PTO

I'm sitting here drinking a terrible cup of coffee out of a totally awesome mug, struggling unsuccessfully to shift my brain into writing gear.

Maybe I should just empty the carafe, make a fresh pot of decent coffee, and start again.

I rarely take PTO...paid time off...but my boss recommended it a couple of weeks ago, and so today, I am getting paid to not roll up my odometer between visits where I talk with patients and families about heady stuff like poop, pain, and No, you are not going to get better. 

Instead, on my holiday, I have been doing exciting things like:

• balanced my checkbook
• hauled the trash to the highway
• washed Mom's laundry and changed her sheets
• bought fresh peaches at the produce stand
• dropped off a few items at Goodwill
• delivered freshly baked cupcakes to a friend who helped me with the car purchase over 4 months ago
• washed said car and filled it up with gas
• bought groceries for the week ahead
• took a short nap
• washed my scrubs to get ready for next week
• cleaned off my desk
• emptied and refilled the dishwasher
• and other sundry diversions

It's. Been. Awesome.

You see, I have not yet figured out how to do the whole work full-time, keep on top of housework, run errands in town, feed people, do paperwork, etc. all-at-the-same-time thing. I seriously need a day in between all the other days when I can go to the bank, shop for groceries, and get my oil changed. How do people who work during "normal business hours" do all the things besides work that you can only do during normal business hours? (If you know the answer, please share your secret in the comments - I need help!)

My day off hasn't really been a day off work. It's been a day of doing different work, work that has been long neglected because my usual days "on" sap all my energy and brain cells.

But back to the lousy cup of coffee and my absolute favorite mug...

This mug was a gift from my dear friend Donna (second from right). The group depicted on the mug is a sisterhood that has supported me through the best and the worst of life.

Monday through Thursday of this past week, I put in long, hard days at the paying job. Today, on my day off, I put in a long day at a different job that is just as essential.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow, I get to spend time with Katherine, Donna, and Teresa.

Tomorrow, not today, will be the much-needed "holiday" that restores my soul.

PEEL

 There is something strangely satisfying about removing a gelatin facial mask. Maybe it's the challenge of seeing if you can gently peel the entire crunchy-gooey mess off in one piece.

Maybe it's the anticipation of how incredible your skin will feel when you're done. 

I wonder if this is how a locust feels shedding its exoskeleton.

* * * * *

One assignment from my therapy sessions is to ask myself two questions every day: How do I feel? What do I need?

I am not used to asking these questions, and I find them difficult to answer.

How do I feel? I feel tired. All the time. My back and my neck hurt, and my jaws are tense. I often do not sleep well at night, and I have digestive issues.

But the assignment specifies that I must answer "How do I feel?" with not only what I feel in my body, but with at least one emotion. That part is even more difficult because I have a really crappy emotional vocabulary. We're working on that.

I went for a walk at the park yesterday afternoon, and while I walked, I tried to answer my daily assigned questions. Q1. "How do I feel?" After a lap around the walking track, I had my answer: "I feel disquiet." There are way too many voices inside my head, all of the shoulds, oughts, and must-dos of my own and others' expectations.

Q2. "What do I need?" I. Need. Quiet. I need space and time to be still, to turn down all the voices inside my head and simply breathe.

* * * * *

Mom, Steve and I watched another episode of Endeavor last night after dinner. The series is a British production about the life of young Endeavor Morse, before he became Detective Chief Inspector. Old-school British detective series is a genre the three of us can agree on - interesting enough for Mom and Steve, but not too violent or graphic for me.

On last night's episode, we learned that Morse used to attend a Quaker meeting house with his mother as a child. At the meeting house, they would sit in complete silence with other parishioners. Morse explained that the point was to "still your mind," to quiet all the voices inside one's head. Morse concluded his observations on Quakerism with a comment to the effect of, "It never worked for me. I never figured out how to quiet all the voices."

Endeavor Morse is not a real person. He is the fictional brainchild of author Colin Dexter. Morse is not real, but somehow, with that comment, he made me feel ever-so-slightly less out-of-place and alone in this world.

* * * * *

I'm on-call this weekend. That means that I'm working, kinda. I have to keep my phone with me and turned on. I can't leave town or get involved in some big gnarly project. I have to be ready to pull on scrubs, grab my bag, hop in the car, and go at a moment's notice, day or night.

It's not a bad gig. Actually, it feels more like a gift. I am not at work - at least not until the phone rings - but I am also NOT doing the usual it's-the-weekend-&-how-many-things-can-I-knock-off-this-never-ending-to-do-list routine.

I stayed home from church this morning to sit by the phone. No push to get out the door. No hauling stuff into and out of the car. It's been wonderful to have the entire house to myself, so very quiet, no spoken or unspoken demands hanging heavy in the air.

I did a gelatin mask for the first time in years. My skin feels sooooo good.

I did yoga on the front porch for an hour, complete with blocks, bolsters, and bands, loosening the tight cables tensed in my neck and back. During savasana, cicadas, hummingbird wings, carpenter bee buzz, a flock of geese honking, the neighbor's beagle chasing rabbits, wind through the hayfield...all these things drowned out for a moment the standard cacophony of "do more" and "not enough." I haven't done yoga at home, by myself, in a quiet house in years. Why?

