They say that variety is the spice of life. Does this phrase make any sense to you? It really does not work for me. I mean, I like spicy food as much as the next guy, but can one really liken it to something as generic as “variety?” Maybe I am being too literal. Hm.
Readers, I know I say this a lot, but I am so ready for a new direction in my life. Mainly, I am referring to my career. If you can call it that.
Is the work that I do challenging? Not very. Is it rewarding? Not at all. Essentially, the only redeeming quality it has is that it provides me with monetary compensation that allows the other areas of my life not to fall into arrears. But is that really enough?
“Sure,” you say, “for goodness’ sake, Megan, just be happy that you have a job!”
Yes. I am indeed happy to have a job in the most basic sense. Then why I am I daily tested not to just turn heel and walk out the door?
I am not going to be one of those people who blame all their issues on other people. If I learned nothing from Stephen Covey, it is that no one can make me feel or react a certain way. Sure, maybe sometimes their intentions are to generate a specific result, but ultimately, I should be in control of my own expressions and emotions.
That said, I recognize that the best way to remedy the daily feelings of frustration may be to remove myself from them. Please believe that I am trying my best to do so. Unfortunately, that process is not moving as quickly as I had hoped.
You may recall that I had a goal of finding a new job by the end of summer. So far, that has not materialized. As always, there are a few hopeful possibilities in the works, but alas, the process of job hunting is never quick and easy. If only I possessed all of the experience, education and qualities that were required of every job I found interesting. But the applicant pool is deep, it appears. I am not the only one out there looking for greater career fulfillment.
The funny thing is, if you were to come to my parents’ house and hang out with us, you would find that both of my parents are singing a similar tune. To be clear, my mother is working for a coffee shop chain and doesn’t “need” to work, but she would like to line up a “real” job before she quits. Understandable.
My father is a different story. For all of my life, my father has worked a full-time, 9 to 5, business-suit required job. He has done a wonderful job providing for his family, but he always made sure that his free time was spent with us as well. It’s hard to beat my dad.
He started his career in the field of accounting. Not the most glamorous, but well-suited to his aptitudes and tendency towards fiscal conservation. A little later in life (in his 30’s), he made a career switch to financial work in the health care field. While this proved to be more monetarily rewarding, the stress level of dealing with health care professionals is a bit higher. He is 56 years old and not quite at retirement age, but I think that he would retire if he knew that he could. My mom likes to joke that now it is her turn to get the high-paying job and my dad to stay home with the “kids” (a.k.a. their two Jack Russell Terriers). Maybe this will happen. We’ll see.
My well-thought out solution to all of our assorted job-related ennui is to think of a business plan that utilizes all of our advanced degrees and work experience, quit our jobs and go into business for ourselves. Unfortunately, a business that incorporates finance, health care administration, counseling, coffee preparation and library science does not immediately come to mind. I suppose we could convince my brother to bring on his veterinary skills, but still.
So until someone comes up with this miraculous business plan, I will stay put and continue my search. It may lead me to take the desperate leap back into retail, but at least it would be something new, right? Maybe that is what they mean by “variety.”
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Lena Speaks
I apologize for my absence. Please know that I started several entries only to be sidetracked by things like life. And sleep.
So in my stead, Lena will be composing this blog entry.
Howdy, Humans! This is Lena Bernice, canine extraordinaire. After all those nights trying to distract Megan from her blog to pay attention to meeeee by dramatically throwing myself across the glowing shiny box that she stares at for way more time than should be necessary, I am finally in CHARGE.
It's been a big week for me. Honestly, it's been a big year for me, but you probably know all about that already. Actually, time is really non-linear to me, so I don't think in terms of weeks, months, days, years, and so on. I am pretty much an "in the moment" kind of gal. But for you guys, I will stretch my powers of memory.
Last week I had a bit of tummy troubles. To be fair, Megan had them first. But because my spoken language skills are a bit lacking, I was not able to tell anyone what was really wrong.
Megan did not seem too thrilled with the fluid that kept coming out of my mouth and landing on her bed and floor. Next thing I knew, we were in the travel machine and when I was released, we were at my favorite place. The place where Pippi and Thor live: the Happy Place. The place where I am free to dig up worms and cover myself with their scent.
Unfortunately, we did not stay here long. After I deposited some more mouth fluid on the floor, I went back into the travel machine. We went to a place that smelled like fear. They poked and prodded me on a shiny table. Then... horrors... Megan LEFT me!
It felt like forever, but in the meantime, I made new friends. It is amazing what some tail wagging can do for you in a joint like that.
