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[onthisandthat]

On nursing (of the breastfeeding variety, not the career variety... I’ll save that for another day.)

I’ve yet to have the time/energy/mental organization/will/wakefulness to really say much (errr... anything??) about this whole “parenting!” role Dave and I assumed last April, but something happened a few weeks ago that changed at least the “time” excuse I’ve been making...

Baby Benson quit nursing.

It’s been about two weeks since this transition, so my hormones (hence emotions) have stabilized a bit, and this now feels less gargantuan a change than it did at the time.  But allow me, if you will, to walk you through the insane journey that was our (and I’m sure MANY other women’s) experience with nursing.  Sorry.  It’s a long ramble.  Short on pictures, heavy on memory lane.

In an attempt to be as prepared as possible for the arrival of our first little Smazo, Dave and I took a couple of classes at the hospital before our tiny man was born.  We took a birthing class (which definitely didn’t touch on the possibility of this lovely little thing called “prodromal labor,” THANKS FOR NOTHING, nor did it honestly address how much you’re likely to cry for a couple weeks after childbirth, but that’s yet another post for another day), and a “newborn and breastfeeding” class.  Having been through both of these, I now want to teach both courses with a more honest slant than that which was presented to us.  Like “oh, you have a ‘birth plan?’ That’s cute. Rip it up. Throw it out the window. YOU HAVE CONTROL OVER NOTHING.” But again, another post for another day.

Breastfeeding class did their best to try to prepare a bunch of pregnant women who’ve never nursed a baby before for this “natural process.”  Our instructor at least explained “well, it’s eventually natural. It takes a little practice.”

Yup.

So we sit there for several hours on a Saturday, and watch videos of successful newborn latches, and hear more about colostrum, and how long it takes for milk to come in, and practice holding a doll in a football position for breastfeeding.  And that’s all well and good, until the real baby arrives.  And can’t. Figure. Out. How. To. Eat.

The internet (or at least the sites targeting stressed out new moms) bombards us with photos like this, as if new moms are lounging around with soft lighting in all white rooms, being calm and competent and peaceful, when the reality for me was VASTLY different.

(Wait. Why isn’t she crying????!?!?)

My experience left me with darn near PTSD and a $60 vat of “All Purpose Nipple Ointment,” which actually was a lifesaver.  In the hospital, Benson and I couldn’t figure the latch out.  He tried, and tried, but mangled my poor body to the point where I cried every time he tried to eat, and ALL HE WANTED TO DO WAS EAT.  Why? Well, because my milk didn’t get that whole “come in around 2-4 days after the baby gets here!” message, and waited until day 5 to arrive.  So what did we have?  A mom in agony, and a really, really hungry baby.  This was my internet for that first week:

(”but how do I know if his mouth looks like that???!?!? I CAN’T SEE A PROFILE OF MY BOOB RIGHT NOW!!!!!!”)

We went to a lactation consultant the day after coming home from the hospital, and I remember leaving them a voicemail in tears to set up the appointment, because I hadn’t slept in about 3 nights, my body was in horrible pain, and my baby was understandable pissed off.  The consultant was incredible, even making as early an appointment for me as possible because I “sounded a little upset,” and provided me with a ton of helpful information, including to use things like “nipple shields” (WHAT??), and also to “start pumping.”  (She also prescribed that crazy expensive ointment, but in retrospect it probably prevented me from getting septic mastitis or something...)

I thought this process was going to be easy.  But it ended up included accountrements such as these: 

(THE BREASTFEEDING CLASS SAID NOTHING ABOUT THIS)

And, of course, these:

(THEY DIDN’T TELL ME HOW TO ASSEMBLE ALL THIS BEFORE I LEFT THE HOSPITAL!!!!)

But in the current culture of “Breast is Best,” the one thing no one ever recommended during this week of starving, jaundiced baby and tearful, anxious, sleepless mother was probably the simplest solution: “maybe give the kid a little bit of formula.”  

Dave suggested this really early on, and I got irrationally upset.  Because I was supposed to “be able” to do this (like it’s an aptitude thing... a very “Bethany” take on the situation....).  Because it’s natural.  It’s “best.”  According to the class we took, and La Leche League’s website, and even the lactation consultant, breastmilk is all that baby should be having for the first six months of life.  Some sources were saying no pacifiers, no bottles, no NOTHING in that kid’s mouth that isn’t mom’s nipple, because it’ll forever confuse the baby and he’ll never figure out how to nurse, and YOU’LL RUIN EVERYTHING!!!!!

But he still wasn’t getting enough to eat.  And he’d try and try and try to get food, to the point where I was nursing darn near 12 hours of the day, but I’d cry every single time he’d go back on the boob, either from pain or exhaustion, or honestly fear.

By day 4 of no milk, and only being able to nurse on the left side due to the bloody scabs I’d developed on the right side, we were giving Benson supplemental formula.  And let me tell you: I felt A TON of shame about it.  SO MUCH SHAME.  I didn’t want to tell the next lactation nurse we saw about it, because I was worried they’d berate me. BECAUSE BREAST IS BESSSSTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!! 

I’m so mixed about this philosophy.  Here’s the thing: yes, breastmilk is absolutely optimal nutrition for a newborn.  It’s free.  It's great for their tiny immune systems.  It’s bonding time.  It’s a miraculous substance that alters composition based on the needs of your baby.  But it’s not the only way to feed a child, and there should be much more compassion towards women who either choose not to breastfeed, or are unable to.  

The new catchphrase to counter “breast is best” is pretty simple: “fed is best.”  And I like that better.  Cuz it doesn’t do a disservice to every mom who doesn’t have the resources to pump when she goes back to work.  Or insinuate that this adopted baby won’t be as healthy or intelligent because they were formula fed.  Or suggest that a baby born of a surrogate is receiving sub-optimal nutrition. Or guilt a mom who’s had mastitis 3 times and is exhausted from infection and pain, and knows that this isn’t how she wants to spend her time with her new baby. 

EVENTUALLY, Benson and I figured out nursing.  It didn’t get easy for several weeks.  But eventually, it was easier.  We had our routine down, he was getting plenty of food, growing like a weed, and satiated after nursing sessions.  I was able to pump to accumulate a freezer supply for when I went back to work, and there was this one extra thing that made nursing really great: IT CALMED BENSON DOWN.

He was a fussy newborn.  Resisted sleep.  Cried a lot.  “Colicky,” ya might have called him.  But when I could sit down with him and nurse him in a quiet space, he was calm, peaceful, sleepy, still.  It was like my super power.  “Baby freaking out again?? Good thing I HAVE A BOOB OR TWO!!!”  Even pumped milk in a bottle wouldn’t necessarily calm him down.  Something about the snuggles and the warmth and the safety of being that near one one of his parents just did the trick every time.

So we kept at it.  Because it got easier.  Even when I went back to work, I’d take 3 pump breaks a shift and go close myself off in a vacated office to pump as much as I could for when he’d go to daycare.  Unfortunately, it didn’t take a ton of time pumping for my supply to start to dwindle.  And it makes sense.  Since nursing is a supply and demand situation, when the demand decreases (3 pumping sessions a day doesn’t cover the 5 times he would have nursed if I’d been home for those 12 hours), so does the supply.  My goal was to make it to a year of nursing, but it became clear fairly quickly that I wasn’t going to make that goal.  What I was pumping in one whole day no longer covered a single feeding, and I was exhausted from staying up later than planned to get one more pumping session in every single night.

The last time I tried to nurse Benson, he was cranky, hungry, and sleepy.  When I sat down with him in our comfy nursing chair in a quiet space and tried to feed him, he SCREAMED.  We’re talking beyond just disinterest.  He said loud and clear “I DON’T WANT THAT ANYMORE!!!!!”  That solidified that.  We were done.

Things have changed.  Benson’s getting older.  I’ll have to come up with new tools to calm him down when he’s distressed, and luckily I get to share that learning curve with a really supportive husband.  I get to drink as much caffeine as I want without worrying about whether or not it’ll make someone else cranky.  I get to wear bras that actually look normal under clothes again.  I don’t have to bring a pump to work, or to the airport, or to an education day at work, or to the courthouse downtown to testify in a trial.  I get lunch breaks back.  I get bedtime back.  There are perks to being done with this phase of motherhood.

All this to say: I’m happy breastfeeding ended up working out for us.  I’m happy it ended in a way where both parties were ready.  But I will never, ever, ever, ever fault a woman for deciding it’s not something she wants to continue with.  Because it’s hard.  It’s time consuming.  It requires a lot of education.  It requires some expensive supplies (cuz it’s only free if you don’t need a pump, or friggin’ nipple shields, or a gigantic vat of prescription ointment to prevent infection).  It requires a support system.  Not everyone has the time, the money, the support system, or even the desire.  And ya know what?  That’s okay.

We made it last for 10 months.  Nothing to sneeze at.  But ultimately?  Yes: fed is best. 

[onthisandthat]

On people who change your life

Well, if anything’s gonna get me back into the swing of periodically blogging, it might as well be a bittersweet farewell.

If you know me, you know I worked in the restaurant industry in between high school and the decade it took me to complete my Associates in Nursing. That all began at an 8 table cafe in downtown Kirkland called Sasi’s Cafe, owned and run by Roland and Doris Oberholzer.  It was named for their wonderful daughters, Samantha and Simone.  I found out they were hiring via a friend who’d seen a sign in the window and passed it along to my 18 year old self, who had a part time job at a limousine agency, but needed some additional income.

So I called.  I came in for an interview.  I was very recently back from my trip to Kenya - probably still had my “white girl wishing I was Kenyan” braids in - and had NO idea what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I remember VERY little about the interview, but I DO remember Doris asking me if I had any restaurant experience.  Sheepishly, I admitted I did not.  I was expecting that to be a deal breaker.  Instead she said “that’s okay, you’ll catch on quick.”  

And they continued to be both that accepting and that encouraging for the five years I worked at that cafe, and up until this afternoon when we shared some lunch and champagne and goodbye hugs.

(this is such a crap picture, but the only one on the whole internet I could find!! Proof that it was there!!)

