Cat Nap
Hello World,
Well, I know it doesn't seem remotely possible, but we're already past the midway point of November, and heavens to Murgatroyd (now THERE'S a quaint expression that's lost on young people nowadays) it will actually be Thanksgiving next week, of all things. Not to say that the weather around here has been altogether unseasonable lately, but on Friday, I had the ice cream truck outside my window all afternoon, and don't forget, that was the 19th of November, and no joke. That's generally the time in these parts when the frosty stuff is on the pumpkins, as it were, and not still being sold out of trucks in waffle cones to people wearing tank tops and shorts. I can tell you that if it ever does get cold around here, like it's supposed to at this time of year, the flip-flop purveyors are going to be very upset.
Speaking of the weather reminds me that we've been putting out food for some of our local feline visitors, and they're always happy to come to the front or back door for a handout, and often go from one door to the other, hoping for two separate handouts while they're at it. In fact, a couple will go so far as to meet us right at our cars when we get home, and "escort" us all the way to the house, making sure that we're aware of their presence, in case we were prone to forgetfulness, and might somehow overlook them when it came to handing out plates. There's about six of them, and they're all pretty friendly for the most part, and likely belong to the neighbors and not actual strays at all, because we notice that in really bad weather, you don't see hide nor hair of them all day, when you would most expect to see hungry strays desperate for some nice warm food. Two of them, including the locally famous Cinna-Mooch and her younger brother, we already know that they belong to the people next-door, who apparently never feed them, based on how much they eat at our house instead. The other four may be indoor-outdoor companion animals, or former house-pets that have been abandoned, or just very friendly strays after all. After a while, we noticed there was one intrepid soul that we would see at all hours of the day or night, and in all kinds of weather, no matter how miserable, and we figured that he probably had no other home to go home to, unlike some of the others. He's a large and peppy orange tabby with dark copper-colored eyes, and we call him Rusty, because when you open the door, he paces back and forth, making screeching noises that sound like an old rusty gate. If he does belong to someone else, they're going to be looking for him now, because last week when I opened the back door and Mooch came running right into the kitchen, Rusty came right in behind her, and he's been here ever since. He's settled right into the armchair in the library, and so far, he really likes this idea of being indoors and having people just give out food three times a day, plus milk, which seems to be a novel and exotic treat for him. So far, no one has come around looking for him, although I'm pretty sure our reputation as cat-nappers has been pretty well established in the neighborhood by now, I'm thinking.
Of course, the previous week included Veterans Day, and a good time to recognize the contributions and sacrifices of our fellow citizens in uniform, and long may they wave. Alert readers will recall that it's also Bill's birthday, and a big one for him this year, as he finally turned Sweet 16, and they just don't come any sweeter than our Bill, by golly. Where he works has historically closed for Veterans Day, and I would take the day off as well, although it's not a holiday at the hospital. But this time around, we were both so busy at work that we didn't dare stay home all day, so it wasn't as festive an occasion as it might have been otherwise. But there was breakfast in bed, and presents, so the day was not a total loss after all. Around here, we say that any birthday you can walk away from is a good birthday, so this fits the bill, and all without resorting to ejection seats, parachutes, or foam-covered runways, which is even better, or so I've been told.
