Cats have it all: admiration, an endless sleep, and company only when they want it.
Rob McKuen
Oh, what I would give at this moment to switch places with my cat, Cutie. I could wake my master up at 4 AM for water from the sink just to go back to sleep when I was finished. I could make noises at the top of the stairs and when my master finally walks up the stairs to see what the commotion was, I could plop down and roll over for a belly rub, then insist on a drink of water from the sink, and then, you guessed it, go back to sleep. I could sun myself on the front patio while watching the dogs walking by on leashes and be grateful that I do not have to deal with that sort of thing. I can just lay around soaking up the sun and occasionally jump up in the wild grass planters to feel as though I am in the jungle getting ready to stoke my next prey. I could play with my cow toy and leave it in the hallway and not worry about putting it away. I could lay down where I wanted whether it be on the top of the chair, my master side, my master’s towel bin, my master’s PJ drawer, or in one of my two cozy beds with a piece of a foam mattress underneath for added support. One bed is a sleeping bag with its own pillow designed just for me. I can choose to go to work with master on my own terms where I sit on her lap and watch her type. I also sometimes sleep by the window in the room so I can enjoy the sun while at the same time reminding her that I am there keeping an eye on her. I would walk her to the office every morning even if I don’t always stay with her to supervisor because I want her to get it done in order to have nap time together.
The best part is I would not have to stress about what is happening in the world around me. I would not have to worry about anything. I would not worry about finances, medical issues for those I love, the extreme hatred towards others that is more evident than ever in the world around me, the realization that all things, including life, must come to an end at one point or another, cleaning, heartbreak, drama, tests, etc. I don’t have to clean my cat litter as I have someone to do that for me. All I have to focus on is the love and attention I receive and figuring out the next unique spot I want to nap. Being a cat would be nice, if just for one day.
Moral: 1) Remember to not take for granted not only what you have, but the people you have in your life. 2) Pets are great stress relievers.
Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.
Leo Buscaglia
First, thank you for the kind get-well wishes following last week’s post. I am happy to report that my father is still doing well and has no symptoms. We have been told that he may be a carrier but is no longer contagious. He is free to roam the house once more with precautions in place, of course, such as wearing a mask and staying, a 2020 new term, social distanced.
I am also grateful to say that thanks to my uncle’s superpower – Patience – he was able to get my grandmother an appointment to get her first dose of the Covid-19 vaccine. In Arizona, that means 4 hours of waiting on hold. Yes, 4 hours and every minute which means 240 times you will hear a cheerful voice telling you, “We will be with you momentarily.” I have patience but there is a breaking point somewhere in the first hour. Kudos go out to him. Grams received her shot earlier this week at her 2 in the morning appointment. As a reward for his patience, they gave my uncle a shot too since he was her essential care giver. I can honestly say I feel more hopeful than I have in quite some time that things are going to get better.
Kindness is defined as “the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate.” It can also mean different things to different people. To me, kindness is doing something for someone and expecting nothing in return. Being kind can be doing something as simple as holding a door open for the person walking behind you, picking something up that someone dropped and handing it to them, leaving a note for someone, even if all it has on it is a smiley face, acknowledging a stranger, either by smiling, wishing them a good day, etc. Kindness does not need to be extravagant to be meaningful. Often the simplest acts are the most meaningful.
Over this past year, I have thought a lot about what role I might be able to play in cultivating kindness. I started out by making Cards for Kindness. Cards for Kindness is a project run through Scrapebook.com. They accept homemade cards that can lift the human heart and spread happiness. The cards are sent to cancer foundations, hospitals, shelters, and retirement homes. If you are into crafts this is a creative way to spend a few hours of homebound time to spread kindness.
While scrolling the web I saw an organization called Feed. It is run by John Legend and his wife, Christy Teigen. With every product purchased from their foundation website, the profits are used to provide meals to children in school. I bought the $38 tote pictured above and 10 meals were donated to the one in seven American children who experience hunger and do not know where they will get their next meal. I received a great themed carryall bag some children received a much needed meal.
