A walk in the woods

Momma Osprey on her nest. This is at the entrance of Wellesley Island State Park.

Poppa Osprey stands guard.

Poppa Osprey in flight.

Porcupine gnawing on tree. See the damage?

The first butterfly of the year. I think this is a painted lady. She's looking a little rough around the edges, but she's here, and that's all that counts.

By the dawn's early light

It occurred to me that I should bring my camera with me when I hung out the laundry this morning. Turns out, it was a good idea.

Peacefully coexisting

This was the view from my upstairs window this morning, at about 0700:



A flock of turkeys had gathered to partake in their mating ritual, with the toms competing for the attention of the hens. The deer were mostly minding their own business, but from time to time they would look up to see what was happening. Maybe it was the equivalent of Animal Planet for the deer.

Dis speeks 2 mee

For our daily laughs, my son and I are regular visitors to the LOL Cats. It could be argued that I spend too much time there, because my speech is now peppered with illogical phrases like "Oh Noes!" and "I can has anudder coffee?" My son tells me to "stop with the LOL-ish!"

And on that note, I leave you with this LOL Cat:

A sappy but heartfelt haiku

So many birds sing
Glorious cacophony
Spring is truly here

More snow geese!

I am fascinated by these birds. Courtesy of the Hinterland Who's Who site, here are some interesting factoids:

The Greater Snow Goose

• can walk 30 km when it is one day old
• usually flies at 55 km/h
  
• can fly as fast as 95 km/h and make nonstop flights of up to 1 000 km
• has a migratory route of over 4000 km
  
• mates for life
• gathers in great numbers during its migrations: for example, 500 000 geese at a time can be seen in early April at Baie-du-Febvre, Quebec
• has a wingspan of up to 1.5 metres (5 feet)

Its migratory route is rather narrow:

This map is probably a little inaccurate, as we are closer to the eastern shore of Lake Ontario than the diagram suggests. The snow geese have been landing in the field down the road every year for at least the last six. I'm always thrilled to see them.

Spur of the moment field trip

When I took the compost out a few minutes ago, I caught some brilliant white flashes out of the corner of my eye. The snow geese were landing in the field down the road!

William and I grabbed our coats and the camera, and wandered down the road to investigate.



Note the beautiful white plumage, with the black wing tips.



Cut-down cornfields provide a welcome resting spot for these weary travelers.



The field is big enough for their Canadian cousins.



And for these wild turkeys.



Time to fly the friendly skies again. See you next spring!

Nom nom nom

Black squirrels in my parents' back yard.

The part he left out

It's a little-known fact that my brother-in-law is the Chief Creative Officer at Cryptic Studios, out in Los Gatos, California.

Yesterday, he created a developer's blog entry to answer the question, what exactly do you do all day?

Jack left out the most crucial part of his day: calling us to "commiserate" about the cold. Last week, he left a message on our machine, saying that it was a brisk 69F and he might have to go and put on a jacket, and how that made him think of us because he heard it gets a little cold in our neck of the woods, too.

Grrr ....

Noted for posterity

At 0930 on 25 March 2008, the snow geese passed over the wilds of Pamelia.

How many deer can you spot?

(click to embiggen)

I can see seven.

I took this picture from my upstairs window. The deer are grazing in the field about 400 metres north of here.

Edit: They've moved closer! Now how many are there?



I can see ten here.

Dear IRS Dudes

Thank you for your kind letter this week, reminding me to file our taxes so that we might receive our economic stimulus cheque. I knew this already, but the reminder was nice, nevertheless.

I was also pleased to learn that folks like us, who opted for the direct deposit option on our refunds would be first in line to receive the stimulus cheques. Hooray for modern technology! Hooray for internet banking!

I would like to take this opportunity to point out, for future reference, that the reminder letter was moot and redundant. It was sent out the day after Uncle Sam kindly deposited the refund into my bank account. If Amazon and Netflix can keep track of my interests and suggest books and movies which I might enjoy, then Uncle Sam is surely capable of knowing that I know I need to file a tax return .. having already done so. You could have shaved a buck or two off of the 42 million that you spent, sending those letters out.

I'm just sayin'

Six degrees of Schadenfreude

While my Mother-in-Law was never directly implicated in Spitzer's witch hunt of that certain large insurance company, the investigation made her life a living hell.

