earth, wind and fire

The wind is blowing 60 mph out there. There is enough dirt in the air that it seems like little bullets in my eyes. I'm pretty sure Teva and Pooh King resembled kites at one point during our walk. We had to hunt down our welcome mat in the wind tunnel that leads to the front door. On the upside, the dogs are sure that once I let them off the leash they ran VERY fast with the wind at their tails, and VERY hard running back!


Teva, of course, is bolstered and extra-excited to know that Amanda will be home in a mere 29 hours. So we're spending the night tucked in watching our fake fire and being warm. Oz is being glad she's not in a dumpster in Burlington.

These are Oz's Mission Impossible 3 audition photos.

Good morning, bad dogs!

Sometimes, even pictures fail to show how beautiful a sunrise can be. Sometimes I am filled all day long with the passion for life that a sunrise like this revives in me.

Then I come home to find that one bad dog (Pooh King), and one bad dog's accomplice (Sativa Marie) have stolen a bag of greenies and eaten them all. Again.

How the post office stole christmas...

Twas the day before christmas and all through the house,
The Great and Powerful Oz was going crazy, chasing a fake mouse.
Teva and Pooh King were taking a nap,
and I was holding down the couch waiting for the post man to rap (on the door, but that doesn't rhyme.)

I waited and waited to get my box,
ready at a heartbeat to jump up and open the locks.
I waited and waited and waited some more,
then decided to go get Teva's food from the store.

When I checked the mailbox, what to my wondering eyes did appear,
but a pink note from the postman saying that my box had been here.
Sorry we missed you, it said in a scrawl,
Knowing there would be no christmas, I started to bawl.

That lazy-assed postman had not even tried,
to deliver my box, I cried and I cried.
I stood at the post office to see what could be done.
I would talk to the manager, he was the one!

The manager promised the carrier would come back,
lugging my box up the stairs on his back.
I waited and waited and waited some more.
But alas, it seems christmas presents were not in store.

So I cursed the postman, that carrier will itch!
I ranted and raved and acted just like a bitch.
I had christmas eve dinner, and more wine that I needed,
then it was off to bed, at sleeping I succeeded.

This morning was like any other, the dogs awaking at six,
They wanted to go outside to chase balls and chase sticks.
We've been out in the sunshine, we've been out to play,
and I can say that today is like any other of my days.

But for some things I am thankful, this is for sure,
(although that postman better not ask for any help at my door!)
We have friends and family, and they all are alright,
We have a roof over our heads to keep us safe and dry tonight.

I will admit I wish I had presents to open,
but to say I'm thankful for all I have should also be spoken.

The end...

By the way, never expect to get a package through USPS from me again, unless you live in Alaska where it's the only cost-effective way to ship. For everyone else... UPS!!!!!

boycott the post office

They ruin christmas. The carrier for my route is lazy and unreliable, and the postmaster/supervisor for this route is a liar. More to follow when I haven't been drinking.

It made me puke!

I thought I was immune to anything my patients do. I mean, I have wiped hineys, dislodged colostomy (poo) bags, and basically dodged every kind of excrement that can come out of a very sick patient as they walk down the hall. I spent 7 months being a wound care specialist in a hospital where I stood over patients and went "man, the hole in that guy is bigger than my head and smells like the bottom of a dumpster. Let's get to work." For pete's sake, I stamp out physical disability one patient at a time, Monday thru Friday. But today, it happened. A patient made me puke. It turns out that the stale smell of a jacket repeatedly soaked with urine (and I'm talking for MONTHS) combined with the smell of a freshly smoked Camel cigarette, is more than this girl can take. Of course, I was able to tough it out for 30 minutes while I worked with the guy, but the minute I put him on the elevator upstairs, I ran for the bathroom. Yikes! I wasn't even hungover.

And so summarizes my first week working at substandard nursing homes in Denver. While I'm sure that they meet the legal specifications required for skilled nursing facilities, I have to say that I am disappointed with the facilities overall. The buildings were built in the early 70s and are very institutional. As much as can be done to make them more "homey" has been done. But still, there is no equipment, one mat table to work on, and a host of wonderful old honeys who need me. I may think the facilities are substandard, but the patients are way above par! I already have my favorites... the old guy who calls me "kid", the old lady who shakes her fist at me every time I walk past (I'm sure it's done in good nature), and the old dude from Nashville who broke his hip falling off a bar stool (I'm the only one who understands all of what he says). The other therapists I work with are great.

