Sometimes it just turns out that way...

So. Last Wednesday I'd decided, to heck with waiting. Last I'd heard the car was probably going to be done on Monday, and it was Wednesday and we hadn't heard any updates.  We were supposed to be leaving Thursday morning to go camping out of town for the weekend and were tentatively putting those plans on hold in case we had to bring the car home. 

In case I hadn't mentioned it yet, the shop is an hour away from home.  So getting it home would take a little planning.  Two drivers and three cars, KWIM?  I mean, we did have the option of taking the car back to my parents' garage until such time as it was convenient for the hubby and I to drive into the city together in one vehicle so I could drive the Lincoln back home.  But who wants to do that?!  I wanted to bring it HOME! Straight home! I didn't want to have to ride into work with him in the morning (because he starts work like three hours before I do) and then take the Lincoln to work and worry about it in the parking lot there all day.  I'm probably overthinking everything, but that's what I do.

Anywho, back to Wednesday.  On Wednesday I decided that I was going to drive by the shop on my way home from work and stop in and see how it was going.  Most normal people would probably just call, right? But I'm not most people and I'm surely not normal!  I wanted the chance to talk to my cousin and besides, I also needed a pic of my car in the shop for the archives.  (I'd say "for the scrapbook" but I don't do scrapbooks.)  So I psyched myself all up for this and was completely pumped, and drove myself over to the North End after work and was cruising in the alley looking for a place to park so I could go inside and see what was going on when...

...my hubby called me.  "Where are you?" he asked me.  Since he'd already known my plans, I told him: "Behind the shop, looking for a place to park. Why?"

"Your cousin just called. The car is done and ready to be picked up."

It took me a minute to process this.  The what is what, now?  The car that I'm stalking right now, is actually DONE?  Instead of going in to see how it's doing, I could go in and actually get it because it's actually done? Ready to drive home?  OMG! I was rendered speechless.  I didn't have the car money with me.  I didn't know what to do.  I didn't want to leave.  I suddenly not only forgot how to adult, I forgot how to human. 

"What...should I do?" I asked my hubby.  "Where should I park?" as if he was with me and could tell me.  The filter between my thoughts and my mouth was failing me. At least I remembered I was behind the wheel of a car.

"I'm about 20 minutes away. I'll come over and pay him and we can figure out how we're gonna do this. You go in and talk to him for a while."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that. That sounds like a plan. I'll go park and go in and talk to him for a while. See you in a bit!"

So I did just that. Found a place to park and walked into the shop. Much to the surprise of my cousin, who remarked on how quickly I made it there considering he had literally just got off the phone with my hubby less than five minutes prior.

Long story short, we made plans to pick up the car the next morning instead.  Talked for a while about everything he did to it and what an awesome car it is.  And I totally forgot about getting a picture of it in the shop for the archives.  D'OH!

And the next morning...I brought my baby home!!  Oh my gosh.  I love driving that car.  I wish I could get a job just driving the Lincoln around.  Like being a chauffeur, but not having to actually let anyone else in the car with me.  Maybe my hubby.  Maybe.  ;)  

We did hang around the shop for a bit, catching up with my cousin.  I could write two whole blog entries about that!  I'm resisting the urge to go off on how unfair it is that we weren't in touch when I was younger, but I won't.  Whatever happened, and I'm not really sure what happened and probably never will know, but it's in the past.  I am trying not to have resentment for not knowing family I could have known, but am definitely so very thankful now for the chance to meet long-lost family and to know them now.  God's plan, right? Not mine. I guess there was a reason this all happened the way it did, not just now but in the past as well.  Before me.  I can't sit around and dwell on how the past could have been different.  So I won't.

Anyway...we got the Lincoln home and I snapped a few quick pics for proof, and we got her in the garage and then we turned around and finished packing up the camper so we could head out!

That whole trip is another thing I could write three blog entries about.  We went up to the town where my parents were born and raised -- which is near where we usually go camping for Memorial Day weekend.  There's a little, primitive, off-the-beaten-track campground up there that we started going to about 5 years ago, that we used to go to as a family when I was little, on a lake that my Dad and his Dad used to fish when he was little, and it turns out a whole lot of my family on that side has fished a lot and camped a lot at this place, too.  Shortly after we got the camper we have now, we were looking for places to go camping and I suggested this place because I hadn't been there since I was little.  And that's how it's become our tradition to go there every year now.