Tomorrow, this wonderful, loving, spirited couple who welcomed me into their family and referred to me as their “non-biological daughter,” will be moving back to Switzerland, from whence they came.  I’m excited for them - it’s a move a long time in the making, and it’s going to be an amazing time for them.  But I’m selfishly quite bummed, because they’re no longer a short drive away.  

So I’m going to make a little list.  A list of ways they improved my life, and a few of the “what-if’s” that my analytical brain gravitates towards when evaluating the significance of someone’s impact in my life.

1) I appreciate good food because of Roland and Doris.  The cafe was mainly opened for lunch, and served sandwiches and soups and salads.  But TO THIS DAY, I miss those sandwiches.  All the friggin’ time.  Cuz they were DELICIOUS.  And Roland made soups that were unbelievably great.  They’d also do seasonal dinners, which were my first exposure to serving (and - let’s be honest - consuming) fine dining.  

(Roasted portobello sandwich.  Man, that was a tasty one... Thanks to the Seattle Times archives for having a picture of it!!)

1.5) I appreciate good champagne because of Roland and Doris. On my 21st birthday, we started the lunch shift with a bottle of Veuve.  I probably didn’t recognize it then, but in retrospect, that’s pretty awesome.

2) I was a damn good server because of Roland and Doris.  It was there that I learned to take a temp on a steak, to set a table for multiple courses, to never let a customer pour their own wine.  It was also there that I learned how to hustle, multi-task, and - occasionally - be charming.  Or at least fake it.  While I continued to hone these skills long after I left the cafe, there was no better pair of industry professional to study under than these two.

3) If you’ve never had fresh peaches on a turkey sandwich, you’ve seriously gotta try it. Trust. 

4) Amazing friendships are forged from spending all your waking hours together.  If you’re really lucky, you like the people you work with.  We all know this isn’t always the case.  That can create some really challenging dynamics when the staff is small, and the work often repetitious.  LUCKILY, Roland and Doris - along with being wonderful friends to me themselves - hired this girl named Anna.  At first, I was a little put off by her being brought on.  It felt like she was stepping on my turf.  Luckily, Doris is a better judge of character than I was.  To this day, Anna is one of my best friends, and she was there today when we shared some lunch and said “till next time!”  Additionally, Jen and Michele, who owned the Ben and Jerry’s down the road, would probably not be in my world if it wasn’t for the Sasi’s Cafe connection, either.  And if I hadn’t met them, I may not have met another dear friend, Andrea, and THEN who would Anna and I have gone clubbing with when we were single and 21???!?!?! I don’t think I knew at the time how many important relationships resulted from my time working with them. 

(wedding shinanigans)

5) You can get through anything with a sense of humor.  Particularly a sardonic one.  We laughed SO much at that cafe.  We laughed at ourselves, we laughed at our customers (OH BOY DID WE EVER), we laughed at life circumstances, we laughed our way through Dubya’s administration... The Oberholzers have a way of finding the underlying humor in any situation.  Even now, as Doris punches colon cancer in it’s face, they find joy in SO MUCH.  I could learn a thing or two from these guys...

6) Vinegar is the best polish for silverware.

7) The most unexpected people can shape your life in the most dramatic ways.  I think if you’d told 18-year-old Bethany when I walked into that little cafe: “Heeeyo, these people are gonna be popping bottles at work when you turn 21, be invested in your success as a nursing student when you’re 26, cheering you on when you run your marathon at 29, attending your wedding at 31, and snuggling your first baby when you’re 33,” I’da been like “these guys with the Swiss German accents?  Are you sure?  Cuz Roland is a little intimidating, and Doris seems like she’s pretty busy, what with having two kids and managing this restaurant and everything...” But they’ve been there through it all.

(Doris and Benson, when he was itty bitty!!)

8) If “it” didn’t work out (relationships, apartments, educational opportunities, cars, bad haircuts), it’s not the end of the world.  The alternative will probably end up being better than the thing that slipped away.

I truly don’t know what my life would be like without this family.  Would I have ever worked in a restaurant at all?  If I hadn’t worked in a restaurant at all, would I have ever met Dave?  If I’d never met Dave, there wouldn’t be a baby Benson right now!  What about all the personal development and changes I went through when I was working at that cafe?  Would I have had all those compelling political discussions that helped sculpt my outlook on feminism and health care?? And really - what if I’d never had that awesome tomato bisque soup??!??!?!!? 

All this to say, I’ll miss Roland and Doris like crazy.  I’m ridiculously grateful for their compassion, creativity, warmth, humor, support, and love.  My life is better because of the time I’ve spent with them and their lovely daughters.  And getting to be an “honorary Oberholzer” is truly one of the greatest privileges of my life.  So this is just my long-winded send off to let them know how important they’ve been to the last 15 years of my life.

(this was today.)

Also, here’s a link to Doris’s GoFundMe page.  Because kicking colon cancer’s ass is expensive.  

[onthisandthat]

On the first month of home ownership...

July 1st marked one month of living in our new house.  We - somehow, despite only have three non-consecutive days off together in the month of May - evacuated the good ol’ 9th and James apartment, and are settling into our first house.  Which we own.

That seems crazy to me. 

(Bye bye, old apartment!!)

(hello, new house!!)

 Here are a handful of things I’ve learned in my first month of home ownership. 

1) Cars: SUPER NICE TO HAVE WHEN YOU LIVE FURTHER THAN 5 BLOCKS FROM YOUR WORKPLACE.  

I got a bit spoiled, living so close to my work that all I had to do was cross 3 small intersections and frogger-style jaywalk an arterial, then BOOM: work.  But now?  Now it’s a 5:45 a.m. bus to 3rd and James, where - as comical coincidence would have it - I huff it 9 blocks up James St. PAST MY OLD APARTMENT in order to get to work on time.  The sign that adorns the side of that apartment complex reads “IF YOU LIVED HERE, YOU’D BE HOME NOW!” While this was once just a humorous identifier for the building, because EVERYONE stuck in traffic on that street has probably looked at that sign and thought “SHUT UP, APARTMENT BUILDING,” it now serves as the world’s biggest taunt.  That used to be my commute...

2) Enjoy the white couches while you can. 

I bought the first while couch in the old apartment.  Dave and I love it.  It’s comfy.  It’s pretty.  It’s impractical, and darn it, that’s okay!!  We don’t have any lil’ Smazo’s running around right now, so might as well enjoy having pretty white sofas during this childless time in our lives.  Heck - I liked the first one so much, we bought a matching loveseat.  Living. It. UP. 

(the only grubby paw prints on those suckers are our own!!)

3) I friggin’ love mowing the lawn.  And for that, I owe my brother an apology.

Sorry, AJ.  You spent all our high school years saddled with a task you probably really hated.  To think - I coulda lightened that load for you!!  HAD I BUT KNOWN!!!!  But really.  Since we started moving stuff in in May, I haven’t let Dave mow the lawn once.  BECAUSE IT’S SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!  It’s the mindless monotony of vacuuming, but with this added instant gratification of SEEING A BEAUTIFULLY MOWED LAWN!!  WITH STRIPEY PATTERNS!!!!!!  AND PLEASANT SMELLS!!!!!!!!  AND THE FEELING THAT YOU’VE DONE SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE WITH YOUR DAY!!!!!!!!  (this is even WITH an electric lawn mower, which adds the irritating component of trying not to mow over the extension cord....)

4) BLACKBERRY BUSHES ARE THE ENEMY.

5) We have apples!!

From our apple tree!!  They’re too sour to really do much with as of yet, but I have faith.  If I can reach the good ones before the bugs do, pies might be a thing that happen in the near future.  I probably won’t be the one baking them, but still... pie’s could be a possibility.

6) “Irish miracles,” as my mother calls them, manifest in strange ways.

Ok. Sit tight for this lil tale.  So: I have this shamrock plant that a family friend gifted to me when my grandpa passed away, back in sophomore year of high school.  1998 or 1999.  It’s still alive and well, and when we first moved into the house I thought I’d give the resilient little sucker a treat: THE GREAT OUTDOORS.  I set the shamrock, in the safety of it’s terra cotta planter, out on our back deck.

Bad idea.  Shamrock was unhappy. 

After about a week, the leaves started to look all splotchy, she wasn’t opening up towards the sun like she normally does inside, none of her normal white blossoms where popping up (yes, you start to anticipate the behavioral patterns of plants when you’ve lived with them 17 years....), I was worried I was gonna kill the thing by leaving it outdoors.  So I brought it back inside.

(she’s MUCH happier being inside.  Recovering beautifully.)

BUT HERE’S WHERE IT GETS IRISH-MIRACULOUS.  I went out to the front yard a few weeks back to check on my sad-looking rose bushes, and do some weeding (another household chore I LOVE TO DO.  WHERE WAS THIS ZEAL FOR YARDWORK BACK WHEN IT WAS A ‘CHORE?’).  I went to pull up what looked like a clover, but with a strange, kinda familiar little white blossom on it.  After pulling it up, I realized what it was:

A FRIGGIN’ BABY SHAMROCK!!!!!!!!!!!  Those pink bulbs are distinctly Shamrock, as are the white blooms, the set of three two-pronged leaves, all of it.  I know this plant well.  The amazing thing: somehow, in it’s week of being outdoors on the BACK deck, it must have been pollinated into the front yard, where it actually took root and decided to thrive.  And yes.  This is what my mother referred to as an “Irish Miracle.”  It was such a healthy little bugger, growing so happily.... I replanted it, and keep seeing others pop up in this same patch of dirt.  I don’t know how it happened, but the Irish spirit of my maternal lineage is popping up all over.

7) You know the saying “a watched pot never boils?”  Alternate: “a watched herb garden never grows.”

Until one day you see tiny lil beginnings of sage, and you almost jump up and down.  I’m telling you.  I’ve been wanting some outdoor space of my own for quite some time.

(well hello, lil sage leaves!!!  Nice to meet you!!!  NOW HURRY UP AND GROW.)

8) Rhubarb: actually a noxious weed!

(it won’t stop.  it’s everywhere.  i think it’s going to be taller than me in a month. want it?  anyone???)

9) You don't need fancy patio furniture to truly enjoy your back deck.

(we be classy... at least they have cup holders.)

10) Our dining room is my happy place.

(the fact that it’s where I eat the best meals prepared by the best husband MIGHT have something to do with that...)