Thus, the cackles eminating from Chez Miniature Rose grew even louder this morning when we learned that the {ahem} entrepreneur involved in the scandal grew up mere miles away from my inlaws. Way to go, little Jersey girl!

But let me tell you why ...

There has been much cackling and giggling chez Miniature Rose these past three days.

It's not that I care about the soon-to-be-Ex-Guvnah's peccadilloes per se. He's not the first, nor will he be the last, narcissistic, powerful man to explore his {ahem} options.

It's the hypocrisy. It's the hubris. It's the schadenfreude. It's the unfolding of a 21st century Greek tragedy before our very eyes that brings such amusement to this house.

A couple of years ago, my Mother-In-Law called in the middle of the day. Before she even said hello, she blurted out, "I just want you to know that it wasn't me on the cover of the New York Post, and I haven't been arrested."

The rather large insurance company, for which my MIL still works, was a very lucrative target for Mr. Spitzer when he was the AG of this great state. I won't pretend to understand the larger picture, let alone the nuances of Mr. Spitzer's charges against this particular insurance behemoth. However, it was crystal clear to us, from the beginning, that this "campaign against corporate corruption" had nothing to do with business practices, and everything to do with The Steamroller's political aspirations.

Was it a mere coincidence that the photographers from the NY Post were waiting outside the offices of this insurance behemoth when several of its employees were frogmarched out of there like war criminals? Wasn't that a nice little bit of free advertising for Mr. Spitzer's gubernatorial aspirations?

On behalf of the entire state of New York, I'd like to apologize to the world for the scuzziness of our soon-to-be-ex governor. I wish I could offer y'all some mental bleach.

It's Haiku Time Again!

Oh, Guv'ner Spitzer!
How is life in that glass house?
You are such a putz.

Dear Missus Spitzer
Get thee to a nail salon
Sharp nails make the point

I don't find this stuff amusing anymore ..

.. the weather, that is.

Yesterday's "storm of historic proportions" delivered a great deal of freezing rain, followed by snow, which is being now whipped around by a bitter wind.

Note to Old Man Winter: enough already!

On the other hand, I found this to be highly amusing:




That's not my cat. Gandalf is smart enough to stay inside during the winter. But the picture does sum up, with great accuracy, the weather we've been having lately.

Whuh?

I see that there is a class action suit against the makers of Airborne. Airborne is getting dinged, to the tune of $23.3 million dollars, for false advertising.

I'm a little distressed by this development. I am a serious devotee of Airborne, and have turned several of my coworkers onto this marvelous product as well. Touch wood, but I haven't had a serious cold in over two years. As an asthmatic, my lungs are my weak point. A cold can quickly become bronchitis or pneumonia, neither of which I can afford. Popping an Airborne at the first sniffle seems to be effective for me.

I do hope that this lawsuit does not sound the death knell for Airborne, because I have no intention of giving it up!

Icy morning, and a haiku for Heidi

Ice on the window
The cafe is still open
For my little birds

A haiku, for posterity

The robins are back
With their sweet promise of spring
For the cold-weary

Oh well, whatever, nevermind

So, it turns out that those Limited Edition Coconut Creme Hershey's Kisses are au courant, after all. The shelves at Target are overflowing with them, and with Lemon Creme and Orange Creme Kisses, and all manner of other concoctions.

Having convinced myself that my wooshy stomach was the result of having consumed some very stale candy, however, I left all those confections right there on the shelf at Target. There's nothing like a wooshy stomach to serve as an aversive to all that sugar .. and sugar is not our friend*

*inside, family joke

My own LOL Cat

Existential angst. I has it.

Living in oblivion

We haven't had a television in our house for nearly four years now. Our one TV died back in August of 2004, and I still haven't gotten around to replacing it.

The benefits of this lifestyle are many. In terms of sheer numbers, I figure that we've saved over $3000 so far by not having cable. I cannot calculate how much we've saved by not being compelled and manipulated into purchasing the latest, greatest, limited-edition gadgets and gizmos and goodies which flash across the flickering screen.

The downside, I suppose, it that I am oblivious to the latest, greatest, limited edition gadgets and gizmos and goodies which flash across the flickering screen.

