Deep South Snow

We estimate we have three inches of snow on the ground.

 We are so far south that is pretty darn good for us. 

Those of you who have frequent snow and cold are not impressed.

You measure snow by the foot.

Snow paralyzes the South. We have few to zero salt trucks. Bridges close. I once was stuck in the hospital working as an R.N. for about eighteen hours because I could not get across the Savannah River. I slept in a storage room and got up and worked day shift the next morning. 

CC, our daughter, loves snow and is seeing quite a bit of it in South Korea.

Shelley, our other kiddo, had great fun playing ball with his daddy this morning. 

Shelley captured (stole) that football from Lord only knows where.

I hope you are warm and safe wherever you are my dear friends.

joy and peace

Olive

Tired Always Follows Sick

I am sick and tired this month. Tired always follows sick as the brilliant Bill Cosby reminded us. April has been tough and nearly overwhelming for me. The Boston Marathon Bombing Terrorist attacks followed by the tragedy in the town of West, Texas. I despair every time I hear another parent claim their grown child is as innocent as a white dove. I had parents of convicted murderers tell me that all the time when I was a Director of Nursing for the Georgia Department of Corrections. 

We all are in potential what every criminal is in actuality. I learned that there is a thin fine line between criminals and us. I hear you shouting in protest "But I have the sweetest child." I am sure you do. Please, please, parents never claim your children can do no wrong. Hold them accountable for their mistakes. It may be the greatest gift you give to them.

If you think this blog shallow or too focused on all things pretty just know that I have spent far too much time, working as an RN in challenging locations, and need this pretty refuge. I seek the solitude of gardening and making our home comfortable for a reason. If you have not read my Hold Everything Lightly Series at the top of the page you might want to consider it.

Our daughter, CC, has a dear friend whose mother died, last night, at age 52, of breast cancer. She was surrounded by her husband and children. We know she is no longer suffering and is with Her Lord. CC is hurting and is away at college and unable to comfort her friend. Here again April has been a difficult road to travel.

Hug Someone You Love Today

Olive

Cooling Off

Super radiant heat flowing through my body can be immensely inconvenient.

 The heat feels like I am being infused with a hot hot liquid. It occurs at the worst of times, like when I am speaking to a stranger, or our pastor, or shopping with my husband. Then I get wiggly and irritated from the heat. I am convinced I appear quite odd. Or…odder than usual. Menopause is the cause. Not for me being odd but for my extraordinary flashes of heat. The withdrawal of that important hormone estrogen from a women's body causes the cessation of periods, the inability to reproduce, and the onset of menopause and what is commonly known as hot flashes.

There is help for my super radiant heat now. I gently place Poise Cooling Towelettes on my pulse points, at my wrists and neck, and the towelettes instantly provide a cooling sensation. The Poise Cooling Towelettes are easily kept in my purse. I have had these samples for about a week now and I can whip out my Poise Cooling Towelettes at the first inkling of a hot flash. I keep a second pack of towelettes, that I purchased, on my bedside table because night sweats are always a possibility too. 

If you are not aware of it by now, I am a Registered Nurse and drift into medical speak at times (it's my default language when I talk about sex). Vaginal dryness can make intimacy difficult and even painful. Fess up, you know we all want to have great sex. Poise provides a Personal Lubricant that gives long lasting lubrication that can result in increased intimacy (yes, I've tried it). Poise Personal Lubricant is made without fragrance, glycerin, or parabens. Proper lubrication can be a game changer. Let's enter into intimacy, with our partners, with confidence.

Fifty million women across North America are approaching or are in menopause. They may experience some or all of the symptoms of menopause. These symptoms include hot flashes, night sweats, painful intercourse, increased anxiety or irritability, and increased need to urinate with possible bladder leakage. The 2013 Product of the Year award winning Poise feminine wellness line was created to help women stay fresh and comfortable.

Other products in the Poise line include Roll On Cooling Gel that provides cooling and refreshment. The effects last for up to ten minutes. Panty Fresheners have a fresh and clean scent that lasts up to four hours. These are hypoallergenic and stick to your undergarment. Feminine Wash is a gentle wash that helps you feel clean and fresh. It is pH-balanced, glycerin, and paraben free.