11) It’s not the house that makes it a home.  It’s the people you share it with.  No amount of space, decor, improvement, accumulation of stuff, or absence of blackberry bushes will make a house a home.  It’s that feeling when I come home from work and see my sweetheart cooking us dinner: that’s home.  It’s those moments of laughter in between cursing how bloody hot it gets in here in the summer: that’s home.  It’s the knowledge that our family exists wherever we’re together, not just where we reside: that’s home.  And I’m so lucky my home is being built with this great fella.

(there’s no one I’d rather play on my phone across the table from than you, love!)

Honestly?  It’s been a challenging couple of months.  OF COURSE it’s all great, positive change - I don’t equate this “challenge” with anything of real consequence.  But between still being in school full time, neither of us having matching weekends, and getting moved in a hurry, we’ve had our share of “THIS IS DIFFICULT!” moments.  But ultimately, we’re really grateful.  We didn’t think this home purchase would work out the way it did WHEN it did.  But we’re so happy it has.  We’re learning about how our natures differ through an experience like this (Dave: definitely wants to get things settled quickly, and make this space feel livable.  Bethany: definitely just wants to sit in the back yard, enjoy that I FINALLY GET TO PLANT THINGS, and wage a slow war on the blackberry bushes...), but we’re learning how to work together when the clashes occur.

All in all, it’s been a NUTTY year, filled with almost every “life event” imaginable. I feel pretty darn lucky.  And will feel even luckier when that portable air conditioning unit arrives in the next day or two... 

[onthisandthat]

On my old buddy, Kjell Nelson Sporseen.

I have no idea where this is going.  I don't have a clear vision of what I need or want to say, at least publicly.  I just know I've been walking around in a persistent, sorrowful funk for the last six days, and I need to solidify some thoughts.  There have been some amazing, thoughtful, hilarious, emotional accounts of his life on the interweb since Sunday, and reading those have been really uplifting.  I guess I want to contribute my own little "in memoriam," a little more specific to his earlier, pre-adventure sport days.

I guess I'll start at the beginning.

I met Kjell in 1996, 8th grade.  He was the ultimate junior high unicorn: the cool kid in the smart kid classes.  He had the distinction of a unique name and that enviable, elusive claim all young punks long for: the admiration of upperclassmen.  This is what we looked like then:

(this was a Christmas dance.  hope that's obvious....)

Due to the proximity of our last names, we sat next to each other in every class we had together.  This lead to a lot of giggles, group-projects together, and a crush that became my "first boyfriend," as much as such a thing exists when you're 13.  For us, it entailed some clammy hand-holding, the gift of a blacklight candle for Christmas, the occasional after-school hug, and the inevitable "break-up-via-elaborately-folded-note."

It's cool.  We recovered.  This was his inscription in my 8th grade yearbook.

(And yes, you'll notice to the right, the 'kjell is awesome. sigh......"  Yup.  That's the reaction he evoked from truly everyone who met him.  Then.  Now.  No difference - people looked at him with admiration.)

Most of my best friends today have been my best friends since junior high, so all of my adolescent years are packed full of memories of Kjell.  I've long referred to this group of buddies as "The Neighborhood," since their close physical residential proximity meant that you'd never just visit one friend.  You'd go to someone's house and end up seeing five of your best buddies.  I won't go so far as to say Kjell was the glue that bound that group of friends together, but.... Yeah, maybe I will.  People have been relaying their sense of "pull" to this guy in the last several days, and he DID have a crazy charisma that always made people want to be around him.

(some of those best buddies)

(and again)

I think he really came into his own in the high school years.  He was solidly cemented as one of the "cool kids," but NEVER in a douche-baggy way.  Again, the unicorn thing.  He loved math classes as much as he loved cross country, beer, and wearing bathrobes to school.  One recurring theme I've noticed in the snippets on facebook is that people relished attention from this fellow.  I can echo that sentiment.  It was FUN to be Kjell's friend, and even tiny interactions with him could turn a day from irritating to worthwhile.  The guy knew how to make people smile.

(what's he even doing here?? Everyone else is playing along with this "throw her in the dumpster!!!" routine, and he's just crouching, ignoring the camera, grinning like a damn fool.... Yup.  He did his own thing.)

Another thing I'll always be grateful for: Kjell, while often short of words - something that managed to frustrate me on several occasions, because you KNEW he had plenty of thoughts, but exercised more verbal restraint than I've ever been capable of - always knew when someone needed a pick-me-up.  Classic example: spontaneous trip to San Francisco.  2002 was a tough year for me, because "The Neighborhood" had largely dispersed for their collegiate adventures, and I was still in Kirkland.  Kjell was in Wisconsin for school, but recognized how sorely depressed his friend back home had become, and he made some arrangements for myself and Bryce to meet him in San Francisco for a few days over a break from classes.  

Stuff like that.  He didn't have to DO anything - he could have just said "that sucks that you're sad.  I'm sorry."  But he didn't stop there.  He sought out opportunities to improve things for people.

Likely related to the aforementioned gravitational pull, we dated again in 2003.  While long distance relationships for people that young are a generally silly idea, I have a lot of really happy memories of that year.  It made Christmas and summer really anxiously awaited, celebratory times.

(we be fancy.)

(Breckin's first convertible ride, in my finnicky Cabriolet.)

(Only ever saw him with this much hair that one summer.)

We had some darn good times.  As the years went on, and Kjell's adventures continued, one thing remained the same: his returns home -  be it from Wisconsin, deployment to the Middle East, Alaska, or Oregon - were always cause for a party.  He was great at instigating some of the more (and LESS) memorable nights with friends I've ever had.

(Jenni, this night was one for the books, yes??)

(wait a minute.... so was this one!  darn it, we made for a good drinkin' trio.)

(every beard that glorious deserves a dollah bill bowtie, right?)

(there's another truly memorable thing: the t-shirts.  Kjell never met a white t-shirt he couldn't spruce up to fit a specific occasion.)

So then, old friend.  You went out in the only way befitting such a huge personality: doing something daring, doing something remarkable, doing something you loved.  I owe you a great deal of thanks for a great many things.  Thank you for helping me smile when I was going through a downtrodden time.  Thank you for sewing me one hell of a "jumbo Burmese python" for my Britney Spears halloween costume.  

Seriously.  It was a life-sized snake with a sewn in pocket large enough for an ipod with speakers, so that the snake could actually play "Slave 4 U," completing the costume in a way I never thought possible.

Thank you for being the first co-captain of my first inflatable dinghy, and for recognizing that every maiden voyage deserves some celebratory wine.  

(that's obviously Bryce, not me.  But that IS the original Dinghy in all her glory.)

(I'm feeling really bloody lucky right now to have grown up alongside such awesome people.)

Ok.  So to bring this all back around to present day: this sucks.  Grappling with the absence of a person so pivotal to so many of our lives just SUCKS.  On a very personal note, the sucking is compounded a little by some things left unsaid on my part, some guilt about other crap that went down, and that good ol' Kubler-Ross grief cycle that we all work out way through at our own, incredibly individual pace.  BUT I will say this:

My amazing husband Dave was listening to me talk out some of my conflicted grief the day I heard about Kjell's death, and what he said absolutely solidifies why I married this wonderful man.

Dave: "I only ever saw Kjell once, at Bryce and Elece's wedding.  But from what I saw of the way he was tearing up the dance floor, I'll say he didn't seem like the kind of guy who would want you feeling guilty in a time like this.  He seems like a guy who would want you to remember the good stuff, and then shot-gun a beer.  What do you think?"

"You're absolutely right.  He'd totally want me to shot-gun a beer."

To everyone impacted by this loss: we're all mourning in our own ways.  We're all grappling with our own sense of grief.  We're all having good moments that are interrupted by pangs of awful, queasy, saddness.  We're all reminiscing about different ways this human improved our lives.  We're all going to miss the hell out him.  But ultimately I believe Dave knew exactly what he was talking about.  

"He seems like the kind of guy who would want you to remember the good stuff, and then shot-gun a beer."  He had an amazing attitude, no matter what the circumstances.  Definitely a man worth drinking to.

Enjoy whatever comes next, Kjell.  We miss you down here.

Bye bye.

[onthisandthat]

On CDs...

So I was doing some tidying up around the apartment today, and it lead to trying to find a home for a few random CDs that had made their way to places they didn't belong (a mystery in and of itself, because I don't listen to the ol' compact discs THAT often these days....).  What should have taken 30 seconds wound up taking 30 minutes, because once I started flipping through the gigantic canvas binder that houses all my old music, I COULDN'T STOP.

Warning: a bunch of pictures of my CD collection approaching (and some walk-down-memory-lane anecdotes, naturally).

Ok, this page of the ol' CD book made me laugh.  There truly was a time where Dave Matthews Band was pretty much all I listened to.  Judge if you must.  But seeing these albums made me instantly sentimental.  They reminded me of summers around 2003-2006 when every Labor Day weekend meant a camping trip to the Gorge to hang out with friends, swim in the river, drink Skyy Blue and/or Bud Light, cuz WE BE CLASSY, and listen to a damn good live show, while sharing valuable blanket-on-the-side-of-the-grassy-hill real estate with best friends.  Those were always the happiest weekends.  And then, something happened and I started feeling WAAAAY to old for the crowd there.  The frat boys seemed younger every year, and I lost my patience with throngs of inebriates.

May this simply prove how eclectic my music tastes have been over the years.  Frank Sinatra, They Might Be Giants, 50 Cent, and Simon & Garfunkle, all within a 12" space...  Cuz at any given moment, I might be like "gosh, I wanna rap along to Curtis Jackso.... wait, Bridge Over Troubled Water???  CHANGED MY MIND."

Yeah, this is another one that could be viewed as "embarassing page in the CD book!!!"  HOWEVER, I stand by them all.  The Queen greatest hits has always been one that instantly transports me back to junior high.  Likewise with any and all MxPx albums.  I remember standing in line at the Old Firehouse in Redmond to try and see MxPx live...  I loved them.  As for Jewel, if you can't sing along to the title track whilst cracking up, we probably shouldn't be friends.  "Ugly girrrrrrrrll, ugly giiiiiiirrrrrrrrllllll, do you hate her, cuz she's pieces of yooooooouuuu?"  Also, seeing my dear friend Erin's handwriting on the CD makes me smile.  It also makes me think I probably stole this from her.  Oops.  And the John Mayer?  Come on.  Everyone and their mom owned that one.  And yes, I sincerely loved this album.  He wasn't a douchebag yet, his guitar work wasn't half bad, and say what you will about the stupidity of many of the overplayed singles on this CD, "not myself" remains a pretty decent track.