Case in point: the Limited Edition Hershey's Kisses with Coconut Creme Filling.

There was a bag of these delectable goodies at the nurse's station when I arrived at work on Friday night. I sampled a few, declared them to be divine, briefly lamented the fact that I had been oblivious to their existance, and chalked this ignorance up to our TV-free lifestyle.

Last night, when I did some shopping at the Uber-Empire up the road, I searched high and low in the Easter Candy aisle to find those wonderful, Limited Edition concoctions. Alas, they were nowhere to be found.

When I came home, I used the Google, and learned that those Limited Edition goodies hit the shelf for a brief period in 2006.

No wonder my stomach felt wooshy the next day.

Have no fear, soldier!

Mickey Mouse is here to save the day!


It seems that the wise people at Walter Reed Army Medical Center have enlisted the Disney Institute to assist with their hellacious systemic F.U. attitude customer service difficulties.

All government and military staff members at WRAMC will "experience the business behind the magic" in day-long seminars given by trainers from the Disney Institute. Yes, there really is such a thing, and their pixie dust will be sprinkled all over WRAMC for the bargain price of $800,000.

Your tax dollars at work, ladies and gentleman. Doesn't that make you all warm and fuzzy inside?

Sunday at the zoo

Redpoll invasion!!

We have an astonishing number of redpolls visiting our feeders this winter. Their frenzied feeding can be rather messy, to the benefit of Monsieur le BunBun.

Now I've seen everything!

The topic of conversation over this morning's coffee was the Wedding Industrial Complex. Sigh.

My husband's little brother recently got engaged to a nice New Joysee Italian girl. The current proposed budget for these impeding nuptials is .. well, let's just say it's about twice as much as I plan to spend on my next vehicle. It's somewhere between ouch and bo-oy-oy-ng.

Over the course of the conversation, we lamented the sense of entitlement that seems to be pervasive in our culture these days, as evidenced by the hors-de-control bridal registries that we've been invited to peruse lately. I resent being manipulated into buying a $75 crockpot for some distant relation that I've met once.

On that note, I went to post to run a few errands. As I was breezing through the PX, I came across this ridiculous item.

An electric martini maker.

One hundred dollars for an electric martini maker.

Just how lazy does one have to be, to have a machine shake the vodka?

If it wasn't so early in the day, I'd feel compelled to make myself a martini with my own two hands, sip it slowly, and lament the conspicuous consumption of this age.

And if M&C put such a ridiculous item on their wedding registry, I will disown them at once!

A little dash of colour for the day

Gratuitous butt shot

Monsieur le Bun Bun is fearless and audacious, chowing down at the base of the feeders all day and all night!

How do I love thee?

What can I say? We lived in Italy for a few years! How could I not express amore this way?

Noted, without further comment

A Veterans for America report slaps a label of inadequacy on the mental health services available at Fort Drum.

In other news, rain is wet.

Engaging and electrifying

This will be an awesome election.



Is it too much to dream for an Obama/Winfrey ticket?

A sad cautionary tale

I have been plagued by asthma for about 13 years now. It's unpleasant, even scary at times, but it's mostly under control these days. I've been using Advair for several years, with great success. This preventative medicine, coupled with New York's strict laws restricting smoking in public spaces, have enabled me to be live a normal, healthy, wheeze-free life. Most days, I forget that I am asthmatic.

Such was not the case for a young woman in Michigan. She died from an acute asthma attack, which was triggered when she arrived for work as a waitress in a bar that was not smoke-free. This was the first reported immediate death due to second hand smoke.

The victim, it is reported, had suffered from asthma for a long time, but was not compliant with her treatment regimen. She did not have a rescue inhaler on hand when she succumbed to the fatal asthma attack.

This is so sad, and such an unnecessary tragedy. There are some good rescue inhalers available. There are also portable nebulizers which can easily fit inside a glovebox. I have this one.

Asthma is serious stuff, kiddos. Don't leave home without a rescue inhaler!

Fluffitude!

Monsieur le BunBun has declared the area under the bird feeders to be his.

Noted, without need for further comment

From the San Francisco Chronicle, earlier this week:

Veterans not entitled to mental health care, U.S. lawyers argue.