Megan came back and we went back to the Happy Place. People came and went, as is their custom, but Pippi, Thor and I did not care. We went about our business, sleeping, eating, chasing, barking, hunting and mulching without a care in the world.
On what Megan says is "Friday," I had to make another trip to a different building that smelled and sounded like torture and fear. This time, I must have managed to scare them off because all they did was poke me with a couple of strange objects and we were free to go. I did feel a little sore afterwards, but I kept the humans from touching the soreness by growling and screeching like a wounded Tyrannosaurus Rex. Megan said I sounded like a gremlin. Whatever that is.
Not too long after this, I noticed that Megan and the human she calls "Dad" were acting strangely. Next thing I knew, they were forcing us all into our Garments of Forced Direction and attaching our tethers. Pippi, Thor and I are always a bit leery of this action as it can have results of varying appeal.
In this case, it meant that we were all going into a travel machine with Megan and "Dad." Megan sat in the front near the large circle, but "Dad" sat in the seat with us. Pippi sat on top of "Dad," but Thor and I laid down on the seat and tried to nap.
After what felt like an eternity, the travel machine stopped. This is my cue to bark as loud and as viciously as possible to ward off any potential predators that may want to ambush us. It usually works quite well.
We spent a lot of time getting in and out of the travel machine. Sometimes we got out and went into familiar buildings. One of them smelled really interesting. Apparently the smell was not as appealing to Megan and "Dad" as they did not wish to stay there long.
I did get to see two of my favorite people: Ben and Joe. They are always very nice and play with me and pet me. There are two "cats" in their house. I would like to know them better, but they are a bit standoffish. They are not fans of butt sniffing. Go figure.
Finally, the travel machine brought us back to the Happy Place. We did some running and rolling, but we were tired. If you can believe it, Megan and I got back into the travel machine and ended up back at home.
Clearly, we were both pooped. Megan tried to tap on the glowing shiny box to work on this blog, but her eyes kept glazing over. We gave in and went to bed.
In the morning, we went outside wearing the Garment of Forced Direction and the tether and paraded around the neighborhood. We then returned to the house where I breakfasted and then watched Megan "get ready" with what I hoped was a mournful gaze. Instead of letting me have free run of the house when she finally abandoned me, she asked me to return to my KENNEL.
I suffered this indignity only because I know that it enables me to receive copious amounts of crunchy snacks.
When she returned after what felt like ETERNITY, we went for our afternoon parade. After coming home and dining, Megan disappeared into the smelly dark room where the travel machine lives and came back with a LARGE object.
Once it was on the floor, I examined it. It appeared to be a larger version of my kennel. Just to be sure, I went in as Megan requested and was rewarded with crunchy snacks. My incarceration was short-lived, but I fear that there may be extended stays in my future. On the plus side, the ceiling of this k-word is higher and the floor is bigger. I can stretch out in there and do a little jig if I so please (and I do).
What will the future bring? I hardly know. If I had to guess, there will be more parading and eventually we will (hopefully) return to the Happy Place. This new k-word along with all the newly washed sheets and carpets are really cramping my scent. I need to roll in some worms.
So in my stead, Lena will be composing this blog entry.
Howdy, Humans! This is Lena Bernice, canine extraordinaire. After all those nights trying to distract Megan from her blog to pay attention to meeeee by dramatically throwing myself across the glowing shiny box that she stares at for way more time than should be necessary, I am finally in CHARGE.
It's been a big week for me. Honestly, it's been a big year for me, but you probably know all about that already. Actually, time is really non-linear to me, so I don't think in terms of weeks, months, days, years, and so on. I am pretty much an "in the moment" kind of gal. But for you guys, I will stretch my powers of memory.
Last week I had a bit of tummy troubles. To be fair, Megan had them first. But because my spoken language skills are a bit lacking, I was not able to tell anyone what was really wrong.
Megan did not seem too thrilled with the fluid that kept coming out of my mouth and landing on her bed and floor. Next thing I knew, we were in the travel machine and when I was released, we were at my favorite place. The place where Pippi and Thor live: the Happy Place. The place where I am free to dig up worms and cover myself with their scent.
Unfortunately, we did not stay here long. After I deposited some more mouth fluid on the floor, I went back into the travel machine. We went to a place that smelled like fear. They poked and prodded me on a shiny table. Then... horrors... Megan LEFT me!
It felt like forever, but in the meantime, I made new friends. It is amazing what some tail wagging can do for you in a joint like that.
