Los Nuevos Extraterrestres

This ship is making its way through the water just fine on its own, thank you. I haven’t really been making a whole lot of choices these days beyond what to have for dinner or what color to paint my kitchen. No big ticket items. No real direction. I gave in. I am letting the current take me where it will. I just hope it knows where it’s going. All that talk about life being about the journey rather than the destination may have finally gotten to me. So here I am. This is me on the journey. Now what?

I have been making small strides and achieving goals. Accomplishments are my new thing, however small. I went back to where it all went awry and rather than forcing the issue or bullying the out the desired result, I am letting things take shape on their own. I have been temporarily taken over by one of the body-snatchers. And I have to say, I needed the break. But this comes with consequences as most idyllic notions do. This isn’t actually life. Autopilot does not equal reality. Though recharging oneself is necessary before moving into the next phase of life, sometimes you have got to put a clock on it.

In the mean time, while this Alien is navigating, I am reconciling what I actually want my life to look like and making a mental list of practical goals. I find that this can be productive and rather creative. I always want to combine two things that don’t go together. Nothing seems to fit, and yet, it all does. And while I am on this steady course to no place special I am cleaning house – figuratively of course. This seems like as good of a time as any to jettison that which does not apply to the future. That great unknown place where dreams go to either come true or die. Or, if you are a terminal optimist like me, go to get revised. Revision is my new mantra. Adjust, Modify, Amend. CHANGE. They don’t need to be biggies either. It is so true that the little things make all the difference.

Suffice to say, I am utterly content at the moment. You can see it in my expression and in the way I move about. There are great things happening behind the scenes. I am enjoying this time in the open sea because I know that there is hard work ahead, a bit of quiet before the proverbial storm. Eventually I will need to step to the helm and set a course, however right or wrong it may be.

Moo

I love cows. I really do and am an adamant supporter of their humane treatment. Temple Grandin has done some amazing work in this arena. If you aren't familiar, I suggest you pick up one of her books or read one of her papers about animal behavior. But I don't want to be a hypocrite here. I drink lots of milk, consume all things dairy, eat rare red meat and wear leather. While wildly delicious and diversely useful, I also like spending time around these animals. Even though they heave and sigh more dramatically than a bored tween and they don't understand your commands or react when you need them to. I have a scar on my foot from where I got stepped on (with full weight) by one of those bitches. They need people in a hapless and helpless way. Sometimes they will piss right in your face or buck your thigh or swat shit in your eyes with their tails. When I worked at the dairy regularly I would eat cheeseburgers after every evening milking shift because they made me so mad. "I'm going to eat you!" I would mutter. And I would. But there is something powerful about being engulfed by the weight of mammalian trust that tears you away from the modern world. This is what I am most thankful for, this is what brings me back. They are warm doe-eyed beasts with little brains and thankless jobs. They emit an incredibly docile sultriness and draw you into their calm. You are part of the herd while you are working in it. They know you are there and they accept you. It's cool with them.

I am the Fourth Philosopher…

Running season kicks off for me with the end of lake swimming and the Chris Bond 5K. This year I slept through the race due to a grueling evening in the ER. So I ran the course solo after my evening shift to make up for it. I just got some new sneakers and will enjoy shredding them immensely. I have a new determination. I feel as though I have a new body and mind as compared to last year. I still hate running – it is so bad for you – but I feel that there are few exercises that require such little money, time, thought. So, for me, it fits the bill. I am making new play lists, mapping new routes and I know Ivy is more than excited to hit the streets again. The act of going on a run is meditative for me. I don’t like to go with others and I prefer to go in the dark with a frozen moon over my head, music in my ears, dog at my hip. It all sounds so rewarding and pure, I know. That being said, when I am done with my run (all showered and dressed) I go to the pub and drink like a sailor. But, I don’t ever fall out of my chair. At first I chalked it up to stellar genetics – I am a good drinker, no doubt – but then I realized that something happens to how my body metabolizes alcohol when I put it through hell. It is kind of awesome. I would like to take a moment here to give a shout out to Ommegang for making my favorite beer in the whole world: the high-test Belgian known as Three Philosophers. I swear it makes me smarter; just ask my bartender Annie! This acquired genius propels me through my wintry days in a heavenly (and hangover free!) fog. And so, I run because it is free so that I can spend the money that would be the equivalent of a gym membership on beer.

