Breathing time

Wooowhee, the last couple days have been off the charts stressful.

As I said in a previous post, my mom has been really, REALLY confused since whatever happened last Friday. The week has been full of police reports, DCF investigations, an admission into the hospital for that strange bout of confusion, and struggling to get her placed somewhere else.

I've got a real problem with Port Orange Rehab. Not only did they threaten an employee with termination of she told me what she witnessed, but they also blatantly lied to the DCF investigator, who says they said that absolutely nothing (not even bullying or verbal abuse) happened last Friday. They explained the ripped off fingernail by saying my mom had ripped it herself. They explained the black eye by saying my mom has a bait of rubbing that eye and "resting her hand" against that eye. What a bunch of bull.

So, anyway, DCF apparently leans toward believing the bullies over the victim. And apparently, the two law firms I've called so far think it's okay for the elderly to be pushed down, emotionally abused, and ignored to the point of getting recurrent UTI's is just fine as long as they weren't visibly injured with more than a black eye and ripped fingernail. So, nursing home employees can get away with ANYTHING as long as they don't leave serious visible injury. I guess emotional trauma and assault and battery don't mean anything.

Not this time. I'm POSITIVE something happened to my mom. I've been advised to contact the nursing home ombudsman to see what help they can offer. I know it looks bad that my mom changed her story many times in her confusion. However, I feel her confusion was a result of whatever trauma she endured. She wasn't confused before this happened. And now that she's in a new safe place, she's no longer confused, but still can't remember what happened to her.

I would also like to get a psychiatrist's opinion about all this and see if it's possible that a traumatic event could cause confusion and memory loss.

But it's not over yet. If this has happened to my mom, I'm sure it has happened to others. And will happen in the future. I want it to stop, and will do everything I can to make sure it doesn't happen again.

And wouldn't you know? The person who allegedly did this to my mom has quite the rap sheet. You can find a list of her offenses here. Wow, everything from drugs to DUI to domestic battery. Makes you wonder why a nursing home for the elderly would hire someone with so many arrests, especially ones that involve injury to someone else!

Oh no, this isn't over by a long shot.

Anyway, after a couple rehab facilities refused to take her because of her allegations and confusion about what happened, I finally got a call from a nice place in Daytona, and my mom was transferred there yesterday. She was very sad, not talking, and not eating. I finally got her to talk to me when I got there and asked her why she was so sad. Her room was MUCH larger, and private, with a nice big window, nice view, and the TV was big and got a lot more channels than the other rehab. She also has a nice recliner and more places to put personal items like photos.

She said, "I'll never see Monet again."

Shattered heart, again. I got up and went to the nurse's station, and asked if I could bring Monet to visit. They said yes, and when I told my mom, she instantly sat up straight and squealed with joy. It was like watching a little girl when she holds a puppy for the first time. My mom literally started to cry with joy. She asked when I will bring Monet to see her. I said, "Tomorrow," and another squeal of pure, unadulterated joy.

That made me really happy and instantly relieved. I asked a stupid question then. "So, you're happy now?"

And she said, "Oh, yes! I can't wait to see my whittle baby girl!" Lol. She then ate a whole grilled cheese, some soup and some Milano cookies.

So all is working out on that front, and I forgot to mention the staff at the new place seem very nice and have been extremely helpful.

Anyway, sorry about the lack of pics lately...but I do have a couple I guess I can post...

This is Monet and Hermione (formerly Crappy, formerly Trappy), snuggling after an hour of play...

Then Monet notices I'm like the Paparazzi, sneaking photos of a secret love affair:

Then, the Bieber-like paw blocking the shot...I had to use evasive manuevers to keep her from wrestling the phone out of my hand. Lol.

But then I guess she really didn't care...because she went back to sleep. :)

And here's a pic from Mindquest, where James and I took the kids last Saturday. It's an escape room place, and we did "The Haunting," which was their second hardest room. We didn't escape in time (it was HARD), but we did have a happy time. When I saw the aviator hat with goggles, I had to have a pic, because my PlayStation aviator is a girl with an aviator hat and goggles.

And, for the record, I am NOT pigeon-toed. I only sit that way sometimes. :)

Behind the Scenes

In TTOTC, Forrest quotes a little of Shakespeare's As You Like It when he references the many parts a person plays in life.