I am also happy that I have been able to donate 96 of my, Even Beavers Can Be Heroes, books to organizations that care for children in foster care such as Together We Rise, Department Of Child Safety, Child Help, Changing Hands, and Ryan’s House.
While I like to make and send cards, I am quite blessed to have friends that take the time to call, text, and often stop by to drop off their creative treats like cupcakes and super-duper delicious cookies not just because I am Lady Linzie but because they care. I appreciate the spontaneity of friends popping in to say, “Howdy”. I actually don’t have any friends that would say, “Howdy,” but you get the drift. Seeing smiling faces lifts your spirits in new directions.
Moral: 1) Remember kindness does not live in a bubble it spreads so “get out there” and spread some. It’s contagious.
2021 has been anything but boring. It has already beat 2020 with being the worst year and it has only just begun. It started with insurrection at the capital that was instigated by the President and other elected officials that have sworn to protect this country. On top of that we have had a record-breaking number of deaths from Covid each day of this new year. In the next three weeks a loved one will die every 3 minutes or about 92,000 more people will die of COVID in the United States. In Arizona, where I live, it is estimated that 1 in 10 people will test positive. We have the highest numbers per capita and no action plans in place to try and contain the situation. Our hospitals are filled with COVID patients to the point that doctors and nurses cannot treat those who might need to be seen for something other than COVID.
With my job, I read daily of the people we are trying to help not only contracting COVID but also dying of the virus. I read one entry where someone died who only had a dry cough as a symptom. It took an autopsy to prove it was COVID. I have had friends that tested positive. Some had no symptoms while others had a few days of chills, coughing, aching joints, trouble breathing, and psychotic dreams. I read of one client in his twenties who had no symptoms but died of a heart attack 3 months later. He worked out daily and had no history of heart issues in his family. The report indicated that a COVID side effect could not be ruled out. A half a million Americans will have died by the end of the month and we don’t know how the 24 million who contracted the virus and recovered will fare in the future.
That is why this week when I found out my dad tested positive for COVID, I was not jumping for joy, but instead thinking of all the horrible outcomes. I was grateful that my dad is careful and wears a mask and social distances, but I do understand that some of those he works with aren’t as conscious. They claim to be over COVID. While they might no longer care about doing what they can to protect those around them, my family and I like many others do.
I have basically lived in yoga pants since March 2020 and seldom leave the house. I do not hug my parents as I know my dad leaves the house and I do not want to unknowingly pass something on to my mom. Seeing family and friends outside of my parents who I own a home, with is nonexistent. At first, I was annoyed, but I feel that love is the most precious thing of all. If I can do anything to keep those, I love safe then I will, even if it means I don’t see them face to face. We still find ways of keeping in touch. I have sent more homemade cards and random gifts than ever before. It is my way of letting others know they matter and are always on my mind.
The news of my dad’s COVID test came as a surprise. He had no symptoms. He would not have tested if a few people from his work had not come down with it. He was made aware that one co-worker who lost his sense of smell, had the shakes, was throwing up and looked as if he would need medical attention at any moment. My dad looked and sounded like he did every day. He still has no symptoms, however, thanks to our understanding of the situation, my mom and I got up and put our masks on, and gave my dad his. We wiped everything down. My mom gathered her clothes and toiletries and moved into our guest bedroom. My dad set up an office in his master bedroom quarantine lock up with two sawhorses and a piece of plywood. He called the doctor the next day and was told to stay in isolation for 10 days and take pills if he has a headache or cough. He was to call back if he had trouble breathing. Luckily that call was never needed. My mom and I got tested and thanks to my dad getting tested when he found out about his coworkers my mom and I were negative as we addressed the situation in time to keep it from spreading.