Teva and Pooh King are getting along famously. They talk and talk to me each morning and as soon as I get home from work. They run and play in the empty field behind the apartment complex. There's lots of stuff to sniff and whiz on out there! The Great and Powerful Oz thinks it's unfair that the dogs get to go out and she has to stay inside (I guess she can't tell that the dumpster is right across the street because it's cleverly disguised), but she's excited to get a kitty snack along with the dogs getting scooby snacks when we come back. I think we'll all be glad when Amanda comes back, and sad when she and Teva leave. Someday.

So, my plans for this weekend are to A) get a couple of movies, B) get a couple bottles of wine, C) read a couple of books, and D) paint my toenails. Somewhere in there, I'll have to open Christmas presents... if any come that I haven't already opened. Sorry about that Ryan.

Happy Holidays (whatever one you may choose to celebrate or appreciate) and a shiny happy weekend to all!~

I almost forgot to let you all know...

Today is Jeffrey Allen Baker's first birthday! Hooray!

two happy dogs, one happy cat

It was a relaxed, good day.

Teva the bunny hunter and Dennis the maintenance guy

As soon as I go near the door, Teva is on high alert. We're talking a Tom Ridge red alert. She stays kind of low, ears perked forward, looking for a rabbit. There are a high number of rabbits running around the apartment complex. Probably because the apartments are built on top of their former grassland homes. Good thing she stays on a leash, because as soon as she sees one, I swear I can hear her start going "la la la la, I can't hear you!"

So, let's continue the saga of poor Dennis the maintenance guy. Dennis came out at about 1:40am to fix the water heater. He said the space heater had failed, and it must have frozen up. Apparently the heat here is sort of like a car's radiator, only hot. The water from the hot water heater goes through coils and the fan pushes air over it and through the vents. Without the hot water heater working, no heat. So, he went and got a blow torch. No shit, a blow torch. The man unplugged the space heater, lit the blowtorch, and proceeded to melt the ice on the floor of the closet and in the drip-pan under the water heater. The gas water heater. An open flame next to the gas water heater. I was afraid he was going to blow us (me and the kids) up. After about 40 minutes, the hot water heater was working again. Problem solved. I went to bed with fleece and socks on, feeling sure things would be better when I woke up.

Well, that's what I get for thinking. It dropped into the single digits last night, started to snow, and my heat came on, then went out again. I woke up at 7:30 to a very cold apartment. The water was more lukewarm than hot, and I found a full layer of ice around the water heater. Again. (At some point I had warmed up enough that I took the top layer of fleece off.) Dennis was very sad I had his cell number, I'm sure. I waited until 8:30 to call (since he had told me that he'd be back at the complex around that time) to give him the bad news. The dogs, cat, and I snuggled for warmth (see picture.) Good ol' Dennis. He came right over. Turns out, the fan on the heat pump had gone out, caused the pressure in the water heater to build up, which trips a valve that drains it and shuts it down. The unfortunate part of this is that the drain had frozen after the first blast of water went down it, causing the rest of it to back up and flood the closet. Two hours, a blowtorch, a shop-vac, and one new heat pump fan later, I was back in heat and hot water.

Nobody will believe that this story is true. Except my family, because they know this kind of stuff really happens to me.

And now I can't get my pictures to load. Never mind, I fixed it.

No freakin' heat.

It's 1:16am, and I'm waiting on Dennis. " Who is Dennis?," you may ask. Dennis is the 2nd on-call maintenance guy at Whisper Creek who I've had to bother since I've been here. Why? Why you ask, am I bothering Dennis at 1am? Because I have no heat. It's 63 degrees in my apartment. Now, for those of you who know me, I'm a cool house kind of girl. But as the temperature continued to drop inside my apartment, and my heater didn't kick on, I got a bit worried. Thermostat (electronic, of course) was flashing "low battery". So I reset it, reprogrammed it, and everything looked fine. Two hours later, as my hands are frozen and the dogs are attempting to crawl under the covers with me, and the cat is trying to crawl under the dogs, I decided this was a bigger problem. I tried to warm my hands up by running some hot water over them. But alas, I have no hot water either. Being the engineer's-daughter that I am, I go to the porch to check the status of my hot water heater. I am shocked and horrified to report that there is a layer of ice in the base of the closet. The scarier thing is that there is also a portable heater plugged in (inside the closet on my porch, which houses my water heater, right next to the closet that houses my empty boxes from moving every 3 months.) I have probably flooded Mullett's apartment once again. I'm going to have flaming dog-poo bags left on my doorstep. If not from Mullett, from the maintenance department.