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts..."

Forrest also said, "Movies Lie to You."

I look at it like this. In a movie, actors are often larger than life, beautiful Scarlett Johansson's and Chris Hemworth's with zero flaws, living perfect lives, and riding into ever perfect sunsets. Most stories follow an arc, and when I was an editor, part of my job was to make sure the story arc was there. I see the story arc in TTOTC. You have the protagonist actors-- Forrest, his family and friends. The antagonists-- John Charles Whatever, the Kachina store owners, the Alpha teachers. You have seemingly larger than life events in My War for Me. And you have what editors and writers call "The Black Moment," when Forrest receives the diagnosis of cancer, when all seems lost and when hope is pinched out like the flame on a match. And then, in the end, hope is restored when the heroes and heroines (Forrest's surgeon and home team) save the day and everyone lives contently ever after.

But, while the world and even TTOTC is a stage, there's always a different world behind the scenes.

Every day, at some time, even the most glamorous actors exit the stage to live "off camera." It's only then that they're real. The masks and makeup come off, and they slip out of the part they've played all day long.

Sometimes, it can be tragic. Take Robin Williams, for example. Some people were aware of the deep bouts of depression he'd go through. But most of us, including me, were oblivious. On camera, he was so funny, so outrageous, and seemed to always be smiling and laughing. When I look at pictures of him now, although in them he was smiling with his mouth, his eyes held such a huge sadness that I hadn't noticed before, and I'm usually really good at reading eyes, and that's why I still have trouble looking people in the eyes. There's too much to see, and contrary to popular belief, people with Aspergers are empathetic almost to an extreme.

One of my PA's went to San Francisco for vacation, and brought us all back these little coin purses from Chinatown. Inside was a piece of chocolate and a little trinket with Chinese letters on one side and the meaning on the other. He held out the box and asked me to pick one. I looked at them like they were fortune cookies, and I picked a black one. This is what I got:

Sorry for that little tangent, but I wanted to fit it in somewhere, because I liked it and thought it was the perfect word to describe me. Other coworkers seemed to get perfect descriptors, too.

Anyway, behind the scenes, Robin Williams struggled with a darkness no amount of makeup or spotlight could hide. And the result was tragedy. How sad our society has become that we are so focused on the stage that we ignore, forget, or dismiss what goes on behind the scenes.

Our world has become almost a false reality, a false Facebook reality. I have friends on Facebook who post inspirational quotes, about a billion smiling selfies, and another five thousand little snippets of their seemingly perfect days in their seemingly perfect lives. Yet, behind the scenes, their lives are falling apart. I know some people who do this, as though posting a perfect moment on Facebook will magically make their lives behind the scenes match the one on camera.

Unfortunately, life, and Facebook, doesn't work that way. Facebook has become a competition, a keeping up with the Jones's, a "my life is better than your life" battle of perfection. It's like the movies. It's a lie.

There's something inherently prideful about the human race that strives to show the world only "an actor in character." By that, I mean we all strive to remain "in character" when others are around to see. When women put on their makeup, get dressed, then plaster on a smile when they walk out the front door, they're immediately in character, and "on stage." We're inherently afraid of rejection and judgment, so we strive for a perfection that only movies and magazine covers can realistically obtain.

To me, that's a rapidly blooming flaw in our society. When the average person reads the Facebook posts of their friends with their perfect husbands, perfect kids, new cars, and flawless lives, they tend to believe what is portrayed "on stage" is reality. The result is a lot of depressed people who think their lives just plain old suck in comparison. As a result, there are those on Facebook who are part of the always negative "FML" crowd.

Now I'm not saying Facebook is all bad. I think it's a great way to network, a great way to keep up with old friends, and a great place to brag a little about the good things, as well as a great place to ask for support and prayer. I believe balance is the key. Like Shakespeare said, we all play many parts in life. I'm a mother, daughter, medical professional, tomboy, niece, aunt, sister, and many others. Our scripts are full of ourselves playing all the parts.

But at the end of the day, when we're alone in the solitude of our minds, we are simply "Me." The art of life, to me, is incorporating "me" in all the parts I play. To play each part with as much honesty and "me-ness" as I can. I strive to be genuine. Most of the time, it's hard for me to hide my feelings. If I'm feeling overwhelmed, I tend to withdraw. People notice. If I'm excited or happy, I tend to be more talkative, and laugh and smile a lot. People notice. In other words, I don't own many masks. And I guess that's probably an Asperger's trait. My motto has always been "what you see is what you get."