You can visit the Poise Facebook page for more information and to get a coupon or sample!

Do tell me friends

How Are You Approaching Life's Changes Confidently?

Answer this question and you will automatically be entered to win a $100 Visa Gift Card to be selected from the comments on Olive Out.

Sweepstakes rules:
No duplicate comments.
You may receive (2) total entries by selecting from the following entry methods:

1. Leave a comment in response to the sweepstakes prompt on this post
2. Tweet (public message) about this promotion; including exactly the following unique term in your tweet message: "#SweepstakesEntry"; and leave the URL to that tweet in a comment on this post
3. Blog about this promotion, including a disclosure that you are receiving a sweepstakes entry in exchange for writing the blog post, and leave the URL to that post in a comment on this post
4. For those with no Twitter or blog, read the official rules to learn about an alternate form of entry.

This giveaway is open to US Residents age 18 or older. Winners will be selected via random draw, and will be notified by e-mail. You have 72 hours to get back to me, otherwise a new winner will be selected.
The Official Rules are available here.
This sweepstakes runs from 4/04/13-4/30/13.

Be sure to visit the Poise brand page on BlogHer.com where you can read other bloggers’ reviews and find more chances to win!

Greasy Spoon

Local Georgia Food Story

This has been submitted to BlogHer for their upcoming ebook. Who knows they may accept one of them. The first food story is here.

Greasy spoon restaurants are abundant in the south. I have eaten in more than my share of them. One town stands out for it's outstanding greasy spoons in my memory.  I was working as a registered nurse in a small economically depressed town where the largest industry was a state prison.  A majority of it's employees were related to each other. If a death occurred in town staffing became a real issue.  The physician's assistant Mr. Mussey and  I were the two folks in Medical, not from town, and we bonded over food and the vagaries of working in a prison.

The little town had a BP gas station on Georgia Highway 15 that had the crispiest and juiciest fried chicken I have ever eaten. The cooks started frying chickens at about nine A.M. and by eleven they were selling them. If you arrived at one o'clock you would not find a chicken wing. It would be a tragedy too. I seldom left the prison for lunch but one of my co-workers would bring me food from various places in town. Hole in the wall restaurants like the BP. The food was delicious. Sometimes odd, like chicken sandwiches with the bones still in the chicken. Apparently it is a regional preference to leave the bone in their sandwiches. We often enjoyed collards, turnip greens, and cornbread just like my Granny makes.

When I resigned from my job Mr. Mussey asked me out for lunch. We drove just outside of the town square by the historic courthouse and turned into a long steep dirt drive. Back in the piney woods was a shabby old house. There was no restaurant sign but Mr. Mussey assured me it was a restaurant. I was brave. I cared for felons who were convicted of heinous crimes after all. I could eat anywhere. Once. We walked into the house and it did appear to be a dining establishment. It had a counter and a few 1950's era booths. It was drab, sparse, and there was no menu. A man at the counter asked what we wanted to drink. I asked for unsweet iced tea. He laughed and said "Everything here comes with sugar, Suga!"  Alrighty then, I thought and ordered a Coke. Since there was not a menu I suggested Mr. Mussey order for the both of us. We had a hamburger and steak fries. It was no ordinary burger like the BP fried chicken was no ordinary chicken. It was a homemade beef patty and perfectly cooked. The fries were not frozen. They were cut, fried, and possibly fried again. At the time I was enjoying them immensely and I did not determine how they were cooked. It's funny when I think of that stressful administrative job it is accompanied by memories of food. The comfort of southern soul food with it's resourceful, thrifty, and nuanced flavors. I have not readily dismissed a "greasy spoon" since then.

Olive

Food and Southern Women

Local Georgia Food Story

This has been submitted to BlogHer for their upcoming ebook about food.
 Who knows they may like it. Wish me well.

The power of food and southern women has always been intertwined.  I married a wickedly charming man but he dragged me to the middle of nowhere. Otherwise known as Middle Georgia. The only job I could get and keep my retirement was as a Director of Nursing at a state prison. The tall, imposing, imperial deep voiced warden walked through Medical daily and called every staff member "Doc" regardless of their name or title. I found it disrespectful to our physician as well as to the nursing staff. Besides, how on earth did we know who he was addressing when he wanted something?