Every so often, when Bill and I have an appointment after work and come home late, we already know that we don't feel like cooking at that point, so instead we pick up something on the way home as a quick and easy substitute for a home-cooked meal, and the speedy clean-up is even better, because you can just throw out the paper plates and plastic forks that came with it. We had finally gotten tired of French fries at McDonald's, and were scouting around for some place different to get calzones or sandwiches as a change of pace, that would be close to home, and simple enough to just grab and go. I was flipping through an old yellow book for New Rochelle, and happened upon a hidden treasure that came as news to me, seemed way too good to be true, and I figured must have long since gone out of business. Not so fast! It seems they are still going strong, and if you're in the area, I do wish you would stop in and greet our friends at Jolo's Kitchen (and please feel free to visit their web site at http://www.joloskitchen.com/ and see for yourself) and we appreciate your support in keeping this enterprise afloat. They describe themselves as "Westchester's Own Vegan Vegetarian Restaurant" and "Forever Natural," with a menu full of soups, salads, sandwiches, pasta, drinks, desserts and hot entrees, that would seem to belie the tiny storefront that they have crammed themselves into on a busy thoroughfare. They also have a wide-ranging juice bar, where you can design your own healthy juice combinations or smoothies to order, with fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as herbs, nuts and seeds. Bill tried their "chicken" strips with brown rice, while I took a chance on their "ham" with mashed pumpkin, and they were so incredibly delicious that it would seem impossible for them to be really vegan besides. Not everything on their menu is available every day, which is just as well, because I said to Bill if we ever tried their "ribs" or "duck," we'd probably have to just camp out in the store and never go home again. They said they've been in business for two years, which surprised me that we had never heard of them, although they are in a tiny cramped spot under an overpass on a busy street, surrounded by liquor stores, dry cleaners and the family court building. But we were certainly glad to find them, and eager to support the local economy, and have already been back for more, which is not just the banana cake and brownies talking, believe me.
Meanwhile at work, I will admit that this could be just my over-active imagination, but I seem to have detected a new and disturbing wrinkle in the whole new-fangled HIPAA policy, and the privacy stipulations that are built into it. I understand that they don't want to compromise any sensitive personal data, by providing too much information to people who have no need to know, including the patient name, in situations where it isn't required. In the Purchasing department, we often place orders for patient-specific products, and as much as they don't want to, the nursing units have to give us the patient information so we can make sure that the items are delivered to the right person. Now I'm thinking that they've finally figured out a way around this, and they've decided to just make up names instead. Last week alone, I ordered a back brace for someone with the name of Tony Bennett, ostomy products for another patient called Charlie Brown, and a specialty mattress for a third person identified as Glen Ford. Now, I didn't just fall off the turnip truck around here, and I don't mind saying that I've been around the block and back, so you have to get up pretty early in the morning to put one over on me, I can tell you that. So if anyone thinks that I'm falling for this business with Tony Bennett, Charlie Brown and Glen Ford all in the same week at the same hospital, well, all I've got to say is that they've got another think coming, believe you me. What's next - Long John Silver with a broken leg and Mr. Spock with an ear infection? I tell you that I will not stand for every Tom, Dick and Harry going all the way around Robin Hood's barn to pull any Sneaky Pete on me, and that's not just a lot of John Bull, believe me.
In other work news, or at least it came as news to me, last week there was a big front-page story in the newspaper about a major expansion plan that will keep the doors open at Mount Vernon Hospital, after months of dire financial reports and predictions that it would finally have to close down after more than a century of serving the community. Frankly, I was surprised that I had to read about it in the newspaper, when you'd think I would have already known about it through the normal channels on the job, having worked at the sister institution for over 20 years, and feels like every bit of it, I can tell you that. Apparently this plan includes millions of dollars in federal and state funds, plus partnerships with other local organizations, such as the Wartburg Home, which provides various levels of senior assisted living on their vast secluded campus. However, it seems that something about it must have upset the more apoplectic bigwigs in the union leadership of SIEU 1199, because the day the story appeared in the paper, they had the rank-and-file picketing outside at our hospital, as if they had some serious grievance to protest, and not just a bunch of drudges who were happy for a chance to get outdoors and enjoy the nice weather. I'm thinking that it might have had something to do with calling it an "expansion plan," which nonetheless included about a hundred layoffs, so it would be safe to say that this would not be among the most popular ideas to come along in recent memory, that's for sure, and in fact, might even give the horrendously ugly temporary boiler house a run for its money, even with the ugly green plastic fence. And let's face it, I ought to know a thing or two about popularity, just ask any of our neighbors, who have had their precious pussies snatched right out from under their very noses, and you can just imagine the names they must be calling us, of which the cat-nappers would be the least of them. Of course, they can't use our real names due to HIPAA regulations, but you can bet they're heaping imprecations on the likes of John Doe, Jane Doe, John Q. Public and Yankee Doodle Dandy, I shouldn't wonder. As for me, I'm taking a page out of the hospital's book, and using a made-up name instead, so you can just call me -
Scarlett O'Hara
Well, I know it doesn't seem remotely possible, but we're already past the midway point of November, and heavens to Murgatroyd (now THERE'S a quaint expression that's lost on young people nowadays) it will actually be Thanksgiving next week, of all things. Not to say that the weather around here has been altogether unseasonable lately, but on Friday, I had the ice cream truck outside my window all afternoon, and don't forget, that was the 19th of November, and no joke. That's generally the time in these parts when the frosty stuff is on the pumpkins, as it were, and not still being sold out of trucks in waffle cones to people wearing tank tops and shorts. I can tell you that if it ever does get cold around here, like it's supposed to at this time of year, the flip-flop purveyors are going to be very upset.
