Independence

Well, now we can all see how good I am at keeping resolutions. Wasn't this a fun experiment? The pressure was building to keep telling funny, creative stories. But nothing funny or creative was happening in my life, all I could think of was sad things to write about. And who wants to read a sad blog? I know I don't. And so I left it. And now I'm back! And it's the 4th of July. A happy occasion, which I can write about. Unless you start thinking about all the bloodshed which transpired for Independence to come about. All the brothers and sons and fathers dying and all the sisters and mothers and wives grieving. I hear the sound of firework cannons blasting and my windows rattle, and all I can think of are families huddling in their homes, wondering with each blast if it was their family at the receiving end. Because a king wanted to rule a country across an ocean. When will all this death and dying and suffering and grief and loss end? When our true King returns, and calls us home. It can't come soon enough. And that my friends IS a happy thing to write about!

Time is money

Consider the following conversation:
"I need to go to the time machine first before we go."

"Um, okay Julia, you sci-fi weirdo."

"How is that weird? Or even science-fiction?"

"Time machines don't exist."

"Yes they do!"

"No they don't!"

"Then where else am I supposed to get my money from?"

"The bank?"

"Time machines are at the bank. You've never heard of one before?"

"Only from H.G. Wells."

"No, no, not TIME machine, TYME machine. You know, Take Your Money Everywhere?"

"Never heard of it."

After several phone calls to prove I wasn't off my rocker we finally did a drive by so the proof could be tangible. Because I do know time machines don't exist. But teleportation on the other hand... well, that's a different story.

Ewww

*WARNING: this post is bordering on the gross, read at your own risk*

Yesterday I dealt with a lot of snot. And I'm not trying to be poetic. There was nothing poetic about the thick and creamy ooze coming out of my poor patient's nose. And snot should not be thick and creamy. Only my Wendy's frosty should be described that way. It was also stringy and sticky. Like string cheese. Or taffy. And it was a lovely yellow color. Like puke. Or cream of broccoli soup. Which, incidentally, is what I had for lunch.

This is why I get in trouble with everyone I know. I can't help but describe the disgusting things I see and deal with, in vivid detail, because it's more fun that way. How am I supposed to help it if it always comes up during times food is present? It's because when it comes to food and bodily secretions, the analogies are endless. Think about it. I'm sure you could come up with a few. And now I'm going to eat some broccoli soup with side dish of string cheese and a frosty for dessert. But hold the puke please.

Worshiping

The ixthus. I have always liked this symbol. Not in a cool faddish type of way. But in thinking about it in the context of the historical church. How Christians were killed for worshiping together, and so developed this symbol to recognize one another safely. I can just imagine, going to the market place to pick up some fruit and seeing the fish symbol carved into the wood of the fruit stall. I meet the eyes of the stall-keeper with a knowing glance and outline the fish with my fingertip. He understands my meaning and gives an impercebtible nod. "We'll be discussing everlasting fruits at my house this evening, come and join us." Finally found, a place to worship, all through the simple image of a fish.

I have one on the back of my car, the outline of an ixthus. While I praise God for being able to openly worship Him, it is a good reminder to me of all my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ who are unable to do so. May they still have found ways to gather together and praise His name this past Easter weekend.

Tornado!

Whenever I'm stressed, or some big change is coming along, I dream about tornadoes. It's very predictable. The night before taking my nursing boards... cyclones galore filled my head. Last night was no exception.
I was driving down a deserted road. Roads are always deserted in dreams. I can hear the warning sirens. I see two funnel clouds behind me, meandering destructively close. I see two more starting to form in front of me. There's no way to avoid them all. I pull over on the side of the road, thinking I'll lie flat in the ditch. Then I spy a farm house. There are some children playing in the front yard and their pregnant mother is hanging laundry in the wind. Can't they see the impending doom?
I run over to warn them about the tornadoes, telling them to get to a cellar. Because of course, farm houses never have basements, but they do have cellars. I find out these dream people can only speak Spanish. I know even less Spanish as my dream self than I do as my real self. But the tornadoes are coming closer and speak for themselves. We rush to a cellar. The two little kids, the pregnant woman and myself squeeze in. We close the doors and I magically have a flashlight in my hands. We all crouch on the floor around the light. We hear the wind, feel it rattling the cellar doors and the ground. Then it feels like we're flying. I peer through some loose boards and we're definitely up in the air. But none of us are scared anymore, because as long as we stay in the cellar we'll be safe. And then I wake up. The thing is, I can't figure out what I'm stressed about this time.

