Driving to and from work, I pass a lot of water. Most of the bodies of water I pass are large enough to have boating and fishing channels. One of these days, I actually count the number of bridges I cross each way.
On these bodies of water, with their boating and fishing channels, I am often distracted from my drive (or ride, if Shannon is driving) by the myriad sails that are out on the water. While most of them are plain-Jane white sails, I am occasionally greeted by one that has some color or flare.
The ones I really enjoy are the para-sails. That looks like a lot of fun to me. I may have to try that sometime, just so I can say I did.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
As I sit at the dining room table, drifting in and out of sleep due to my MRSA drugs, Yaw sits with one had moving back and forth between his "broken" iPhone and his laptop, busily working to download things that didn't come with his phone. His other hand is braced around the stem of the glass of wine I gave him. I would join him but the Cipro won't allow it.
I note out loud during one of my lucid moments that it looks like he is holding the wine glass as his life line, and I ask if he needs more blood poured into it. He laughs at my comment, but neither sets the glass down, nor requests more wine.
I drop back into a doze for a few more minutes, only to wake again to the sound of Mr. Bond hissing and snorting because he thinks Tristan is downstairs. Tristan is actually upstairs, comatose where his mother left him. I tell Mr. Bond to stop being a jerk and drift away again.
It's all I can do to stay awake until the next time I have to take the Cipro. Thank goodness it's only a 10-day prescription. I would really, REALLY like to shave again, but Dr. Blue Eyes says absolutely not. Sigh.
The MRSA is a vicious form of staph infection that is resistant to typical meds for staph. I happen to have acquired it somewhere, somehow. Which is what all the recent comments about my armpit ick are coming from. If I've peaked your curiosity, poke around on the CDC and Mayo Clinic websites and search MRSA. Lots of good info on both sites. I am now on my third batch of antibiotics and have graduated all the way to Cipro, which--by the way--is the same one they give you for Anthrax. Now, isn't that comforting? I'm not sure what the next one in line is, and I hope I don't find out. Enough is enough! I want my armpit back!
I note out loud during one of my lucid moments that it looks like he is holding the wine glass as his life line, and I ask if he needs more blood poured into it. He laughs at my comment, but neither sets the glass down, nor requests more wine.
I drop back into a doze for a few more minutes, only to wake again to the sound of Mr. Bond hissing and snorting because he thinks Tristan is downstairs. Tristan is actually upstairs, comatose where his mother left him. I tell Mr. Bond to stop being a jerk and drift away again.
It's all I can do to stay awake until the next time I have to take the Cipro. Thank goodness it's only a 10-day prescription. I would really, REALLY like to shave again, but Dr. Blue Eyes says absolutely not. Sigh.
The MRSA is a vicious form of staph infection that is resistant to typical meds for staph. I happen to have acquired it somewhere, somehow. Which is what all the recent comments about my armpit ick are coming from. If I've peaked your curiosity, poke around on the CDC and Mayo Clinic websites and search MRSA. Lots of good info on both sites. I am now on my third batch of antibiotics and have graduated all the way to Cipro, which--by the way--is the same one they give you for Anthrax. Now, isn't that comforting? I'm not sure what the next one in line is, and I hope I don't find out. Enough is enough! I want my armpit back!
Monday, January 07, 2008
Purging
While going through boxes this weekend for things that I might sell at the flea market, I came across a couple of boxes full of my college literature and history books. I found several papers and projects which I soon found myself reading as if I'd come across some meaningful work of art. (I hadn't, but it was fun to pretend.)
One of my classes required me to keep a reading journal, which I'd never done before, and haven't done since. I leafed through the notebook and read comments from the instructor, whom I happened to enjoy quite a lot. She seemed to like my sense of humor about some of the early American writers we were required to study. I had made a note about having to read more Bradshaw, saying "Oh, No! More Bradshaw this week!" She put a little smile next to it.