My mom laughed as we got tested. We did the saliva-based test. I was asking, “how do you do this?” while trying to fill up a test tube with spit. I have never spit in my life. It was a humiliating experience gagging and on the verge of vomiting while the nurse was telling me I still had a long way to go to hit the black mark on the tube. I am sure it is a story my mother will be telling all family members for years to come. It has been weird walking around my own home and driving in my car with my mom wearing our masks. All I can say is I am thankful my dad was asymptomatic as millions of others were not as lucky. To those who lost someone, I have no words other than I will do what I can to ensure we don’t lose anyone else.
Moral: 1) COVID is serious, we should do everything they can to prevent it from spreading. 2) Even in the worst of times good memories can be made. 3) Never lose hope that things can turn out better. 4) Your decisions matter and affect not only you but everyone around you.
“The greatest threat to American freedom is a government that ignores the constitution.”
Thomas Jefferson
Being an American does not mean you are always going to approve of new laws and regulations that are being put in place or even who oversees the leadership positions that guide our country. Being an American, however, does mean understanding that when an election is held and the votes are counted, it is those votes that must be honored. Those votes are the voices of the American people. The best way to be heard is to vote. There are other ways to be heard, such as, calling your senator or representative, participating at sit-ins, and marching in nonviolent protests. What happened at our country’s Capital on January 6th, 2021 was not a reflection of the American democracy I have witnessed. It was domestic terrorism. Anyone who argues otherwise needs to question why insurrection based on lies is an American tradition. Do they not consider it terrorism because the President of the United States and other Republican senators helped set it into motion and even encouraged the violence as they spewed hatred and lies about a “rigged” election?
They also encouraged a divide by being uncaring for one’s neighbor and not wanting to combat an invisible enemy that has sickened millions of our friends and family. This is not a time to be hyping hatred and division. This is a time for everyone to understand we are not islands. Everyone is connected to someone else. We encounter hundreds of people a day completing our daily tasks. Being an American means we must do the best we can for ourselves and others. Following CDC guidelines and doing something as simple as wearing a mask is one of those.
Being an American is honoring the constitution. It does not mean that it’s okay to storm the Capital with the intention of killing, beating, or hanging our Vice President, senators or representatives because your candidate didn’t win an election. Being an American does not mean bringing a guillotine to the Capital complex in Arizona or gallows to the Capital in Washington. It means understanding that the people have voted and spoken and we aren’t always going to like the results. It means comprehending that one cannot pick and choose who rules this country just as we cannot pick and choose which policies we want to enforce and rules we want to follow when it comes to the government.
Being American doesn’t mean turning a blind eye to our country’s history of racism. Though advances have been made, systematic racism still exists. I know that on January 6th, if the insurrection was lead by blacks, Mexicans, and Muslims, it would have been treated like a Terrorist Coup and thousands would have been gassed, shot, and beaten. The invaders would have faced insurmountable force. However, because the mob was white, excuses were made to try and explain that the people were just upset and needed to let off steam. Letting off steam is punching a punching bag in one’s garage and drinking a beer. It is not placing bombs in the capital and killing a PD officer. It is not bringing guns and stealing from the capital. It is not wearing shirts that say 6MLE (6 million Lives were not Enough when speaking to the number of Jews killed by Hitler’s forces). I find this to be greatly offensive and heartbreaking that such hatred can be displayed in plain sight with no thought they would be held accountable and arrested. This is not patriotism or blowing off steam, it is a domestic terrorism plan and simple.
If you want to be proud of being American, you would start by condemning what happened on Wednesday and want to move forward to get those involved prosecuted and taken out of the office to ensure everyone knows this is not to occur again. Lastly being an American is being proud that we are a nation of immigrants who came together to build a country where the opportunities are endless if one only chooses to commit. Hope and resilience are two words I would use to describe America.
Moral: 1) Words do matter. 2) Nothing is stronger than the truth. 3) Pay attention to those around you as their actions and words say a lot about who they are.
My soul sister, Yenzully, and I bringing in the New Year (2000)
“What a wonderful thought it is that some of the best days of our lives haven’t even happened yet.”