Smiley-Face Saturday

Maybe the basketball was artfully placed... but the swing has always been there, with the ropes knotted just so. Happy Smiley-face Saturday!

Smiley-face Saturday

Some days, there isn't much to smile about. So all the more reason to have a Smiley-face Saturday! This is a picture my sister sent to me on my phone. She saw a pile of junk mail and sitting atop it a smile! They truly are everywhere when you start looking. Happy Smiley-Face Saturday!

Mighty to Save

Everyone needs compassion,

Love that's never failing;

Let mercy fall on me.

Everyone needs forgiveness,

The kindness of a Saviour;

The Hope of nations.

Saviour, He can move the mountains,My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave.

So take me as You find me,

All my fears and failures,

Fill my life again.

I give my life to follow

Everything I believe in,

Now I surrender.

My Saviour, He can move the mountains,My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave.

Shine your light and let the whole world see,

We're singing for the glory of the risen King...Jesus

My Saviour, He can move the mountains,My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave!

written by Reuben Morgan and Ben Fielding from Hillsong Church

Pain

I can only say... too true... and I've always wondered how often patients feel this way when we ask them our ridiculous questions!

Smiley-Face Saturday

French-fries and Onion rings... nutritious lunch and smiley-face fun! Created by Jaimee. Picture captured by Julia

Fire

When I entered the apartment building a few days ago, the whole first floor was hazy. At first I thought it was just my eyes because I was tired, but then I smelled burning. But there were no fire alarms going off, so maybe it was just someone's dinner? I decided to go get my brother to compare senses. Ignoring the "in case of fire use stairs" sign, I took the elevator to the third floor.
The third floor smelled funky too. Burning funky, not funk funky, if you know what I mean. Jordan came out into the hall, then went to the first floor. Using the stairs. That one has a head on his shoulders I'd say. He agreed it smelled like something was burning but since no alarms were going off and we couldn't see billowing smoke coming from anyone's door we took the elevator back up to the third floor with our ears peeled for sirens. Then we started talking about if there was a fire, what would we grab from our apartment to save?
Jordan said he'd take all his clothes and throw his mattress out the window. He likes his bed. I didn't really know what I'd take. Maybe all my pictures and journals. My purse with my ID and everything in it. You know how it is ladies, EVERYTHING is in the purse. But other than that I wasn't quite sure. What would YOU take?

Whew

Whew and whew again. Sometimes I wonder why I do what I do. Did I really sign up to deal with exploding urine bags? And let's not forget the exploding poo. Lots and lots of exploding poo. And a patient who knows no English, is highly confused, just had brain surgery, is connected to every type of tube and cord imaginable, has to go to the bathroom and so decides it's okay to get out of bed; with every cord and tube being pulled to its breaking point. "Esperar! Esperar!" I shout, the only bits of Spanish I know coming from deep within the recesses of my brain. Ah yes, I see the problem, exploding poo, okay, gloves on, "Come and help me please!" I shout into the hall. Four nurses come running, you don't ignore a plea for help in the ICU. We push pull and drag the poor man to the toilet, tubes and all. "Sit down!" "Don't pull!" "Don't touch!" we all yell in English. "Ah, su madre! Su madre!" is all he says. He's like a deer caught in some well meaning headlights. Later, through an interpreter, he complains "I'm sick, and everyone just yells at me all the time. Don't they know that I'm sick? I'm going back to Mexico." Ah Mexico. I'd like to go there too, if only to escape the exploding fecal matter.

FOUR

Here are the rules . . .
1. Go to the 4th folder where you keep your pictures on your computer.
2. Post the 4th picture in the folder.
3. Explain the photo.
4. Tag 4 fellow bloggers to join in the fun!