Memo

To: General Eric Schoomaker, Army Surgeon General
CC: All the other perfumed princes and princesses of Army MEDDAC system
Subject: Stop Lying

Last week, NPR ran a story which discussed the frustrations that soldiers who are going through the Medical Evaluation Board and/or Physical Evaluation Board are facing. Specifically, NPR asserted that Army officials at Fort Drum had forbidden the folks at the VA from helping soldiers with their paperwork.

The Army, unsurprisingly, issued a flat denial of these assertions.

NPR, may they be touched by the FSM's noodly appendage, has come across a four page oocument which substantiates their original claim.

So, to whom it may concern: I humbly ask that you stop lying, stop trying to cover your asses, get off said asses, and take care of your soldiers.

Et tu, CBC?

I was listening to CBC Radio One before I got out of bed, and heard the news of Ms. Britney Spears' latest trip to a health care facility.

First off - I hope that Ms. Britney finally gets the help that she so desperately needs. I hope that the interventions and/or high-potency pharmaceuticals that she will receive are effective. And I hope that their efficacy is not immediately negated by the psychotic paparazzi the minute she goes back home.

But .. oh, you silly people at the CBC! Have you forgotten that you are the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation? If I wanted slime in my morning coffee, I'd watch Fox News or listen to Howard Stern.

'Twasn't him!

There's a story on NPR right now which casts Fort Drum in a pretty dark light, at least in terms of how it treats its disabled soldiers.

A soldier, speaking on the condition of anonymity, told NPR that:

"To be tossed aside like a worn-out pair of boots is pretty disheartening ... I always believed the Army would take care of me if I did the best I could, and I've done that."

Immediately after that story aired, my husband was asked if he was the anonymous soldier. It wasn't him. My husband would have given his full name, rank, and serial number, and insisted that everything be spelled correctly.

NPR's story rings true. If any reporters out there happen to find this blog and wish to speak to my husband or to me, we would be happy to oblige. We no longer fear retribution. The truth needs to get out.

UPDATE - I can be reached at miniaturerose (at) gmail dot com.

Happiness is a cold nose and a wagging tail

There's a great piece on the CNN website about service dogs who help veterans with PTSD.

While I don't have anything resembling PTSD, the past few years of this Army wife's life have been rather challenging at times. My faithful canine, Chocolate the wundermutt, has literally walked me through some of the darkest of days. There's nothing like a brisk 2 mile walk to clear the mind and refocus the senses. When my husband's physical pain and mental fatigue rendered him bedridden for days on end, Chocolate was right there beside him. I don't know what we'd do without her.

It's a conspiracy, I tell you!

I have a secret.

A rather embarrassing secret.

I developed an intense interest in, of all things, the Miss America 2008 pageant.

I was captivated by one contestant: Miss Utah, Jill Stevens. Or, as she is known in some circles, Sgt. Stevens.

Sgt. Stevens has served in the Utah National Guard for the past six years. She is a combat medic who proved her mettle in a one-year deployment to Afghanistan. She also has a Bachelor's degree in Nursing from Southern Utah University. She has completed twelve marathons, and is a certified fitness instructor. She is also stunningly beautiful, with or without makeup.

She made it into the final 16 as "America's Choice", but was eliminated from the competition after the "fitness" portion of the pageant.

'Scuse me? The marathon runner and certified fitness instructor didn't meet the pageant's "ideal" for fitness?

Miss Utah took the news with grace, class and a touch of spunky charisma. When her name was called, she dropped to the stage floor and hammered out a round of pushups.

HooAH!

Gone too soon

Today, came the news of a premature and tragic death. A young man, just 29, who had contributed so much, is gone.

No, I am not talking about Heath Ledger.

The body of Army Specialist Laurence Holloway, aged 29, was discovered in his barracks room on Fort Drum on Sunday.

He was an Army Medic and an ambulance driver, who had served in Afghanistan. At the time of his death - the cause of which is "under investigation" - he was in the 3rd of the 85th, otherwise known as the Warrior Transition Battalion. Until recently, the Army called that unit the "Medical Hold" unit - the place where wounded/injured/ill soldiers marked time until the Army figured out what to do with them.

I cannot imagine what he might have seen and experienced on his tour of duty.

I do not know what happened to him.

But I weep for his family.

Don't make me go cold turkey!!