Speaking of the weather reminds me that we've been putting out food for some of our local feline visitors, and they're always happy to come to the front or back door for a handout, and often go from one door to the other, hoping for two separate handouts while they're at it. In fact, a couple will go so far as to meet us right at our cars when we get home, and "escort" us all the way to the house, making sure that we're aware of their presence, in case we were prone to forgetfulness, and might somehow overlook them when it came to handing out plates. There's about six of them, and they're all pretty friendly for the most part, and likely belong to the neighbors and not actual strays at all, because we notice that in really bad weather, you don't see hide nor hair of them all day, when you would most expect to see hungry strays desperate for some nice warm food. Two of them, including the locally famous Cinna-Mooch and her younger brother, we already know that they belong to the people next-door, who apparently never feed them, based on how much they eat at our house instead. The other four may be indoor-outdoor companion animals, or former house-pets that have been abandoned, or just very friendly strays after all. After a while, we noticed there was one intrepid soul that we would see at all hours of the day or night, and in all kinds of weather, no matter how miserable, and we figured that he probably had no other home to go home to, unlike some of the others. He's a large and peppy orange tabby with dark copper-colored eyes, and we call him Rusty, because when you open the door, he paces back and forth, making screeching noises that sound like an old rusty gate. If he does belong to someone else, they're going to be looking for him now, because last week when I opened the back door and Mooch came running right into the kitchen, Rusty came right in behind her, and he's been here ever since. He's settled right into the armchair in the library, and so far, he really likes this idea of being indoors and having people just give out food three times a day, plus milk, which seems to be a novel and exotic treat for him. So far, no one has come around looking for him, although I'm pretty sure our reputation as cat-nappers has been pretty well established in the neighborhood by now, I'm thinking.
Of course, the previous week included Veterans Day, and a good time to recognize the contributions and sacrifices of our fellow citizens in uniform, and long may they wave. Alert readers will recall that it's also Bill's birthday, and a big one for him this year, as he finally turned Sweet 16, and they just don't come any sweeter than our Bill, by golly. Where he works has historically closed for Veterans Day, and I would take the day off as well, although it's not a holiday at the hospital. But this time around, we were both so busy at work that we didn't dare stay home all day, so it wasn't as festive an occasion as it might have been otherwise. But there was breakfast in bed, and presents, so the day was not a total loss after all. Around here, we say that any birthday you can walk away from is a good birthday, so this fits the bill, and all without resorting to ejection seats, parachutes, or foam-covered runways, which is even better, or so I've been told.