So, begrudgingly, I called the emergency line... again. True to their message, someone called within 10 minutes. Poor, poor Dennis. I promised him I/we (me and the kids) could live until morning, as I didn't really know what he could do at 1am to solve the crisis (which in the grand scheme of things... floods, typhoons, tsunamis... is not that major. Cold, but not major.) But Dennis assured me that he could fix it, and it would be best to do it now before anything else froze.

On behalf of my father, I would like to ask the following question:

Who the hell builds a fancy-schmancy apartment complex, puts the water heater outside in a closet, uninsulated, and plugs in a Wal-Mart brand space heater to keep it from freezing? I'm pretty sure I'll be calling their insurance company to report this, so when the whole place burns down some day, they don't cover a dime of it. The University of Phoenix will be called, and the contractor's license will be revoked. I will make sure of it! And Dennis will have my back!

whoops

The pics didn't load... let's try that again...


This is Pooh King and Teva tonight, also recovering from the 4am wake up call! See Min? Cookie is fine!

There has never been a longer Friday...

So, it seems like Friday is going to be my long day of the week. Not that it's fair, but that's how it's going to be, since my supervisor has Fridays off and I cover two facilities.

Now, let's go over what made today so freakin' long. If you're not keeping up with www.livinginamandaland.blogspot.com, you need to know that I got up at 4am. That's right folks, you read right, 4am. Amanda gets to spend Christmas at the farm, and I'm staying in Denver. So, in an attempt to get Amanda to the airport and me to work in one fell swoop, her plane was scheduled at 6am. Let's review, a 6am flight requires that you be there no later than 5am (approximately the time the airport opens, and, the definition of the red-eye, at least for the shuttle driver!). Since I live approximately 45 minutes from the airport (pre or post rush-hour), this translated to Amanda and me being awake at 4, out the door by 4:20, and safely at the airport by 5. At one point during the drive, Amanda looks at me and says, "now that's some driving Dad would be proud of!" referring to my lane-jumping, exit-taking, highway-changing, learned-it-in-Philly driving moves. I told her to kiss it, or she could walk. Well, not really, but my pre-coffee 4am brain thought it quietly to itself.

Then, I travelled home and tried to get in another hour of sleep before taking off for work. The great thing about working in a SNF (skilled nursing facility), is that I don't have to go in until 8:45 or 9:00. Of course, by mid-week when I've gotten to know my morning patients, I hope to be in at 8 or so to get a) ahead of some of the wicked traffic, and b) out earlier in the day. Of course, this will depend highly on my ability to win over the nursing staff so they'll get my old people out of bed and dressed in time, and making sure breakfast doesn't come late. I got to meet a bunch of the people I'll be working with today, and they were really nice. The old ladies are sad that the male PTA I'm replacing is gone, but the old men are wrapped around my fingers already! I will charm them with my fake southern accent... and they have ALL already complimented my teeth. That cracks my ass up about old people, they all love my big pearly whites. The paperwork is massive and redundant... go Medicare! Beauracracy at its finest.

So, now I'm bored in Denver, since I don't know where to go or what to do. Amanda is gone, so I don't have a navigator. My friend Traci will be in town tomorrow and I can't wait to meet up with her... if only I knew a cool place to go!

By the way Mom, notice that the dogs are on a blanket, not on the couch cushion.

Another First Day

I had another first day today. This time in two nursing home facilities in the Denver area. The other therapists seem nice, and very glad to have another pair of hands to help out. I'm driving 11 miles to get to the first facility, then 4 miles from the first to the second, then a 12 mile trip home. My apartment was set up based on the wrong zip code of the facility, so instead of having a 4.8 mile trip, it's 12.2. This doesn't please me, as I choose to drive a gas guzzling SUV, and it's entirely stop and go traffic. And I thought it would be a 5 mile trip. Usually the travel company gets me as close to a facility as they can, while keeping me in a nice place and a safe neighborhood. We're working on this issue, as the company screwed up by not using the correct zip code. On the plus side, it is a very nice apartment complex, and they didn't boot me out for flooding the apartment on the first night.

I'm looking forward to working with the old people. I'll have to get used to all the new paperwork, but otherwise, I'm game-on tomorrow!

Amanda leaves for Aiken (for two weeks!) tomorrow and I have the funny feeling my life will be much less entertaining with her gone. But, I get to keep Teva, so I know she'll be back!