I am addicted to Scrabulous, the hugely popular Facebook application. My cousin and I usually have at least two games on the go at any given time, and we make several plays on each board every day.

Alas, Scrabulous may become a victim of its own success. Hasbro, which owns the US and Canadian rights to the real Scrabble game, wants Facebook to remove Scrabulous, citing copyright infringement.

"Poo" is an allowable word on Scrabulous, and I say poo-poo to Hasbro!

Two more items for my CV

I can now be officially labeled as a Wrangler of Huskies and a Husky Buzzkiller.

I live in a relatively rural area. I can see my neighbours' houses, but they're far enough away that I don't know what they're having for dinner.

Just up the road, there's a small rental property - a little house, and two cinderblock apartments. In one of those apartments lives a beautiful male husky. I often see him out front on a long chain. This morning, as I was sitting in my cozy parlour, a streak of black and white flashed through the field across the road. The husky had broken off of his chain, and was enjoying his freedom. He was running at full speed across the light dusting of snow, grinning as he fulfilled the niche for which he was bred.

I grabbed a leash, and set out to return the husky to his (pathetic) domicile. He ran eagerly towards me when I whistled, and I was able to tether him with a minimum of effort. As we walked the 50 metres or so back to his place of confinement, my long-standing suspicions were confirmed. The dog had no leash manners whatsoever, and clearly does not get to go for walks, let alone runs, with his human.

I am a firm believer in Cesar Milan's approach to dog ownership. All dogs need exercise, discipline, and affection - in that order - and huskies have an extraordinarily high need for exercise. Over twenty years ago, my family welcomed a husky named Gatwick into our home. He needed to run, and we met that need by biking with him. Gatwick would essentially pull the human for the first half of his run, as he sprinted flat-out for a kilometre on our country road, smiling the entire way. A few dislocated shoulders, and countless cases of road rash resulted when Gatwick got distracted by a squirrel or rabbit in the bush. Despite the injuries, those exercise sessions were absolutely crucial to the dog's well-being. He lived 15 years, which is a startlingly long lifespan for a husky.

I know that returning the wayward dog was the right thing to do, but I feel badly for curtailing his freedom and wiping that unique husky grin off his face.

Good Karma

So, last night, as I was practicing Veterinary Medicine without a license, I was thinking that the universe owed me for this gesture.

The universe agreed, and with great speed. My pay stub just arrived, and I was delighted to see that I received a nice little "weekend bonu$" for having worked more than my share of weekends over the past six months. This is a benefit that my employer has been offering for quite some time, but I didn't think I was eligible, given that I am a casual employee.

w00t!!!

UPDATE: Wow, Universe! You did me a solid!

I went to Target to spend some of my weekend bonu$, and found everything I was looking for and more.

I had been secretly coveting this sewing machine, which I had seen online while searching for Hello Kitty gifts for my HK-obsessed Mother-in-Law:



And LO! And BEHOLD! There was just such a machine at our local Target.

And because the Universe has smiled upon me today, it was 75% off. I scored a cute Janome sewing machine for a mere twenty-five bucks. I plan to give it to my niece for her 12th birthday. SHH! Don't tell Gwennie!

Do you think she'll let me play with it?

Something new for my CV

Last night, my friend Ms. R. called for some advice about Biff, her elderly hound. Poor old Biff has been having some .. ahem .. intestinal issues. Long story short .. I changed out of my jammies and back into clothes, gathered up some glycerin suppositories, gloves, and sterile lubricant, and drove up to Ms. R's house. As per the note left for me today - I take the Biffster for a little walk 5 mornings a week - my efforts were not in vain.

Rose: Army Wife. Homeschooling Momma. Registered Nurse. Dis-impacter of dogs. Makes housecalls. Try to top that, Cesar Milan!

Shades of grey

Gandalf looked absolutely ethereal this morning, lounging possessing the recliner and soaking up the sun.
I think he was thinking about elevensies.

How cool! Tolkien named the wizard after me!

The orange background - it hurts the eyes, doesn't it?

January 11, 2008, will mark the six-year anniversary of the arrival of the first "detainees" at the "tropical paradise" known as Guantanamo Bay.

