Don't Scare the New Neighbors

No "body parts" here....

I read something the other day about bad excuses people use when calling in 'sick' to work.  I am so glad I didn't have to call work to say I'd be out because the drawer from my bedside table broke and fell on my foot when I put a box of body parts on it.  I was able to wedge my knee under the drawer and grab the box of body parts with one hand and lower it to the floor and wiggle the drawer back into place.  While calmly calling for help - which no one heard.  So much for using that durable drawer as an auxiliary table...and it had been great to put my laptop on when I want to watch Netflix in bed.

The moment of panic ensued mostly because this time my laptop was on the floor under the drawer.  Save the laptop - bones can heal, right.  And also I had carefully put the body parts in the box with great precision and didn't want to do it again.  I had almost lost my mind putting the organs in the mini-anatomical model the kids named "Joe Guts."  (Joe is missing his heart - if anyone finds a heart about the size of a marble around here, please bring it to me.  I'll put it in my jewelry box for a later reunion.)  And folding Petite Pete the skeleton was not easy - he's fully articulated, but not a contortionist.  And there were the three kidneys, two brains, teeth, ear, foot, femur, etc.  I was not going to repack this if I could help it.

The only thing missing was my big eye.  I think Martha tried to throw it away and I set it in the pantry closet.  It'll turn up.  It would have been helpful to have it to describe my visit to the ophthalmologist to the family.  I started having bad 'vitreous opacities' and flashing lights in my right eye about a month ago.  Right around the time the moving chaos began.  First I was checked out for a stroke and then the internist* referred me to the eye doc.  I was freaking out about glaucoma, since my mother had it....and I keep putting off getting in for my regular check-up.  So my hand (or eye) was forced and the insurance paid for it.  No glaucoma, 20/20 vision, only need glasses for reading.  And a vitreous detachment.  Which happens to most people eventually.  I guess a lot of people never notice it - but being concomitant with personal chaos I was sure something had popped inside my head.  The eye is surprisingly durable - I know this because part of the diagnostic process involved the doctor squeezing my eyeball hard...in about 8 different directions.

At least I labeled the box "Educational Anatomical Models."  Because a box of "Body Parts" might put off the new neighbors.


*not my regular doctor, since I needed an appointment sooner rather than later.  I'm not sure I made the best impression.  I told him I don't drink - which is true, since I can't remember the last time I had a drink; probably more than a year.  Then when he had me do some standing on one foot and touching his moving hand I asked if it was a field sobriety test.   I also had to close my eyes and smell something and tell him what it was.  I took about thirty seconds and then told him I couldn't name the flower - that is seemed like a synthetic floral blend, a bit like a fabric softener sheet.  And he said, "Yes, it's soap."  So I am obviously an over-thinker.  It's hard to some up the amount of stress I've had lately, so I made it brief and he told me giving up caffeine would help.  I didn't have time to tell him that this one time I really, really, really need caffeine. 

Room for One More

If you only have room for one more book - this is the one.

I'm not quite sure how to update our moving saga.  We're moving.  We might not be moving.  We might buy our place and stay put. (My preference - I'm busy, distracted, mentally tired and the idea of having the contents of the attic, basement, bookshelves and bureau drawers be the problem of my heirs at some future date is quite appealing.) Now the move is back on.  And my plans for this week-end consist mainly of boxing books.

Book temptations have been held at bay.  I usually buy few, if any, books for myself from the September Library Friends' book sale until my Christmas shopping is completed.  The pleasure of buying books as gifts is enough to satisfy my book buying urges.  This year I even passed on the used book sale, with the knowledge that this is not a good time to bring more bags of books into the house.

But... (as said in "Pee Wee's Big Adventure", and a deeper thought than one might find in a film that Gene Siskel gave 0 stars, "But what? Everyone I know has a big "But...? ... let's talk about your big "But".) I made one exception to the book buying ban.  And it was a good choice.

George Weigel came to speak at our parish last night. Marvelous.  Absolutely marvelous.  And I didn't do anything to disgrace myself or my employer.  I told a friend on the event committee that I hoped I wouldn't say something really stupid.  Something along the lines of, "Mr Weigel, the last time you shook my hand I didn't wash it for two weeks!"  No, I did not.

But... I don't really like going through the ordeal of spelling out my name for people.  I should have just had him sign the book to Chuck & Eddie.  Or maybe my sister; if he could add a line like, "Join us - resistance is futile."  But conversion is best not done through implied threats by famous authors.  And rather than go through the whole, "It's Ellyn - with a y" business, I reached in my purse for something with my name on it.  Not going to use my work business card.  Just didn't feel right about that.  Couldn't grasp my personal biz card.  And that would have really felt self-promotional.  So I handed him my drivers license.  He was so gracious.  Not just getting my first name right, but writing my whole name.