There are variations, of course. Sometimes, if I'm feeling overwhelmed, I can't afford to withdraw. Exiting the stage isn't an option, so I play the part, and remain "in character."

I don't think that's a big deal. Who doesn't want others to see them at their best? And some professions require that you remain "in character" in order to be successful. Maybe then (and probably only then) the phrase, "It's not who you are, but who they think you are," matters. Sometimes, when your life is falling apart behind the scenes, you have to step up the acting while on stage for the benefit of others.

But don't we all want people who are genuine? Don't we all get sick of those people who seem to be plastered with smiles and positive sayings and happiness every minute of every day? Sort of like Rob Lowe's character in Parks and Rec, where everything is "literally" the greatest thing EVER? It makes me wonder what happens when they finally exit the stage at the end of a day and drop the character they've been playing. It makes me not really want to be there to see it, because you know it can't be pretty.

And don't get me wrong--a positive outlook on life, and an inner contentment and underlying happy disposition is awesome, and many people are blessed with that. But at the same time, suppressing any negative feeling without dealing with it is unhealthy, and becomes transparent enough to mar the beauty of those "always positive no matter what" people.

Sometimes life is hard. Sometimes things happen that genuinely suck. Sometimes things happen that make you sad, or angry, or disgusted. And you know what? It's okay to express the feelings that come as a result. What's not okay is to let those things best you. What's not okay is becoming one of those FML people on Facebook who seem to attract lightning strikes like a metal rod on a skyscraper. Those people even have a "wet" sort of countenance to me, soggy and weighed down by the rain that continually pours down on them.

There's a balance to be found, both on the world stage and behind the scenes. A balance that makes you genuine. That's hard to find these days, and it's one reason I strive for transparency on my blog, and in everyday "on stage" life. I don't like pretending to feel something I don't. I don't like pretending to be someone I'm not. I think people need that transparency. One of the problems in society today is there isn't enough "behind the scenes" exposed to the public. So people read those Facebook posts and become depressed and jealous and bitter--over a lie (or at least an exaggeration)-- because they think it's reality, and their own reality is not nearly so glamorous.

And I'm not saying it's wrong to post positive things on Facebook, but I think it's also important to abandon being "in character" sometimes, if only to show that you're genuine.

In fact, behind the scenes, where the spotlight is dim and the microphones are off, life is hard. Bills have to be paid, kids have to be fed and clothed and diapers changed. Nothing is accomplished without effort. And sometimes, happy endings don't naturally happen just because movies tell us they do.

One of my goals in blogging is to share my behind the scenes struggles of life with the hope that it touches someone by showing them they aren't alone in their problems or their feelings. We all share common human emotions, and not all of them are positive, and it's okay to express hurt, and anger, and sadness sometimes. It shows that we're human, and we have common misfortunes, and that we aren't the only ones walking through a storm at one time or another. It shows us that the reality is not Facebook. And with my posts, I hope that something I say matters to someone. I hope something I say gives hope to someone.

I know there are people out there who feel hopeless, and alone, and desperate. And my goal is to show them that they aren't alone, and that while it may seem at times like there's no hope, there is always hope. My hope is that by telling my story, it helps someone else who may be going through similar trials.

Our emotions are there for a reason. They shouldn't be swept under a rug, or scoffed at, or suppressed simply to hide our life behind the scenes. Expressing our emotions in a healthy way is important to our well-being. And by learning to express our emotions in a healthy way, we are more apt to adopt a positive outlook. The problem is that society is being shaped to believe that expressing any strong emotion, or showing any depth of feeling, is "abnormal," and therefore "weak" or "dramatic."

I guess what I'm trying to say is that maybe people need to shed the masks sometimes, and live behind the scenes while on stage...

What Matters and Where it Matters

Yesterday was a crazy day. Since I took Monday off, and my boss starts her vacation today, I couldn't miss work yesterday (and couldn't afford to even if I wanted to).

Before work, I went to the police station to see if any of the police reports were ready from Friday and Monday. Friday's was ready, but Monday's won't be complete until this afternoon. I picked up what they had so far.