Ann Frank
If you haven’t thought that the New Year’s holiday was the longest, loudest, and craziest holiday of them all, then you haven’t celebrated the New Year in Aruba. They do much more than bang pots and pans together at midnight, or sit in front of their TV watching a ball drop in New York City or sing and sway to the big band sound of Auld Lang Syne.
The holiday in Aruba officially begins when the Chinese ship docks at the downtown harbor on December 28th. I saw the newspaper headline “Klapchie Arrives” on Friday the 29th. The staff at the resort where my dad was working seemed overly excited that morning. When he asked his supervisor, “What’s going on?” He rubbed his hands together in a frenzy and said with a conspiratorial grin, “ Klapchie.” “Klapchie?” “Fireworks.”
When my dad went to the bank with my brother and I in tow, he told the teller that we needed some cash for Klapchie. She laughed when I asked for $50. “You better take $200,” she said smiling, “and get a nice pagada.”
A pagada is a long string of firecrackers that can be bought in various lengths. There must be about a hundred little finger sized firecrackers per foot with every tenth one the size of your thumb. The pagada ends in a massive finale of interwoven wicks and sticks that is a foot square. The idea, I was told, was to roll out the string the width of your property along the frontage road. It would, not only, ward off the evil spirits from entering the property, but also, provide the residents with good luck to start the year.
We bought a fifty foot pagada and a large grocery bag full of firecrackers, rockets, helicopters and an assortment of items that were a mystery to us New Year’s neophytes. We paid a little under $50. Cheap, I thought.
The pagada custom which no one explained extends to the closing of each business for the year. So beginning on that Friday afternoon, as many stores closed, the employees would gather along the fronting street and set off a pagada the width of the property right down the middle of the road. As you can imagine, traffic came to a halt while the celebration burned noisily down the pavement. The noise and smoke, and flying red paper could last for 10 to 15 minutes for a hundred foot business frontage. The business district behind the resort was especially loud because the narrow streets and two and three story buildings endlessly echoed the exploding sounds for all to enjoy. The celebration for most businesses did not end with the Klapchie finale but continued with drinks, food and music in the parking lot or in the red paper covered street. Those caught in the traffic jam were invited to join the celebration. The larger businesses that had a good year would have a band on a semi-trailer half full of speakers that could drown out a Rolling Stones concert. These mini celebrations continued all afternoon and evening across the island.
The pagada for my dad’s resort was set off at 1 PM on Saturday. It was a tradition that attracted thousands of people, was over a half mile in length and took an hour to reach the finale which was a tightly bound ring of cherry bombs five foot in diameter. Five million fire crackers in all and an explosion at the end that knocked your socks off. It took twelve people about two hours to clean up all the remains.
While we originally intended to set off our grocery bag of pyrotechnics on Sunday evening which was New Year’s Eve, we got caught up with all the neighbors and the neighborhoods that traded explosions beginning Friday night and dispensed with our entire load. We reloaded Saturday morning with three grocery bags and two eight inch rockets. Beginning at 7 am Saturday and continuing throughout the day and late into the night you could hear the explosions and see rockets light up the sky.
I remember seeing people lined up Friday at the veterinarian clinic. We learned that they were there to buy pet tranquilizers. By Saturday night, we were beginning to see why. From our front porch that Saturday night, no matter which direction you turned, you could see something exploding in the sky. We are talking big time rockets with big time booms at the end. Anything you have ever seen or heard at a fireworks event, you could buy and you could launch. All of Aruba was the launching pad….and this was only Saturday night.