Every so often, when Bill and I have an appointment after work and come home late, we already know that we don't feel like cooking at that point, so instead we pick up something on the way home as a quick and easy substitute for a home-cooked meal, and the speedy clean-up is even better, because you can just throw out the paper plates and plastic forks that came with it. We had finally gotten tired of French fries at McDonald's, and were scouting around for some place different to get calzones or sandwiches as a change of pace, that would be close to home, and simple enough to just grab and go. I was flipping through an old yellow book for New Rochelle, and happened upon a hidden treasure that came as news to me, seemed way too good to be true, and I figured must have long since gone out of business. Not so fast! It seems they are still going strong, and if you're in the area, I do wish you would stop in and greet our friends at Jolo's Kitchen (and please feel free to visit their web site at http://www.joloskitchen.com/ and see for yourself) and we appreciate your support in keeping this enterprise afloat. They describe themselves as "Westchester's Own Vegan Vegetarian Restaurant" and "Forever Natural," with a menu full of soups, salads, sandwiches, pasta, drinks, desserts and hot entrees, that would seem to belie the tiny storefront that they have crammed themselves into on a busy thoroughfare. They also have a wide-ranging juice bar, where you can design your own healthy juice combinations or smoothies to order, with fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as herbs, nuts and seeds. Bill tried their "chicken" strips with brown rice, while I took a chance on their "ham" with mashed pumpkin, and they were so incredibly delicious that it would seem impossible for them to be really vegan besides. Not everything on their menu is available every day, which is just as well, because I said to Bill if we ever tried their "ribs" or "duck," we'd probably have to just camp out in the store and never go home again. They said they've been in business for two years, which surprised me that we had never heard of them, although they are in a tiny cramped spot under an overpass on a busy street, surrounded by liquor stores, dry cleaners and the family court building. But we were certainly glad to find them, and eager to support the local economy, and have already been back for more, which is not just the banana cake and brownies talking, believe me.
Meanwhile at work, I will admit that this could be just my over-active imagination, but I seem to have detected a new and disturbing wrinkle in the whole new-fangled HIPAA policy, and the privacy stipulations that are built into it. I understand that they don't want to compromise any sensitive personal data, by providing too much information to people who have no need to know, including the patient name, in situations where it isn't required. In the Purchasing department, we often place orders for patient-specific products, and as much as they don't want to, the nursing units have to give us the patient information so we can make sure that the items are delivered to the right person. Now I'm thinking that they've finally figured out a way around this, and they've decided to just make up names instead. Last week alone, I ordered a back brace for someone with the name of Tony Bennett, ostomy products for another patient called Charlie Brown, and a specialty mattress for a third person identified as Glen Ford. Now, I didn't just fall off the turnip truck around here, and I don't mind saying that I've been around the block and back, so you have to get up pretty early in the morning to put one over on me, I can tell you that. So if anyone thinks that I'm falling for this business with Tony Bennett, Charlie Brown and Glen Ford all in the same week at the same hospital, well, all I've got to say is that they've got another think coming, believe you me. What's next - Long John Silver with a broken leg and Mr. Spock with an ear infection? I tell you that I will not stand for every Tom, Dick and Harry going all the way around Robin Hood's barn to pull any Sneaky Pete on me, and that's not just a lot of John Bull, believe me.
In other work news, or at least it came as news to me, last week there was a big front-page story in the newspaper about a major expansion plan that will keep the doors open at Mount Vernon Hospital, after months of dire financial reports and predictions that it would finally have to close down after more than a century of serving the community. Frankly, I was surprised that I had to read about it in the newspaper, when you'd think I would have already known about it through the normal channels on the job, having worked at the sister institution for over 20 years, and feels like every bit of it, I can tell you that. Apparently this plan includes millions of dollars in federal and state funds, plus partnerships with other local organizations, such as the Wartburg Home, which provides various levels of senior assisted living on their vast secluded campus. However, it seems that something about it must have upset the more apoplectic bigwigs in the union leadership of SIEU 1199, because the day the story appeared in the paper, they had the rank-and-file picketing outside at our hospital, as if they had some serious grievance to protest, and not just a bunch of drudges who were happy for a chance to get outdoors and enjoy the nice weather. I'm thinking that it might have had something to do with calling it an "expansion plan," which nonetheless included about a hundred layoffs, so it would be safe to say that this would not be among the most popular ideas to come along in recent memory, that's for sure, and in fact, might even give the horrendously ugly temporary boiler house a run for its money, even with the ugly green plastic fence. And let's face it, I ought to know a thing or two about popularity, just ask any of our neighbors, who have had their precious pussies snatched right out from under their very noses, and you can just imagine the names they must be calling us, of which the cat-nappers would be the least of them. Of course, they can't use our real names due to HIPAA regulations, but you can bet they're heaping imprecations on the likes of John Doe, Jane Doe, John Q. Public and Yankee Doodle Dandy, I shouldn't wonder. As for me, I'm taking a page out of the hospital's book, and using a made-up name instead, so you can just call me -
Scarlett O'Hara
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 7:11 PM
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