Going Back To School

I have been trying, in one way or another, most of my adult life to do this job, failing at this job, or recovering from failed attempts to do this job.

The reasons to stop trying to do this are obvious. But I continue to think that this is where I belong, so I won't quit.

And I am not the 21-year-old who couldn't be a Hospital Corpsman, or the 36-year-old who couldn't look after the residents of an assisted-living facility. Or the 45-year-old who couldn't get through nursing school. I am 49, not quite 50, and I am just going to find out whether I can be an acute-care CNA at Good Samaritan.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Be here now."\\

Wish Me Luck, Wish Me Well

Starting my progress toward becoming a CNA2, aka Acute Care Aide, making an early-morning commute to Lebanon and a late-afternoon return to Corvallis.

Persons not resident in the Valley, please note that this means I'm driving into the Sun both ways. "And uphill all the way...."

This morning, I stopped at the light going over the freeway overpass and looked over at another driver, and suddenly wondered what I looked like, hunched over and squinting in my dark glasses, with my moustache waxed. Rather dramatic and/or comical, I should think.

//The Magic Eight Ball says, "Here's the World War One flying ace on dawn patrol...."\\

A Small Rescue

Today I went to my parents' place, where I never know what I am going to do. Whatever they need, basically.

Today that included helping my father take a shower and get dressed, wash out his bladder through his suprapubic catheter, make him his breakfast and give him his pills.

It also included helping my mother put up plastic reflecting film on the east-facing windows to see whether it would keep the heat out while still allowing Dad to survey his domain (and the clouds above it).

And going south toward Eugene but stopping just short of actually entering the city (which sure did feel funny), to make a pickup at Jerry's. Next time, we'll be putting up handrails to make it easier for Dad to practice walking without his walker.

Last of all, I gave direction (not very well, I think) to a dump truck driver as he delivered a load of gravel to replace what washed away in last winter's flooding. Going ahead of the truck as it backed down the hill, I saw a patch of daisies right in the middle of the bridge.

I'd been looking at wildflowers by the roadside all morning, thinking about picking a few to put on the Sputnik's dashboard, and here were flowers which in moments would be buried under a load of gravel. I picked three and tucked them into my hat, and laid them on the dashboard later.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "A rescue is a rescue."\\

Flowers in the Car

Some chapter in some Kurt Vonnegut novel is titled something like "When Cars Had Cut Glass Flower Vases".

When the so-called New Beetle (which like all true Bug lovers I despise almost as much as I do the post-1967 Super Beetle) came out, one of the few things I liked about it was that it had a bud vase.

The other day, Kathe spotted some interesting flowers growing by the roadside and wanted to take it home to show to me. She picked a sprig and laid it on the dashboard. She did show it to me, and the flowers sat on the dashboard for several days more, gradually drying out into a rather pretty image. The car smelled nicer, too.

Does anybody else do this? Or are we just being weird again?

//The Magic Eight-ball says, "Don't worry so much about what other people do."\\

The Salmon Cage

My latest story, The Salmon Cage, has now been printed and mailed.

I hope my stomach will forgive me for doing this soon.

Hold me in the Light, folks.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Ars gratia artis."\\