I decided to teach him my name. With cake. I attended the Warden's Meeting every morning which was a serious security meeting.  If someone cracked a smile in that meeting I would have needed a "Doc" myself. An Assistant Warden once threatened to have my car searched for drugs because I was "too happy". That's the sort of paranoid security type officials I was dealing with. I baked Warden Wilson a basket of miniature Sour Cream Pound Cakes. I sat next to him and grabbed him by the wrist and said "Warden Wilson, I baked you  homemade cakes. You can have them if you will call me by my name. Nurse Olive or Director. Pick one please?" He actually looked at me for the first time. Prisons are nothing if not paramilitary organizations and they have little regard for medical personnel, least of all nurses male or female. Warden Wilson slowly unwrapped a pound cake, took a bite and looked me over again.  He said, "It's almost like my Mama's." Which is high praise. He never called me "Doc" again. 

I submitted one more food story. 

Would you like to read it? Let me know in the comments.

Olive

~Two Lessons Learned~

It has been a whirlwind past couple of days. 

I have traveled back and forth between

 our old house and the yellow house. 

I have somehow gotten sick in the process.

 Is it surgery related?

Absolutely.

Two lessons learned. 

Do not declare yourself well because then you shall surely be stricken.

 Also never say you have no budget left for mums when you have paid big bucks for an olive bucket.

I found these humongous mums at Costco for $9.99. 

That works.

Now get yourself to Costco, if you have one, and want mums. 

Also never believe an RN when she says she is doing "just fine."

If I felt better I would put this mum in a terracotta planter

 but it is not happening.

happy fall

Olive

Making A Header and The Dining Room

Yesterday afternoon I spent an inordinate amount of time making headers for Olive Out.

 I made collages in PicMonkey until I had a headache. Finally I made the wine bottle filled image above. Do tell me what you think. Does it make the blog look like I am wine loving gal?  I have no problem with wine but I barely drink it. I do find vintage wine bottles interesting in their colors, textures and shapes.

The one above is a rum bottle (apparently new) and I did not notice that until I read the label on the photo. All were purchased at an estate sale including the runner.

I have gone a tad 1970's in the dining room with a high back chair, vintage runner, and orange tray.

 

Here is the header: let me have it.

 I was a Director of Nursing in a state prison. 

You cannot hurt my feelings. 

Blogging is all gravy for me.

happy friday

Olive

Hold Everything Lightly #12 {Not A Bad Start Really}

This is a re-write, of sorts, from a memorable prison episode I wrote about here in February of 2010. It has strong adult content. Click off if you cannot handle that. It is about my first day as a mental health nurse in a state prison.

 A nurse needs to choose her attitude.
 Whether to cry, laugh, or fall into the depths of despair. When I transferred to work at a different state prison it was never mentioned that I would be the mental health nurse on the weekend. I would be the only one in charge of all the psychiatric inmates. Also, I was in charge of staffing just to keep it interesting.
 The prison had four crisis stabilization beds. Which means inmates who are suicidal, unstable, or terribly mentally ill are placed there. Some of them are cutters and have been stitched up and they rip out the sutures routinely. Sometimes they are naked and tied with leather restraints to a mattress. Sometimes they are naked because they want to be (they have paper gowns). An officer checks them every fifteen minutes. The nursing and medical staff checks them frequently as well. Needless to say it is full on electrified chaos. There are an additional twelve step-down crisis beds in another building the mental health staff supervises. The mental health inmate population in this prison averaged around six hundred inmates. The weekend RN can be called to see any of them at any time.
The first weekend I had to work I did have the wisdom to insist that another RN orient me. I had never had mental health training outside of college. Any RN with as many years of experience as I had does have some mental health experience. But still......