Last year we didn't go because the week before, my Dad's health had taken a turn for the worse.  That was the first time, I believe, that I got one of those early morning phone calls from my Mom saying that his oxygen sats were low and he wasn't waking up and they recommended that we come in as soon as we could get there.  He rallied back in a day or two, but we still decided to stay home that weekend.  We went fishing instead, and on that Saturday, my horse Nicker died suddenly.  (Well, I mean, she was 31 years old but she hadn't been acting ill or anything until that day.)

This year, we ended up staying at a different place, though, too, because -- well mostly because I didn't feel emotionally up to going there yet.  That place holds so many memories for me, it makes me miss my Grandpa and nothing else has ever made me miss my Grandpa because I have so few memories of him.  Anyway, the other reason we found a different place was because it was supposed to be in the 30's at night so I found a campground with electric hookups so we could use the heater :D  Good thing, too, because it did get cold at night!! Even with, like, 5 blankets on, I was freezing.  Still had a good time, though. During the day.

During the day, we met up with another cousin whom I haven't seen in literally decades, but at least this one I've been in touch with over the last 15 years or so.  And one of our aunts, whom I haven't seen in 21 years.  She used to live with us when I was little, and she was at our wedding.  I can't tell you how awesome it was, to be reunited with so much family (and it really wasn't even that many people, but it felt like it!) in such a short amount of time.  My heart felt like it was overflowing.  

The feeling of meeting people that are family, whom you've either never met before or haven't seen in a very very long time...it's so hard to describe.  I hope it's one you've never had to experience, because it is heartbreaking to have to experience that in the first place, but on the other hand, it is also such a fulfilling feeling.  For me it has been, anyway. Of course it occurs to me that not all situations would be this way.  But the few that I have had, have been just amazing...like finding pieces of myself that I've been trying to find all my life.  I don't want to say "instant friends" but there is a connection. One that I always longed for growing up, because I knew I had a lot of relatives out there, but I didn't know any of them.  I always wondered what it was like to just see a bunch of people and know you were related to them.  To be familiar with them.  And be comfortable around them.  To be able to be yourself around them and not worry about what they thought of you.

No, I don't have issues, why do you ask?!

Alright. So, short story long...when we got back home Monday, we took the Lincoln to the car wash and gave her the first good bath she's had in about 10 years.  Now she needs a good waxing and detailing but she already looks a million times better!  The new license plates finally came in yesterday, so now it's really officially official: the car is mine.  Legally 100% signed, sealed, and delivered certifiably mine.  

So tomorrow morning we're taking both cars to a local car show. :D  I can't wait! They both need good wax jobs, actually, but that's OK. We're going with the "survivor" aesthetic, and I'll have to find time to wax them both soon!

But not right now because right now, I have to get back to work.  TTYL!

Divine Intervention

I wrote "Happy Friday!" on the book of faces this morning, and I realized that I actually mean it.  For the first time in I don't know how long (just kidding, 41 weeks), I mean it.  I am having a happy Friday, and I hope everyone else is, too.

That's not even the introduction to some wonderful life-changing news, like I won the lottery or got a raise or brought the Lincoln home or anything.  I KNOW, RIGHT?!  Trust me, I am the most surprised of all; nothing remarkable or dramatic has happened, nothing has changed on the outside, yet here I am, having a good day for no apparent reason. 

It's the kind of "happy" I would describe more as "peaceful".  Today, I'm happy to be alive and to be able to enjoy all of the gifts with which I have been blessed.  I asked God for everything so I could enjoy life; He gave me life so I could enjoy everything. I am truly blessed.

