New York Minute

Hello World,

Well, if this was March, we'd still have one last Friday left in the month on the 31st, but alas, this is merely February, and even with an extra day tacked on at the end of the month, there's still less than a week left to go until that last day. Time marches on, as we know all too well, and by this time next week, we will already be in March, and marching along through Lent in earnest. And for grouchy Christians everywhere, I do mean "earnest" and no joking around, that's for sure. Speaking of time, which is not only relative, but can also be rather a slippery character to boot, a friend was recently complaining to me about the sorry state of the economy these days, and what she considered the government's ineptitude in righting the ship of state, and setting sail for the sunny shores in the prosperity of yesteryear. She went on and on about the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune being suffered by down-trodden citizens, and included numerous statistics that she said, came from an interesting segment of the network newsmagazine show which she referred to as "20 Minutes." Of course, everyone knows that I'm too polite to laugh, but I have to admit, it was a near thing. Now, here I'm thinking this is either a new and unimproved one-dimensional variant on "20/20," or the Readers Digest Condensed Version of the venerable "60 Minutes" for the short-attention-span viewers of today. Time marches on indeed, and sometimes, it breaks into a trot, by golly.

Meanwhile at work, it would not be an exaggeration to say that all of the wheels have come off, and people far and wide have just gone completely out of their minds, taken leave of their senses, and traveled entirely around the bend, so that insanity greets you at every turn, and the inmates have well and truly taken over the asylum for real. It all started innocently enough, as these things so often do, with this broadcast email that was apparently trying to alert everyone about a special occasion, but still managed to fail miserably -

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Happenings! Another Successful Outpatient Peditric Holiday Party
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If your spell-checker is anything like mine, it undoubtedly balked at "Peditric" when it stumbled over it. Perhaps out in the wide world, the term "Pediatric" is considered complicated and unfamiliar, and average people might be forgiven for spelling it wrong, but frankly, in the healthcare business as we find ourselves at the employer of last resort, and with a strong Pediatric program in place, we might expect a little bit more of that vaunted pin-point accuracy when describing our events. It was after that, I sent an email to a coworker, only to receive back an "Away" notice which would have made my eyes pop out of my head, except that I was too busy trying to figure out if I should laugh or cry -

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I will be out of the office from Monday, 02/6
and returning on Tuesday, 01/03/12.
============================

Frankly, I'm not sure if she should have gotten into her Time Machine, Way-Back Machine, or just slipped into a convenient portal to another dimension where time has no meaning, because otherwise, there's just no way to make sense of that. On the face of it, she seems to believe that she is taking off the first Monday in February, and returning to work on the first Tuesday in January, which would have been a full 5 weeks previously. Even worse would have been if she meant February 6 in 2011, and not returning for 11 months until January of 2012, which is a whole new kind of lackadaisical approach to attendance, even for the employer of last resort, I can assure you. Also not saying what they mean (one hopes!) I called a different coworker, who was away from her desk and offered this curious voice mail greeting in her place:

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"You have reached the voice mail of Celia Gomez, the
Clinic supervisor. I am not able at the present moment,
but if you leave your name and number, I will return your call."
============================

It didn't state when the present moment might pass and she expected to be "able," but I left a message anyway, and hoped for the best. This next memo was circulated from Administration, containing the praises from a satisfied patient, and thanks for a job well done - or at least, that's what one supposes it was trying to say -

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"My gratitude is profound to the Nurses who demonstrated
excellent nursing skills. Your responses to my calls were
continuously treated with urgency and clam."
============================

Of course, in a case like this, we can never be sure if the patient or family member made the original mistake, or if it was an error in transcribing the message in Administration - after all, this is the employer of last resort. On the other hand, it's entirely possible that the nursing staff did respond to the call bells with clams, as it says, and might be some sort of newfangled medical treatment that the rest of us have yet to be informed of. It's all too easy to say that nothing would surprise me at this point, or rather, at the present moment. However, I will say that if I were a patient, I would prefer the nurses to respond to my calls with hot fudge sundaes, rather than clams, and in that situation, the urgency would be all too real, believe me.