My first day, a Saturday, a frequent flyer was there. Let's call him Derrick. He was twenty years old. White, deathly so, as he had not seen the sun in many many months. His favorite distraction was self stimulation. Most inmates do this but Derrick had achieved a special status as a master at this among the staff. Dr. Tice, seventy years old, said one day that he almost envied Derrick this ability. We laughed ourselves silly at our sweet Dr. Tice saying that. I was being oriented by Linda, a RN, a character herself. We walked back to that CSU first thing. I said hello to Derrick through the thick prison glass. He said " Shut the Hell Up You White Motherfiiing Bitch" and threw urine under the three inch space in the door onto my white shoes. I don't recall what I said to him at that moment. I did back out and clean my shoes. Linda was howling with laughter. She said that was typical and not a bad start really. Really? That was when I had to decide on my attitude. I laughed and laughed.
Then I called Joe and he laughed with me, at me, and for me.

The remainder of that day was uneventful. I learned that everything done for the mental health patients had to be written in triplicate. That right there was worse than Derrick by far. Linda and I walked out those six locked gates with satisfaction because we finished on time after that massive stack of nursing documentation and our patients did not hurt themselves, us, or anybody else. Unexpectedly Joe was sitting in the parking lot on his big motorcycle, he took off his helmet, smiled handsomely and said
"I'm here for my Bitch."

"Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts, when God pries your fingers open."

---Corrie Ten Boom 1892-1983


joy and peace
Olive 

Thoughts on Thoughtful Blogging

I have been considering the manner in which I blog. 

Sometimes I plan. Sometimes I do not. I would like to tell you the majority of the time I am organized and methodical but I am not. Life, joyous life distracts me. Gardening distracts, photography distracts, reading distracts, Joe and  CC distract. Clovis and Shelley distract. Shelly Puppy is especially attention grabbing these days.  Sometimes I throw up a pretty image and write a diddle about it and I am done. Not a lot of thought involved in those posts. The Hold Everything Lightly Series posts are timed, planned and agonized over. I am not into recipes but the few I have posted make me quite anxious and I feel a huge responsibility if you my readers have issues with the recipe. Is that nuts or what ? The three tablescapes I have posted on the patio have been big hits. I suppose I should do more but lack space for dishes so tablescapes may only appear here monthly or bimonthly. Olive Out is a reflection of me. I am kind of wacky, fun, and not terribly organized. I have been accused of being too happy before.

 It happened when I was the Director of Nursing at the state prison and had to attend the Wardens meeting which was serious (boring) business and one of the Assistant Wardens told me I was too happy. He then proceeded to have my Jeep searched for drugs. A drug dog walked all inside it. I laughed about it and was sad that the leaders of the prison exhibited no joy in their life while at the prison. Later that Assistant Warden moved to another prison and asked me to organize his medical department. 

I think happy Olive grew on him.

DO YOU BLOG WITH GREAT THOUGHT AND METHOD OR NOT SO MUCH?

 DO TELL ME

happy thoughtful blogging

Olive

Hold Everything Lightly #9 {Sickle}

Sickle Cell Disease is a cruel, complex, and debilitating disease.
The hemoglobin cells are in the shape of a sickle and look like little  crescent moons. A sickle is used on a farm to fell crops like wheat and is crescent shaped.  Sickled cells do not flow normally and get stuck in vessels and joints causing lack of oxygen and tremendous pain.  This puts patients in "sickle cell crisis." This disease harms organs, muscles, and bones. I took care of these patients for seventeen years.

 Here are two of their stories.

Ruthie

I met Ruthie when I was young and so was she. 

 Ruthie was eighteen to my twenty years. She was in sickle cell crisis, needing IV (intravenous) fluids and IV narcotics. Sickle cell patients often required copious amounts of pain medications. They could be difficult to care for because the pain medicine prescribed did not work fast enough or good enough. When morphine and Demerol on demand pumps came along they helped but we were still constantly adjusting the dosage and calling the Hematologist who cared for these patients. Ruthie was admitted, in crisis, frequently to 5 South and later to 5 North, 3 North, and 5 West. All general medicine units where I was the charge nurse. The hospital became her second home. Her physician, Dr. K was and is truly a  kind and gentle man. He had compassion for his hurting patients. I always marveled that sometimes they fired him because he did not give them more Demerol. Ruthie never fired Dr. K she had too much smarts for that. She had a sense of humor too and smiled often. There develops a kind of rhythm to caring for the same patient over the years and Ruthie and I had that. 