Proof that it's not all bad?  That "Late Night Piano" c.d. is one I picked up from a discount bin at Circuit City, back when Circuit City still existed, for like $3.99.  And it introduced me to A BUNCH of really worthwhile jazz pianists like Oscar Peterson and Bill Evans.  If you've ever needed the musical equivalent of a gigantic fleece blanket on a rainy winter day, throw on "Pastel Moods" by Oscar Peterson.  Warms me up every time.  While that White Stripes CD wasn't my favorite, I have nothing bad to say about letting Rubber Soul and Astral Weeks hang out together.  Side note: that Rubber Soul CD might be stolen from my friend Erin as well....

Then, there were the mixes.  Pages and pages and pages of mixes I'd created for myself, or others had created for me.  These four happened to be really stellar mixes.  Upper left hand was the fourth in a series of mixes exchanged between my friend Jenae and myself.  And this mix was EPIC.  Everything from Adam Ant to Tom Petty to Pedro the Lion, and it truly was exactly what it claimed to be: The words we needed to hear by the men big enough to say them.  We were jilted 20 year olds at the time.  Hearing the words we needed to hear was kinda what we dwelt upon.

Nostalgic hits circa 1997?  It was the summer "Semi Charmed Life" came out.  That pretty much says it all.

The "Bethy Tunes" from 2001 is a mix my sister made for me, and it really captured our sisterhood at that time.  Heather did an amazing job of combining songs that made us both laugh and cry, and to this day it makes me smile.  Cuz whenever you can put "Love Child" by the Supremes next to a Matchbox 20 cover of "Time After TIme," and both the creator and listener pair the songs with the same memories, you KNOW that's a mix done right.

As for the "C'est La Vie," that was kind of the ultimate friendship mix.  It was 15 years of memories on one gigantic MP3 CD.  And it spawned about 5 spin-off mixes, one of which I'm currently working on now.

There were way more embarrassing albums in there I decided not to drag out, and - unfortunately - I couldn't find my very first CD I ever purchased with my own money.

But it was Jon Secada's "Heart, Soul & Voice."  ("what???" you appropriately ask.  "why was that the first CD you bought with your own money???"  To which I reply, "because the song 'If You Go' spoke to my 10 year old self, OBVIOUSLY.")  And the album cover looked a little something like this:

It's totally OK to be jealous.

[onthisandthat]

On ch-ch-ch-ch-CHANGES....

Honestly, I wasn't even sure if tumblr.com still existed.  That's how neglectful I've been of my lil "on this & that."

Laughably, the thing that brought me back to it was good ol' procrastination.  I didn't want to work on a research paper today, so I came up with other ways to whittle away time.  Although ultimately, I got the darn paper done.

So then.  Changes.  Yes, since April when I said goodbye to my wonderful Miata, a lot has changed.

1) Marriage.

(photo credit to the amazing Kristen Honeycutt - www.kristenhoneycutt.com if you wanna check her out!)

We managed to pull it all together after a year and a few months of planning and saving, and had a truly wonderful wedding day.  I'm a very lucky woman to have found a guy who gets me, supports me, encourages me, and respects me.  

(and just look at how handsome he is, in his fancy gray suit!)

2) Name change.  Never let anyone tell you this is easy.  It's not.  It's a time-consuming hassle.  But it inspired me to write one lippy how-to guide for anyone embarking upon the name change process, so I suppose I can't hate it entirely if it sparked some creativity.  But yes.  I'm a Lazo now!

3) Second job.  This started prior to the wedding by a month or so.  I now have a per diem job at Harborview as a SANE; an ironic acronym.  Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner is the name of the position, and holy heck I feel fortunate to have this job.  It's entirely different than the nursing work I've been doing the last three years.  It's an on-call position, and when there's a reported assault the SANE comes into the hospital to get a verbal history of the event, do an assessment, collect the forensic evidence (or what SVU would refer to as "the rape kit"), decide on appropriate STD prophylaxis, and refer for follow-ups.  In a nutshell.  If cases go to trial, you can be called to testify as well.  I actually feel very lucky to be doing this job.  It's an empowering thing for any victim of sexual assault.  All too often, assaults are unreported.  Huge, huge props to those women and men brave enough to say something and do something healthy for themselves after a truly dehumanizing and traumatic event.

But yeah, it makes me angry too.  Our department's expanding, which is great because we can help more people.  But it's also awful, because we can help more people.  I hate rape.

On a more trivial note, it means books like this can be seen laying about our living room:

(light-hearted summer reading)

3) School.  Again.

The more I think about it, the more I realize this is going to be the first of many times I report "going back to school."  I long to teach.  I'll need at least the Masters in Nursing to do that.  And if I want it to be at a university level, I'll need more than the Masters.  But for now, I'm back in school to get the ol' Bachelors of Science in Nursing.  Don't believe me?  LOOK AT MY SWAG.

(As a UW student, am I now obligated to compulsively post stuff like "BOW DOWN!!!!!!!  WOOF WOOF, HUSKY, HUSKY, HUSKY, GO! WOOF!!" on UW game days?  Cuz I don't see myself doing that.  And I'm clearly really awful at fake UW athletics enthusiasm...)

4) New job, and NO MORE NIGHT SHIFT!!!!!!!!  Yes, in addition to the second job, I've moved on to a brand new tele floor as of last week.  So really, nothing in life is quite the same as it was in April.  What's that thing they call variety?  The "pile it all on at once to REALLY test how much stress your digestive tract can handle!!!" of life?  Oh.  No.  Spice.  That's right.

These are all awesome undertakings.  I'm really quite happy to be involved in so much change.  The "too busy to do laundry" thing is kinda challenging - although, let's be honest, I hate doing laundry more than I hate Jared from Subway, so maybe it's not sooooo bad - but I have a wonderful new spouse who's got a nice new 9-5 schedule of his own, so I've been eating a lot of delicious homemade dinners lately.

I can handle all the change in the world, so long as there's pasta at the end of the day.

[onthisandthat]

On being CARefree

See what I did there?  It's like "carefree," but emphasizing the "car" bit?  Cuz...  well, obviously I'm now car-free too...

Eh.  Seemed clever at the time.

Really, though.  It would be all wrong to let me 1992 Mazda Miata disappear without some sort of official farewell.  

A brief synopsis of her departure: failed emissions back in January.  No big deal, she's a 22 year old car.  These things are bound to happen (and do, every few years, and I refuse to do anything about it, and inevitably I end up getting slapped with a huge ticket for it...  It's a trend for me).  I neglected the emissions fix while I took 2 weeks off work, and surprisingly never needed to drive the car over my vacation.  I went to start it up and take it to the shop to address our emissions issue, and WHATDOYAKNOW.  It won't start.

I'm pretty familiar with "unhappy Miata" symptoms.  This clearly wasn't a battery problem.  Didn't seem like a starter thing either.  It was turning over, but spark wasn't getting to the right places.  I have it towed to the shop, now hoping to address two issues: get it running and stop the environmental destruction she exacted when she WAS running.

(so sad!)

I get a call later that day from the shop saying "oh heeeeyyy, you know that thing with your car not starting?  It's that crank angle sensor again (which happens to be the only stupid part that's needed replacing in the last 6 years or so anyway, sucks to be you!!), and it's gonna just as much this time as it did last time, which - after labor and tax - will significantly exceed what you could get some sucker to give you for the entire vehicle by almost $1000!"

My knee-jerk reaction?  "JUST FIX HER!!!!  I WANT HER TO LIVE!!!!!  I'M NOT READY TO SAY GOODBYE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  But I took a deep breath, probably accidentally cursed a little bit at the nice man on the phone (errr, not at HIM so much as at the situation he just presented to me), and said "I'll call ya back."

So now, I'm faced with a few new options.  I can sink some money (not just "some," mind you.  While saving up for a wedding and a potential return to school AND, I dunno, the vision of someday not living in a one-bedroom apartment, the sum this car repair would've required was significant.  Quite significant.) into the Miata and get it running again, BUT that wouldn't necessarily fix the emissions problem either.  And she still needed new brakes.  And new tires.  And ever since replacing the soft-top a few years back, it's been a little leaky when it rains, so that needs addressing...  And let's face it, IT'S A 22 YEAR OLD CAR. 

So I did the fiscally responsible thing.  Decided to donate it to NPR for a tax write off (and to hopefully make the Spring Pledge Drive QUICKER THAN EVER!!).

(what?  this is totally normal.)

So they came today to take her away.  She'll be sold at auction, and the proceeds will make my favorite public radio station slightly better off than they were yesterday.

EVEN SO.  Even so.  This car has been very, very important to me.

Not only is she the cutest thing IN THE WORLD (even with alllllll the dings and scars that accompany about a decade of in-city living and downtown street-parking), but she's seen me through a lot.

She's driven to to every job I've ever had.

She saw her fair share of tears, driving away from break-ups and rejections and those moments every girl know too well where your car truly IS your best place to cry.

She accompanied me to California a few times.  The Oregon coast in torrential rain more than once.  Off-roading at the Gorge to see Dave Matthews (and if you've never seen a tiny lil car like that try to navigate dirt and grass hills, let me tell ya... Quality viewing...).  Camping trips.  More concerts.  Job interviews.  LIFE.

It also helped reveal just how interested Dave was in dating me.  One of our first social outings as a new couple, the Miata had recently been hit on the passengers side, and the door wasn't opening.  But when it came time to relocate my car to a safer parking spot, Dave was insistent that he accompany me, despite knowing the door wouldn't open.  He actually managed to get in through the passengers side window.  THAT'S dedication.

(wait for it...)

(BOO YA!!  Who takes a picture of an odometer changing to 100K miles while driving 70 mph?  THIS GIRL.)

I know.  It's easy to get attached to cars.  But something about this one will probably always be my greatest vehicular love.

