Putting Myself in Night Shift Mode

Time to put myself into "Night-Shift Mode." I really do wish there was a button I could push that would make it easier to cope with. I mean, I like night shift, otherwise I wouldn't choose to work it all the time, but the physical toll it takes on my body is rough.

1) I never know if I should be awake or asleep.
2) I never know if I should be eating or sleeping.
3) I have a hard time driving home in the morning, even if I've slept well the day before.
4) I usually don't sleep before my first night shift, so until 9am rolls around the next day, and I can lay   down, it's been about 24 hours without sleep.
5) I don't usually sleep much after finishing up a night shift because if I am not working again that night, I want to be able to sleep that night. Sometimes that means I go about 30 hours without sleep.

I think all the night shift has killed my metabolism.
I think it is true when they say that working night shift takes years off your life.

So why do I do it?

1) There is just something about the middle of the night, caring for someone when they need it.
2) I can usually sleep the next day, before another night shift, and I know many people who can't.
3) At least I get to see my kids in the evening (during school) a little bit before leaving for work. If I was daylight, I would get home around 9pm and it would be bedtime.
4) I am not trying to find someone to watch my younger kids during the day. Even if I am sleeping, I am sleeping at home, and they know where to find me.
5) I am not a morning person. At least not of the 4:30 in the morning variety. I worry all night that I am not going to get up on time and don't sleep well.
6) Wintertime is not nice when there is a storm, and the roads haven't been cleared and I would have to leave at an even earlier hour of the morning, if I was dayshift. Somehow in the afternoon or evening, it doesn't seem so bad.

Night shift mode means:
     -coffee
     -more coffee
     -relaxing ocean sounds to listen to while I sleep during the day
     -another cup of coffee
     -a positive attitude
     -a smile for 3am
     -and 4am
     -one more cup of coffee can't hurt

Being a nurse in a hospital means someone has to do night shift. Why not me? I just pray that I can go with a good outlook, a smile and a prayer, and that I can be a blessing to my coworkers, the families and the babies.

Love,
Dianne

My Music Talent, or lack thereof

I am listening to David Garrett play his violin; he has the most amazing talent! Look him up sometime. He literally has me dancing a jig around the kitchen as I am getting supper ready. I always wanted to play a musical instrument, and beyond learning "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" on the recorder in Third Grade, and Kumbya on my grandmother's organ, I haven't accomplished much on that front.

I did have piano lessons for a little while as an adult in my early twenties, but I think there is something to the saying, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." While twenty-something is not old by any standard, it seems my brain was already wired to not be able to pick up an instrument and learn it easily.

Of course, maybe I wanted to sound like David Garrett right away, and was discouraged when I wasn't producing beautiful inspirational music right away. It still takes me a long time just to get through simple songs like "Silent Night", and if I were to play it somewhere in public, it would be a long silent night.

My piano lessons started at a local teacher, about five lessons in all. Then we moved to Kentucky and in exchange for trimming an older, disabled woman's hedges for her, she gave me piano lessons on her seventy year old piano. Her name was Taisa and she was from the Ukraine. She would coach me in a richly accent to play Fur Elise, and her gnarled arthritic fingers played so much better than mine! But she was very patient, especially if she knew I was really trying.

I did practice too. To the point that everyone who lived in the same house as us, was ready to hide my music if I dared to play that first page ever again. Every single time I'd mess up, I'd start at the beginning. Over and over and over and over. Actually they probably wanted to slam the lid of the untuned, tinny sounding antique piano down on my fingers.

My dreams of playing an instrument have faded over the years. I'd still love to be able to play, but the learning part keeps getting in the way. Instead, I listen to music almost all the time. Whether I am inside the house, in my car, or out on a walk, or gardening, I have music on.

Some of my favorite music to listen to is when Aaron sits at the piano and his fingers effortlessly dance over the keys, and music just appears. His talent, like David Garrett's, amazes me. He hears the music in his head and heart, and somehow he can translate that into what his fingers are commanding the piano to do. It's as though the instrument and Aaron are having a conversation.

Piano, guitar, trumpet, and even recorder. Yep, Aaron can make them all sound good.
Must get his talent from me.