One hot Georgia summer Ruthie was admitted to the corner room of 3 North 

with abdominal pain and kept asking for warm compresses on her tummy. Warm compresses did not exist in our hospital and so we would heat a wet towel in the microwave (this was not a brilliant plan). Ruthie's abdominal pain seemed difficult to access and hard to medicate. She wanted those warm soft compresses. She began to demand them. Then her abdominal skin was burned by one of them (incident report). "First do no harm" was all I could think of at that point.  She did not care. She wanted another one when I said "No" and Dr. K said "No." Dr. K wrote a psychiatric consult. The psychiatrist came the next day to see Ruthie and went to her room and after a minute stepped into the kitchen and heated her a wet towel. 

I was taken aback.

He had not read the consult.

Ruthie died, at home, before age thirty due to sickle cell disease.

Reggie

Reggie, a free spirited guy, was admitted to our 

medicine units over the years in sickle cell crisis many times too.

 He was an older patient for this awful disease.  One time, at age forty, he was admitted to the emergency room in crisis and they tuned him up with IV fluids and IV pain medications. Then they sent him off on his way. Reggie did not go home that day, he had other plans, he told me mysteriously. When the emergency room doctor got his lab results back  he had a shock as Reggie's hemoglobin was 3.0 (should be at least over 8). He could not reach Reggie so he sent the Sheriff to his house and scared Reggie's mama to death. When the Sheriff found Reggie, having fun downtown drinking a few cool ones he confessed later, Reggie was appalled they had scared his mama because Reggie lived with a chronically low hemoglobin his entire life. A low hemoglobin that would be deadly to most of us his body had learned to adjust to because of his disease. He was admitted to my floor that day and I gave him a couple of units of packed red cells. 

Then he was really tuned up.

I do not know what happened to Reggie. 

I hold out hope he is still with us.

"Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts, when God pries your fingers open."

---Corrie Ten Boom 1892-1983 

thank you for reading

Olive

 

Hold Everything Lightly #8 {Extension 2802}

I have edited this post for time because it was posted at 9:58 am May 1st but Blogger posted it as 9:58pm April 30. That is why I am sending it out again.

I was attracted to the terrible frantic pace of a teaching hospital because I didn't know any better.
 I liked fast and that hospital seemed fast paced and somehow more thrilling than other hospitals.
 I thought if I could survive there I could work anywhere. That prophetic thought proved right in the end although I never left the University (the prison nursing jobs I had were part of the University system). A teaching hospital is not quiet, patients do not get rest, there are droves of students and doctors and consultants. You cannot turn around without a student asking a question. Each of my patients had four doctors at least. The halls have a hustle and bustle, a noise that hardly subsides until evening. I was hired by a head nurse that I do not remember because she then resigned and I was put in charge. I did not have my registered nursing license yet. Back then you practiced with a graduate license until your board results came in. Here I was in charge of 5 South, telephone extension 2802, a thirty six bed unit usually staffed with two RN's, two LPN's, and four nursing assistants and was a graduate nurse. I had a pulse so it worked for them, I suppose.
I was too green, stupid, and scared to leave or protest.

The labyrinthine halls of the fifth floor took me to a bathroom to the right of the nursing station where I would be sick every morning. Across from the nursing station was a small work room surrounded on three sides by divided windows and we called it the "Birdcage". We sat there, which time rarely allowed, and wrote our nursing notes. The old part of the hospital was where 5 South was located and the patient rooms were too small and four rooms contained four patient beds each which I found reminiscent of the 1950's. It made for lack of privacy and difficulty caring for patients. We also had a few patients on ventilators who had 24 hour nurses at the bedside.  We did peritoneal dialysis for patients with end stage kidney disease. I struggled to care for twelve to fifteen patients and be in charge of the staff and answer the questions of numerous doctors and accept calls from admissions. Code 99's, when the patient is found pulseless and/or in acute respiratory distress, were not infrequent and I became experienced at handling the code cart and CPR (not both at the same time of course). I barely floated in the miasma that was that horrible place.