When you make a purchase as a 20 year old that you don't part with until you're 31, you end up with a lot of sentimentality packed into one automobile.  Not to mention, I'll be eternally proud of having paid for her myself.

To sum up, I remember taking her for a test drive before I decided to buy her  I had a number in my head that I didn't want to to exceed.  $6200.  Dad found this one online, and we went to check it out.  After driving it briefly around the block, Dad saw me grinning and asked "how much would you pay for THIS one?"  (It was probably the 4th Miata I'd test-driven.  I was being very picky.)  I didn't even have to hesitate.

"$6500."

I think - in 2003 - I paid $6700 for a 1992 Miata with a hard top, leather seats, and only 36,000 miles on it.  Not bad for 11 years of reliable, cute, convertible driving.

Farewell, lil Junior Mint (as my sister often referred to it).  You've been the best.  Now GO!!  Serve public radio well!!!  

Also: time to learn how to function without a car.  Until I have enough money to buy a brand NEW Miata.  One with a retractable hard-top.  And heated seats.  And something OTHER than a tape-deck as a stereo system.  All those new-fangled technologies that have come into creation since I last bought a car...

[onthisandthat]

On my year of "I DON'T WANNA!!!"

Ok.  A few mental calculations here...  It's been 11 months since I ran that marathon.  It's been 10 months since I blogged a blog.  It's been about 6 months since my last piano lesson.  What's going on with the last year or so??

Short answer?  I DON'T WANNA!!!!!!!  I feel like I've been a pouty little 5 year old for the past 12 months, give-or-take.

(while I'm obviously not 5 years old here, I obviously AM pouting.  Over a convertible-acquired sunburn some 5 odd years ago.  POOR ME!!!)

I guess there are a few things going on here.  First: I acknowledge that it can be super liberating to just say "nope.  not gonna do it!" when an opportunity/compulsion presents itself that you feel a wee mite lackluster about pursuing.  Second: I acknowledge that it can also be super stifling to always say no to those same opportunities/compulsions.

Regarding that whole exercise/running/getting-and-staying-in-shape thing: I DON'T WANNA!!!!!  It's true.  I've never REALLY enjoyed the running that much.  It's higher on my list of preferred exercise than, say, baseball.  Or swimming/drowning.  Or anything where I'm expected to coordinate kicking and moving at the same time.  But what I do love about it?  Accomplishing a goal.  Saying I'll run X amount of miles but this date, and making it happen.  Finding a new gym?  Intimidated as heck by that process.  Ought to.  But I DON'T WANNA!!!!!!  However, with the most-photographed-day-of-our-lives looming, I get that I should probably be putting some effort in being healthy.  So then: time to sign up for another run and just suck it up.  I know I CAN do it.  I've done it before.  Don't be a weenie, Bethany.

Regarding the blogging: I suppose that's just been laziness.  While this isn't my most clever post in the world, it's a start.  It's composing something and putting it out there, even if the content is... well... whiny and redundant in that ALLLLLL of these topics are ones I've already discussed in some prior posting.  Again: don't be a weenie, Bethany.  The whole reason you started this darn thing in the first place was to encourage yourself to write little snippets.  So then, write some snippets!!

Regarding piano lessons: my teacher moved to Olympia.  And then I put up the Christmas tree, so the keyboard moved to a less inspiring spot against the wall between the table where we eat and the china cabinet where we store wine glasses.  

(far more inspirational when you're looking at skyscrapers and church steeples.)  

One more time: don't be a weenie, Bethany.  Move the darn keyboard back to it's inspirational home!  Stop making excuses!!!  

There are so many other little life-improvements I've been wanting to tackle (Drink more water!!  Eat less cheese!!  Apply for that darn bachelors program!!! (and yes, I appreciate that cheese is higher on that list than education...) Work more overtime to save more money!!!!), so why do I find it's been easier this year to just say "I DON'T WANNA!"????

Stop being a weenie, Bethany.  If you never did the things that didn't sound like fun, you'd do nothing but eat cheese all day.  Although I can see myself being very fulfilled by that daily agenda....  :)

[onthisandthat]

On the last 30 years...

30 seems milestone-y.  Not sure why.  I won't feel any different on this first day of my 30s than I did on the last day of my 20s.  Yet, somehow...  it sounds old.

To ring in the old-sounding 30, I decided I'd do a glance back on the years leading up to this one.  Yes.  All of them.  But never you mind.  I'll make it brief.  No, I won't.  It's my friggin' autobiography.  Get comfy.

1983 - I'm born.  I have a sister.  Goo goo, ga ga, eat, sleep, poo.  I look like this:

1984 - My brother is born.  The family is complete! 1985 - Nothing happened in 1985. 1986 - We still live in Indiana.  I'm kinda pudgy-cute.

1987 - I turn 4.  PARTY!!! 1988 - Kindergarten happens.  We Smithlet's don't do pre-school, but we kick kindergarten's arse.  It's Public School #55.  I'm one of maybe 6 white kids in the class.  The principal's name is Mr. Lynch.  Rumor had it he swatted kids with a paddle when they misbehaved.  I have a crush on a boy named Colby. 1989 - MANIFEST DESTINY!!!  WESTWARD HO!!!!!  The great cross-country road trip brings us from Indianapolis to the West Coast.  This is the year we live with Grandma and Grandpa Doyle.  7 people.  Three bedrooms (yup all three kiddos in one room).  ONE BATHROOM.  Dad gets a job in Edmonds, Washington.  He stays up there Mon-Fri, and drives down to Beaverton on the weekends to be with the family.  Boom. 1990 - We've finally found an apartment to accommodate the whole family in Edmonds.  Time to relocate again!  2nd grade, 3rd public school.  This kid's learning how to make friends.  And fashion statements.  Also, Heather and I share a room for the next 3 years.  This mandatory bonding is probably the greatest part of life.  I have a crush on a boy named Matt.

1991 - This may be my first significant life lesson. Dad loses the job we moved for, as the little Christian college he's working at needs to do some budget cutting.  Mom's working as a secretary at OCC, our new church.  She's supporting a family of 5 on a darn-near minimum-wage secretarial job while dad looks for work.  NOT EASY.  Pretty certain this is the year we have a Charity Santa come to our house for Christmas.  He drives a D.A.R.E. minivan, and brings us donated teddy bears and sweatshirts.  We wear a LOT of hand-me-downs these next few years.  I'm learning very early the correlation between low income and high stress levels.  I'm also more cognizant than most 8-year-olds are of NOT spending money.  This will stay with me for life. 1992 - 3rd grade.  Have made some good friends, but it seems girls in this age bracket can be mean to each other.  Whatever, I'm too busy loving the heck out of spelling bees. 1993 - Heather and I spend a LOT of time playing with Barbies, the names of whom I can still remember.  We also spend a LOT of time listening the Les Mis original London cast cassette tape.  To combine our two greatest loves, we frequently act out the entirely of Les Mis WITH out Barbies.  Costumes, the whole bit.  COOL!!!  Also, I get glasses.

1994 - Dad's got a good job.  Mom's making more money.  The church is selling a house the family can afford in a neighborhood called Kingsgate.  Peace out, Edmonds.  What up, Kirkland?? 1995 - 6th grade.  I play flute.  A boy likes me, and buys me chocolate on Valentines day.  NO idea how that happened, since I don't look THAT much different than I did in 4th grade (see above. HOT.)... 1996 - Junior high begins.  The friendships I form this year are the friendships that, unknowingly, will carry me through to adulthood.  I meet amazing people.  People who don't care how awkward I look.  People who think I'm worthwhile.  People who enjoy my company as much as I enjoy theirs.  People with phone numbers that I memorize and frequently call, being mindful to always politely ask: "May I please speak with _________?"  I have a crush on everyone.

1997 - I get contacts.  I make 1st chair for one quarter in band.  I make JV basketball and varsity track.  The boy I have a huge crush on likes me back.  I'm exceptionally tan this summer, and the music on the radio is AWESOME.  8th grade: a banner year.

1998 - Solid group of friends.  Have crazy crushes on boys from church.  SO MUCH UNREQUITED LOVE.  Track meets.  Long hair.  Decently developed sense of self for a 15 year old, but plenty of insecurities.  I'm pretty type-A.  Also: first year I run for ASB office and lose.  A trend that will recur over time.

1999 - High school begins.  I believe this is the year my grandpa passes.  My sister graduates high school this year, and leaves for college shortly after.  This is a VERY tough adjustment for me.  It blows when your live-in best friend flees for another state. 2000 - Still never been kissed, and form aptly titled "Virgin Lips Club" with a handful of similarly unkissed girlfriends.  We have badges.  I cut off all my hair.  I start working at Ashton Limousine.  I learn to play bass.  I have a crush on a boy named Brian. 2001 - The good: high school graduation.  Sasi's Cafe!!!  KENYA.  Oh my goodness, KENYA.  An experience that has/will continue to shape many of the bigger decisions I make in life.  Once blessed with some global perspective, you can't help but see the world through a different lens.  The bad: Dad loses his job.  This means many changes for the Smith family.  Heather has to come home from San Diego, because private college costs big bucks.  Bethany won't be going to college after all, because - like a genius - she only applied for out of state private schools, and as stated above, big bucks.  More life lessons. It doesn't always look how you thought it would.

2002 - This year I am depressed.  Most of my friends are away at college.  Mom loses her job.  And I get reeeeeally angry at the church, forming a crack in an as-yet-uncracked spiritual foundation.  I buy a (cute!!) piece of crap Cabriolet that breaks down the day I buy it.  But I form some very important friendships through my job at the cafe.  And I sort of have a boyfriend again.  2003 - I turn 20.  My depression lifts as I discuss moving into an apartment in the U-District with two of my best friends...  Also, I buy a Miata, and get to visit Australia.

2004 - This year is CRAZY.  I go to London.  I turn 21.  I move into an apartment with two really good friends.  I suffer my first legitimate heartbreak.  I quit the limo place and start my job at Ivar's Salmon House.  I go clubbing ALL. THE. TIME.  I'm surrounded by amazing friends in similar stages of metamorphosis.  Lots of skanky tops.

2005 - This whole U-District apartment thing has caused some friendship-strain with the roomies.  My lease is up, and I eventually make my way to THE CORONADO.  Other than that, this year is really a continuation of the last.  Working, drinking, dancing, growing, healing.  Except for one notable exception: the commencement of my first big-kid relationship.