Hard Core Southern Rock

Oh my lord. I forgot to post it... last night, while walking the dogs, I discovered that ACDC/Poison/Metallica/White Snake (aka, the neighbor downstairs) has a Confederate flag over his bed. A big one. Amanda nearly screamed when I told her, though she was screaming "what the hell were you doing in his bedroom?!?!?!?!?!" Alas, you may wonder the same thing! But all is not as it seems. While walking the dogs I made the all important discovery. I was able to see White Snake's entire apartment because he was sitting inside eating dinner in front of the TV, lights on, blinds open. It's a first floor apartment. This was not good. Not good at all.

After carrying all my stuff up to the second floor, I was about to tell Megan (my housing coordinator) that I would prefer a first floor apartment next time (2nd floor was my choice). I tend to get weirded out by people walking past my windows and being able to see in, and I hate to keep my blinds closed. However, after carrying all that stuff up 20 steps, I was getting over it. But alas, after getting a full view of White Snake's apartment, I am sticking with the 2nd floor rule. I don't have a rebel flag on the wall, but sometimes I don't pick my clothes up off the floor, and nobody innocently walking their dogs past my window should have to see that!

And now, for the cute dog pic of the day... Pooh King has on antlers, and Teva is an angel.

Merry freakin' Christmas

I hate religious zealots. Like the lady who stood next to me at Target this morning and started berating me for my choice of "holiday" greeting cards I chose to send to my friends and family. (By the way, they're fabulous and you'll be lucky to get one!) She thought it was awful that THEY are taking Christ out of Christmas. Who are THEY? Are they the non-christians?

So, in my calmest, most delicate southern charm kind of way, I responded. This is how the conversation went...

Lady: I can't believe THEY are taking Christ out of Christmas. This "happy holiday" stuff is terrible.

TK: Jesus was Jewish. Is it wrong to wish my Jewish friends Happy Hannukkah because it falls in the same time frame as a Christian holiday? What about those who celebrate Kwanzaa? Or people whom you just feel all warm and fuzzy about, even though they have no religion at all? Isn't the point of the season, and the root of christianity, doing unto others as you'd have done to yourself? Don't they call that the Golden Rule? Should people have a bad holiday season because they're not Christian?

Lady: Well! (all the while attempting to get me to ignore her again)

TK: Happy Holidays!!!!

I'm going to hell for sure.

When did I become a great sleeper?

As I sit here at 7:15 drinking coffee, I wonder when it was that I became very good at sleeping in. I didn't used to be. There were horses to feed at the farm when I was in school. At Clemson, I'm relatively sure that my roommates despised my inability to sleep past 7 unless hungover. PT school? Still up and at 'em very early. I think it may have started in Alaska. I mean, if you can't sleep in when it's dark 20 hours a day, there is something wrong with you. And I'd like to point out that there is nothing wrong with me. Pooh King could do it too! I guess I retained that ability after I left, because I just drug myself out of bed (much against my own will) to get up and fight traffic. I don't think I want to go back to work tomorrow! That will necessitate my getting up early 5 days a week! You just know I'm going to be bitter every Friday morning just because it's the 5th day! I am being a good sister, however, and letting Amanda sleep a bit longer before I make her fight traffic with me. Hee hee. Welcome to putting bread on the table Min!!!

For those of you who tried and failed, I have changed the status of my "comments" section to allow anyone who wants to (blogger or not) to comment.

Amanda made me do this

Peggy has said it for a long time. Tonight, Amanda made me do it. I have joined the tech crowd and started a blog. As crazy as my life can be, I will do my best to keep up with it.

So, here's a little history to date... for a funny recap, see Amanda's blog at www.livinginamandaland.blogspot.com . It is a fairly accurate portrayal into what living in Burlington was like. Now, I've moved on to Denver. And Amanda has come with me (with her dog, Teva.) So did Pooh (as expected) and the Great and Powerful Oz (she contemplated getting into one of the boxes to avoid returning to the dumpster.) We have been gypsies for the last week, traveling the entire width of Colorado more than once to get the two of us relocated to our new cities. We've packed, loaded, unloaded, and unpacked enough boxes to make a small village over a series of heat vents in NYC.

I start work at a nursing home on Thursday. Tomorrow, I'll venture into Denver's rush hour traffic to make sure I know how to get there, and how long it will take me. After 10 weeks in Burlington I'm sure the traffic will seem horrific, though there won't be any tractors to clog up the intersections. I'll keep you posted...