 I took care of the first AIDS patient diagnosed in our hospital (it was the early 80's). My heart was broken by families of these AIDS patients who often deserted them. We had young leukemia patients that we gave units and units of packed red cells and units of plasma to and often times we lost them. I was so young myself I had not yet built that steely core that protected me from these deaths and each patient loss was crushing for me. One particular patient, Janice, was in her late twenties and was the mother of four young children. Her husband left her when he realized how ill she was with leukemia. Her mother took care of her and the children. She was readmitted to 5 South at Christmas and our nursing staff anonymously gave Christmas gifts to her and her children. Her mother called me a month after her discharge and told me Janice had bled to death in her arms at another hospital.

Three years after I became a  RN I started shaking uncontrollably in the "Birdcage" and could not stop. The patient deaths, the long hours, shift work, and being in charge of the cage were too much and I crashed off the 5 South cliff emotionally. By this time we had a competent and compassionate head nurse and I received the help I needed. I am also thankful for wise and caring doctors who were there at the time. Anyone who was born in the frenetic fires of 5 South were in no place to judge and knew it.  Funny enough my husband (Stephen not Joe), parents, and church did not take my mental instability quite as good.

I do not remember the telephone extension of any other nursing unit I worked on in all these years, at the University, but I shall never forget 5 South's extension 2802.  I had paged interns and residents to that number a squillion times and it is imprinted in my memory. When I am eighty five and have frontal lobe dementia perhaps I will be dialing 2802, 2802, 2802.

♣

"Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts, when God pries your fingers open."

---Corrie Ten Boom 1892-1983

To read posts 1-7 of  Hold Everything Lightly  click on the series at the top of the blog.

thank you for reading
Olive

~~One Angel more~~

The cemetery near our old house, almost at dusk.

I am fascinated by turn of the century graves and their engravings.

Joe shares my enthusiasm.

At the bottom of the one day old infants stone it says " One Angel more." 

How they loved him to inscribe the stone this way. 

It is so sweet and sad to me. 

Many child graves are in this cemetery and it is likely due to childhood diseases that are now eradicated by immunizations.

My former nursing staff, at the state prison, was appalled that we frequently visited cemeteries and took photos and that I once went to a garage sale at a funeral home (I bought the prettiest lamp ever). One of the prison doctors (he was from Africa, where voodoo was practiced) told me to stay out of cemeteries.  I have no fear of the dead. As a RN in a busy teaching hospital I was required to prepare and take dead bodies to the hospital morgue. If your patient died on your shift you knew you were going to the morgue. When you care for patients for weeks and weeks it is quite natural to give them this final respect. We never saw the undertakers. At smaller hospitals the undertakers arrive and the nurses never see a hospital morgue but not where I worked for nearly half of my life. 

Cheerful post today yes?

 I do find peace in cemeteries, go take a walk in one and snap some pics. 

You might concur.

may joy and peace surround you

Olive

Art is Like...

I once worked with a nurse who had an interesting career path.

She was a licensed cosmetologist.

She had a music degree.

In her mid-forties she became a RN.

I was one of her nurse preceptors.

I taught her how to swim not sink in the hospital unit we worked on and she taught me about art.

She was a member of a community theatre group and I loved to attend the plays she acted in.

She once told me that art is like flowers on the table.

She said we may not need or always have flowers on the table but flowers fill out and complete the table just like art enriches our lives.

I have never forgotten her analogy.

Hi V. where ever you are!

 

{This is the forsythia hedge at the yellow house blooming now}

I am linking to Marty at A Stroll Thru Life for Tabletop Tuesday.

grace surrounds us

Olive

I Read Therefore I Am

When I worked as a RN in a large teaching hospital and wore those colorful scrubs I always wore a pin in addition to my name tag. I have a collection of pins that numbers somewhere close to one hundred. Some are nice vintage ones but most say cute phrases. One of my favorites said “I read therefore I am.” You see, I am passionate about reading and have been this way as far back  as I can recall.

~~♥♥♥~~

I can travel to countries and places I will never get to in real life in my books. I love to read about old England. No one in the world writes mysteries like British authors. P.D. James, Agatha Christie, and Ruth Rendell are three of my favorites. C.S. Lewis is one of the most articulate writers I know of. His clarity of thought and mind always inspires me. In Mere Christianity he argues the existence of God apart from scripture. It is an intriguing book. Then there is Jane Austen. I adore her Emma.