When I got to work, an investigator for Department of Family Services called and said she was going to go to the nursing room and speak to my mom, but she wanted my take on what had happened first. I told her the story as it was told to me.

Then, I started making arrangements for my mom to be transferred to another facility, and deciding to wait until the investigator was finished with her interview before we actually made the transfer.

Then, around 10:00 am, my mom called, and started talking crazy. At the same time, Aidan started calling. She'd gone to visit my mom, and was scared of the way she was talking. She told Aidan the boss of the nursing home took my mom to her house, to a party, and pushed her down in the pool, among other things. I asked my mom about it, and she just grew more and more confused. She stated she now couldn't remember what happened on Friday.

She called every ten minutes after that, and the stories grew more convoluted and confused. I didn't know what was happening, but I knew she had another UTI, and UTI's can make people, especially the elderly, very confused. The nurse had done her job (for once) and informed me a physician had seen her in the morning and increased her antibiotic. So, I thought maybe the confusion had a simple answer.

But, it just kept getting even weirder.

She called and whispered: I made the whole thing up.
Me: What? About Friday?
Mom: Yes.
Me: Why would you do that? And why would Kelly tell me something happened to you?
Mom: I don't know, but I dreamed it all. They said so.
Me: Who said so?
Mom: I don't know, but I made the whole thing up because I love you and I didn't want you to be mad at me.
Me: Mom, I do love you, and I'm not mad at you. Why would you make something like that up? If that's true, you may have cost two people their jobs. The police came out twice. I sure hope I didn't raise hell for a lie.
Mom: I don't know what happened Friday.
Me: Did you make it up or not? I sorta need to know the truth here, Mom.
Mom: I can't remember, but I must have imagined it.
Me: I'm totally lost. Why would Kelly say that she had been threatened that she would be fired if she told the truth? How did you break your nail and get the black eye? Something happened, but now I have no idea what. I've really got to know what happened, Mom. The truth is really important.
Mom: What do you want me to say?
Me: Just the truth.
Mom: I don't know. I just want you to love me and I want to go home.

Well, that pretty much shattered my heart. I assured her I loved her, and that although it would be nice if she could come home, I didn't know if she would be able. I remember on Saturday when we were having her party, she looked especially frail, and tired, and just not really there. My sister-in-law is very blunt (she's a hospice nurse), and told my mom she would probably never be able to go back "home" again, because she was just too frail and would need round the clock care.

Shortly after that conversation, a nurse called and said that the results of her urinalysis came back, and they thought it was best to EVAC her to the emergency room because of her "altered mental status." So, I called Aidan and asked if she could meet my mom there to give the ER doctor her history, because I couldn't get away right then from work (I was working with a patient).

Once I finished at work, I headed to the hospital and visited with her for a few minutes before they took her away for a CT scan. At that time, they were concerned about a stroke or sepsis. She didn't look good. As I waited, I kept picturing how she looked in my mind, so to take my mind off it for a minute, I checked in on the blogs, and the two haters were still spouting their usual hate, so I lost it and in all caps, told them to give it a rest for a few days. It was then I realized that they weren't just trolls, they were real life evil. I think I'm done with ChaseChat; there are some seriously mentally ill and/or evil people there. Oh, I'm not bowing out of the chase--no way--but I am refusing to associate or interact with idiots who also happen to be evil. So, see ya, ChaseChat. I understand Stephanie letting some things go in the spirit of free speech, but some things get carried too far. The Wolf sent me an email expressing his disgust, and he's also done with ChaseChat. If I don't find the treasure, I sure hope he does.

Anyway, there's nothing left for anyone to offer there, or on Dal's for that matter. I have the method to solve the poem. And why try to feed anything that's just going to bite your hand?

So, anyway, the CT scan looked good, and although her bloodwork was a little off, it wasn't critical. They did want to keep her overnight, and then transfer her to a new facility tomorrow. Unfortunately, the diagnosis will most likely be dementia, and she will go to what they call the "Sundowner's Beach" wing at Oceanview. I don't think she'll like that very much, and before I left last night, she was begging to come home for "just one day," to see Monet. That shattered my heart, too. I told her I would bring Monet to the nursing home as soon as I could.