One of the youngest members of that "exclusive club" is Omar Khadr. In July 2002, at the age of 15, he was involved in a battle in Afghanistan. He has been at Gitmo, in legal limbo, ever since. He alleges that he has been tortured.

David Crane, the former U.S. prosecutor for Sierra Leone's war crimes trials, argues that Omar Khadr should be treated as a child soldier, with the same sympathy and protection offered to him as the US and Canada offered to Africa's child soldiers, who were "forced to commit atrocious crimes."

The ACLU is calling upon the citizens of this great nation to wear orange on January 11th, to symbolize our "sadness and disgust with the national disgrace that is Guantanamo Bay."

I realize that tweaking the CSS code on my blog will have little to no effect on the indefinite detention and alleged torture that Guantanamo has come to represent .. but it's the only tool I have at the moment.

Ah, but what shade of blue?

Your Brain is Blue

Of all the brain types, yours is the most mellow. You tend to be in a meditative state most of the time. You don't try to think away your troubles. Your thoughts are realistic, fresh, and honest. You truly see things as how they are. You tend to spend a lot of time thinking about your friends, your surroundings, and your life.

What Color Is Your Brain?

I'd like to think it's actually hooloovoo.

Quote of the day

"Whatever your taste in music or news, it is difficult not to wonder why those who know her - from family members, staff, doctors and lawyers, to her management, fans and even her casual observers - have allowed her life to essentially become one long snuff video."

Siri Agwell on Britney's Public Meltdown, in Saturday's Globe and Mail.

Feathered Friends

DeeDee


Captain Jack


Gershwin

I have an Ow-Wii

Last night, I finally had a chance to play on the Wii.

I totally don't get what I'm supposed to be doing in Lego Star Wars, despite my 10 year old son's admonition that "it's quite simple, really."

Wii Sports was more to my liking. I spent 2 hours bowling, boxing, and golfing with the kiddo last night. I was quite surprised, and a little disturbed, to discover just how much I enjoy pounding the snot out of the virtual heavy bag.

I'm paying for it today. My right deltoid and my left gluteus medius and latissimus dorsi are squawking at me now. Is it too late to get a patent on the term Ow-Wii?

At last, it can be revealed

Twisted Tails wall hanging quilt. I made this for my Sister-in-Law, who rescues Siamese cats.

Lovely holiday, lovely day

'Tis the season for the surprising and the unexpected.

Knowing that I would be tired from working the night shift on Christmas Eve, I had given myself permission to take some shortcuts with Christmas Dinner. Normally, I whip myself into a frenzy, trying to out-Martha the doyenne of Turkey Hill herself. This year, it was different - and better. Instant mashed potatoes and Stovetop stuffing have never tasted so good. I'm tempted to cancel my subscription to Martha Stewart Living and throw away my potato peeler.

Okay, maybe not .. but this year's Christmas dinner was good!

Today, I received a surprise call from an old friend. She's had a rough few years, after having commanded a company in Operation Iraqi Freedom. Her mental health and her marriage were collateral damage in that war, but she has found her strength again, and finally feels joy and happiness in her new life.

As I was talking to K, my husband arrived home with a late Christmas present .. a Wii!! This, of course, meant that we would also have to buy a television-like device, which was a little too much for my brain to handle. Fortunately, Sam's Club had a beautiful Multifunction Monitor which met our needs .. and technically, it's not a television, so I'm okay with that!

We also had dinner at a great restaurant in town. I cannot believe that we have never been there before. It was spectacular. I lived in Italy for three years, and enjoyed many a magnificent meal. This meal ranks in the top three I've ever savoured.

I hope that everyone had a peaceful holiday, and is excited as I am about the year to come.

An open letter to the merchandisers at Wal-Mart

I'm onto you guys.

You've tapped into my phone line. It's screamingly obvious.

Whenever I'm offered extra shifts, you pull another cute scrub top out of your arsenal, because you know that I will cave and buy it.

Three weeks ago, it the Tweety Bird (TM) Christmas top, with all those cute sayings like Joy to the World! and Peace on Earth!

Was it a mere coincidence that you placed those tops on the rack the day after the December schedule was posted, with yours truly slated to work the night shift on Christmas Eve?

Two weeks ago, it was the adorable Peanuts (TM) top, with the dancing Snoopy and the fluttering Woodstock. You just had to make it in flattering shades of pink and periwinkle, didn't you?