I read many American authors but one I am particularly drawn to is John Irving. His Cider House Rules spoke to me on many levels. His characters are richly drawn and who could ever forget The World According to Garp ? The Southern authors, Harper Lee, Flannery O’Conner, Rick Bragg, and Jan Karon are not to be missed. I know I am skimming the surface.

~~♥♥♥~~

Bookworms are more likely to be involved in the world around them than those who do not read for pleasure. This was found in a recent survey by the National Endowment for the Arts in Washington D. C.

Readers are more likely than nonreaders to visit museums, musical venues, and volunteer in the community. Maryanne Wolf is an investigative author of a book on the science of reading: Proust and the Squid.  She states that the brain is programmed to see, speak, and think but not to read. So the act of reading forces the brain to “rearrange its original parts” and learn something new. You see, reading keeps you sharp, engaged, and helps you think in new ways.

~~♥♥♥~~

A  government British study conducted on a huge scale in 2009 found that 86% of people in the study reported that reading improves mood and boosts happiness.

What book are you reading now?

 

 

grace surrounds us

Olive

 

some excerpts from this post taken from Weight Watchers magazine Sept/Oct 2010

What Do a Razor, Staple Gun and Pliers Have in Common?

Have you ever known anyone who stapled their own leg wound, cut off their own hemorrhoid and pulled out their tooth with pliers? I have. These folks are amazing and special. I worked with a CERT team officer at a prison whose nick name was Stone Cold. He loved to fish and hunt when he wasn't working at the prison sixty hours a week. He was hunting one morning and jumped a barbed wire fence and filleted his calf. He had about a seven inch long wound. He went home and stapled it himself. He did not know if his tetanus was up to date. Hence the nick name.

Linda, an advanced Nurse Practitioner, tied her hemorrhoid off with a rubber band and sliced it off with a razor. Words cannot express the pain involved here. How did she do this? I imagine she injected herself with 2% Lidocaine first to numb the area. But still. I don't wish to visualize this. What position does one get oneself in to do this? Anyho I am afraid of her. She is the woman.

Cruella, Cruella, my dearest Cruella. She is my friend as well as the person who does my nails. One of her upper large teeth broke off over the weekend. She had an appointment for Monday to see the dentist. She could not wait as the pain was excruciating. She simply cleaned a pair of pliers with alcohol and pulled out that tooth. She thought nothing of it. It took immediate care of her pain and saved her money. Simple. She does not understand that ninety-nine per cent of the population would not do this. She did have oral surgery on Monday to finish the job. This explains a lot actually. She has not one iota of sympathy when doing my nails.

These three are not ordinary individuals. They take charge of their bodies, much like people in our recent past had to before we became such a nanny state. I am not recommending this behavior as a course of action for anyone to take under similar conditions, however I admire their spirit immensely.

grace surrounds us
Olive Out

I Never Wish To Do These Things Again

There are some things I never wish to do again. One is testify at a friends divorce trial. Always, always a terrible idea. The last time I did this I truly wanted to hurt somebody. A bad attitude rose in me in the most awful dark way. I do not want to feel that any more. I cannot fathom how people who share children can treat each other so cruelly. I was asked if I had been in a bar in 1976. This was actually funny and stupid on the lawyers part as I was a minor and did not know my friend at that time. That is how dirty those proceedings go. Apparently they just make up unpleasant facts.

The second thing I never wish to do is bail someone out of jail. I really think this one is self explanatory. I was working at the hospital on a weekend. The weekends were invariably short staffing wise. However a first degree relative of mine called and needed my services in the worst way. "Olive, I am in jail. Please get me out now." Now? My next question was what on earth did relative X do to get there in the first place. I did not like the answer. I left the hospital and put up a property bond. X was free on bond. I am not a fan of the whole making bond process. Just not ladylike.