Megan came back and we went back to the Happy Place. People came and went, as is their custom, but Pippi, Thor and I did not care. We went about our business, sleeping, eating, chasing, barking, hunting and mulching without a care in the world.
On what Megan says is "Friday," I had to make another trip to a different building that smelled and sounded like torture and fear. This time, I must have managed to scare them off because all they did was poke me with a couple of strange objects and we were free to go. I did feel a little sore afterwards, but I kept the humans from touching the soreness by growling and screeching like a wounded Tyrannosaurus Rex. Megan said I sounded like a gremlin. Whatever that is.
Not too long after this, I noticed that Megan and the human she calls "Dad" were acting strangely. Next thing I knew, they were forcing us all into our Garments of Forced Direction and attaching our tethers. Pippi, Thor and I are always a bit leery of this action as it can have results of varying appeal.
In this case, it meant that we were all going into a travel machine with Megan and "Dad." Megan sat in the front near the large circle, but "Dad" sat in the seat with us. Pippi sat on top of "Dad," but Thor and I laid down on the seat and tried to nap.
After what felt like an eternity, the travel machine stopped. This is my cue to bark as loud and as viciously as possible to ward off any potential predators that may want to ambush us. It usually works quite well.
We spent a lot of time getting in and out of the travel machine. Sometimes we got out and went into familiar buildings. One of them smelled really interesting. Apparently the smell was not as appealing to Megan and "Dad" as they did not wish to stay there long.
I did get to see two of my favorite people: Ben and Joe. They are always very nice and play with me and pet me. There are two "cats" in their house. I would like to know them better, but they are a bit standoffish. They are not fans of butt sniffing. Go figure.
Finally, the travel machine brought us back to the Happy Place. We did some running and rolling, but we were tired. If you can believe it, Megan and I got back into the travel machine and ended up back at home.
Clearly, we were both pooped. Megan tried to tap on the glowing shiny box to work on this blog, but her eyes kept glazing over. We gave in and went to bed.
In the morning, we went outside wearing the Garment of Forced Direction and the tether and paraded around the neighborhood. We then returned to the house where I breakfasted and then watched Megan "get ready" with what I hoped was a mournful gaze. Instead of letting me have free run of the house when she finally abandoned me, she asked me to return to my KENNEL.
I suffered this indignity only because I know that it enables me to receive copious amounts of crunchy snacks.
When she returned after what felt like ETERNITY, we went for our afternoon parade. After coming home and dining, Megan disappeared into the smelly dark room where the travel machine lives and came back with a LARGE object.
Once it was on the floor, I examined it. It appeared to be a larger version of my kennel. Just to be sure, I went in as Megan requested and was rewarded with crunchy snacks. My incarceration was short-lived, but I fear that there may be extended stays in my future. On the plus side, the ceiling of this k-word is higher and the floor is bigger. I can stretch out in there and do a little jig if I so please (and I do).
What will the future bring? I hardly know. If I had to guess, there will be more parading and eventually we will (hopefully) return to the Happy Place. This new k-word along with all the newly washed sheets and carpets are really cramping my scent. I need to roll in some worms.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Nursery Rhymes
Francis or Franklin
OK, so that last entry was a bit lethargic. I need to get snappier. What is wrong with me???
Maybe it is due to the fact that I did not have espresso today. Just two cups of the violently disgusting brew of toad droppings that is the coffee provided by my employer. They mean well. We used to get Starbucks. I don't know who angered the office manager to the point that we had to switch to "Rainy Day Blend," but I apologize on their behalf. Seriously. "Rainy Day Blend?" What a way to start the day.
I know that I have done it before, but this weekend I will be tempting fate and spending three days alone with three small hyperactive dogs. One is mine, who incidentally is recovering well after her dramatic day in the hospital. Although I am not a wildly social person, I have been making small attempts to reach out. So far, I have had no affirmative responses. Most people are going out of town.
Speaking of the hospital, it sounds like my grandfather is in one now as well. Poor guy has been having some problems lately and being the true passive-aggressive Norwegian that he is, he hasn't wanted to complain, but it has become blatantly obvious that all is not well in his world.
This is my only living grandparent, and he just turned 85. While his health has not always been perfect, there is really no reason to suspect that he will not make it to 90. Just not in his current independent living situation.
Getting old is not easy, no matter what age you are. Suddenly finding that you can no longer do certain things and that you may have to become dependent on the kindness of health care staff to accomplish basic daily rituals cannot be appealing. Thankfully, my grandfather is a social guy and I think that he actually likes the attention of the nursing staff. Especially if they are cute girls.