Personally, I've never seen such widespread miscues of all types at the institution, from one end to the other, and at every level from the highest to the lowest, and all at the same time. I don't know if the condition was contagious, or if it was just a quixotic coincidence, but it was in the middle of all of this that I couldn't help but notice the following meteorological information printed on the front page of our local newspaper, for all the world to see - not that they wanted to, obviously:

===========================
WEATHER

Today: Short forecast
HIGH: ## LOW: ##

Tomorrow: Short line
HIGH: ## LOW: ##
===========================

Well, I guess that makes things just about as clear as mud, and thanks so very much not. Heck, I would do better asking Comrade Mischka about the weather, not to mention, the Clinic supervisor, who would probably do better than that, even in the present moment when she's not able. Now, if you'll excuse me, I see that the portal has opened up to take me away to the other dimension, where the nurses will be bringing me hot fudge sundaes, and the Short Attention Span Theater is showing reruns of "That 40's Show," "One and a Half Men," "Hawaii 3-0" and the edited version of "Quarter to Midnight Cowboy." Don't worry, I expect to be returning on 01/03/12, and that's not just a lot of baloney with clam sauce, believe me.

Elle

Hit The Road

Hello World,

Happy Presidents Day weekend! I hope that you can enjoy a nice long holiday weekend full of all the pomp and circumstance that you could possibly wish for. Of course, relaxing is always at the top of the agenda, but there's plenty more to do out in the wide world, and all you need to do is make an executive decision and jump on that bandwagon, as it were. The holiday sales are out in force, as retailers are eager to wrest those dead presidents out of your wallet - which it goes without saying, would make the President's economic advisers giddy with joy. There's not another 3-day weekend until Memorial Day at the end of May, so you'd better make the best of it while you can, in the most capital manner you know how. Hail to the Chief, anyone?

There's always a lot going on in February, especially for a short month, right from the beginning all the way to the very tail-end, which always seems to come up a lot sooner than anyone expects. Not so fast! This is a Leap Year, so we can all enjoy one whole extra day in this most crowded of months, before March roars in like a lion, leaving all of the groundhogs, cupids, Chinese dragons, and even the tattered Waitangis in its sorry wake. Of course, before March can roar in like a lion, we're going to have to lose about 40 degrees or so, since this has been one of the most unseasonable winters that any of us can ever remember, and at this rate, about the only lion that March will come roaring in as will be The Cowardly Lion from "The Wizard of Oz." Not that I would be one to complain, but I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto.

On the local scene, things were just a little too hectic around the old homestead last week, and something obviously had to give - so unfortunately, it was that jolly old monk, Saint Valentine who got the ol' heave-ho while his feast day went on without him. Later, we had our very own belated mini-Valentine's Day on Wednesday after all the dust had settled, and things worked out a lot better after all the pressure was off. It was just as welcome for all that, and I can tell you that Cupid did not disappoint, with gifts of sweet treats and sparkly baubles in keeping with the spirit of the holiday. There was even a smattering of practical items tossed in for good measure, but everyone knows that I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. After all, that would be a horse of a different color.

Then we just about have time to kick the Presidents to the curb, and suddenly Shrove Tuesday has come crashing down upon our heads, with all of its panoply of pancakes, funny hats, and more shroves than you can shake a stick at, believe me. Outside of the old-fashioned Church Basement Women and their traditional Shrove Tuesday Pancake Suppers, the rest of the world knows the day as Mardi Gras, where it is more famous for parades, parties and excessive indulgence on an epic scale. Our neighbors have a more decorous celebration of the event on the Saturday before the actual Fat Tuesday - or as Bill likes to accurately point out, "Samedi Gras" instead. Meanwhile, the pancakes are hardly cold before the curtain rings down on all the fun, and the specter of Ash Wednesday is looming over us, ushering in the season of Lent in earnest, and no laughing matter, I can assure you. In fact, this is the time to be on the lookout for grouchy Christians who have given up chocolate for Lent, and not a pretty sight by any estimation, especially with store aisles awash with their vast array of chocolate bunnies, malted milk eggs and marshmallow Peeps of every description - not to mention, discount bins chockfull of left-over Valentine candy boxes in all shapes and colors. Why, that's enough to bring the Wicked Witch out in anybody, by golly.