Piano, guitar, trumpet, and even a recorder; Aaron can make them all sound good. 

A Silent Night with Aaron would be a sad, silent night. 

Play on Piano Man, I'll always be listening.  

Love,

Dianne

Photo Session on Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to the best Dad our kids could've ever hoped to have! Before enjoying huge slices of Coffee Cream Cake and Vanilla Ice Cream, we paused for a picture. All I wanted was just one picture with everyone looking normal. You decide. 


And to think, this was all before the cake, loaded with sugar and caffeine. Love Dianne

Love,
Dianne

That Stinky Crab

Last night I went out to eat with a good friend and I ate somewhere I'd never eaten before: Red Lobster.
I am going on record as saying that it was most delicious. And fulfilling. And scrumptious.
I am not going on record as saying it was fattening, because I am in denial. And I did have a salad...

...in addition to a small-ish bowl of clam chowder, a largish plate of shrimp nachos that we shared, a large plate of shrimp & scallops in linguine with an alfredo sauce, and key lime pie (which I am eating now).

All the seafood, in addition to the live lobsters swimming (do they swim or just crawl about?) in the tank, reminded me of Rhode Island and the Horseshoe Crab.

One of the mornings when we were on vacation there, Leo and I went for a walk before anyone else had disrupted the water-smoothed sand with their footprints.

Well, almost no one.

No one, except this one large horseshoe crab, who looked very similar to this one:

This was an amazing find for us. I mean, we'd been collecting various seashells, but this, this was a crab! Albeit it was a dead crab, and we felt no remorse in removing it from the seashore. I just had to show all the kids what we'd found.

So, nonchalantly we strolled up the beach, now starting to have other morning walkers observing us carrying a large, awkward crab. We felt a little strange, so Leo took off his shirt, wrapped up the crab in it and we carried it back that way.

As if that didn't look at all strange.

Back at the house, we showed everybody our treasure, and we all checked him out and decided we would set him out in the yard to dry.

Big mistake.

The underside of a horseshoe crab has a lot of crab in it with hairy legs that make you think of a tarantula. Like this:

Well, if you ever wonder what a rotting crab smells like. . .don't.

A couple of days in the HOT sun with do quite a number on the crab.






The morning we were  loading up the van to head home, we had the front door open to the cottage, and this odd smell came wafting through the door. I went outside to investigate and as I rounded the corner of the house, it was like visible waves of incredible stink assailed my senses.

Clapping my hands over my mouth and nose, I frantically looked for the source of the horrendous odor.
There was Leo, in the yard, garden hose in hand, holding out an empty shell as he sprayed it. Using a kitchen knife, he had gutted out the rotted parts and was cleaning the shell so we could take it home.

As I am taking in the sight, through watering eyes, Aaron walked by and gagged. Then a jogger came by and says "Good morning." Whether or not he smelled it, I don't know, but I think he ran away much, much faster than he'd approached the house. The whole neighborhood reeked.

Oh, I really appreciated the effort it took to clean out that shell. Really, I did! BUT, I couldn't let it travel home with us. It smelled so incredibly awful that even if we put it on top of the van, I think we still would've smelled it. So, Leo put it in a bag, carried it back to a little wooded area on the path to the beach and tossed it out there.

I really pity whoever walked that path on that day.

The moral of the story: There are things in life that stink, and then there are things in life that REALLY STINK!

However, Red Lobster is not one of those things, but I can tell you that ordering crab wasn't even an option.

Love,
Dianne

Short and Sweet

I need a haircut.

Just one sentence and I am filled with indecisivness. How should I cut it? Keep it longer? Go short? Bangs or no bangs? Should I even get it cut at all?

I leave in 35 minutes for my appointment. Decisions, decisions.
What if I hate it? What if it makes me look weird?

Oh, that's what hats are for, right?

I know, it's just hair and it will grow again (hopefully), but for so many people, myself included, our hair is part of our identity. I think about cancer patients who lose their hair and what that means to them. Or other people who are on different medications with the same side effect. While I worry about a haircut, they are worrying about losing all their hair.

Kinda puts it into perspective doesn't it?