Of course, he has also been known to attempt to play yenta for me. Several years ago, during an extended hospitalization, I came to visit him. After initial pleasantries were exchanged, he informed me that he had found me a nice young doctor to marry. Thankfully, there was never a chance for introduction, but it was interesting to learn that my grandfather may be just as anxious to see me married as my mother. Especially as this is my father's father.
Please keep in mind that this is the man who found great amusement in passing me false information about seemingly insignificant facts for his own amusement. The most memorable of these instances happened when I was quite small.
As a child, I was consumed with knowing minute and strange details about my friends and family. You could say I was obsessed with trivial facts. For example, I had a big interest in middle names. After my first day of preschool, I came home and recited the first and middle names of every single classmate.
Naturally, I made inquiries to family members as well. I remember distinctly asking my grandfather about his middle name, and he informed me that it was Francis. As a trusting child, I saw no reason to suspect otherwise.
Fast forward to my teens. I don't know how it came up. Perhaps it was on a document or maybe someone mentioned it in conversation. Either way, it was pointed out that his middle name was Franklin. I was completely caught off guard. I questioned the source and tried to insist that he told he it was Francis. True, the two names are not wildly different, but I knew what I knew.
Turns out, he lied to me on purpose as part of a joke. A joke that only he knew about. A joke that would only reach its punchline many years later and likely not when he was present. You may think that his sense of humor must be a bit off. You may be right.
Part of being in a family is knowing what makes everyone else "tick." For all is bizarre ideas, my grandfather knew at my young age what sort of thing would work on me and my own idiosyncrasies. He was right; it really did irritate me when I learned I had been duped.
I wish that I could say this was the only time he did this to me, but that would be a lie. My gullibility has been the source for much amusement over the years, and even my own father has taken to participating on occasion.
I really do hope that he recovers to trick me again in the future. I need someone to remind me that I do not have all the facts yet.
Maybe it is due to the fact that I did not have espresso today. Just two cups of the violently disgusting brew of toad droppings that is the coffee provided by my employer. They mean well. We used to get Starbucks. I don't know who angered the office manager to the point that we had to switch to "Rainy Day Blend," but I apologize on their behalf. Seriously. "Rainy Day Blend?" What a way to start the day.
I know that I have done it before, but this weekend I will be tempting fate and spending three days alone with three small hyperactive dogs. One is mine, who incidentally is recovering well after her dramatic day in the hospital. Although I am not a wildly social person, I have been making small attempts to reach out. So far, I have had no affirmative responses. Most people are going out of town.
Speaking of the hospital, it sounds like my grandfather is in one now as well. Poor guy has been having some problems lately and being the true passive-aggressive Norwegian that he is, he hasn't wanted to complain, but it has become blatantly obvious that all is not well in his world.
This is my only living grandparent, and he just turned 85. While his health has not always been perfect, there is really no reason to suspect that he will not make it to 90. Just not in his current independent living situation.
Getting old is not easy, no matter what age you are. Suddenly finding that you can no longer do certain things and that you may have to become dependent on the kindness of health care staff to accomplish basic daily rituals cannot be appealing. Thankfully, my grandfather is a social guy and I think that he actually likes the attention of the nursing staff. Especially if they are cute girls.
Of course, he has also been known to attempt to play yenta for me. Several years ago, during an extended hospitalization, I came to visit him. After initial pleasantries were exchanged, he informed me that he had found me a nice young doctor to marry. Thankfully, there was never a chance for introduction, but it was interesting to learn that my grandfather may be just as anxious to see me married as my mother. Especially as this is my father's father.
Please keep in mind that this is the man who found great amusement in passing me false information about seemingly insignificant facts for his own amusement. The most memorable of these instances happened when I was quite small.
As a child, I was consumed with knowing minute and strange details about my friends and family. You could say I was obsessed with trivial facts. For example, I had a big interest in middle names. After my first day of preschool, I came home and recited the first and middle names of every single classmate.
Naturally, I made inquiries to family members as well. I remember distinctly asking my grandfather about his middle name, and he informed me that it was Francis. As a trusting child, I saw no reason to suspect otherwise.
Fast forward to my teens. I don't know how it came up. Perhaps it was on a document or maybe someone mentioned it in conversation. Either way, it was pointed out that his middle name was Franklin. I was completely caught off guard. I questioned the source and tried to insist that he told he it was Francis. True, the two names are not wildly different, but I knew what I knew.