2006 - After a bachelors-degree amount of time worth of having NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE, I decide to start on these nursing prerequisites.  That sounds like a good idea.  Unfortunately, it means leaving Sasi's Cafe.  I miss that place.  But I'm 23, and need to figure this out.  Also: my lil broski does something awesome and beats both of his older sisters to a Bachelor's Degree.  GOOOOOOO AJ!!!!

2007 - People are seriously starting to get married.  All of them.  It feels like everyone I've ever known is engaged.  When the heck did we grow up??  I'M STILL IN LIMBO!!!!!  I'M NOT READY FOR EVERYONE TO SETTLE DOWN!!!!!  IF I'M NOT, YOU CAN'T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008 - BARACK OBAMA.  Also: BOKA begins, and I finish my first half-marathon. 

2009 - MORE LIFE LESSONS. This is a big year.  Within a month, everything comfortable about life completely changes.  Two of my very best friends move to California and Canada.  I get a phone call saying "Hi, this is Seattle Central, we just had someone drop out of the nursing program - want in?  It starts in 3 weeks."  I say "OF COURSE!!!" And then I get surprise-dumped by my boyfriend of 4 years.  All of the sudden, NOTHING IS AS IT WAS.  My support system appears to be in shambles.  My heart is broken, and I'm convinced it'll never heal.  I'm about to cut waaayyyy back on hours at work to accommodate the demands of nursing school, which means I'm out of luck as far as housing is concerned.  What happens next?  Life lesson: family always prevails.  My amazing sister, who's navigating her own major life transition, invites me to live with her in Madison Park.  For a snippet of our adult lives, we share a room again. 

2010 - NURSING SCHOOL.  Oh my goodness, nursing school.  What a (retrospectively) amazing time in my life.  Also, this year I choose to make a series of questionable decisions I now sum up in 9 words: it seemed like a good idea at the time.  Life lesson: learning to forgive yourself is every bit as freeing AND DIFFICULT as learning how to forgive others.

2011 - Amazing things happened this year.  The best one: I have a crush on a boy named David.  Not far behind: I graduated - 10 YEARS AFTER HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION - with a two year associates degree.  Finally.  I pass the NCLEX.  I am an RN.  And a hospital actually hires me.  HOLY CRAP.

2012 - Working.  Growing.  Struggling.  Loving.  Good job, amazing man, great apartment, learning new things about this crazy and challenging career every day, beautiful new friends, ever-faithful, beloved, precious, invaluable old ones.

2013 - Here and now.  Just finished a marathon.  Turn 30 tomorrow.  Haven't accidentally killed a patient yet.  And the Miata is still running.

This is the good stuff.

And if you actually finished reading this, I OWE YOU A BEER.

[onthisandthat]

On marathon completion, and my modified Kubler-Ross Theory of Running

First thing's first: I FINISHED A MARATHON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(this is where I ran it.  SCENIC.)

18 weeks, 345 training miles (many of which were in the dark, cold, or rain - often all three at once), a couple pairs of shoes, and many experimental Gu products later, I finished a marathon.

4:21:58.  I had an unspoken dream to finish in 4:16.  That didn't happen.  But I'm still happy with that time.  While I can't say I'll be working towards a new PR anytime soon, I definitely feel motivated to get my half marathon time down a bit, since those distances seem much less daunting now than they did a few years back.

(this is my goofy "mid-sentence, trying to catch my breath, fumbling with headphones and medal" face...)

But I learned a ton from this whole experience.  Namely that it is (or was for me, anyway) an emotional learning curve.  A process of sorts.  Kinda Kubler-Ross-ish in a way.  Yes.  Much like grief, it's a cycle you must fulfill.  These are my 5 steps of marathon training.

1) Euphoria - almost a honeymoon phase.  You've committed to doing something big, you're idealistic about it, you're excited to talk about it, you have little butterflies in your tummy while doing web searches for upcoming races.  It's all fun, and new, and challenging, and perfect.  Because you haven't done anything yet.

2) Reality - maybe just a few weeks into your training, you realize this will be allllllllll of your free time for the next many months.  And maybe you're like me, and realize it's only October.  And you still have several months of winter left to go.  And this includes Thanksgiving and Christmas, seasons where you typically relish a bit of the lazy.  And it's only going to get colder.  And the runs are only going to get longer.  The butterflies are GONE.

3) Confidence - your long runs are going well.  You see improvement in times for your shorter runs.  You're getting some of your swagger back.  You weigh less than you have since the one summer when you were really heartbroken and that whole "eating food" thing didn't sound appealing.  You blew your old half marathon record out of the water on this last 16 miler.  In fact, you just RAN 16 MILES!!  That's the most you've ever done!  AND it was pouring out.  AND it was dark.  AND you ran out of water half way through, but you still finished that one with a smile on your face.  This isn't gonna be so bad!  YOU'VE GOT THIS.

(guarantee I'm only smiling this big because my family was so darn awesome.  Seriously.  They drove ahead to every mile mark after about mile 13 and hopped out of the car to cheer me on and take pictures and give me water.  SO incredibly encouraging.)

4) Self Doubt - race day isn't that far off, and you realize the longest you'll run before tapering off is 20 miles.  JUST 20 MILES.  HOW THE HELL DO THESE "TRAINING EXPERTS" EXPECT YOU TO JUST TACK ON 6 EXTRA MILES????  THE LONGEST YOU'VE EVER RUN IS 20!  AT YOUR PACE, THAT MEANS 50-60 MORE MINUTES OF RUNNING THAN YOU'VE EVER DONE IN YOUR LIFE!!!  THAT'S NO SMALL DEAL!!!!  HOW IS THIS SUPPOSED TO WORK???  YOUR BODY ISN'T READY FOR THIS!!!  YOU DIDN'T TRAIN ENOUGH!!!!!  YOU NEED 18 MORE WEEKS, THAT'S ALL!!!  MAYBE THIS WAS A MISTAKE.....

5) Accomplishment/Pain - yes.  These two are inextricably linked.  The amazing sense of accomplishment that accompanies running a marathon cannot be separated from the amazing sense of pain shooting through your muscles, joints, bones, brain, and (in my case, several hours after finishing), digestive system.  Does it feel absolutely incredible to say "I JUST DID THAT!!!"?  Yes.  Yes, it does.  Does it also feel absolutely sore EVERYWHERE?  Yes.  Yes it does.  In my case, I have a doctors appointment scheduled for tomorrow to rule out a possible stress fracture in my left foot, and (as mentioned above), my possibly sodium-deficient body decided for a few hours there that it was going to reject any food I tried to feed it.  Luckily a little chicken broth cured the latter ailment, but we'll see what the doc says of the former.

Was it worth it though?  Absolutely.  Millions of people before me have accomplished this goal, and millions will after.  It doesn't make me special.  But it DOES mean I can claim "I ran a marathon" for the rest of my days.  I also think it gives me permission to eat a ton of pizza, as I'm doing right now.

Also - mentioned if briefly above, but my family and friends were INCREDIBLE.  Mom, Dad, Heather, Peter, Dave - I would've walked if not for the knowledge that you might have been lurking around any given corner, waiting to cheer my on.  I couldn't have let you down by walking.  So THANK YOU for keeping me running.  Jenni and Elece and Sara - your music was AWESOME.  Your sign was AWESOME.  Your pom-poms were AWESOME.  THANK YOU.  Roland and Doris - seeing your smiling faces about a mile from the finish kept me going.  What an awesome surprise it was to have such special people there to support me.  SO GREAT.

So yeah.  Check that one off the list.  Next up: piano lessons.

[onthisandthat]

on things I'd like to see in 2013

I still won't call them resolutions.  I reject the terminology.  But I - like most - appreciate the symbolism of a new year.  Sure, it's just the segue of a Monday to a Tuesday, a 23:59 to a 00:00, but it sets a sort of concrete time line for goal-setting.  And I've recently come to accept that I'm an exceedingly goal-oriented person.  (Original typo: goat-oriented.  AWESOME.)

I respond well to a challenge.  So here are a few challenges I hope to see to fruition in 2013.  The year I turn 30.  EEEK.

1) FINISH THIS GOSH DARN MARATHON, AND FINISH IT WELL!  Nope, no time goals still.  Eh... not that I'll say out loud, anyway.  But I want to run the whole thing, try not to cry in the process, and prove to myself what my body is capable of completing.  And then maybe get one of those little "26.2" bumper stickers to slap on the back of the Miata (WHO WILL TURN 21 THIS YEAR!!!!)

2) TAKE MORE PICTURES. 

Because there's a lot of pretty out there.  And the iphone has a pretty decent camera.

3) THE YEAR OF THE FINANCIAL BUFFER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Exciting stuff, I know.  Jogging and lakes and dollah dollah bills.  But really.  I was totally on the ball for awhile there with my new personal budget (and thanks for all the feedback when I posted about it last time.  Turns out the "You Need a Budget" system and software are pretty Bethany-compatible!), but something lapsed around... well... Christmas time.  Whoops.  And now I've gotta put in some time and discipline to get back to building up the ol' checking account buffer.  Which means...

4) SPEND LESS MONEY ON FOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!  As I say this, I'm enjoying some delicious butter chicken and garlic naan that I DEFINITELY did not make for myself.  Damn it.  Perhaps disregard what I said at the beginning about being goal-oriented...  But if I can wrangle this habit, it will truly allow for me to...

5) TRAVEL MORE!  Anywhere.  For however long.  Weekend trips to Vancouver.  Perhaps a nursing conference to Boston in May (reeeeeally excited about the thought of that one...  Actually, really excited that I now have a career that allows for things like "conferences."  Fun as it was, (and as much as it may benefit from them), food service doesn't really DO the conference...).  The birthday trip to New York I long for that may or may not actually be realistic.  Just leaving Seattle when the opportunity presents itself will be a good thing.  Although I DO love where I live...

(this was taken this morning.  gorgeous day.)

6) MORE KARAOKE!  I think I only went tipsy-singing ONCE this year.  Abhorrent.  And really, I MUST redeem myself following my last lackluster Eminem performance.