Tonight - just minutes after I agreed to work a few extra hours this weekend, you dangled the new My Melody top in front of me. So far, I have been able to resist the cousin of Hello Kitty, but you just know I'm going to succumb, don't you?

This isn't about the money, or even the ever-decreasing space in my closet.

No, this is about honesty. You're making a liar out of me, you Wal-Mart evil-doers!

Eons ago, when I was in nursing school, we wore expensive white dresses emblazened with the Queen's logo. Yes, we stuck out like sore thumbs. The "real" nurses usually wore white tops and white pants. The truly daring amongst them struck a pose with .. wait for it .. pastels.

A few years after graduation, I found myself working in a small hospital in South-west Louisiana. My unit's "colours" were teal and coral. I loved those scrubs, to tell the truth. But I did notice that on the days that I wore a white or pastel scrub dress, my patients seemed more comfortable. I think they viewed me as more of a professional when my appearance matched their expectations of what an RN should look like.

Fast forward a decade. I swore up and down that, when I returned to bedside nursing, my professional wardrobe would consist of solids and subtle floral prints. This was easily accomplished at first, because there were next to no scrubs of any description available in this area. I paid exhorbitant shipping costs for some new, pretty but subtle scrub tops and co-ordinating scrub pants. My one concession to the brave new world of nursing in the 21st century was a huge collection of Crocs.

And now that I've hit my nursing stride, I'm drawn to fun, funky scrub tops, and the evil-doers at Wal-Mart are only too happy to feed my addiction.

I promise that, underneath the My Melody scrub top, beats the heart of professional nurse. Pinky swear!

Yes, Rosie, there is a Santa Claus

On Saturday morning, against my better judgement and in anticipation of the impending blizzard, I went to the local Super-Walmart. I wanted to pick up a few supplies, and some last minute restaurant gift cards for my husband's hard-to-buy-for little brother. Most of Jefferson County appeared to have the same idea. Oy.

I think I would feel the same way about any retail establishment at this time of the year, but I found myself hating Walmart that morning. I hated the abundance of unnecessary plastic junk on its shelves. I hated the pithy Christmas music blaring over the tinny sound system. Most of all, I loathed myself for participating in the crass over-commercialization of Christmas.

At the checkout, there was a problem with the gift cards. Evidently, the system which activates them is in Arkansas, and was malfunctioning due to the ice storm. Perfect. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

I returned to my car, which I had parked somewhere out in Siberia. About fifty metres away, there was a hub of activity .. some people with big white plastic bags, waving at the passing cars. Hmm, I thought. Very strange. As I pushed my empty cart back to the cart corral, a man rolled down his window and said, "Ma'am! They're giving away free turkeys over there!" Right on cue, a woman walked up to me and gave me one of those big white plastic bags. There a large premium frozen turkey in there, and a box of stuffing mix, AND a can of cranberry sauce! Incredulous, I asked who was giving these turkeys away and why? The lady just smiled, waved her hand nonchalantly at one of the men handing out the turkeys, and said, "I don't know. He just likes to do this every year for you guys!"

As I drove out of the parking lot, I stopped to say thanks to the apparent leader of the group. He was wearing big sunglasses and had his toque pulled down low over his forehead. I suspect that the two or three days' worth of beard was a temporary addition to his appearance. The one part of his image that could not be concealed was the huge grin on his face.

I have no idea who "he" is, but I think I know who he works for.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Quote of the day

You know, honey, most people don't put up new birdfeeders in the middle of a blizzard.

One would think that after thirteen years, my husband would understand my quirky logic. I was already bundled up for shoveling, I wanted to get the pole and feeder mounted before the snow got too deep, and my birdies were hungry!

There had been a flurry of activity at the feeders this morning. Clearly, the birds knew that they needed to build up their energy reserves for the pending storm. Chickadee after chickadee flitted up to the sunflower buffet at the window, to my delight and to the consternation of the cats. The blue jays pecked away at the suet bars. The mourning doves gathered the seeds which had scattered on the snow.

And then .. he arrived. A brilliant male cardinal, the first I've spotted this winter. I'm going to call him Eric.

Obviously, the new feeder had to go up immediately. What's not to understand?