Of course, it's an ill wind that blows no good, and Lent is no exception, so we look for the proverbial silver lining, and hope for better days ahead. At least there is joy in Mudville, as we revel in the three most beautiful words of the English language, that make life worth living even in the darkest days of the dreariest winter - and that is when Pitchers and Catchers report to Spring Training camps all over the South during this upcoming week, and not a moment too soon, I don't mind saying. There is no optimism like these sun-kissed days of green grass and balmy breezes, when hope springs eternal, dreams are born afresh, and the bright shining promise of a new season stretches out before us like a shimmering oasis of potential and success. For teams who made off-season deals, these are times of high expectations, and wondering if this roll of the dice will win all the marbles or not. For those squads that decided to stand pat, they already know what they have and what they need to do, so they face the prospect with eyes wide open and no illusions. On the other hand, when it comes to those franchises like the hapless Mets, well, frankly I'm hoping that they made arrangements for some flying monkeys, or else we could be in for a very long season, my pretty.

Meanwhile at work, I happened to be in the E.R. waiting room, dropping off magazines, when I overheard a young man trying to give directions over the phone to someone who was coming to the hospital to pick him up. It went something like this: "Okay, so you get off the ramp and bear to your left ..... no, that road has no name ..... then you enter the traffic circle ..... no, there's no street sign ..... keep going around until you come out to a four-lane highway ..... no, that road has no name ..... then make a right turn ..... no, there's no street sign ..... and then take the first left ..... no, that road has no name ..... " At this point, the other person must have made some complaint, and one might say, justifiably so, because the young man replied - and I thought, somewhat breezily - "It's not as bad as it sounds, you just keep driving around until you get lost, and that's when you know you're there." Personally, I think that sounds a lot more like The Road to Nowhere, than for instance, the fabled Yellow Brick Road of lore and legend, but hopefully with fewer witches and flying monkeys to watch out for. At least, that's how I see it, or my name isn't -

Auntie Em

Tooth Fairy

Hello World,

Well, an awful lot has been going on around here since the last time anyone heard from me, and it's hard even to know where to begin. I suppose starting at the beginning is always a good solution, so we can give that a try and see where it takes us. First of all, a belated but very happy Martin Luther King weekend, and in the spirit of his legendary "I Had A Hammer" speech at the Lincoln Memorial, I hope that you were not judged by the color of your saw, but the content of your toolbox. Hmmm, that doesn't seem quite right somehow, but I'm willing to give the good Doctor the benefit of the grout - that is, the doubt.

As usual, we took advantage of the long holiday weekend to enjoy a late mini-Christmas with far-flung friends and relatives in the frozen north. Only this time around, it really was frozen, with scattered snow flurries and temperatures in the single digits, even during the daytime, and you didn't want to be out at night, when the wind chill was really no joke. Of course, it's always fun to see friends and family, and I will admit that the allure of presents does tend to take some of the sting out of it in a big way. Speaking of big, we came home with so many presents, souvenirs, trinkets, house wares and paraphernalia that after we stuffed it all into the car, the only thing we didn't have room for was the two of us. I'm expecting to receive a commendation from the President's economic advisers any day now.