For the most part, I've given up on getting my name spelled correctly.  Unless it's a legal document, I don't care.  Ellyn, Ellen, L-N, I don't care.  Fifty some years of making sure people get it right has left me less, rather than more, concerned with the spelling.  Though I am still a bit miffed about the Kindergarten teacher who asked us to stand when she held up a card with a name.  But left me and a girl named Evelyn for the end and said we most likely couldn't tell them apart.  Don't know how Evelyn felt, but I am still annoyed about that incident.

Last night was splendid.  Many people heard a great talk.  A good number of us supported our local independent bookseller which had a table at the reception.  I expedited Mr. Weigel's signing my book. (although it's not like I wanted it made out to "Romancea Lady Tasty Maxibillion")  I didn't mention not washing my hand or exhibit any other kind of tween fan girl behavior.  And I came home with a great book.  If I'm not packing books, this is the one I'll be with!

Not a Bubo!

It's not a bubo!

It was for education.  Or it started out as something for education.  

When I told Fran I would do anything to help with her education, I meant anything. She was lamenting in March that there were some simple procedures that she had only done on simulation mannequins because hospital liability issues prevented students from doing them on patients.  I was happy to offer my myself for practice...starting an IV, drawing blood, whatever.  (I hoped to add this as a Lenten penance; offering myself for practice, cheerfully and without wincing.)  

It didn't really take too much discipline to keep from complaining while she practiced.  Not much pain - very well done.  And there was so little bruising that the picture I took in hopes of putting on Facebook to brag (about Fran's technique - not my acquiescence) showed...almost nothing.  

But then...there was my opportunity to pull a little prank.  I opened a jar of rubber cement to find it almost dried up, but with enough of a blob of cement worth keeping for cleaning up excess cement on future projects.  As I played with the blob I noticed the resemblance to some sort of horrible, pus filled things I've seen (on the internet and in books, not on myself).  

Those little LOLs that people add on texts and emails are so often annoyingly redundant.  It was a good thing that I added an LOL when I texted this picture to Fran, though.  Because up until she saw that, her response to my, "Look what popped up on the back of my hand!" was going to be a command to leave work right away and go to the ER.  LOL.  I'm really not the practical joke type, but this seemed like such a funny one.  LOL.  Gave her some momentary palpitations.  It's funny....now.

It was for education.  I learned my lesson, too. 

More fun than a middle-aged lady should have.

 The Day After Thanksgiving.
That's what I call it.  Black Friday is acceptable as a description for those in retail.  But promoting it as if it were a legitimate holiday - perhaps more important than that pathetically antiquated, barely profitable, useless hold-over, Thanksgiving - and something of a secular holy day,  grates on my nerves sooo badly.  But not shopping on Friday is more of a mental health protective reflex for me, rather than a statement.  Crowds, rude crowds, traffic, rude drivers in parking lots...a million and one reasons to stay home. 

I hope no one is allergic - I hope, I hope, I hope.

But since I was home for the day, I did accept a lunch invitation from my husband.  He was also headed out to find birthday gifts for his parents.  My input was not needed, so I did jump at the chance to run into the craft store while he was shopping.  There is something so soothing about walking around the craft store when I don't need anything.   [In contrast to the emergency trips to the craft store for things like a styrofoam balls, rings, pins, sequins and glitter to create a giant mercury atom - the final price being close to its atomic number.] 

I found some interesting ideas for Christmas gifts.  Enjoyed being by myself and able to easily navigate the aisles blocked with knots of bickering mothers and daughters, indecisive shoppers and men whose presence radiated 'duress'.

And I came home with a few fun things.  We have a lot of those Safari Ltd. Toobs.  Educational.  I have always been overly fond of the Ancient Egypt Toob.  I'm no longer actively looking for these - I didn't know they had added any items to their catalog.  And then the Around the World Toob caught my eye.  You know, I can use it teach Lily and Maddie about the world.  And for now, it's more fun than a middle-aged lady should have with a bunch of little buildings.

The checkout had a display of Scentsicles.  I think they are aimed at people who are trying to disguise the artificiality of their artificial trees, thereby a moot point for us, right?  Especially since I don't like a lot of 'scents.'  The scented candle aisle in any store is something I try to avoid -  I can't discuss this further without needing to use words like "migraine" and "puke."  But...the clerk had a sample Scentsicle for me to try.  And it brought back those precious moments when the tree first comes in the house and the celebration of Christmas becomes imminent.  [And allow me another chance to repeat that when I was a child that happened on the morning of December 24!]  Sometimes nature could use a little nudge.  The tree can start to lose its fragrance; olfactory fatigue sets in.  But not this year.  The Scentsicles were half price!  They are now on my nightstand - a little whiff helps fend off the blues.  Like when I turn on the TV and they are blathering about Black Friday sales continuing all week-end. 

Inject-Ed

Another Ed in the House...
joining Physical Ed., Special Ed., and Religious Ed.  (Three Faces of Ed?) is Fran's Inject-Ed.   It's a simulator.  For injections.  Really cool and educational.  We are all getting such an education by osmosis.