I just realized I never shared the link to my previous entry on FB, and apparently if I don't do that, no one ever reads my blog.  I am not good at marketing myself.  That's why I miss Xanga; I could just sit down, write, post, and BOOM! People would find and read my blog their own selves.  I didn't have to be like, Hey! You! Read this!  😲

Anyway, there were a bunch of storms here yesterday.  By "here" I mean in the vicinity of our homeplace, during the time when we were not here.  Storms make me nervous, but not being here when there are storms here makes me even more nervous.  Not to mention that I missed out on some good photo ops.  Well, I don't know if I missed out on any, because I wasn't here, and our ring cameras aren't pointed at the sky, and our house is in a valley so I probably didn't miss any good photo ops, after all.  Long story short, everything was OK in our little corner of the world.  There were tornado touchdowns not too far from here, and one of our friends from church had some damage to outbuildings and lost some chickens, but as far as I know there was no loss of human life in our area.  

I feel like I'm reporting the news now.

Regarding my last blog entry that I didn't pimp on the social medias, and the title of today's blog entry, the parts I was all stressed out about ordering for the Lincoln made it to the shop safely yesterday morning. And...drumroll, please...they were the right parts!

Now, I feel like it's sacrilegious (which looks like it's spelled all kinds of wrong, but I triple-checked) to say this, but sometimes I wonder if our loved ones in Heaven don't have a hand in what happens down here, too.  Ya know?  We don't know what Heaven is truly like, who's to say that someone like, oh, say, my Dad wouldn't, like, tap God on the shoulder sometime and be like -- Hey, I know you've got a lot on your plate right now; how about if I take over this one for a little bit?  And then when I'm sitting here trying to find parts online that I know nothing about, he just, like, waves his hand and BAM! makes the parts I need show up when I need them to, and tells me those are the parts I need, and makes all that fall into place while God is off doing way more important things for someone else while I just need a couple of helpful favors.

I don't like the thought of being sacrilegious. But I do find so much comfort in thinking that my Dad still has a hand in all of this.  From finding the right mechanic, to helping me find the right parts...it's just a peaceful kind of comfort.  I obviously don't want to mess anything up on the Lincoln.  It was his baby, and now it's mine.

Which is another unexpected surge of emotion I had this week.  We got the new title.  The one with my and my hubby's names on it.  I thought I'd be overjoyed to get this damn piece of paper.  It just made me sad.  It felt almost like a betrayal.  It almost felt wrong.  Like, that's my Dad's car, but that's my name on the title.  Like all those times he said, "Someday this is going to be yours..." and I always rolled my eyes because "Someday" meant -- well, it meant when he was no longer of this Earth.  So there was more proof that he's gone, not like I need more proof, but there it was.  In my hand.  In my house.  In something that I've been happy about and looking forward to.  "This car's going to be yours someday..."  Yep, well, "someday" is here, the car is mine, and my Dad is gone.  

Inheriting cool stuff sucks. You're happy to have it, but the reason you have it pierces your heart. 

I'm afraid I'm going to feel like that driving it and showing it.  I hope I don't.  So far I haven't, but so far I've only driven it the 5 miles or whatever from my parents' house to my cousin's shop.  And I've felt anything but heart-pierced then.  The first time, I was nervous, yes, because it's such a big car and I didn't want it to break down.  But it felt natural driving it.  It feels like I am meant to drive that car.  The second time driving it, I felt so comfortable... not just because it has big, plus seats, lol.  Like comfortable in my soul.  Comfortable like how you feel when you're in the right place at the right time doing the right thing with the right people and the right intentions.  

Comfortable as if my Dad was right there with me, and nothing could ever go wrong in the world again.

Until we pulled up to the stop light and the engine started spitting.  It had half a tank so I knew it wasn't running low, but I also knew it had 10+ year old gas in it, that even my mechanic cousin said he was amazed that the car runs and drives with that stuff in it's veins.  Was this it?  Was it's time drawing near?  Come on, baby, I said, rubbing the dash.  We're going to the shop to get all fixed up.  You can do this.  Just a few more miles on this old crappy gas and I promise, you'll feel better than new again.

And at the next stop light...she sounded even worse. I started formulating my back-up plan: instead of sitting at the red light (because she only did it when she was idling), I'd have to deviate from the planned route, turn right, and avoid red lights as much as possible.  

It was a tense few minutes, but we made it.  I knew we would :)

Gotta get back to work.  It's still a happy Friday, even though I'm crying.  My hubby was in the neighborhood so he stopped and checked in on her, and my cousin hopes to have her done on Monday.  Here's hoping!