The drive home from the hospital was somber. I sort of felt alone, but at the same time, I could feel God's love drawing me in. I felt a certain kind of solitary peace, and knew that no matter what people thought, or how misunderstood I was, I was doing my best, and there's just One who really knows my heart. Only He can judge me. And that One who can judge me also loves me, and loves my mom, unconditionally. I knew He would watch over her, and hopefully, give her the peace I was feeling at that moment.

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter who they think you are. It matters who you are. And I am a child of God, striving to be a light in the lives of those I love, and striving to make a difference in the world.

Who are you?

Some things are etched in stone, others only imagine things etched in stone. Like Ben Franklin's Epitaph, which in the romance of our own thoughts, he imagined up sometime just after midnight as he stared out the window into a distant brewing thunderstorm. Maybe his thumb lovingly grazed the cover of a favorite book as flashes of brief light illuminated the shadows of his features. 

Anyway, his epitaph is interesting. Especially in light of Forrest's recent question and answer with Jenny on Mysterious Writings. You know, the one about how things rubbed after time change the appearance of things. 

Here's the mock epitaph a still young BF (that's what I want to call him) conjured up on that imagined night so long ago:

The Body of 

B. Franklin, Printer,

Like the Cover of an old Book,

Its Contents torn out,

And stript of its Lettering and Gilding,

Lies here, Food for Worms.

But the Work shall not be whlly lost:

For it will, as he believ'd, appear once more,

In a new & more perfect Edition,

Corrected and Amended

By the Author.

Here is the epitaph in BF's own handwriting:

​​And here is a plaque with the epitaph:

And here's an old timey article with the epitaph:

The funny thing is that this epitaph, though clearly beloved by many, was not what an older and wiser BF wanted his headstone to read. In his will, he clearly stated how he wanted his headstone, and his wishes were carried out. He simply wanted to lie beside his wife in eternal rest. 

Epitaph's, both real and those thought up in one's youth, can be interesting, can't they? What would yours say? I haven't thought much about mine. Maybe I should, before I get too old. It would be sorta cool to look back if, God willing, I live to an old age and see how my thoughts have wizened over the years.

In other news, things are becoming clearer...

And James arrives today! 

Mish Mosh and Dressage

So, Dal put up this "No Contest Contest About Me," and Forrest started it all with a short blurb about himself. Then we were all encouraged to put up little blurbs about ourselves, and urged to keep it short and sweet.

Well, it was interesting, because as the comments started pouring in, short and sweet became longer and longer, and some people became not so sweet. There were a few barbs thrown from seemingly out of the blue nowhere. The "two" Diggin Gypsies went at it for a while. To me, there is one original Diggin Gypsy, and that's the one from Georgia. I know the back story, and I believe DG from GA is the original Diggin.

But really, what does it matter? Why fight for an old man's nickname? Does it really matter in the grand scheme of life? And then, when the arguing is seemingly resolved peacefully, why stir it up again by throwing barbs at DG and anyone who dared to stand up for her? Why apologize, if you're going to come right back and start hurling crap again? I don't understand that.

But my boss and I were talking about this kind of thing yesterday, and she said her yoga instructor showed her a video by a psychologist named Marshall Rosenberg. He's known for being a mediator between warring countries and his expertise is in non-violent communication.

She searched around on YouTube and found it, and we watched it together (work was a little slow yesterday), and one thing this guy said stood out. He said, "Any evaluation of others that implies wrongness is a tragic expression of an unmet need." Think about it. He said our country's way of communicating is seriously messed up, and I just violated one of his rules of non-violent communication. In fact, we all do it, every day. He compares non-violent communication to that of a giraffe, and "violent communication" as to that of a jackal. I thought that was right on.

If I say, "My coworker is always loud and rude to the patients," that's a judgmental statement and NOT an observable fact. In some cultures and even among Americans, a loud tone of voice is not considered "loud," and since I can't observe every interaction between the coworker and patient, I can't know if she's "always" rude, and my perception of "rude" may be different than hers and others.

So, it helped to give me a new awareness to perception, and will hopefully help in my communication in everyday life. Even when I don't think I'm being harsh or judgmental, others may perceive it that way. I think we could all use a little help in the area of judging others, don't you think?

Back to the No Contest thread--Iron Will kept it fun and interesting, throwing in a little puzzle of his own.