Of course, it was January 23 when people all over the world rang in Chinese New Year, which this time around, ushered in the Year of the Dragon, and banner days for anyone born in 2000, 1988, 1976, 1964, 1952, 1940, 1928 or 1916 and so on. Dragon year babies are considered vital and powerful, enthusiastic, confident, energetic and tenacious - although sometimes a bit too overbearing and aggressive. Some people born in this year include Joan of Arc, Susan B. Anthony, Florence Nightingale, Sigmund Freud, Mae West, John Lennon, Bruce Lee, Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves. Personally, I say that any zodiac sign that includes both Sigmund Freud and Mae West is one to be reckoned with, so for anyone out there who's not already a Dragon, I'd recommend that you watch your step and maybe carry a great big Martin Luther King hammer besides.

Next up was Groundhog Day on February 2, and there seemed to be a noticeable lack of consensus among the various Sciuridae prognosticators rousted out of their burrows in different locations to see (or not see) their shadows. So, depending on which of the assorted Marmot predictions you subscribe to, we can expect either six more weeks of winter, or not six more weeks of winter - and the one that prophesied six weeks of raining frogs and plagues of locusts, well, I have to believe that was just a practical joke from that old prankster, Comrade Mischka and the Kremlin's infernal weather machine, da?

Hard on the heels of Groundhog Day was the long-awaited Super Bowl Sunday, which as a sports extravaganza, media juggernaut and cultural lollapalooza is not only a worldwide phenomenon, but carries to the farthest outer reaches of the universe - although frankly, I thought the Klingon and Romulan spaceships flying over the stadium were just a bit too much. In a return match-up of 2007, incredibly the Giants once again bested the Patriots, in a gripping see-saw battle for the ages that was jam-packed with all sorts of excitement from start to finish, and then some. They certainly gave everyone their money's worth, so that even the half-time show couldn't detract from it, and we can finally close the book on Super Bowl XXZQ#&\~@%MMM<[?iii, or whatever they call these things nowadays.

Right after the Super Bowl, that sound you didn't hear was the lack of riots surrounding the Waitangi Day celebrations Down Under, where the usually restless natives managed to put aside their differences with the

ruling elite long enough not to make international headlines full of controversy for a change. Of course, in the old Hollywood westerns, when the usually restless natives are suddenly quiet, it's a sure sign that a barrage of flaming arrows is about to rain down on the covered wagons, so a word of advice to the New Zealand government would be to tread lightly and don't take any wooden nickels. Much less flaming arrows, it goes without saying.

Why, even the annual congregational meeting at church has come and gone, also without controversy, and without a hitch, plus not to mention, not a flaming arrow in sight. Of course, it's a long-standing Lutheran axiom that everything goes better with food, and this no exception, as we enjoyed a delightful buffet of assorted home-made specialties, capped off with an array of desserts that were sublime and enticing. This managed to leave the assemblage in no mood for a fight, and the proceedings could not have been more amicable and orderly. By golly, an alien from a far distant galaxy stopping by on its way to Indianapolis for the Super Bowl would have thought he had stumbled into a meeting of strict Presbyterians, rather than the feisty Lutherans of lore and legend. Of course, it helped that we took away everybody's hammers at the door, to say nothing of flaming arrows, no matter what kind of excuses they came up with.

On the local scene, what happened to me was a perfectly routine development of growing older, that turned out to be anything but routine. It all started with a broken tooth, which actually happened years and years ago, and never really bothered me. But all at once a few weeks ago, it suddenly erupted in pain that was not only excruciating, but between that and the swelling, I both looked and felt like I had gotten the once-over from a runaway freight train. There was deep throbbing pain from the top of my head all the way down to my collarbone, and I was dismayed to discover that the strongest prescription pain medications were no match for it. The combination of intense pain and powerful drugs made it impossible to drive or go to work, and when it came to using my computer, I found that I was not equal to the task. It was with relief that I finally got to see the dentist, and he made short work of pulling the tooth, but he pointed out that the more significant problem was multiple abscesses and a cyst that were causing the real pain and swelling. After a course of antibiotics (and more prescription painkillers - thank you, modern medicine!) I was finally able to rejoin the family of human beings again, rather than the tormented psycho zombie of recent memory. Or in the immortal words of Walt Kelly: "I have seen the zombie apocalypse, and it is me."

Elle