Then came New Year’s eve. While we were at a formal beach party to welcome in the new year with plenty of loud music, you could still hear the intensity of Klapchie rising as midnight approached. I slipped off with my soul sister, Yenzully, several times that evening to the roof of the resort that looked out over the island. Aruba is about three miles wide by twenty miles long and from our roof top vantage point you could see that every nook and cranny was lit up with the reds and blues and greens of 10 and 12 inch bottle rockets. By a quarter ‘til the new year a small group of us had gathered on the roof. Yenzully would volunteer me for a dance competition while we waiting for the countdown to start. I want to tell you, that at the stroke of 12, as the cruise ships sounded their fog horns, this island erupted. It was like a war zone … the ground shook, colors flashed, pagadas roared to a deafening crescendo … it was unbelievable. It was everywhere. Trying to describe it how much noise 10 thousand people with bottle rockets can make, impossible. Within 15 minutes, the sky was filled with smoke and the acrid smell of spent powder. We could not see the ground from 6 stories high.
We were home by 1 am to contribute to the excitement. It took us about three hours to shoot off our supply. Our finale was to be lighting and dropping an 8 inch in diameter rocket into a galvanized launching tube and watching it light up the sky and shake our little part of the island. My dad’s mistake was dropping an 8” rocket into a 10” diameter pipe. Without a snug fit, the rocket came out wobbling enough to turn about five feet into the air and blast like a fighter jet across our yard, slamming into the house as we all screamed for our lives, exploding near the front door and pelting us with paper shrapnel. The loudest and momentarily deafening boom at the end of that memorable expedition also knocked pictures off the living room wall. For a split second I thought the fire department was going to need to be called. I started to understand why fireworks of this calla bore are not sold in the states; to keep our homes standing. What a night.
Another custom is to visit your friends and relatives throughout the night and into the morning. Klapchie is set off with each arrival and each departure. Our neighbors had lots of friends and relatives it seemed, tranquility returned and the longest, loudest, and craziest holiday ended just before sun rise on the New Year’s morn.
Moral: 1) Once you have enjoyed Aruba’s New Years nothing else compares. 2) New Years is a time to embrace the here and now.
Please feel free to share your New Year’s experiences in the comments below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com.
Strong Woman don’t have attitudes, we have standards.
Marilyn Monroe
Besides being an ASU fanatic, I get carried away with Christmas too. I can never get enough of the twinkling lights, colorful decorations, and homemade treats. I enjoy making cookies with my mom from recipes that have been passed down for generations. I have made gingerbread houses with my dad for 8 years running. Most importantly my dad has read to me, The Night Before Christmas, every year for the past 33 years before I go to bed on Christmas Eve.
This year was a tad different. There were sparkling lights but the cookies were a triumphant failure because of our mismeasurements. The cookie cooking results were so bad we had to laugh. This was the first Christmas we shouldn’t hug those we love because we are still battling an enemy we cannot see. Despite the setbacks, we were able to make some lasting memories that will be talked about for years to come, such as the smile on my grandmother’s face when I gave her a mug telling her how amazing she was (In Trump speak). When she turned the mug around and saw her most unfavorable President’s orange face, her smile turned to disdain. As the color drained from her face, she looked at me with a “What the heck were you thinking” grimace. Her face blushed again with color when I handed her a two-pound sledgehammer that would allow her to smash her greatest nightmare to smithereens. Grannies emotional roller coaster ended on a real high note when she saw the words “iRobot Roomba” on the last present she opened. Now she could sit comfortably in her favorite chair and watch while her room is vacuumed daily.
My dad’s gift this year shows just how much he understands and encourages my whimsicality. Last year it was the signed football from the UArizona and ASU Territorial Cup which ASU won 41-34 in 2012. Not the 70-7 blowout of 2020, but still a great triumph. This year he bought me a plot of land in Aberdeenshire, Scotland which, in turn, not only make me a land baroness, but also, gives me the title of Lady Linzie Claire Melgreen. While the parcel helps preserve a wildlife sanctuary, it gives me a great excuse to get vintaged dressed and visit my small principality in Scotland. I will invite all my friends, followers, and family to come along and enjoy a memorable soiree under the Scottish stars. I will provide food, drink, and a bagpipe conga line. For my male friends please visithttps://www.thescotlandkiltcompany.co.uk/ for proper evening attire. After sweeping away 2020 at midnight, an evening with you in Scotland will be a welcomed relief.