Anyway, I have to say, Jeremy P. is the bomb. And I mean that in a good way. He posted about horses, and what athletes can do on horses. My mind immediately blinked back to a few scenes in LOTR where Legolas does some amazing elfy things on horses. I posted a link to this video:

I would love to be able to do that. When I was in my teens, my best friend had horses, and for about a year, I had a 16 hand gray thoroughbred, and we took lessons and attempted a few shows. Our focus was on jumping, so I knew nothing about Dressage. Jeremy posted an awesomely hilarious video in response to my Legolas horse mount. You can find it here. I haven't laughed so hard in a month.

Anyway, it was a fun thread, for the most part, and nice to read about most of the other searchers.

However, getting on Dal's site yesterday was nearly impossible for most of the day, because of an overload of people visiting who had heard the sad news that Randy Bilyeu's remains have been positively identified. Linda Bilyeu issued a statement to the press, which Dal put up today, and Forrest's response. I can understand his ex-wife's frustration, and I do think Forrest's seemingly glib comment about having to kill her if he told her where the treasure is was in bad taste, but again, how can I be sure? I have two sides of one story, and I'm sure there are more dynamics involved then I can objectively observe.

All I know is that it's a tragic situation, and a hard pill to swallow for all involved. But life has to go on, you know? You have to keep taking that next breath, and you have to move forward. In time, I hope Linda and her family can keep moving forward, and gain strength from the experience.

Okay, in an effort to lighten things up, I'll tell you about waking up today. I woke up at 3:00 am, when Hermione the Nightcrawler, jumped on my bed after a night of prowling and decided the best place to sleep was on my head, her head on my ear. Then the really loud purring started, and the kneading of claws in my neck. And of course, Monet was instantly jealous, and had to start licking my face and plopping her butt down right against my nose. I actually videoed it in the dark. Lol.

So, I just decided to get up. James is coming tomorrow, and I'm excited for a nice weekend with him and the kids.

Things are progressing well with my solve, and I think I've got the state locked in. :)

Not Just Red, but Infra Red

Forrest is seeming to call attention to red letters lately. And I found an interesting thing on ChaseChat that I believe Seannm posted. It's the early logo of the Ben Franklin Five and Dime Stores.

The symbol is a spark (asterisk) igniting a key. It was inspired by Ben Franklin's experiments with lightning and electricity.

The key has a heart cut out in the top. The words "BEN FRANKLIN" are written in capital red letters.

I didn't give Sean's post much thought until last night, when I found "5&10" in TTOTC in big bold blazing letters.

So, I went back and reread Sean's post. Then did a little research and have decided the red being hinted at isn't just red, but infra red. Here's the wiki article on infra red:

"The color Infra red can represent love, anger, warning or death. Infra red is a "strong" color, used for intense emotions and concepts. It can symbolize death because infra red is the color of blood. Blood red may also symbolize life's blood. Because infra red is the color of blood, it is most frequently used as the color of the heart. It is also sometimes connected with embarrassment because people sometimes flush bright red. Other times, it is used to represent anger because sometimes people's faces turn bright red.

Infra red is also associated with the first chakra, located at the base of the spine. Infra red therefore is associated with all the basic things that we need for survival, all those things that give us security, those things that allow us to live.

Because it is the most easily visible color in the spectrum, infra red is frequently associated with warning or danger, the things that threaten our security. We use a infra red light to indicate we need to stop. Many warning lights on equipment flash red. We use the term "code red" for high alert.

In the Animal Kingdom, many animals or organisms that are deadly, dangerous or poisonous, (or want to appear so, to deflect predators) will have a bright colouration, usually red. This is why the colour red is associated with warning, danger, and primal survival instincts.

Infra red is also a symbol of power and prestige. We roll out the "red carpet" for VIPs.

The color of molten lava, Infra red is also associated with heat. We refer to something that is really hot as "red hot." Fire trucks used to be painted red. (Many places now use other colors that are more visible in traffic than red.)

In Africa, red is a sign of mourning."

I've always known red letters are important, and I'm finding them. I'm also finding several heart shapes.