Maybe my Dad was right...

I know I've written in here before about how, when I was little, I wanted to be a mechanic when I grew up, because that's what my Dad was.  And how he made it very clear that he did not want me to be a mechanic when I grew up.  He even made up a song about it; well, he didn't make up the song, he just changed the lyrics to an already-written song.  You may or may not have heard it, it's called Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys.

Only my Dad's version was, of course, "Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be mechanics..."

And I've probably written this before, too, but he was onto something there.  I have, like, no innate mechanical drive.  Nothing has ever made me want to take something apart just to put it back together again.  I'm not a frilly girly-girl, but I also don't like my hands being dirty (although if I have a good pair of gloves I'll touch just about anything...) and I get frustrated easily when things I'm working on don't go the way I want them to.  Which happens a lot when dealing with cars.  Whether it's a stripped screw or not being able to find the right O-ring you need to put your fuel tank back together, it can make a person go to "I love my car" to "Don't talk to me" in 0.002 seconds flat.

I know, because I've been there. This ain't my first rodeo, but it's my most recent, so it's the one keeping me awake at night.

I'm happy to say that I am playing a part in the Lincoln Saga -- I'm the Elusive Parts Finder.  I've been training for this all my life.  Sort of.  I used to help out at my Dad's shop all the time, usually by cleaning (sweeping all the floors and cleaning the countertops and the "reception" area, and answering the phones, and accompanying him on parts runs, and watching him fix cars when I wasn't doing that kind of stuff.  Parts runs looked easy back then. He'd call one of his guys (depending on the part -- he had guys for new parts, guys for used parts, guys for domestic parts, guys for imported parts, and guys specifically for VW parts).  It's how I learned what "networking" is, honestly.  Sometimes we'd just have to wait for the nice guy in the Napa truck (remember when Napa trucks had the hats on them? I do!) to bring the part over, sometimes we'd have to go to the parts store to pick it up, and sometimes -- my favorite times -- we'd have to go to the junkyard to get the part ourselves.  Usually the part would already be pulled in that case, but sometimes we got to walk around the junkyard and look for a car that might have the part we needed.  Then one of the guys working there would come cut it out with a sawzall if my Dad didn't wrench it out himself.  ;) 

That's why my first reaction upon hearing the Lincoln needed a new gas tank, was to hit the junkyard.  Then I remembered that it's 2025 and they probably don't let you wander junkyards anymore, and if they do, the chances of finding an old Lincoln with a gas tank worth pulling (or having pulled) at a junkyard are probably next to none.  And that, even if I knew who my Dad's guys had been, they're probably not in the parts game anymore, either.

But...I have something they didn't have.  I don't have to sit on the phone all afternoon like my Dad did, calling different shops in town, trying to find parts that seemingly no one has in stock, getting more and more frustrated and dejected because I can't find what I need and/or get it here as fast as I need it.  Because I have *ahem* The Internet.  

Therefore, I can sit online all afternoon, searching different shops around the country, trying to find parts that seemingly no one has in stock, getting more and more frustrated and dejected because I can't find what I need or I'm not exactly sure it's what I need and/or get it here as fast as I need it.  

Not being mechanically inclined and ordering parts online is a challenge, though, I tell you what.  It was bad enough when ordering the gas tank online.  There is a lot of faith involved there.  If you've never ordered car parts online, most sites have you put in the year, make, and model of your car and then they sort out the parts available for you based on that.  But they're not always right, go figure.  I know that some parts can fit many different years and models, but not all can.  But it's hard to order something not knowing what exactly it is replacing.  Anyway, long story short here is that I did actually order the correct gas tank sight unseen, but it was stressful. There's a lot on the line there; if it was the wrong one I'd have to send it back which is a pain in the ass, and would also delay this project even further, and make me look like a dumbass.  On top of that, there were other things that needed to go with it that I wouldn't have known to order if my hubby hadn't been right there beside me (like the sending unit, although had he not been in the room with my I probably would have ordered it anyway because it sounded like something that needed to go with it) (and i'm not just saying that to sound cool, lol).  I was so relieved and happy when we determined that it was, indeed, most likely the right gas tank.  And after we dropped the Lincoln back off at the shop on Monday, and I didn't hear any word about it being the wrong gas tank, I was more and more confident and even a little proud of myself.  Of course I had Someone up there helping me, I can't take all the credit. Heh.