Moral: 1) Even in the darkest of times there can be a sliver of light one can hold onto, for me, that sliver of light is the love of my parents. 2) Memories are gifts that keep on giving.
I am an Arizona State University (ASU) Sun Devil inside and out! I bleed maroon and gold. ASU vs UArizona (A.K.A U of Eh or Truck-Stop U) is the longest-running college rivalry. As a die-hard, I take the sacred vow to never spend a night in Tucson let alone hold hands with someone in a red and blue jersey. I would not date a Wildcat if he were the last breathing man on earth. The man for me will find joy and excitement in my cheering on the fearless Sun Devils. He will understand that a Sun Devil keeps fighting till the very end and, regardless of the score, remains focused on creating mayhem until the last second.
The rivalry that makes the Territorial Cup a must win game that comes with a year’s worth of bragging rights all started on Thanksgiving Day in 1899 at Carrillo Gardens in Tucson, Arizona. In front of 300 passionate fans, two teams met for the first ‘Duel in the Desert’. The devotees UArizona, were drowned out by the screams and cheers created by the students who railroaded over from the Territorial Normal School in Tempe (now known as Arizona State University) to play in their first conference championship and to determine the best football team in Arizona. The Arizona Normal School Normals won 11-2. While I am proud of their win, I am taken aback by their choice of team nicknames ….. the Normals. I am relieved we are now known as the Sun Devils and have the best college mascot, Sparky.
Both schools have played each other sporadically since then, making it the longest rivalry in college football. In the 1950s, things really heated up when the Normals, because of its growing enrollment, wanted to pass proposition 200 to become a University. UArizona, however, had other ideas. Members of the UArizona football team poured gasoline and burned “No 200” onto the Normal football field, which had then progressed to being labeled the Arizona Normal Teachers College. In 1958 the first rivalry game between the two “Universities”, ASU demolished UArizona 47-0 while Sparky, the new Sun Devil mascot, cheered wildly with the crowd. As alumni, we are forever grateful to the Sun Devil legendary coach, Frank Kush, Grady Gammage, and the thousands of students for laying the groundwork and fighting to become, not only, a university, but also, today’s largest university enrollment in the country.
Not even COVID was going to keep my dad and me from getting into the spirit as we watched Friday’s game from the safety of our living room. Keeping with tradition and expectations, we sang the ASU Fight Song as we watched Sparky stomped the UArizona bus at the start of the game on my laptop. We chanted, cheered, and jeered in our brightly colored maroon and gold get-ups loud enough to let UArizona fans in our neighborhood know that the Territorial Cup inscribed “Arizona Foot Ball League Championship 1899 Normal” will remain in Tempe for the 4th year in a row.
We made that more than clear by coming away with a 70-7 win. The highest-scoring game and longest winning streak in the Territorial Cup started off with a 100-yard touchdown on the kickoff. Within 56 seconds we were up 14-0. It was all Devils after that. UArizona scored as many points as they fumbled. We did what is needed in any football game, cash in on all the mistakes and keep the foot on the gas pedal. I have never screamed and shouted so loud. The only thing that would have made it better would have been to be seated in a packed UArizona stadium and to see the tear-streaked faces of those pitiful kitty fans shuffling out of the stadium after the third quarter after the Devils scored 21 points in each of the first three quarters. Even the few cardboard cutouts that littered their stadium looked pitiful. If there was ever a game to watch this was it. Last year my dad and I were on TV cheering our Devils to victory, this year we were jumping up and down in front of the TV watching the takedown of a lifetime. Coach Herm said before the game that he wanted the team to make a memory, boy did they ever. One I will never forget in my lifetime nor will my future family.
Moral: 1) Fear the Fork. 2) Expect the Unexpected. 3) Make memories.
Please feel free to comment below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com to share your favorite memories and it may be used in a future blog.