 

“I am a firm believer in the people. If given the truth, they can be depended upon to meet any national crisis. The great point is to bring them the real facts, and beer.” - Abraham Lincoln

nothing in the dark

I am around death more than the average person. It comes with the job. Thankfully, the departed I have cared for have not been anyone familiar to me. This is an inevitability though that I am not prepared for. I have had to re-reconcile my feelings toward death so I can do the work that I love so. It has sparked some long thoughtful walks. This year I lost several important people that I knew not only as  a child, but also as an adult. I am still processing the fact that they are gone, the impact they had on me and our relationship over the years. This is what we are all left with after somebody passes away. In our culture (I use the term loosely) death is not part of life. We don't talk about it and we don't deal well with it. I am witness to how awkwardly the details are handled, how little the extended family is involved. I hear over and over again the "coulda, woulda, shouldas." They are unnerving to me. I am driven to navigate my interactions with a different zeal. I say to myself "I don't know if this will be our last conversation - how will you remember me?" It is no longer conscious but it was at a time. Sounds crazy, I know. I am not a different person because of this change. I still shoot from the hip and make some pretty spectacular mistakes. But I have allowed myself the emotional freedom to tell the lovelies in my life how I feel about them. And also to stay clear of those I know to be unhealthy. It is not that I believe life to be short or that karma is instant. It is just that life is quite unexpected. My current theory on the meaning of life is get to the end of it with as few "coulda, woulda, shouldas" as possible.

Honky Tonk Angel

Kitty Wells is my hero. If you were at Barangus Saturday night you'd know why. There were random fireworks across the way and lightening was still lighting the sky even after the storm had passed. It was a perfect summer evening and a little slice of what I love about Texas right here at home. Tequila shots, cheap beer and getting pushed sweetly across the dance-floor by a nice fella. It was just what I wanted, just what I needed. After drinking a few cold beers in the parking lot I was called to the stage to make my country singing debut. I got up and sang a few songs with the "Family Tradition" band. With my cowgirl boots on and a rose in my hair I was somebody’s June for a little while. Now it’s time to practice my guitar and learn some new songs. And maybe change my last name to Carter-Cash Wells.

No McDreamys Here...

Life in the Emergency Room is probably a lot like you imagine. It is sort of like a television dramedy. We make wise-cracks at each other’s expenses while mending gaping boo-boos. We drink gallons of coffee and eat high calorie foods in between drawing blood and catching barf. The human body is a marvel; a truly disgusting marvel. In a way, I just sort of showed up and said “put me to work.” And they happily did. I come from a long line of Emergency Medicine practitioners. I clearly got the gene, while my sister and brothers remain blissfully ER-gene free (dang!). Not much grosses me out and I dare any of you to try. Having an integral part in the resolution of somebody’s crisis changes you. You are at once humbled and hardened. You grow more attached to and thankful for what you have in your life, as you are reminded of how fleeting it can be every shift. As a self preservation mechanism you distance yourself from those you are caring for. Not in a derogatory way though. You simply wouldn’t make it through the day if you let yourself care as much as you normally would. And these are people in your community that are seeking your help – people you love – but you must remain calm and keep a brave smile. Even when you know better. I can feel the transformation and am trying to find a balance. Though it can be draining, working in the ER is one of the best decisions I’ve made. I don't say "No" to an open shift. I am compelled to be there - all the time. The team I work with is nothing short of amazing and I either learn or see something new every day I’m there. Beyond the cacophony of babies crying, people laughing, painful moans, dirty jokes and the soundtrack the ER doctors put to our insanity; beyond the bodily fluids, malodorous occurrences and broken bones; I am now part of a bigger picture and a greater good. I am honored to help those in need. Thank you for allowing me to lend a hand.

Bovine Dreams

I really do want to be a Dairy Princess. I am a little past the appropriate age but I dreamt about it even before I started milking cows. It was the practical kind of princess that resonated with me. I wasn't into unicorns and Cinderella. I loved the real-life princess who showed cows at the State Fair and got blue ribbons for taking extra care to wash the white parts of her beloved Heifer with bluing. The girl who was in high school and was beautiful without make-up and wore a gold locket with a picture of her boyfriend in it. Who wouldn't want to wear a sash and a tiara and wave at the crowd from a convertible in the parade? People lining the main street on a summer afternoon waving back at you for no other reason than you waved first. Sweating in a new dress better suited for a prom or debutante cotillion and feeling the August sun burning the back of your neck. I waved at this young woman year after year in between scooping up fireballs and dum-dums from the street. She waved, I waved.