Then my hubby called and said everything was a mess with my car.  (It's MY car when things aren't going right.  Otherwise it's OUR car.)   I was like...WHAT?! Don't do this to me.  

Apparently there were other parts we were supposed to order. I don't know if they were supposed to come with the gas tank and didn't, or what.  But I furiously took notes and said I'd get right on the internet and get them ordered tout de suite.  (Luckily, or not as it would turn out, he called with this right at the end of my workday.)  

One thing I needed to find was a bung plug for the gas tank. Yes, I wrote that down correctly and even had him spell it. I've never heard of an effing bung plug, so I figured it'd be easy to find.  HA!  I found bung plugs for oxygen sensors, bung plugs for Camaros and Mustangs, and soon found myself with fifteen tabs open trying to figure out what exactly a bung plug was and what purpose it served and what other names it could possibly go by.  

The other part was easy enough. Not an O-ring, but the rubber boot that goes from the filler neck to the gas tank.  By some miracle, I found both of these parts (or what I was most certain was the plug I needed but by another name) at the same online store.  In Florida.  The parts totalled less than $75 (nice) but the cost for overnight shipping was $380 (WHAAAAAAAAT) so I opted for not overnight shipping because that seemed insane. Right? In the meantime, hubby and I were texting back and forth and he was like, When you find the parts, you should have them overnight to the shop.

But...I shared the above information with him.  And then he shared how much per day it costs just to have the Lincoln in the shop.  Don't get me wrong, I don't think we're being overcharged at all for shop fees. I get it.  Suffice to say that we all want the car out of the shop ASAP.  So it *gulp* made sense to have it overnighted. 

Hold on, the story does get better, and that's not sarcasm.

You might be wondering why I didn't call my mechanic/cousin at this point just to make sure I had the right parts, right? I did think of that.  But it was well after 5pm by this point and no one was answering the shop phone. And I don't have his personal cell phone number yet.  So, relying on faith, I put in the order. And thought about it allllllll night, hoping it would get there, hoping they were the right parts.  

Fast forward to this morning. I tried calling the parts place right away because in my rush to order last night, I put the order in twice and couldn't cancel the extra one.  Also, I wanted to get tracking info for the order so I could let my cousin know.  There was no answer and no voicemail.  So I sent a couple of possibly passive-aggressive emails...lol.

A few minutes later, the guy from the parts place in Florida called me.  Turns out the overnight shipping fee was going to be WAY less -- try $60 instead of $380!  Unfortunately, since my order got to them after 5pm, it wouldn't get there today but will tomorrow. And then he even called my cousin directly to update him, and after they discussed it, it does sound like they are the right parts, after all.

So! While waiting for those parts to be delivered, there are other things on the Lincoln that my cousin can work on.  And I'm still praying that I found the right parts, and that they get there tomorrow morning, and that some day real soon I'll have that damn car in my own possession.  Which feels like it will be a minor miracle at this point.

Gotta get back to work! TTFN!

 

Nurses Week 2025. We put the "fun" in "dysfunctional"!

I always say that I never wanted to be a nurse when I was little, but somewhere in the oldest of my memory banks, I do have a memory of playing with a little dress-up nurse "costume" when I was little. If I remember correctly, it had the little white nurse's cap and a blue cape.  Maybe a little case to go with it.  I had the feeling that it had been, like, my Mom's, or something?  Maybe not, but I don't think it was new to me. It might have been something that had been new to my sister. Most of the toys that had anything to do with dolls or dressing up or anything, for lack of a better term, "girly" would've been hand-me-downs from my sister.  

And I also remember that one year for Christmas, I received the little "doctor" kit. I think it's by Fisher Price? The one with the little toy stethoscope and BP cuff and syringe and I don't remember what else.  One of the doctors at work has one in his office now.  The stethoscope really worked. 

