Category Archives: on my mind

Sometimes I’m amazed at the level of shear dopeyness that abounds. Maybe I shouldn’t be. I’ve been around long enough to see a lot of stupidity, but now and again… . I’m not talking earth-shattering stupidity, like wars or such, but relatively little things that make you scratch your head and say, “What the…?”

Case in point:

I recently lost my father. He’d been sick for a while (my family back East bore the brunt while I lived so far away, something I can never hope to repay them for nor understand exactly what they had to deal with, especially my sister and mother. I’m grateful for their being there for him.) and was on all kind of medications. His meds were normally delivered to the house after his somewhat regular visits to his primary physician, where the renewed prescriptions where faxed to the pharmaceutical company.

After he passed away last month, one would think his primary physician would have been notified. None of us called, as were were a tad busy at the time, but I’d have assumed the hospital let him know. They may have. I don’t know. What I do know is that the medication company sent new meds to my parents’ house this past week. My father hadn’t been in to see the doctor for a month, for obvious reasons, so why did the doctor put in an order for the meds without an exam, something required he do?

I’ll assume there was some kind of clerical error and not a screw up on the doctor’s part. Poor clerks, always taking the heat for things. But I don’t know for sure who’s to blame.

So my mother has to call the doctor’s office and let them know one of their patients has been gone for a month and to please not order more meds. She shouldn’t have to do that. No one should.

Can someone explain to me how drowsiness can be the “side effect” of a sleep aid medication? Isn’t that the purpose of a sleep aid medication? It’s like saying, “The side effect of a lobatomy may be reduced mental function.”

Ya think?

What makes you say “Well, duh!”?

{Obviously, I need to watch less television and do more writing. I promise the next entries will be a bit more exciting.}

Flew in from New York yesterday, and boy, are my arms tired. Ba-ding dum!

Actually, my entire body is tired. While flying the last leg of my trip from Anchorage to my current home, I gazed about the cabin of the deHavalind Twin Otter (18 seater, co-pilot leans through the open cockpit door to give you the safety speech, seats don’t recline, and one passenger’s carry-on was a box of ceramic tile she could only find in Anchorage) and noted a number of my fellow travelers nodding off despite the loud drone of the twin engines and the bumpy ride down the peninsula. Not an unusual sight.

From conversations in the waiting area before boarding, I learned there were at least two other flyers who’d come from the East coast that day. I’m sure we were all up before dawn and plain tuckered out from jetting across the country. Travel to and from Alaska is no easy task. It takes about 12 hours (not including the time difference) and several schleppings through various airports. It requires juggling plane schedules so your commercial jet flight into or out of Anchorage meshes with the local air service to/from whichever little town you need to get/go to. If planes are delayed, an overnight stay (in either an Anchorage hotel or on the oh, so comfortable plastic seats of the airport) is not unexpected. If you’re heading to one of the smaller towns up here, there is usually another plane to your final destination. Eventually. Some only fly on certain days of the week. It’s the price we pay for living the way we do.

Frustrating? It can be. But as long as there’s no great rush (and in AK, we are a fairly laid back kind of people when it comes to travel) we deal with it. My mother bought me and my husband matching travel mugs with “Zen for Travelers: We’ll Get There When We Get There” on them. I try not to let travel glitches get to me. I have more important things to worry about.

Watched October Road last night. What a waste of time.

The show is about Nick,a first time novelist who returns to his hometown after being gone for 10 years. At 18, Nick left to backpack through Europe for 6 weeks and didn’t come back. Well, apparently he came back to the States, but not back home. Anyhoo, he’s gone for a decade, wrote a wildly successful book, and is asked to do a one day seminar about writing at the college in his hometown. While there, he reunites with his high school buddies and his old girlfriend. Some of whom hate him because he trashed them in his book (ie: using “Anna” as a name for a not-going-anywhere-stuck-in-a-small-town girl in his story when his old girlfriend’s name is “Hannah.” VERY creative, Mr. Writer Dude.).

Aside from the less than stellar acting, I have to say the whole thing was ridiculous. Which is a bummer because I like Laura Prepon (Hannah). She played Donna on That 70’s Show. Nick just decided to not come home for 10 years because on her death bed his mother had told him to be sure to have adventures? And he never called his girlfriend? Ever? Or the best friend he was supposed to start a business with? Never wrote a letter? A post card?

Ok, fine, so Nick the kid was a REAL jerk. Then I’m supposed to believe he began writing a book just 3 years ago and it’s already published, in HC and PB, and is a movie (I think) and on audio as a super bestseller but now he’s having writer’s block and can’t get another story out. Glad I’m not his agent or editor. But maybe they’re making buckets of money off this guy with this one book, so they can coddle him.

In one scene, he visits the rundown NYC apartment where he first wrote the book. It’s the middle of the night and he knocks on some stranger’s door so he can return to where he first got his inspiration. The couple who answers (with the guy holding a baseball bat) listens to Nick explain he once lived and wrote there, and the woman asks if he wants to come in! In NYC!?!?! In the middle of the frickin’ night!?!?!? She does, of course, impart some “you can go home again” wisdom on him. I’d’ve hit him with the bat. He decides to go back to his hometown.