Serendipity

Alternative title: no good deed goes unrewarded!
Alternative, alternative title: making my frugal Daddy proud!!

On Sunday afternoon, my friend, Miss R, called from post. She was in quite a state. She had locked her car keys inside her car, and the spare set of keys were on the bulletin board in her kitchen.

I have a key to her house, because my son and I walk up there every weekday to take her aging hound dog out to do his business while Miss R is at work. We're only a couple of miles away from post, so it was no big deal to "rescue" my dear friend from this predicament.

I rarely venture onto post these days, given that the Super-Walmart is closer and sets its prices fairly close to those of the Commissary and PX. So, I thought I'd take a stroll around the Commissary (that's on-post grocery store for you civilians!) to see what was new and yummy. It turns out that Sunday afternoon is a good time to purchase meat from the Commissary. Since the store is closed on Mondays, anything that has an expiry date for the following Tuesday gets marked down for "quick sale" at about 4 pm. (Shhh! Don't tell anybody!) I scooped up some lovely steaks and lamb chops on my unexpected trip to post. I thanked the butcher for the lamb, and he expressed relief that someone had cleared out their inventory. If the marked down lamb chops don't get sold by the end of the day, then they are put in the frozen and reduced section. More often than not, my new friend told me, the frozen lamb does not get sold, and is simply thrown away. What a sin!!!!

The moral of the story is: be available to help your friends.

Oh, and the second moral of the story is: don't bother calling me on Sunday afternoons. I'll be hanging around the meat department at the Commissary, waiting for the markdowns!

An open letter to the mainstream media

You're pissing me off.

Forgive the profanity, but there is simply no other way to express my disgust for you these days.

I am an intelligent, busy woman, trying to stay on top of current affairs. You - and I'm pointing my finger at all of you in the press - are making it very difficult for me. Your obsession with the trivial and inconsequential has even tainted my dreams.

Last night, I dreamt that I was floated over to the Inpatient Mental Health Unit, where I was tasked to care for Ms. Britney Spears. How could such a notion have entered my psyche? Again, I point my finger at the so-called serious news outlets. I don't read the tabloids. I don't even have a television. And still .. and STILL!! The trials and travails of Ms. Spears are always in my peripheral vision.

Can't you serious news types see that this woman is very, very sick? Don't you understand that the constant blitzkrieg of the paparazzi is making things even worse? Why do you feed into this collective psychosis?

Leave that poor woman alone! Her antics are not newsworthy. They're just sad, and you are pathetic for putting them on the front page.

Modern living

My mother just instant messaged me - to tell me to go to bed!

Waiting game

I spent the vast majority of my waking hours yesterday in the waiting rooms of various automobile service shops - hence, the completion of two garterlac dishcloths. The first half of the day was devoted to the switching out of the all-seasons to snow tires. That task in and of itself is not time consuming, as the Blizzaks are already mounted on their own rims. However, given that there is a dearth of tire service shops in this area, those of us who are not brave enough to change our own tires are compelled to spend a loooooooong time in the "lounge" while we pay someone else to to the task for us.

After completing my bi-annual stint in tire purgatory, I ran a quick errand. As I was driving home, I noted that the driver's side window was down by a crack, and wouldn't budge. Hmmmm. When I got home, I tapped it from the outside .. and down it went into the mysterious abyss that is the inside of a modern car door. Apparently, the clips which hold the windows of the Jetta are plastic, and are notorious for snapping in the cold. I must say that the customer lounge at the local Volkswagen dealership is a cozy place to hunker down and knit while the warranty work is being done.

So, while I was sitting, and knitting, and trying to tune out the hunting shows and college football on the ubiquitous televisions, I did some thinking. It seems to me that there is an untapped market in this area, a demographic which is being ignored.

The 10th Mountain Division is noted for being the most frequently deployed post since September 11th. Urban legends would have us believe that when the (mostly) guys are deployed, their (mostly) wives don't always do the greatest job of keeping up with automobile maintenance. I can't speak to the veracity of that rumour, but let's just run with it. What if there was an automobile service center which catered to military spouses? Imagine a place that was clean and cozy, with a day spa and high quality child care. Perhaps there would even be a place for scrapbooking and other crafty pursuits.

I think it would be a license to print money. Could someone get on top of that?