Do you have those people that you would go anywhere with unconditionally. Like they could say “Let’s go check out that dumpster” and you’d be like “I’m in.”
Anonymous
Have you ever had a moment where you are looking for something that seems to have vanished from where it was just minutes before? When you finally give up looking and ask if anyone saw it, you are told “Oh that, I threw it away.”
My fondest memory of this was when a friend and I were throwing out her recycling trash at our office because she could not find the recycling bin that was at her apartment. Once finished, I asked if she could take me to Wells Fargo to cash a check I had just received in the mail. She agreed. Once in her car my throat swelled up in panic because I could not find the envelope that I had placed on the passenger seat prior to helping her unload the car of 20+ recyclable cardboard boxes that had been taking up the majority of the space in her car. As we started to drive a way I asked if she could take me to my apartment to get the check as I could not find it in the car. Her face got white as she looked at me and told me she may have thrown it in the recycling bin due to being in the rhythm of cleaning out her car. She immediately turned around and stopped in front our office building recycling dumpster.
It was then that I learned that dumpster diving is harder than it looks. I jumped, but was unable to reach the edge so I could tumble in. My friend cupped her hands for a foot hold and catapulted me into the trash. Once in face down, I was grateful that this wasn’t the fly infested general trash dumpster. I was happy also that the envelope was white because it was easily spotted against all the brown boxes we deposited.
Getting out was another adventure. When I could finally get into a standing position, every step was a sinking compaction maneuver that barely got my head above the edge of the dumpster. I had to break down the boxes and pile the flattened cardboard to make a step to where I was waist high at the edge. Eventually, I was able to hang over the edge and have my friend pull me out.
Today my friend’s washer was on the fritz, so with the intention to bring her laundry to my place, she piled her clothes in a trash bag and set it outside the back door. After a few other odd chores, she rounded up her children’s dirty clothes and headed out the door. Her bag of clothes was missing. She checked outside the front door and then all the rooms in the house. When she finally asked, her teenage son, he admitted throwing the bag in the dumpster. It was the first time, she believed, that he took something to the dumpster without being told. She gagged as she told me what real dumpster diving was like.
Moral: 1) Some things we throw away, we will wish we hadn’t. 2) Children help in mysterious ways.
Feel free to comment below or leave a message below and your story may be used in a future blog. Please feel free to purchase your copy of Even Beavers Can Be Heroes for the loved ones on your Christmas list this year at https://zsgvingbooks.com/.
A hospital bed is a parked taxi with the meter running.
Groucho Marx
I am one of the lucky ones who has never stayed a night in a hospital because I was sick or had surgery. I have been rushed to the hospital after I got hit by a car at the age of seven and later after I had my first seizure, but they did not require overnight stays. My overnighters to date have been for intensive medical testing where they try to trigger a seizure to find out what part of the brain is misfiring. The only fun story I have in the hospital is when I was in the shower and the nurse came in and shut it down. “You are a risk for falls. No shower,” she politely said. “I’ll get your bed bath stuff.” My dad’s hospital stays, on the other hand, are another story.
When he goes to the hospital there is no telling what will happen or how long he may have to stay. One time with a big toe infection, the doctor put a pair of scissors thru his toe as noted in an early post. The scissors were used to insert a drain tube. The infection was aggressive, and he had to have big Larry, the piggy that went to market, removed. The next was the result of cutting his hand on his margarita blender blade. He suggested to the doctor that he did not need to be hospitalized; he could wheel around the IV stand at work as he had done before. Since that ended in amputation, the doctor suggested that hospitalization might produce a better outcome. Dad failed to counter the argument and checked in. When I went to visit, it was easy to spot his room in the cul de sac of doors in the circular pod. His door was the only one open and without a gun totting guard standing at attention. When I asked the doctor about the setup, he laughed and responded the hospital was full and the only bed they had available was in the psych ward. The doctor who laughed was also the same doctor while getting his MD degree thought it would be fun to get a master’s degree in physics.