This picture may not look like much but it has LOTS of memories. This is the alley directly behind my childhood home. Our garage is to the left. This garage was always home to several garter snakes in the summer time. We would always try and see who was the bravest and fish them out from their hidey-hole by the tail. Needless to say quite a few of us got bit. But it was due to youthful exuberance, so it was okay. I was tagged by my lovely mother, who might not know this story. Just remember, youthful exuberance mom, youthful exuberance.

I tag Vicki, Connie, Kiwi Da Fruit and Owan

My adventure

I have arrived at the age where the stupid things I do can no longer be chalked up to youthful exuberance. Hence my adventure to get my car which had been in the car hospital for 4 weeks after an unfortunate incident involving snow, a sharp turn and a poor little car that never had a chance. The driver shall remain nameless. But we'll call that incident stupid thing NUMBER ONE.




I firstly decided to take a bus, which could only take me so far, as my car was being held in another town adjacent to the one I live in. But I think taking a bus halfway shows some signs of intelligence, so we'll call this smart thing NUMBER ONE.


The bus took me half way and I prepared myself for the four mile trek. Four miles is really not that far. Now, if I had, let's say, not worn a winter jacket and a hat and gloves, and walking shoes, it would've been a stupid thing. But I promise I was in appropriate attire so this can be a neutral thing. I actually enjoyed walking for a time, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and there were pretty little houses for them too:

Oh, and did I mention I had a map? Well, okay, I didn't have it with me. But it was in my head because I had carefully planned my route before I left. I think this was smart thing NUMBER TWO.

But then I came to the highway overpass and realized the sidewalk runs out after going under the overpass. Very unfortunate.

The OVERPASS

The sidewalkless highway. Stupid thing NUMBER TWO.

The closeup of the ditch I got to walk in. It was very muddy and wet.

Stupid thing NUMBER THREE.

The train tracks I walked on. They were less muddy and wet. And no trains were in sight, so can I call this smart thing NUMBER THREE?

After all that walking adventure, I finally made it to my car. I could've wept with joy. I collected my keys, said so long to the car hostages....er, I mean, car mechanics, and what took me an hour to walk took me ten minutes to drive. I love not-so-modern-anymore technology. But it looks like I did three stupid things, and three smart things. Hence they cancel each other out and now I am neither smart nor stupid! Until next time...

A clarifying statement to ponder...

A true Christian is offended by other's sin only in that it is offensive to God, and not because someone has offended them

A statement to ponder...

A true Christian is offended by their own sin

and not the sins of others

Smiley-Face Saturday

The "cooktop" on my sister's pretend stove. I think it looks like a smiley face. And that's all that matters. Happy Smiley-Face Day!

Quilts and Kulots

When I was twelve years old my mother decided it was time I learn to sew using the SEWING MACHINE. A very big deal as this was the sacred sewing machine. It had crafted curtains, bedspreads, matching dresses for us girls and many other things that I don't even know about. However, it was now my turn to approach the threshold of the mighty stitching one and craft something glorious. A pair of shorts. Kulots to be exact. You know... are they shorts, is it a skirt? One never could tell. They were very tricksy. Much like learning how to sew with a sewing machine. It awed me with it's silent purring power. I sat down with my fabric, which was actually kinda hideous, but it was the 90's, so what do you expect. Fabric under the needle, check. Foot on the pedal, check. Push down really hard and let the machine take over? Uncheck. But it was too late and my sewing lesson was delayed by some 13 odd years. But I am here as a testament that it is never too late! So go and sew, and may all your corners meet and all your urges to push really hard on the sewing machine pedal stay in check.

Smiley-Face Saturday

And Happy Valentines Day! That's something to smile about, right? Even if you are single, there is still love to share with those close to you. And can be found in places like the basement. In a splattering of paint that was not purposefully created to smile at you, but a happy coincidence nonetheless. (Found by my little sister while roller skating.)

Hematoma

As a child, my mother said I had banana legs. Of course she meant they were long and skinny like a banana, right? No. My legs were being compared to those slightly rotten bananas that have all those nasty brown spots all over them. But, I can't argue with the evidence. So I decided to make a record of several of the bruises I've received recently. Some of them I know where they came from, like falling on the ice...several times. (Did I mention I'm clumsy?) But some of them I just sorta woke up with, leading me to the conclusion I beat myself in my sleep. Regardless of where they come from, I think we can all concur that they do indeed look like rotting bananas.