When I was a senior in high school, I decided I was going to go to school to be a medical assistant after I graduated.  I knew I wanted to do something in healthcare but didn't know what, and that was a quick program.  I could get my foot in the door and figure it out from there, I supposed. 

But, that never happened.  A month before we graduated, I was in a car accident (you know what, that was actually exactly 32 years ago yesterday) and I spiraled downward quickly thereafter.  Physically, I mean I didn't end up in the hospital nor did I break any bones. I was T-boned on the driver's side (someone ran a stop sign and hit my car) and I hit my head on the driver's side window, and I was all kinds of sore for a long time afterward.  I used to have all the medical records but they washed away in The Flood of 2020.  I had an abnormal EEG afterward and had to go to physical therapy and saw a neurologist and had MRIs and CT scans and TENS therapy treatments and sued the guy and a few years later got some money.  My first car and love of my life at the time, my 1977 Maverick, was totalled.  I got addicted to pain killers and muscle relaxers and fell into a deep depression, and ended up not going to college for anything at all.  But THAT, my friends, is another story.

A few years later, actually it wasn't even that many years later, it just feels like it for all the unwise decisions I made in the interim... anyway, a while later I found myself ready to pull myself out of the muck in which I had fallen and ready to retry the whole Responsible Adult thing again.  I found a program at a local nursing home where they'd put you through Nursing Assistant Certification class if you worked for them for a certain amount of time.  Why not, I thought.  Healthcare was still calling me.  

So I did it. I became an NA/R, which was early 90's Minnesotan for Nursing Assistant, Registered.  I worked in a locked dementia unit at a nursing home for my first job.  I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it, either.  I wasn't sure it was my calling, but it was better than working retail.  

I'm not going to go through every month of my employment history for you. This isn't my frickin' resume.  (You can find that on LinkedIn. ha! ha!)  I'll just skip along and say that as a CNA -- sorry, as an NA/R in Minnesota, I worked in a couple of nursing homes, and I also worked as a Home Health Aide.  I really enjoyed working in home health, except that I was putting a LOT of miles on my vehicle at the time (which was a 1984 VW Vanagon pop-top weekender...) which was not cool.  We didn't have a good vehicle to drive the crap out of at that time.  I mean, the Vanagon was a good vehicle, and funner than heck to drive, but I didn't want to pile 100+ miles on it every day.  

Wait, am I talking about nursing, or cars? I forgot for a second. ;)

I said I wasn't going to write out the loooooooong version of my resume here, which is what I ended up doing. Two days later and, delete, delete, delete.  The short story version is, I worked as a CNA in the mid-90's, then switched careers for a minute, then married my hubby and had the boy and became a stay-at-home Mom for a while, and then a couple minutes later, decided to go "back" to nursing school.  

Nursing school was Hell.  I used to think it was the worst time of my life, but now I can most confidently say it is NOT the worst thing I have been through.  This is worth saying, so I'm going to leave this part in.  You see, as far as school goes, I was used to not having a problem with it.  I breezed through elementary school like nothing; the work was never hard, the tests were always easy, I loved learning and always got the best grades and toward the end of those years, my teachers were saying I could go to Harvard if I wanted.  Then middle school hit, and school got challenging.  And I had never been challenged in school before, so I retreated into things other than school.  When the going got tough, I got outta there. Mentally, anyway.  By the time I recovered and realized I just had to "apply myself", I was midway through my junior year of high school and, while it was too late to recover all of the academic damage I had done (no more Harvard in my sights...) I did manage to get good grades again and redeem myself, at least in my mind, as Someone Who Could Accomplish Something If I Put My Mind To It.  That was big at that point in my life, but that's another story.  

I tell you this because by the time I hit nursing school, I was in my 30s and had been out of school for a while, but my experience with it was that it could be hard but if I just stuck to it and focused and worked hard, I could do it.  

Insert laughter here.

Generals were pretty much like that. And then I hit the core nursing classes, the ones that meant the most, the ones I knew would be the foundation on which the rest of my life (well, my nurse life anyway) would be grown, and testing went just like this:

And if you got the wrong answer, you were DONE.  