The third thing is playing games. Yes games. Especially Cranium. I have no patience for games. I know the genius people of Mensa sit around and play them. So what! I will play Jenga. I recently played Domino Train. After suffering through fifty-nine rules or more I kind of like it. The Domino tiles are pretty and feel calming like prayer beads. I could see those dominoes in a glass jar somewhere. I am decorating in my head all the time. But in truth the actual game was enjoyable. I am up to a grand total of two games I like. A few years ago it was zero. Still growing, that's me. Just don't ask me to testify at your divorce trial.



grace surrounds us
Olive Out

The Olive Drops

So I took some prostate medicine for my kidney stone. Dr. Cutie Pie prescribed it to facilitate the dilating of my ureter. For the record I do not now nor have ever had a prostate. Regardless. The drug information attached to the sample states: may cause a sudden drop in blood pressure, especially when you start treatment. This may lead to fainting, dizziness, or lightheadedness. The warnings go on to discuss postural hypotension. It can occur with or without warning. I am now officially the Premenopausal Poster Woman for Postural Hypotension. Which is a fancy way of saying your blood pressure falls real fast when you stand. Real fast. The smooth muscles of the bladder and ureter should relax it says. Maybe I'll relax I thought. If only.

And then after two doses, just two...... Friday night and Saturday night.


I got up early on Sunday. I did not sleep well or long. I walked with the Cat into the kitchen and got him some milk. Rotten Cat. Then I realized I was bleeding. A lot. The stone was moving? My uterus was falling out? Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. I woke Joe and got in the shower. I told Joe I felt faint. I lost my vision first. He eased me to the tub floor. I only hit the faucet with my back. I am glad I could not see myself naked, bleeding, and unconscious in the sparkling clean tub. Not pretty at all I am sure.


That was a lot of drama for seven am. I woke wrapped in towels. Befuddled at best. I was trembling and very cold. Joe was spectacular. Always. I did not go to the doctor or the E.R. as I know exactly what they would do. Rotten Nurse. I henceforth swear off all prostate meds. Except for the five brain cells I fried I am a little frazzled but fine.

Olive Out

Freak Show Scene Two

I was terribly judgemental of my fellow nurses when I started working for the Department of Corrections. I thought them to be unfeeling, uncompassionate, and unconcerned. I was wrong. I learned. Oh did I learn. It was a Saturday. Everything always happened on Saturday. I was the mental health nurse. In charge. The Crisis Stabilization Unit was off the chain. It usually was. Or I thought so anyway. I admitted an inmate who was very hostile, yelling and cussing. I don't remember his name or diagnosis. Surely he had Antisocial Personality Disorder. He could of won the prize for that disorder. A large percentage of mental health inmates have it. I think it means they need their ass kicked. But remember I am not a psych nurse. I tried to tell them I wasn't. I notified the doctor and counselor on call that the inmate was in the CSU. I gave him his meds. He took them. They don't sometimes. He was somewhat calm for about an hour. Then the freak show started. The officer called me. The inmate was bleeding. I walked down there. I peered in the little window. He was shaking and thrashing. his wrists slashed and bleeding. But how? These guys are strip searched, to include oral and other cavities. I knew something the other staff didn't as I had read his chart. He had Hepatitis B. It kept getting better and better. I had to disclose this to the officer as he was about to be directly exposed. The inmates anger was accelerating. There is a protocol for going into these cells in these situations. He clearly could cut any of us with his razor. He most surely had one.

I was no longer Nancy Nurse. I had an epiphany. He was going to pass out or calm down and lay down or we would not come in. The nurses were tough and I was getting tough. He could sling Hep. B all over, I no longer was playing his chain-gang con. I called the doctor and received instructions for inject-able meds to calm him. The officers in the mean time were dressing out in protective gear. Arm protection, knee pads and helmets with shields. I was going in ,in pj's, I mean scrubs. I had three needles and they had protective gear. All I had was gloves, a cloth gown and glasses. They would wrestle him down. Not me.

The officers went in first. Three razors were found. Three. They were small. He had swallowed and regurgitated them. Isn't that sweet? The cuts were not serious. Just enough for drama. The inmates are experts at this. He bit an officer. The doctor had us put him in leather restraints by the end of the day. I also had to put a helmet on him as he was beating his head into the floor. All of this requires pounds of paperwork, dozens of phone calls, and numerous checks on said charming inmate. After that Saturday I was a different nurse. Tougher yes. I still cared. I did not trust as much. I understood my fellow nurses to be wise in the way of prison life.

Olive Out