He meets with a couple of his buddies and sees the girlfriend. More on that in a second.

At the start of his seminar he has a panic attack and bolts out of the auditorium filled with people waiting for him to impart his wisdom about writing. I hope it was a free seminar. He returns to the seminar room and meets the one person who stayed in the otherwise empty auditorium, a young woman who “never read his book” but can discuss it thoroughly. Uh huh. Oh, and she’s about ten years younger than him and very, very cute. Hmmm….

So he’s a wunderkind of a writer with a single load who wants to get over his writer’s block. Got it. Now I have to swallow that he’s gone back to his hometown, when he apparently skewered his best friend and girlfriend in his novel, added to the complete lack of communication for 10 years, and can’t seem to understand that (a) they hate him, and (b) they’ve moved on with their lives. His buddies seem stuck in late teenage-hood, but maybe that’s how guys in their late 20’s are, including the one who hasn’t left his house since 9/11 and the one who screwed the other friend’s wife. (Why would you blurt this out to your estranged “buddy” the night before he is supposedly going to drop out of your life again? Would a guy REALLY do that????) Also, the ex girl friend’s kid (she denies the boy is the Nick’s), a precocious little bugger, has peanut allergies that Nick also has so Nick MUST be the father, ‘cuz, yanno, there are SO few people on the planet with peanut allergies like Nick and his entire frickin’ family have.

Nick decides to stay in town to….what? Mend fences? Fine. Find out if the boy is really his? Fine. From the scenes for next week’s episode, which I will thankfully be missing, the kid is hit on his bike. I’ll bet you a cheesecake the boy needs some kind of transfusion or transplant that ONLY Nick matches because {gasp!} he was right! He IS the father!!!!!

Sorry if I’ve spoiled the twist for you.

Can’t wait to see how Nick makes it up to his friends for the character assassination in the book. Oh, wait, yes I can SO wait! Forever, if necessary.

I may be a bit late coming to this party, but as a writer and a reader I take umbrage at The New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd’s interpretation of Chick Lit. She and her friend, The New Republic editor Leon Wieseltier, seem to feel that today’s female readers aren’t getting enough of the classics due to the abundance of women’s fiction on the shelves. That the presence of “Cinderella bodice rippers…girls stumbling through life…drinking cocktails…looking for the right man” might mean we’re not completely in touch with the world. To quote Mr. Wieseltier from Ms. Dowd’s column: “These books do not seem particularly demanding in the manner of real novels. And when we’re at war and the country is under threat, they seem a little insular.”

Don’t even get me started on the first sentence of that quote. There are plenty of female-oriented and authored novels out there that address serious issues, issues that are sensitive and difficult to write about but perhaps offer a reader some solace, or inform her of her options.

Let me jump to the part about these novels being “a little insular.”

I start my day off with my clock radio waking me up to NPR. I listen to the news for a good 20-30 minutes, learning about the latest bombing in Iraq, the economic condition, and other such light-hearted information. Then I get my children up and ready for school, reading the daily paper as I make sure they are fed a decent meal, dressed appropriately for the current weather conditions, provided with a hearty lunch, and out the door in a timely manner.

During the day, I take care of my home, run errands, work on my pre-fledgling of a career, wonder what my husband and children are doing, hope my aging parents and aging in-laws are well today, drop an email or two to see how they’re doing, throw a load or two of laundry into the wash, volunteer at one or another of my kids’ schools, read or re-read articles in the paper or news magazines we receive that I only got a chance to glance at earlier, get dinner items together, catch some more news, chat with friends if they aren’t too busy with their families, and perhaps get an idea for a new story jotted down. And that’s not the whole list, I assure you.

When my kids come home, I ask how school went, ask if they have homework, check homework, have them do some reading and some kind of physical activity like playing outside or dancing. I start dinner, fielding questions from my kids, listening to the evening news. My husband comes home and we have dinner.

After dinner, it’s playtime with the kids, or finishing up homework then playtime, evening chores, getting kids ready for bed, reading stories and tucking them in. For the next couple of hours, my husband and I watch television (we particularly like “CSI” and “Heroes” and “Grey’s Anatomy”) or read, having our grown up time together by chatting about the day or saying nothing at all in completely comfortable silence.

And at night, after I kiss my sleeping girls again, straighten their covers, and thank God for their health and safety, I go into my room to read one of those “insular” novels. Something that never has the heroine lamenting how many people died that day from a suicide bomber, or how many children went to bed hungry this evening and will wake up the same way tomorrow, or how budget cuts will effect funding for her children’s schools, or if there’s enough bread in the pantry for lunches tomorrow. It’s fiction. Fantasy. Entertainment. Fun. When did “fun” become a four letter word?

I live with the everyday worries that abound, I don’t want to read about them all the time.