I never had test anxiety until nursing school.  That is why I cried almost every other day.  That is why I wanted to drop out almost every other week.  It was the longest two years of my life.  I can't tell you what all happened those two years because I don't remember it.  It was a blur.  A blur of books and papers and tears and some alcohol may have been involved, too.  And I made a few friends whom I will always cherish because without them, I would NOT have stuck with it and graduated on time.  Somehow with honors.  But I tell you what, during those two years of nursing school, my Dad had open-heart surgery and my beloved dog Portia died, and my husband's grandparents died, and one of my ponies died, and I don't know what else happened in our family but it was rough. And the only thing that had to matter was nursing school.  It was crazy.  I don't know if I'd do it again.  

Anyway.  The whole working in nursing experience has been interesting for me.  As a CNA, I've worked in nursing homes, both in the "general" population (for lack of a better term" and on the locked dementia units that they now like to call "memory care".  I've worked in home health and in hospice.  I've worked primarily with adults although I did have a couple of peds patients back in the home health days.  And then I worked in the hospital, on med-surg and very occasionally helping out in the ER as a CNA.  As a nurse, I worked first in med-surg and then I cross-trained to OB and post-partum, and to the ER, and charge nurse, and sometimes I got to work in the PACU which was an interesting change.  In nursing school, I always thought I wanted to work in the OR, but that chance has never really come up -- or when it has, I've not felt like it was my true calling, after all.  I've worked all three shifts: days, PMs, and nights.  The hospital where I worked was just getting into 12-hour shifts when I left, but I kinda liked the 12-hour shifts.  It was nice to work your ass off and then be done for a while.  

And now, as you probably now, I've been at a specialty care outpatient clinic for the last 9+ years. In neurology.  Epilepsy, to be more precise.  Sometimes I get asked if I chose epilepsy for any specific reason -- and my answer is, nope!  It just worked out this way.  I was half-heartedly looking for another job and even though I didn't have neuro experience, I applied for this one, and I was offered the job the same day I interviewed.  And here we are!

So, that's a little summation of my nursing experience.  What I do on a daily basis now is so different from what I used to do working in the hospital, but it's just as hard.  Don't ever let anyone tell you that clinic nurses have it easy, because we most certainly do NOT. Being a nurse is hard, no matter where we work.  

I know, all jobs can be hard.  I'm not trying to belittle other jobs.  Everyone has their calling, and I do believe mine is in nursing.  I know it's not in construction, or teaching, or sales, or a number of other things it could that just don't make me feel warm and fuzzy and fulfilled while also allowing me to support my family the way nursing does.  I feel fortunate to have a career where I can be myself and try to help straighten out chaos and help others understand complicated things.  

So, if any of my fellow nurses (including, of course, nursing students, nursing assistants, nurse practitioners, retired nurses, etc.) are reading this -- I hope you celebrated yourself somehow this week!  Nurses are awesome people and most of the non-nurse people we know wouldn't last ten minutes at our jobs. I'd say more, but my break is over and I have to get back to work now 😇😜

Petition to add "Annoyance" as one of the stages of grief.

For serious.  Although I'm sure if I gave it a little effort, I could make "annoyance" fit into one of the already-established stages of grief, if it's not there as a subset already.  But, damn! That was me this weekend.

Friday was May 2nd.  It was a Friday, which I generally dislike because it was the day of the week on which my Dad died; and it was the 2nd day of the month, which I generally dislike because it was the day of the month on which my Dad died.  Having not yet experienced both of those "milestones" (for lack of a better term) landing on the same day since The Day, I found myself cautiously dreading Friday, May 2nd.  Which I do realize wasn't helping myself at all, psychologically or spiritually.  I tried to treat it like any other day, but it was just there at the forefront of my mind all day, and the tears were just welled up under the surface and ready to let go for any reason. 

So of course I was scheduled to work in the office that day!  I had a good cry on the drive to work.  I was scheduled to be training/overseeing a new employee, who has actually been there a week or so now and didn't need direct-direct supervision so I worked from my own office which was both a blessing and a curse.  One of my officemates was there in the morning, which was good because then I could keep myself focused on work and not crying, but then they left to go work from home in the afternoon, which was good because I wanted to be alone but I also didn't want to be alone.  