The same instructor gave us a project to create a series of poetic pieces in several different styles. I titled mine "Works of Fancy" and put a pretty sunset picture on the cover. Below are the two pieces that most remind me of me. The first one is in a style called "acrostic." In this style, you break a word up into its individual letters, and each line of the poem begins with one of those letters. The poem itself is about the word. The second, I don't remember what style it is, but the trick was that she gave each of us a color sampler from a paint store and we had to write a poem using the name of each of the colors on the sample. I've italicized the words that were underlined in the original. At the bottom of this one, I inserted a picture I'd made on my computer at work a few years before. It's also at the bottom of this post.
Music
Moving and emotional
Undercurrents of rhythm and
Sound
Infinite possibilities with just a few
Chords
Green Tease
Sylvan lands stretch across my vision
Hills of Green hiding mystic secrets
beneath the Green Sheen
and out over the Wide Open Pasture
the Green Tease lures me deeper still.
One of my classes required me to keep a reading journal, which I'd never done before, and haven't done since. I leafed through the notebook and read comments from the instructor, whom I happened to enjoy quite a lot. She seemed to like my sense of humor about some of the early American writers we were required to study. I had made a note about having to read more Bradshaw, saying "Oh, No! More Bradshaw this week!" She put a little smile next to it.
The same instructor gave us a project to create a series of poetic pieces in several different styles. I titled mine "Works of Fancy" and put a pretty sunset picture on the cover. Below are the two pieces that most remind me of me. The first one is in a style called "acrostic." In this style, you break a word up into its individual letters, and each line of the poem begins with one of those letters. The poem itself is about the word. The second, I don't remember what style it is, but the trick was that she gave each of us a color sampler from a paint store and we had to write a poem using the name of each of the colors on the sample. I've italicized the words that were underlined in the original. At the bottom of this one, I inserted a picture I'd made on my computer at work a few years before. It's also at the bottom of this post.
Music
Moving and emotional
Undercurrents of rhythm and
Sound
Infinite possibilities with just a few
Chords
Green Tease
Sylvan lands stretch across my vision
Hills of Green hiding mystic secrets
beneath the Green Sheen
and out over the Wide Open Pasture
the Green Tease lures me deeper still.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Points
Today, I was on the phone with one of our more challenging clients, explaining something to the third person for the fifth time because they all needed their own personal explanation of the same thing.
With the client on mute for the moment while they chatted amongst themselves, I took a moment to reach for my bottle of bubbles (amazing stress relief tool). As I pondered reaching for a pen to stab myself in the eye instead (yes, they were that annoying), Yaw walked up and handed me a photograph of what appeared to be a beautiful beach shot at dusk or dawn, when the sky is more dark than light, but the light is still there.
I kept the client on mute and said about a thousand thank yous to him. He couldn't have timed that more perfectly.
When I was released from my hell of servitude, I asked him where he'd taken the picture. He said "In the sky."
"So where was this beach?" I aksed.
"No, there's no beach. That's the sky. I took this from inside the plane on my flight home yesterday."
I will have to scan the photo onto my pc, assuming I can make my scanner and pc speak to each other again. The photo really deserves attention. And he gets major points for bringing it to me at all, more so for doing it at such a perfect time.
With the client on mute for the moment while they chatted amongst themselves, I took a moment to reach for my bottle of bubbles (amazing stress relief tool). As I pondered reaching for a pen to stab myself in the eye instead (yes, they were that annoying), Yaw walked up and handed me a photograph of what appeared to be a beautiful beach shot at dusk or dawn, when the sky is more dark than light, but the light is still there.
I kept the client on mute and said about a thousand thank yous to him. He couldn't have timed that more perfectly.
When I was released from my hell of servitude, I asked him where he'd taken the picture. He said "In the sky."
"So where was this beach?" I aksed.
"No, there's no beach. That's the sky. I took this from inside the plane on my flight home yesterday."
I will have to scan the photo onto my pc, assuming I can make my scanner and pc speak to each other again. The photo really deserves attention. And he gets major points for bringing it to me at all, more so for doing it at such a perfect time.
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