Ms. Dowd said, “The novel was once said to be a mirror of its times. In my local bookstore, it’s more like a makeup mirror.”

I say, maybe it isn’t always about a novel mirroring the times, but as a balm against its ills. I deserve the occasional break from reality, don’t I? Don’t we all?

Today was a “me” day. I don’t have many of them, despite the fact I don’t have an outside job and my two kids are in school. But see what kind of “me” days I tend to have and you’ll understand why I’m not terribly upset by their low frequency.

I did my workout after dropping off my youngest at school (I’m STILL the same weight I was when I started 4 months ago, but I’ve lost inches and body fat percentage. Woo hoo!), came home to shower then went for my mammogram. Though I’ve heard tell of women having mammogram parties (where a bunch of them get their appointments together and make a day of it), I don’t have a circle of friends with cooperative schedules, so I went it alone. After that, I went shopping. No, not shoe shopping or clothes shopping (*snort* Are you kidding? Here?). I bought dog food, glass cleaner, a rear view mirror adhesive kit, and laundry soap. I took myself to lunch where I did run into a friend and we chatted for a bit. Then, off to get my shaggy mane cut into submission. Now that I have laundry soap, I can finish up the week’s laundry. Oh boy!

So I guess I did do one girlie thing today. Two, if you count the mammogram. Which, BTW, was fine, thank you.

I received a notice in my mailbox the other day that said I had a certified letter at the post office. Apparently the mailperson attempted to deliver it, but I wasn’t home. Or was in the shower. Or yelled at the dogs to shut up from up in my room/office when said mailperson knocked on the door, assuming the dogs were, once again, barking at the wind and not the door.

But I digress.

So I go to the post office and wait in line. I had a package I needed to send out anyway, so not a big problem. Oh, did I mention it was near blizzard conditions? It was. Anyhoo, I’m standing there, wondering who had sent ME a certified letter. I mean, that has never happened. Ever. Yes, I’ve led a sheltered life. My turn comes up. I hand over the package I need to send and my little buff-colored slip. The window person has me sign the thing twice. This must be some important letter, I think. She disappears in the back and emerges with my letter. I thank her and as I walk away I read the return address. The local hospital.

Oh, crud! Did I forget to mail in some bill or something? That’s the only reason I could think they’d need to send me a letter I’d have to trundle to the post office and sign for to retrieve. I tear the envelope open and read the single page.

A reminder that I need to schedule a mammogram. They spent $4.64 to send me this missive. Four dollars and sixty-four cents.

Not that I don’t appreciate the attention. I do. And I know how important mammograms are. Trust me. I’d received the first reminder a couple of months ago and, I admit, forgot to schedule one. I am usually very good about such things, but it got away from me this time.

But did they REALLY need to spend that kind of money? Really?

I was a bit miffed and made my feelings known to my work-out buddies. They were as stunned as I was. On the other hand, I scheduled my appointment that afternoon, as did another woman at the gym.

Okay, so it was worth $4.64.

And now I feel guilty for “making” them send the letter in a manner in which they’d be sure I’d get it.

Go make your appointments, ladies. You know you should. Don’t “force” your health care provider to spend over $4 more than they should to remind you.

I hope everyone has a Happy and Successful 2007. I, however, can’t seem to come up with a blog topic just now so I’m passing you on to others (who are probably the only ones who read this anyway).

Go to Sharron McClellan’s blog and check out the YouTube videos she’s getting chuckles over. They are fuuuunny.

Then head to Tracy Montoya’s blog where she lists things from 2006 she wishes hadn’t been. I pretty much agree with her on every point, and hope her hubby gets to stay home.

Last, but far from least, visit Jody Wallace’s livejournal blog. She’s recently posted about untimely knocks upon the door and what she’s read over the last year. I’m amazed at her organizational skills, plus, she’s funny as hell.

Go. Read. Laugh. Start the year off right.

IF SUPERVISING AN OFFICE WAS LIKE BEING A PARENT

·You would have to assure your employees that every time you got up to leave your desk you would be right back. Really.

·Employees would follow you into the bathroom, asking you “pertinent” questions that simply could not wait 5 minutes.

·You would be responsible for providing employee meals, making sure they are nutritionally balanced and that they ate it all. Or no dessert.

·Paper cuts would entail a 15-minute comfort period, and a cute character bandage for the injured party as well as the co-worker with a sympathy “owie”. Worker’s compensation would require a kiss on the injured area and/or a cookie.

·When your partner comes into the office after being out all day or on a business trip, all of the employees cheer, ignoring you and the last directive you issued.

·Out of office meetings must not delay employees’ lunch hour (this is a union rule).

·Employees would require daily reminders to keep their office supplies off of the floor (“Because if someone steps on that stapler and breaks it you’re not getting another one.”).

·Office parties would inevitably end in crying jags and cake on the ceiling.

·You would be required to take your vacations with your employees and go someplace that interests them.

·Only after your employees are gone for the day can you get any work accomplished.