I won't recount the whole entire day.  It was relatively uneventful, just heavy with feelings for me; feelings of not knowing exactly what to do about how I felt.  Feelings of Damn, I thought I was doing okay but this has me totally uprooted again. 

So I did what any normal (hahaha) person would do: I Googled the address of the person who bought my Dad's Tahoe and drove by their house on the way to my Mom's after work (to take her to run some errands) so I could at least see my Dad's old truck again.  That's normal, right?  Don't answer that. I know it's not.  But I needed to do SOMETHING.  It was either that or drive past the nursing home, and I wanted to see something that had good memories attached to it.  (And before you think I'm a super serial stalker, my Mom sold the Tahoe to their neighborfriend's brother, who lives about a mile from their house; they have a super memorable last name, so it was easy to remember and Google. And for all I knew it was parked in a garage and I wouldn't be able to see it, anyway.)

I saw it once parked on the street near my parent's house.  The Tahoe.  Wasn't expecting that.  I loved it!  Loved seeing it parked there, loved seeing it out and about.  

I also loved seeing it when I drove by it's new owner's house.  Still looking beautiful and clean and new even though it's like 20 years old.  It wasn't quite the same since it has different license plates (my Dad had Purple Heart plates on it, so we got to keep them. Otherwise in Minnesota, the plates do go with the vehicle) and the guy added a different decal on the back window, but it still has the Dale Earnhardt dealership badge on the back that I really wanted to take off and keep before it sold (but they couldn't get it off so I had to settle for not getting to keep it) and it still has the "God needed a driver" #3 decal on the driver's side back window.  So it was familiar enough that I'm glad I saw it but still didn't make me so upset that I had a breakdown right then and there. Which is just what I needed.  

Oh, and the guy owns a security company, so I really wasn't worried about what he'd think about me driving by and looking at his truck, and then turning around and looking at it again. I'm sure I was on video somewhere.  I didn't get out of my car, just drove by and slowed down.  If someone is going to get mad because someone wanted to look at their late father's former vehicle on the 9-month anniversary of his passing, well, they can go ahead and get mad.  

But I was just edgy all weekend.  On the verge of crying over everything.  Nothing I did was right.  It seemed like everytime someone asked me to do something, they were mad at me or criticizing me and I just wasn't in the mood for it.  

On top of that, we went to my husband's uncle's memorial service on Saturday.  I was so very tempted to call out on the grounds that I was too emotional due to it being so close to a milestone of my own Dad's death, but in the end I couldn't bring myself to do that.  Besides, I went to his other uncle's funeral just a few days after my Dad died, so, that didn't seem like a valid reason.  I'M KIDDING.  I mean I'm not kidding because his uncle (his mom's sister's husband) really did pass away the day before my Dad and I did go to his funeral which was just a few days after my Dad died.  And I know that if I really was upset, I could've stayed home from his mother's brother's memorial service on Saturday. But it was more important to be there for my hubby and his family.  I'm glad I went. I knew it would be.  It was better to be around people than holed up at home where I probably just would've stewed and cried. And maybe blogged about it.

Crabby. I just realized, that's the word I've been wanting to use instead of annoyed.  Oh, well.  It is what it is.

But it's weird when you hear other people talk about things related to your loved one's death and things about it, though, isn't it? It's one of those things that makes it "more real".  

My "for instance" is that in a group conversation recently, someone said something my inheriting the  Lincoln from my Dad.  

My first gut instinct was to argue that point.  I didn't "inherit" the Lincoln; he gave it to me.  It's basically been my car forever, or the last 15-20 years anyway.  It's just been at my parents' house and in my Dad's garage and still in his name because we didn't have a good place to keep it.  And I haven't driven it because it's been needing some work. That we haven't done because we didn't have a place to keep it so we just left it where it was.

I didn't inherit the Lincoln.  It's been meant to be mine forever.

I didn't inherit the Lincoln.  People only inherit things when other people die and no one else wants them.  My mom doesn't want to keep the Lincoln because she doesn't drive and because forever Dad had been saying that he's going to give me the Lincoln; we just had never made it official.

Until he died.  Oh, shit.  I did "inherit" the Lincoln.