Simplifiying

The husband and I have decided to simplify. Until now, we had two vehicles. And quite honestly, we needed them. Otto, the magnificent Jetta and Mikey, the cutie pie Golf. Incredible cars! Both were TDI (diesel). Both got a phenomenal 800-1000km/tank. I had been just about to write beautiful poetry, bragging that not ONLY were our cars so fuel efficient, but that we were still paying a mere 83.9 cents/litre.

Recently we realized that our current lives only required a single vehicle. And so, our decision to simplify entails loss and gain. Both of our babies were taken from us. In their places stands a Passat. Which, if you know low german, sounds similar to a horrible insult.

Welcome to Penelope the Passat! She's a beaut, and will save us wicked money. Unfortunately, she's a gas model. So much for my Ode to Diesel prose. I sure will miss those boys. Here's hoping they find loving homes.

Weather

How can the weather forecast dudes be wrong SO often? Last night they called for severe thunderstorms, possibly tornadoes. All we got was a gentle rain. They could only have been more wrong had the sun been blazing.

I think weather forecasters should be elected. Like MP's or MLA's. You know, one per riding. I'd vote for my Dad. He can get up in the morning and be pretty exact on his predictions for the next 24-48 hrs. He's almost always right.

Besides, I've been bargaining with God to be in control of the weather. I'm not quite there yet, but I think I'm making progress. I'd make the fields yield bumper crops every year. Well, at least my Dad's.

We'd be an amazing team if I controlled the weather and he predicted it.

Regrets

If I could erase any time in my life, it would have to be from late 2000 - 2002. It was horrible. Beyond horrible. Traumatic. I made the worst decisions I could make during this period and got into the most trouble. More than most young adults. I veered so far from my real personality that I wasn't me at all.


Some people who only knew me back then have a bad taste in their mouth. People who never spent 5 minutes talking to me or having any interest or concern for me occasionally feel that it's their prerogative to air their opinions of how I used to be.


I don't know how to feel about that. My immediate response is anger. But then I wonder if perhaps I should pity them. They never stuck around to see who I've become. And trust me - I'm hard enough on myself for my past mistakes. I certainly don't need anyone else's judgements.

Abbreviations

Early in nursing school we had to learn many medical abbreviations. We were tested on these to ensure our competency.

The other day in report prior to my shift I heard an unfamiliar one:

FLK

I asked my coworker what it meant.

"Funny Lookin' Kid"

Why didn't I learn THAT in nursing school?!

The Days In Between

It's the uncertainty that consumes me. It pushes me to the edge of reason and my grip on sanity slips. My mind refuses to focus, as unwanted thoughts tiptoe into my subconscious before breaking in to my thoughts, conversations, and actions like a thief in the night. Thoughts intrude at work, in the car, as I try to fall asleep. Words slip out in conversations, betraying my privacy.

During the days in between, nothing is certain. Questions rule my life. My faith shakes like a leaf in the storm. Hopes begins to grow only to have dark clouds gather and winds blow, strangling the life hope offers. The best and the worst vie for first place in my thoughts. Often, the worst comes out on top.

The days in between symptoms and diagnosis. Rain and sun. Seeding and harvest. Unemployment and a job. Empty arms and a baby. Failure and success. Loneliness and relationship. Dependence and independence. Questions abound as I demand that God show me favor in an unfair world.

Then it comes. The answer. Good news, or bad. At least now I know. My thoughts settle. I sleep easier. Now I can make a plan. Direction can only be found if I know my starting place. And I can hang on to the delusion of control just a little longer.

It's the limbo that drives me to the edge....

Cichlid Update

Since my post regarding my baby fishes stimulated a number of comments, here is a bit more about the world of cichlids.

Babies are called "fry". I find it easier not to name them individually because 1) they all look the same and 2) chances are they won't all survive. Right now I have the Collective Squirt, consisting of 3 fry and the Collective Bruce, consisting of 8.

I thought I had transferred 8 babies over. My latest count showed 11. Them babies must have been hiding in ornaments. All are doing well, even the wee ones.

Here's a shot I stole off the internet that shows my kind of promiscuous mama holding her babies just prior to release. Note the eyes inside her mouth and the very swollen lower part of her jaw.

Gardening Tip #1

If you want to provide birdies with various grains in order to have them frequent your yard, don't hang the bird feeder over the flower bed. Or you might end up growing wheat better than flowers. Maybe I can sell it in fall?