate coconut), still some fruit in the basic are Texas Orange. They look like Oranges, smell like Oranges, but when you open it up and tast its juices, your get sour, Lemon sour. Ok, a sense of frustration, noted. I missed my boards by 2 questions. So, more money, more time to study, limbo in job and actually doing ok with it. No, I don't believe I'm in denial. I am too old to not know there are speed bumps in the road. Well, not much creativity in this email. Good news is I got a brand new executive chair and did not pay one cent. Oh, the simple pleasures as we age.

The RaVAN

The next day, as the sun slowly rose over the piney tree tops. The fingers that pressed upon the letters of the keyboard creeked with an all too familiar sound. The sound of age and pain to finger cuts from the labor of the prior day, made the reach for the higher letters more daunting. If only I could communicate with asdf gh jkl; (the gh are a stretch-literally). The task which was accomplished on the day before was successful. The fruit bore in the startling sound of the motor cranking. Still, the air grew denser with each moment of glee. As if glee was a spray of the finest parfume before the masculine remains deposited in the l'eau de toilette overtook it, glee in all her glory was short lived. Celebration turned to misery as the olfactory stimulation caused brief periods of dyspnea. Some say, that in the midst of malodorous haunting of milk long past, that you can still here the sounds of its host. The beast whose sacrifice provided for the element of flavor that one fateful day. I paused, I heard it, distant, but clear, "oooooo". Then, louder and with an eerie familiar sound "eeooooou", and louder still, as a duet, "eeeoooou" and finally, a trio as my sons disgust added to guttural responses "eeeeoooouuu" of my daughter and the cousin Hannah. They crescendoed until at last I fled. Then, haunted, frightful, repugnant and shamed - I watched as my children and my niece were possessed by the sounds of the beast that certainly was now passed. Shame, you ask? Yes, for I have known this haunting and was possessed as they are. The demonic scent lingered in my nostrils as if sulfur from Hades. As it does in theirs now. Yet, as aged limburger cheese, I have witnessed worse. My shame soon faded as their novice disgust strengthened my limburgered nostrils. My age and experience became evident, evoking memories of the dead. Kimchi, blood sausage, sardines and the like. I returned to the helm of my vessel, smiling, wondering, sharing no thoughts a father should ever share, ‘til now the wrinkles on my face disgraced repugnance. "What odour causes you to flee, do you not know that I have fared well in rougher swells." Then, they sensed my common tale to come and fled even faster and further. Left alone in the sweltering heat of the fermented enclosure, my salvation lay in the oscillating hopes of cold blowing air. Pretending the brave moment, I witnessed my hand, slowed in a cinematic movement, turning that circular button for which I placed my hopes. The rest I will never share, neither will anyone know the true nature of the most unnatural. Suffice it to say that I too fear the tale I can now tell. So, that is my story. The ardent embellishment of a moment in time, or was it? The van ne'er again started, still is sitting, still is sitting at the end of the driveway not driven, near the curb. And the smell from out that chamber that lies floating in the air, Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Humid

Houston rains are nice when brief and cooling. The rains have come for several days and then, the sun shows up to make matters worse. The sun does not beat down to torment us after these heavy rains, instead it causes the water to loose itself from a liquid state to a gaseous form. I think most of us are distilled by now. It is also that time of year when cars begin to have, issues. This year the theme of our fate is electrical. The minivan that smells like spoiled milk, has been fermenting in this wet, humid heat. We have been debating on whether to call a tow truck or not. It use to be so easy on making decisions like that. The starter or the battery. See, at one time, years ago, it was not so complicated, however it seems some vehicles have become - lets say - picky about how many amps it needs to start. I don't want to be confused with someone who may actually know what that means. I argued with fervor at first. Then, as if an old man was told "Grandpa, you can use the remote, you don't need to go all the way to the tv", I was shut down with the new concept that starters will just click if they don't have a certain amount of amps. So, we went to Walmart and purchased a new battery. I'm wondering if they put smell sensors inside the cars to alert us when something is wrong. That would explain the smell and make sense. That would be a better idea than the flashing orange-red lights on the dash board. The smell would actually provoke some action like what we are dong now. Well, I'm cleaning the engine block off today too. My theory is, that maybe some smells are taken up from the engine block and, by making it smell better, the van may smell better.