7) MORE READING!  God bless the funny and insightful ladies that dominated the storage space on Dave's kindle.  Caitlin Moran, Mindy Kaling, Tina Fey - love 'em all.  But I want to expand those literary horizons a bit.  Although I'll always come back to the funny and insightful ladies.

8) MORE WRITING!  Dave bought me a journal last Christmas.  It was a wonderful gift, as I DO find putting pen to paper one of the most therapeutic things a stressed out person can do, and he knows I feel that way, which made it an even MORE wonderful gift.  But in truth, I find the times I'd most benefit from jotting down my emotional sludge are the times I'm most likely to watch bad TV instead.  I need to spend more time being honest with myself about struggles and icky times as well as victories, though.  Which means maybe a bit more time jotting down my emotional sludge.

9) LEARN SPANISH (or at this point, perhaps Tagalog would make more sense).  TAKE PIANO LESSONS.  TAKE STATISTICS.  GO BACK TO SCHOOL.  COOK SOMETHING NEW.  TASTE NEW WINES.  FIND A CHURCH I CAN REGULARLY ATTEND.  That is to say: LEARN, LEARN, LEARN!!

10) MORE TIME WITH YOU.  Yes, you.  It's easy to blame my weird schedule for spending less time with the homies, and to a degree it's legit.  If I worked the night before, I can't hang out mid-day.  I'll be asleep.  If I work the next night, can't hang out mid-day.  I'll be asleep.  It's limiting.  But there's too much going on in the lives of all y'all make silly excuses like SLEEPING.  Everyone and their mom is having a baby.  Buying new houses.  Buying new cars.  Starting new relationships.  Ending old ones.  Eying new career opportunities.  Progressing in current job settings.  I want to hear about it first hand.  If you can figure out a way to pipe it into my head while I sleep during the day, COOL.  If not, looks like I'll just fight the sleepy and spend some time in your company.

Happy 2013.  See you soon?  Say yes.  It's so easy to say yes.*

*Site that quote and I'll buy you a beer.  Prediction: Heather will be the only one to site that quote.  I'll buy her a beer.  :)

[onthisandthat]

On progress

Been awhile...

I've been lazy.  Well, no...  that's not entirely true...  Busy would be a more accurate assessment.  

Busy doing what, you say??  Imma tell you.  Or better yet, show you.

I celebrated a year of gainful employment as an RN with the four other amazing women hired alongside myself.  It was a fun night.  Food, drink, karaoke, more drink, and more food...  

It's been a challenging year.  The amount of learning packed into these first 3 months of orientation and following 9 of being "on my own" is pretty ridiculous.  Humbling.  Overwhelming.  Periodically encouraging, but I find those pockets of uplifting times to be grossly underrepresented amidst MANY situations that make me want to crawl into a hole and beg forgiveness of the masses I'm convinced I've let down.  Meh.  Let's be honest.  The masses aren't nearly as critical of myself as I am.

I've been training for a marathon.  I'm in week 8 of 18 for my training, and last weekend I came REALLY close to 12 miles.  Woulda finished it, were it not for that pesky darkness/monsoon combination I decided to jog through...

But even in the dark and cold and rainy, rainy ick: I STILL MANAGED TO CLOCK MY FASTEST 10K!!!!  A 57:40 for 6.2 miles.  If I could keep that up (which right now, I can't... fade like a flower), that'd put me in at under 2 hrs for a half, which would blow my mind.  This weekend I'll be at my official halfway point.  I'll run 13 miles, and after that continue to push my body to run distances I've never attempted before.  That's exciting.

I went to California for Thanksgiving.  It was the first Thanksgiving I've spent with family other than my own.  Even the ones I've spent at work have still managed to incorporate my brother (also usually stuck at work).  So this was kind of milestoney, I suppose.  Also: truly nothing like a gigantic Filipino Thanksgiving. Also in the trip south was a beautiful wedding, Disneyland, and - of course - In N Out.

(this was Disneyland, not Thanksgiving.)

(This was the wedding, also not Thanksgiving.  I suppose the point I'm trying to make is that while it incorporated ribs, noodle dishes, AND turkey, Thanksgiving didn't require creature-hats.  Dave makes those happen everywhere ELSE he goes...)

I DECORATED FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Christmas is my favorite.  The lights.  The music.  The candles.  How lit up downtown is...  Sigh.  Love it.  And if you're reading this and don't have George Winston's "December" in your Christmas music catalog, I insist you remedy that right away.  It's the perfect soundtrack for sipping coco and mellowing out with a comfy blanket at home.  And since it only applies for a month, GET ON IT.

MY SEEEEESTER GOT MAWWIED.

While I feel that I was a truly lackluster M.O.H (I suck at party planning... I feel like I also suck at ASSISTING the party planner.  Doh.) it was a lovely ceremony, officiated beautifully by my cousin, and pulled together KINDA last minute but executed wonderfully.  Glad to have been along for the ride... cuz truly, that's about all I did.  Showed up, kept the tall shoes on as long as I could, and then ate cake.  Wait, no... I kept my sister's champagne glass full!  I DID serve a purpose!!

All this to say: bloggy silence aside, it's been a busy several months.  I'm making strides towards accomplishing a big goal, and have been happy to be involved in momentous stuff for others around me.  Making progress.

[onthisandthat]

On.... shoot, I dunno. On deciding to go for it. There.

So I did it.  I filled out my form, hit "send," and signed up for my first full marathon.

EEK.

(yes, this photo tactic again.  but truly, this face sums up the emotional succotash that is my reaction to this commitment.  forgive the redundancy.)

This both excites and terrifies me for a host of different reasons.  The first being: I'm sincerely not sure if my body will be up for the task.  I'll be using the good ol' Hal Higdon Novice 1 program, which allows me 18 weeks to prepare.  I'm a fan of Hal.  His program got me good and ready for my half marathon, with only small amount of tweaking.  But this?  I have no idea if my knees, my tendons, my muscles, my heart, my lungs will be tough enough to make it.

More than knees, tendons, muscles, heart, and lungs though: I have no idea if my BRAIN is tough enough to make it.

I look at this undertaking as a test of spirit.  Can I train my brain NOT to listen to my body?  I have no time goals for this run, no standard I'll be upset not to obtain.  Completion is my goal.  Which means that when I hit hour 4 (I'm no speed demon.  This run WILL exceed 4 hours for me), I'll have to muster the resolve to tell my aching body that IT'S NOT THAT BAD.  That I CAN DO THIS.  That I'M VERY NEAR ACHIEVING MY GOAL!!!!

Those are the pep-talks I suck at having with myself.  About anything.  I have very little confidence in myself at work right now.  As previously blogged about, I struggle with discipline in a financial capacity (although there's been some improvement in the last month or so).  There are a bunch of things I long to accomplish (piano, spanish, volunteer work, my BSN, refinishing that coffee table) that I keep putting off till another day/month/year/stage of life.  "Positive-self-talking" myself to completion of ________ task isn't my strong suit.

Hence the blog.  It's out there.  I've signed up.  Operation: Marathon by 30 is underway. I'm going for it.  Time to see what this lil spirit is capable of.

EEK!!

[onthisandthat]

On how much I resent those "you know you're a nurse when..." lists

So I really do try not to make this blog  too nurse-y, simply because I spend enough of my time at work.  I don't really feel the need to spend my free time typing about it.

HOWEVER, I've lately been bombarded with facebook ads for scrubsmag.com, allnurses.com, and other e-publications aimed at the nurse population.  Some of these websites can be valuable.  Some of them, not so much.  My bad for updating my career info, I suppose.  Lesson learned.  However, they bait you with stupid ad headlines like "for nurses eyes only," or "hilarious jokes for nurses only!"  Right.  I know it's gonna be stupid, but I click anyway.

And ya know what?  It pisses me off.

Of course I have a sense of humor about my job.  I have to.  I wind up in more "what the heck just happened there?" moments than I did while I was serving.  You have to laugh (and by the end three night shifts in a row, everything is funny.  String cheese.  The fact that your charge nurse just fell asleep standing up.  Tylenol.  Kittens.  The fact that you're expected to give a coherent report after 12 hours of mayhem.  Everything.). 

But these lists that are supposed to be little inside jokes for me and my peers made me cringe.  They stereotype us into sounding like snide ingrates who aren't grateful for our jobs, proud of our profession, or polite to our patients.  And I GET that they're supposed to be funny.  But let me list a few of them that made me involuntarily shudder most extremely.

"The front of you scrubs read: 'Nurses...here to save your a**, not kiss it!'" My issue with this?  First of all, no nurse I work with would have the disrespect to slap something like that on their friggin' scrubs.  Secondly, what manager would allow that?  Really?  Third - like it or not - sometimes we ARE there to kiss some ass.  The patient is the customer.  They get sent surveys in the mail following their hospitalization the same as diners get comment cards.  You better believe we want their stay to be a pleasant one.  I want to keep my job.  I want those CHF patients to come back to my hospital after their next exacerbation, because I don't wanna have to start this job hunt over from scratch.  OF COURSE my job isn't to suck up to the patient, but providing good customer service IS.  Sometimes, you have to smile when you'd rather roll your eyes.  It's just the truth.

                                Yes.  They sell this online.  Wear it on your own time, fine.  Wear it to work?  Not so much.

"You've ever told a patient to 'move toward the light.'" Riiiiiight.  Been around a lot of comfort care patients that are on their last leg.  A lot of full codes that probably ought to be DNRs just for quality of life issues in the event that we ever DID have to resuscitate them.  Telling a patient to hurry up and die already?  Even in a "ha ha, funny, just joking!" capacity?  NO.

"You believe if it's wet and sticky and not yours, leave it alone!" Ok, I get that this might seem gross.  No matter.  Hated it too.  No.  Don't leave it alone.  CLEAN IT UP.

"You believe the best patients are SIR...Sedated, Intubated and Restrained." No, actually.  No, I don't.  If they're sedated, you're concerned about their respirations.  I never work with intubated patients, but I'm sure there's plenty to keep an eye on.  If they're restrained, you've got a hell of a lot more charting to do.  I'd prefer they be alert, oriented, oxygenating well on 2 liters, and a 1 person assist with their front-wheeled walker.  Of course I welcome those few hours when our patients are capable of getting a little bit of sleep, but unless they're seriously uncontrollable screamers, I'd prefer my patients be capable of telling me how they're feeling.  Harumph.