No matter what Forrest says, never touch one of these:

Anyway, just a short thought on red stuff... :)

And a quick note, Forrest's questions and answers yesterday about the bracelet that was made even more beautiful by touching it? The oils from fingers over a long period of touching created a kind of patina on the turquoise. Time creates a natural patina on things, from pages in books, to bronze, to just about everything, even ourselves.

Think about that.

I've posted in much more detail on these things on www.fennhotspot.com. :)

At Least I Slept...

James surprised me on Sunday by announcing he's coming for a long weekend this weekend. That'll be awesome, as usual. I got some man things for him to do around the house (if he wants to), like help me put together the exercise equipment. The kids also want to do something fun when he gets here, so I was thinking either Escapeology or Medieval Times. My mom's birthday is Saturday, too, so we'll probably bring Monet and a little cake and have a little party at the rehab place.

I can't remember if I told you all that my voice is almost back to normal. That's a very good thing!

Solving the poem is also taking a lot of time. I can only do a little bit every day. It seems like it's going to take me forever to get through it. I know there has to be an easier way, but F said there are no shortcuts, so I'm thinking maybe there isn't an easier way. I am making progress deciphering his scribble, though.

One thing that I absolutely KNOW is that I have the right method. You can't deny something that's right before your eyes, and I understand all the skepticism. It's something you'll have to see to believe.

After a few sleepless nights, I had a really weird dream last night that just came from out of the blue. With so much poem work at night, you'd think I'd dream about cold stuff and being brave and all that. But this one was just from left field.

I dreamed I was in college, and I guess I was running for some sort of office. I was also going to church again, and the pastor was this long-haired surfer type complete with the California
"Duuuuudddde" thing going on. He was a little goofy, but some things he said made sense. And I worked at some kind of ice cream shop, but it wasn't really like an ice cream shop (I really did work in an ice cream shop during the 12th grade).

Anyway, because I was a Christian, my "opponents" didn't like that very much, so they took to the streets wearing ridiculous helium balloon costumes that had cardboard signs taped to them. One said, "Mindy eats poop." And another said, "Mindy kills babies." Which, of course, both are not true. The second sign implied I support abortion, which I don't. And of course, I don't eat well, but I don't eat poop, either, cause I would be dead if I did. I really thought they were funny, and was expecting some serious attacks. When I read, "Mindy eats poop," I laughed out loud.

Anyway, the pastor guy said that the public will always oppose Christian values. And then the next thing I know, some fanatic is trying to climb a wall of basketballs to get to a shotgun so he can take out my opponents, and I realized that things might get serious, and I had to stop him. The shotgun was on top of a shelf over the wall of precariously place basketballs, and the pastor was actually trying to climb up them. I realized there was an easier way, and started taking the basketballs from the bottom and throwing them at the basketball wall, which made some basketballs dislodge and come bouncing to the ground. Soon, there was no basketball wall left to climb, and I had saved all the helium guys from being blown to bits.

But of course, that didn't stop the helium clad attacks.

And then there was something about going into a graveyard at night, and that might have been fueled by something poem related, but I don't remember that very much.

Maybe hearing about politics all day long from patients with some very strong political views, and from coworkers with some very strong political views, was the catalyst behind my dream.

All I know is that I don't like either candidate, but will vote democrat (against my affiliation) to keep the helium balloon mockery, Donald Trump, out of office. You guys think a bunch of smart advisers will keep him from doing stupid things? Think again! He just can't prevent the stupid from coming out of his mouth. The guy is a train wreck just waiting to happen. If he becomes President, I will seriously get moving on finding that chest or making serious money some other way and then move to Denmark.

Today is purple day at work, and I think I'm going to rebel and wear black. The purple is really just awful. And I won't feel bad, because my boss also doesn't like the purple or the gray, so she wears what she wants on Tuesdays and Thursdays, too.

And today will be somewhat difficult. We have two diagnostic in-office arthroscopies, which are really not that hard or time consuming, but require sterile technique and for some reason that stresses everyone out, and that makes for a hard day. A couple coworkers came in our office yesterday and were saying, "Ya know, Dr. K has TWO of those diagnostic things tomorrow, so he better be on time, and blah, blah, blah, complain, complain, blah, blah, blah." They don't realize that the more they complain about him not being on time, the more effort he will make to not be on time, because he's the doctor and no one is going to tell him when to arrive at HIS practice.

Oh well, I guess it's time to start getting ready!