While I still don't know what I want exactly with my frizzy head of hair, I am thankful I have options. And it will grow again.

I'll let you know how it goes. Short and sweet? We'll see.

Love,
Dianne

P.S. So, it ended up being a trim, so a little shorter and she redid my bangs which were pretty much grown out. Maybe, just maybe, next time I'll be daring.

Snail Trails

 This morning I drove my car to Springs to the garage to have my air conditioning and cruise control looked at. Neither is working at the moment and I am a little tired of showing up places on a hot day completely windblown. Not that I mind the wind blowing through my hair; it's just that when I need to look somewhat professional, this look isn't what I want to leave as a first impression.

Imagine Ms. Frizzle from the Magic School-bus series and you'll get the idea.

As for the cruise control, let's just say it helps me obey the posted traffic signs. If I am on the highway or Interstate, I like to listen to music and sometimes I get a little heavy on the gas pedal. The cruise feature keeps the police cruiser away, much like an apple and the doctor.

So, I took Scarlet, my car, to the garage to be checked out. Then I walked home. Only three miles from my house, it was a pleasant walk and I enjoyed the early morning crispness. As I walked I noticed something.

Snail trails.

All along the side of the road there were silvery trails of dried snail slime that glistened in the sunlight.
I don't just mean in one place either; it was the whole way home. There must be a lot of snails in the fields around here. The trails were left on the pavement in crooked paths that left you to wonder where they were going and why. Was it because of the rain yesterday and they had to head to higher, dryer ground? Were they flooded from their homes? Do snails just like to get out sometimes?

Whatever the reason, I found it fascinating. It looked like there was no purpose, but as with most things in nature, I am sure there was. I thought about the reasons that I am out and about, cruising along.

(Well, I would be cruising along if my cruise control was fixed.)

As I meander through life, whether it is cruising down the highway, walking home, at work, at home, at church, wherever, do I know where I am headed? Am I like the snails, who seem to just be crawling around aimlessly? Or am I like the horse who knows where home is and heads that way without prompting? Or better yet, a homing pigeon.

I am like the horse in that I know, without prompting, that Heaven is my ultimate home someday. Everyday my thoughts go to God and my relationship with Him. This keeps me headed in the right direction.

I think I am like the homing pigeon in that I know I belong with Leo for life. I want to provide a place for us and our children. Level Acres Lane and the farm is my home.

I am like the snail when I have too much to do and not enough time to do it in. I get disorganized and go from one thing to the next. Sometimes, I just head for higher ground to keep afloat.

When I get Scarlet back tonight, I hope to have my cruise back. I hope to have the option for cooler air when I need it, and whether I am going at a snail's pace, a horse's gallop, or soaring like a bird, I hope to keep my focus in focus, my goals in mind, and my heart set on Home.

Love,
Dianne

One More Thing

It's late and I should be in bed, but I am finishing up just one more thing. Really, just one.
I am like that when I need to leave the house too.
Just one more thing to get done before I head out.
I find this to be a rather annoying trait of mine. I really need to learn to just let it go, whatever it is, because it will be there waiting when I get home, or when I get up in the morning.
It always is, and yet, here I am.

Just one more thing.

Sometimes it's important, like kissing Leo before going somewhere, or for that matter, going to bed too. Or kissing the children goodnight and saying bedtime prayers. Maybe it's getting 10,000 steps logged on the pedometer before midnight. Or it might just be writing a blog.

Just one more thing.

Usually though, it is taking one more load of laundry either in or out of the washer or dryer, or doing up the dishes, or stacking the papers and mail that seem to get scattered around. Something that can usually wait until later, but my obsessive-slightly compulsive self says that I have to have complete before moving on.

Just one more thing.

Luke 10:38-42 ESV 

Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”

I am like Martha much of the time. "Distracted with much serving," fits me pretty well. I sometimes fell like a whirly-gig, turning and turning, but never getting anywhere. I need to be a little more like Mary, who sat at her Lord's feet and listened to His teaching. Sitting, listening, learning; all three of these I could do more of. I need to do more of. They need to be my "one more thing."

Oh, and just one more thing...

Have a good night's sleep and I'll see you tomorrow.

Love,
Dianne