"You believe not all patients are annoying. Some are dead." OH, COME ON!!  WHO THE HELL WROTE THIS LIST????

"You've ever referred to a suicide-attempt victim as an FTF (Failure to Fly)" No, really.  Who is this person?  Why did they go into a field where compassion and a non-judgmental approach to interpersonal relationships are of massive, massive importance???  DO YOU REALLY THINK THIS IS FUNNY????

"You think it is acceptable to use "penis" and "vagina" in a normal conversation." Yes.  It is.  We're all adults here, and sometimes the bits need to be referred to.  Why is this unacceptable?

Here's one I DID like: "Your immune system is so well developed that it has been know to attack and kill squirrels in the backyard."  That one's actually kind of funny.  Here's another one I liked: "You find humor in other people's stupidity."   Yes.  Yours, list-author.  Because more than once I audibly laughed out loud at that list.  Not because it was funny.  No.  Because it was unbelievable.

Perhaps I seem like a young, naive nurse for being appalled by these lists instead of tickled by them.  Fine by me.  All I can say is, if I ever give a post-suicide attempting patient a disparaging acronym in lieu of a little compassion, it's time to retire.

[onthisandthat]

On budgeting

I have a lot of blog ideas rattling around in my head right now, but none of them make for particularly exciting reading...  I thought about finally composing something on regret, as I've been fixated on how it can actually be a beneficial, motivating factor in our lives instead of something we should BANISH FOREVER.  Too heavy.  Also thought about finally putting something down about the Affordable Care Act, and how strongly I believe that what's good for the goose is good for the gander, and HOLY CRAP could we use a little good for the gander these days, but I'd want all my research to be spot-on, and let's be honest - I'm feeling lazy.  Also thought about taking on some mental health issues, as I've been exposed to LOTS AND LOTS of mental health patients lately, and every experience with them makes me really really angry that these illnesses still have a bizarre stigma attached to them that prohibits our discussing them in a productive way (and also - mental illnesses just plain suck and AREN'T FAIR).

Again: too heavy.

So what else has been on my mind lately?

Summer.

Sun.

Money.  (A natural progression, no?)

But it's true.  I've been ALLLLL kinds of Snoop Lion these days, what with my mind on my money and my money on my mind.  There's a lot I want to save for.  New brakes for the Miata.  An upcoming trip to California to watch Dave be a groomsman for the THIRD TIME in a mere year and a half together.  My 30th birthday trip to New York.  A house, because yes - I've been bitten by the "I'm getting old and need a yard in which to plant my very-likely-ill-fated-tomatoes!!" bug. 

To make all these things possible, I need two things.  1) An income.  CHECK.  2) A method of managing that income so that I don't blow it all on crap.

Back in my restaurant days, I was GREAT at saving money.  I had an awesome method.  Every shift I worked, $20 went into an Illy Coffee can that I didn't touch until I was ready to purchase whatever I was saving for.  It bought me a quarter of nursing school, the computer I'm typing on right now, and a trip to the East Coast.  My nightstand looked like this:

It was awesome.

These days, however?  Not so much.  So I bring this up to Dave, because he's pretty brilliant with his money.  He makes saving look easy.  I figure he can impart his knowledge upon my financially-akimbo self, and like magic I too will have the discipline and financial restraint that can only come with years of 1) being TAUGHT how to manage your money, and 2) PRACTICING THOSE SKILLS.

Wrong.  I just end up feeling frustrated.  Thing is, budgeting IS a skill.  And - like most skills - I find that if I suck at them, I tend to avoid them all together.  Like water sports.  And baking.  And Dance Dance Revolution.  And yes, it goes back to a basic lack of knowledge.  My parents are AMAZING people.  They did a damn good job raising three very different, very distinct personalities.  They taught me how to make decisions based on morality.  They taught me how to treat people with respect.  They taught me to appreciate music.  They fostered my creative side.  They taught me take responsibility for my errors.  They taught me to apologize and to forgive.  They never allowed me to feel like I wasn't special.  Pretty much the only thing they might NOT have done?

Sat me down and had a talk about $$$.

As a result, I've made a stab at navigating this whole "budgeting thing" on my own.  I made a chart to reflect about how successful this has been.

Yes.  I'm that girl.  Whatever I have left over I spend on time out with friends.  Date night with my boyfriend.  Lunch before work.  A store-bought sandwich instead of a homemade one.  A mocha from Cafe Berlin instead of a cup of french press at home.  I EAT AND DRINK MY PAYCHECKS!!!  ALL OF THEM!!!!  NOM NOM NOM.

This realization sucks.  Especially because it's my go-to social plan.  Wanna catch up with a friend?  Grab happy hour.  Someone's birthday?  Take them out to eat!  Bored?  Go wander down to the Virginia Inn and kill some time with a glass of wine and some cheese, people-watching as tourists pant their way from the market up to 1st.  (GREAT way to pass time, actually.  There.  Another hobby.)

Alas.  Time to keep a closer eye on where the money's going.  And - even more challenging - time to stop spending when I hit my limit.  Now all I have to do is sit down, work out what I'm ALLOWED to spend, and HAVE THE SELF CONTROL TO JUST STOP SPENDING WHEN I HIT THAT LIMIT.

Easy enough, right?

All I can say is this: I hope my friends are okay with coming over to my place for a glass of cheap wine from Trader Joe's and a game of gin rummy (which, by the way, I'm still learning.  If I can master that skill, surely I can Suze Orman my way to that 3 bedroom home in West Seattle.... right?....)!

[onthisandthat]

On hobbies

Ahhhh, leisure time.  Scratch that.  Ahhhhh, leisure time when the sun finally comes out and I'm awake during the daytime hours to enjoy it.

I know a lot of people take advantage of these lovely, 80 degree afternoons by taking to mountains and hiking them.  By riding bikes in scenic places.  By boating.  Camping.  Gardening.  Dog-walking.  Jogging.  Swimming.  Playing some sort of organized sport where people toss things in your general direction.  Drum circles.

I don't really do those things.

It got me thinking about my hobbies.  Or perhaps my lack thereof.  It also got me thinking about what exactly a hobby is.  A passion you pursue in your free time?  Any old thing you do for fun?  Something relaxing?  Whatever occupies your time when you're not at work?

Initial response that incorporates all of those definitions: napping.

But other than that, I'm sort of at a loss.  There are plenty of things I LIKE to do, but I don't know if they count as hobbies.  Reading is fun and relaxing for me, but not something I'd consider a hobby.  I used to play my bass all the time, which would have counted.  These days I'm more of a music listener than player though.  Same with running.  A few years ago this would've been my response.  It was something I enjoyed, something that filled large portions of my free time.  Not so these days.  Eating?  Yes, but that's just a biological function.  Kind of a crappy answer to the "what do you do in your spare time?" question.  Going for walks, catching up with friends, convertible drives, good wine, taking the dinghy out for a paddle.  Taking pictures.  All fun.  Not really my hobbies.

And so my final answer is this:

(No, not taking pictures of my legs.)

Laying in the sun.  Yes.  This is it.  It's the most simultaneously relaxing and enjoyable thing I know.  I understand that my sport-enthusiast buddies or people who annually celebrate their hobby with a convention or sculptors or perhaps American Kennel Club breeders will likely look at this and raise their eyebrows, cuz it sounds like SUCH a cop-out hobby.

Yet truly.  It is mine.  Spending those few lovely moments relaxed in the sunshine, soaking up the Vitamin D, getting a glimpse of what the rest of the country sees more regularly than us in the GPNW, letting my mind be quiet, planning the whole week for those two or three chunks of time that allow me to feel completely refreshed...  Indeed.  'Tis my hobby.

"What do you like to do in your free time?" "Lay down on a towel and periodically flip from front to back." "....."

Mmmmhmmm.  It's what I do.

[onthisandthat]

On physical abuse at work

Last night, something semi-groundbreaking occurred.

MY FIRST ABUSE!!!  (The exclamation points are there for emphasis, not enthusiasm.)

I say "first," because I know many more confused and angry and unhinged patients will take swings at me in the future.  It's part of the job.  But what makes this a story worth re-telling is the circumstance in which it unfolded.

SO: my co-worker was taking a 3 a.m. lunch break and I was covering.  I got the low-down on their patients, and was informed that one in particular got "a little confused at night."  I'd already experienced this confusion.  She's a cute little old lady who's more or less lucid during the days, but sundowns severely at night, forgets where/who/why she is, and can be a little cantankerous. 

I can handle that.  Old ladies love me.

NOT THIS ONE.

I noticed her struggling to get out of bed on her own, an act which could have lead to a devastating fall in and of itself.  While assisting her back to bed, sweet lil lady turns EVIL.

She pulls the stethoscope from around my neck with a grip I was mentally unprepared for.  It's a death grip.  She's not letting go for her life.  Her eyes light up, and she knows she's just crossed some invisible line of "that which is acceptable."  I tell her to give me my stethoscope back.  She refuses.  Her grip tightens.  My arm reflexively yanks back to retrieve that which is mine.  At this point, it's tug-o-war.  Me vs. the octogenarian, and THE OCTOGENARIAN IS WINNING.  She tugs and cackles.  I pull back, trying to stay rationale while maintaining possession of my property.  She's taunting me at this point, yelling things like "I SEE THAT FACE YOU'RE MAKING!  YOU WANT ME TO DIE RIGHT NOW!!!"

No.  That's not true.  BUT THEN....

WHAP!!!

She whips me.  In the chest.  With my stethoscope.  Keep in mind, these have heavy metal ends.  They hurt when someone is whipping you with them.  She cackles even more at this, and I back away because - let's face it - it could easily escalate to me whipping her back to keep the game even, and that won't end with me maintaining a license.

I let her take the stethoscope, the instrument of my abuse, at which point she stares at it, asks "what is this thing, anyway??," throws it to the floor and says...  (wait for it...)

"GO FETCH, DOG."

And I do.  Because I must.  Because I need this stethoscope for the rest of my shift.

I left the room rubbing my sternum, wondering how much hell she gave her parents 70 years ago, and if I'll be lucky enough to maintain that level of stubborn pluck when my dementia sets in...

(minus the hostility, of course.)