* * * * *

Mr. Morse, I haven't figured out the trick, either...but I am working on it.

This morning was a gift.

WHAT DOES MY HISTORY TELL ABOUT ME?

Taking advantage of a wait in the drive-thru line at McDonald's this afternoon, I pulled out my phone and began deleting old messages. It was a long wait, so I started cleaning out the "recent calls" log. You know what? This girl makes waaaaay too many phone calls to pharmacies and funeral homes. It occurred to me that simply by looking at my call history, just about any Joe could figure out I'm a hospice nurse.

And this got me thinking about other "histories," lists that quietly say something about who I am, what I do, and even hint at my dreams.

Lists like my checkbook register...

When I entered this purchase in my account register today, I scrolled up through previous entries to read the tale they told. Gas, gas, gas. Tithe. Groceries. Gas. Lawn man, housekeeper, and caregiver for Mom. Gas, gas, gas. Caregiver, ministry. Gas, gas.

I spend a LOT of money on gas...goes with the Home Health gig.

After catching up on my little bit of bookkeeping for the day, I checked my email.

Wanna guess what secrets my email tells? I buy groceries at Kroger. I am a writer. I have a nephew in Rwanda who grows coffee. I see a therapist. (Goes with the hospice gig...and with being the primary caregiver for my Mom.) I like the beach and am planning another family holiday for next summer.

Scrolling through recent pictures on my phone, you would have to conclude that I am besotted with my grandkids. You'd be correct.

But not ALL these histories paint an accurate picture of who I am, what I do, and what I value.

For example, my spam box is often filled with messages about bizarre topics such as how to get rid of dark spots and treat bunions. Or messages about penis growth. (Public Service Announcement, Spammers: I do NOT have a penis, nor do I want to grow one.) Or about how I can meet a Romanian, Asian, or Latino cutie who is looking for a man. (See previous PSA. And, seriously, this is just plain sick.)

I guess one truth these inappropriate Spam messages do communicate is that I am old. Apparently, when a person gets old (as in, over 50), the most pressing concerns they have are hair loss, foot fungus, and erectile dysfunction. Lord, help us all.

So, what about you? If someone browsed your recent calls, emails, texts, photos, bank statements, etc., what tales would your "history" tell about you?

A GIFT TO HELP SURVIVE NURSING SCHOOL TRAUMA

Nursing school was a traumatic experience, from the first day of the first class to the final, final exam. (Can I get an AMEN, sisters and brothers?!)

One of the many people who helped me persevere through the trauma was this young lady...

Morning School Commute

God gave me a very precious gift to help me off to a strong start on the nursing-school journey: my first year of college and Helen's senior year of college overlapped.

She was my school-commute buddy the first year of school (to be more precise, she was my chauffer, because I did not have a car of my own), and she was undoubtedly my biggest day-to-day cheerleader and encourager.

We rode together to campus and back most days. All our classes were in the same building. Several days each week, we met in a study lounge for lunch, usually hot soup from the Gooch Hall canteen, served by our sweet friend Ayree. (Ayree knew potato soup was Helen's favorite, and always made sure to have some set aside for us because potato soup sold out fast.)

On really bad days, when we both left campus feeling beaten up by life, we would pick up miso and sushi for dinner on the way home. Miso makes everything better.

And on really, really bad days, we'd skip homework and studying long enough for an episode of Downtown Abbey.

We cried together a lot that year, I more than Helen. We also laughed a lot together. Side by side, we made PowerPoint presentations and flashcards for our different classes, stayed up late together studying for exams, and drank coffee together on our early morning commute to campus. It was a rough year for both of us, but it was absolutely precious.

I'm reminiscing a little tonight because this amazing young woman has a birthday coming up soon, and thinking about her, I can't help but remember what a tremendous encouragement, delight, and inspiration she has been to me over the years, especially through difficult times...like through nursing school. She is one of the strongest, kindest, most beautiful, most resilient souls I have ever known.

Thanks to Helen - and many others - I finished school. I've been a real-life nurse for over a year now, and I've learned to do lots of new grown-up things. (Read more about that HERE.) I'm still growing, and still have lots to learn. As I continue to learn, I hope I grow to be more like Helen.

Thank you, sweet child.

10 THINGS I AM THANKFUL FOR RIGHT NOW

The youngest and I were both going through rough patches several years ago when we came up with a strategy called Name Three to help deal with the mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm us.

Name Three: Right now, name three things for which you are thankful. It could be anything...something silly or serious, small or big, important or seemingly inconsequential...anything the thought of which helped quash a proclivity to self-pity.

You know from the last post that it's been "a rough patch" for me lately. The Name Three game came to mind this evening, but I decided to up the game to 10. So, in no particular order, here are...

10 Things I Am Thankful for Right Now

1. A reliable car.

2. Healthcare benefits through work.

3. My coworkers.

4. Beautiful weather today.

5. A cold Modelo.

6. My dad's gumbmo recipe, and leftovers for dinner tonight.

7. The sweet smell of the 4 o'clocks blooming.

8. A roof that does not leak.

9. My awesome kids and grandkids.

10. JESUS, all day, every day.

Wow, I honestly do feel a little better already!

It is incredible how sweet these smell right now!