This last time was during COVID when he needed to have the distal phalange of his little piggy that liked roast beef removed due to an infection. Due to COVID protocol, he was not allowed any visitors or changes of clothes. We tried to sneak dad some clean underwear in when he needed additional insulin pump supplies, but they had us dump our paper bag into their see-through plastic bag. Caught, they gave me a surgical glove to retrieve the tidy whities.
Hospitals have their own slow-moving schedules where even discharges seem to take forever. Dressed and ready to go, the discharge doctor said not so fast. He wanted dad to see the physical therapist when he made his rounds and then he could go. Not having the faintest idea when the therapist would appear or why he would need to see a physical therapist he decided to ask his nurse. She wasn’t sure. A few moments later, a volunteer with a wheelchair appeared. Dad jumped in and said, “Let’s go.” Halfway down the hallway dad spotted the discharge doctor talking with his nurse. Dad scrunched down behind my borrowed, flowered bag to hide and yelled back to the young volunteer, “Hang a right and let’s get out of here.” The teenaged wheelchair driver, fulfilling a school mandated volunteer program, enjoyed the intrigue and sped down side halls, through the surgery prep room, and out the back door. Freedom and a memorable misadventure.
Moral: 1) Every day is a true adventure. 2) Nurses are true heroes.
Please feel free to comment below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com. Your story ma be featured on a future blog.
I don’t think of myself as giving interviews. I just have conversations. That gets me in trouble.
Charles Barkley
On November 9, 2020, a zoom interview I did was posted on YouTube. It was the first time I was involved in an interview that was not about me trying to find tactful ways of saying, “You would be a fool not to hire me.” I was nervous. I listen to enough podcasts to know anything can happen during a taped conversation. Luckily, I have attended enough zoom meetings for work to know that the background can add or distract from the conversations and to try to look at the camera and not the screen.
I wasted no time getting the backdrop set up. I am fortunate to have creative parents who were able to make it look like a festive reading nook that I might have if my book were to take off and I did readings around the world from the comfort of my living room. My dad even thought to put the computer on a box to help raise it up to eye level. He then put a tablecloth over a few more empty boxes to better display my book in the background.
I have known Maria Clark, the interviewer, for some time. She organized a Feeding the Hungry campaign where I helped box up care packages, worked with my dad, and later sold us our home. She is an amazingly positive-outlook woman. I was honored when she wanted to do a segment on me and my book, Even Beavers Can Be Heroes, for her podcast. It never crossed my mind that someone might ask to interview me about it. Again, I was worried about appearing as a doofus, but knowing Maria, eased some of the tension. I am glad I participated.
I wanted to do something more in life than volunteering for a myriad of causes. Publishing the book and giving one with the profits for every book sold to a child in foster care is a gratifying way to do. So far 80 books have been donated, in the name of book buyers, to our children in foster care. Some have been sent to Child Safety Offices both in Show Low, where I started my social work career, and to our central Phoenix offices. I have also sent a box full to Together We Rise to be placed in the duffel bags they help supply to children who enter foster care. Thank you to all who have bought a book and have contributed to not only making one of my dreams come true, but also helping provide hope, love, and encouragement to those in foster care.
We truly are all interconnected in making our communities better. Too many or our children have been neglected and abused. If you would like a book for your children or relatives this holiday season, please feel free to go to https://zsgvingbooks.com/. Each book is signed and comes with a personalized bookmark with the name entered in the notes section during purchasing. A book will be donated in the name you provide to a child in foster care. If you don’t live in the states, don’t worry, I have and am prepared to mail this book across the globe. Any questions feel free to email zsgivingbooks@gmail.com.
Moral: 1) zoom interviews are not as easy as they seem. 2) Being afraid is normal, but don’t let it stop you from doing something that means something to you.
Please feel free to comment below or email zsmisadventures@gmail.com. Your stories may end up featured in a future blog.
Lady Z's MisAdventures 