Turns out, he lied to me on purpose as part of a joke. A joke that only he knew about. A joke that would only reach its punchline many years later and likely not when he was present. You may think that his sense of humor must be a bit off. You may be right.
Part of being in a family is knowing what makes everyone else "tick." For all is bizarre ideas, my grandfather knew at my young age what sort of thing would work on me and my own idiosyncrasies. He was right; it really did irritate me when I learned I had been duped.
I wish that I could say this was the only time he did this to me, but that would be a lie. My gullibility has been the source for much amusement over the years, and even my own father has taken to participating on occasion.
I really do hope that he recovers to trick me again in the future. I need someone to remind me that I do not have all the facts yet.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Open to suggestion
It is always nice to get a long email from an old friend. For those of you who don't know me personally, the fact that I tend to be a bit verbose in written form belies a certain aspect of my verbal communication preferences. Essentially, I hate spending a lot of time on the phone. Generally, anyway.
Today I received an email message from a good friend who lives too far away from me to see on a regular basis. It was nice; but it made me start to think about things that I have been trying to ignore for the present.
Essentially, at some point I need to decide what I am going to do. About what? My life.
I am definitely open to suggestion, but I would prefer that the ideas fall into the line of the MLIS degree that I shall soon possess.
Don't get me wrong, I realize that almost everybody goes through this sort of crisis every once in a while. Being on break does strange things to a person's mind.
Today I received an email message from a good friend who lives too far away from me to see on a regular basis. It was nice; but it made me start to think about things that I have been trying to ignore for the present.
Essentially, at some point I need to decide what I am going to do. About what? My life.
I am definitely open to suggestion, but I would prefer that the ideas fall into the line of the MLIS degree that I shall soon possess.
Don't get me wrong, I realize that almost everybody goes through this sort of crisis every once in a while. Being on break does strange things to a person's mind.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Lena's digestive system revolts
Sit back and let me tell you the tale of my life for the past couple of days.
It all starts on Sunday night with some severe stomach cramps that led to a very restless and wakeful night. My constant movement and unsettled attitude clearly had an effect on my dog, who decided that 12:30 a.m. was the proper time to rise and shine for the day ahead.
I was able to convince her to remain in the bedroom, but alas, there was no more sleep to be had for us. This resulted in a "sick day" for my Monday.
It was a fairly lethargic day with one exception. I decided that after my night of pain and drama that I would wash all of my bedding, including the three quilts that cover my bed every night.
Monday night was eagerly awaited as I hoped that my general lack of sleep would make it much easier to get through the night.
This time around, it was not my stomach causing problems; it was Lena's. Around 3 a.m., I was awakened to the strange sound that sounded like laughter at the end of my bed. I saw Lena's outline and quickly switched on the light. I beheld my poor dog sitting over a pool of vomit on my comforter and top sheet. Although I was a bit disappointed to see this on my newly laundered bedclothes, I quickly stripped the soiled linens and put them in the washing machine.
Optimistically, I returned to bed, hoping that this episode with Lena was a glitch and all would be well now. I realize now that this was pretty stupid of me, but it was 3:30 in the morning and I really wanted those last two hours of sleep.
One hour later, Lena was curled up by my side when I heard the faint sound of her lips smacking. Fearing the worst, I turned on the light. Sure enough, she had vomited on the fitted sheet and another quilt. This time, however, it also soaked through to the mattress pad. At this point, I decided to cut my losses and get up.
More laundry was started. I was upset. I was frustrated that I had now washed the same things twice in 24 hours. I was sad that I could not get more sleep. I was worried that something was wrong with my dog.
In response to all of these things, I had to sit down to calm myself and consider my options. I did not want to take another "sick day" to sort this all out, but I could not in good conscience leave my dog alone while I was at work. Not only because of the potential mess I could encounter upon my return, but mostly because I was not sure if she would survive.
My final decision was to pack up and drive down to my parents' house before traffic picked up. My reasoning was that this would allow me time to clear my head and would also bring me closer to my vet clinic.
Before I left the house, I made a quick call to my veterinarian brother in Wisconsin. I knew that it was unlikely that he would be awake at 5:20 a.m. on a Tuesday, but I figured that leaving a message couldn't hurt.
I sent my parents a message to warn them of our imminent arrival and hit the road. Shockingly, Lena did not vomit in the car on on the way to the house. She had already vomited on the carpet of my loft, bringing her tally to that point to three.
We made it to their house safe and sound. The dogs all greeted each other and my concerned parents offered up advice before departing for work. I decided to shower and think about things.
Shortly after I finished my shower, Lena threw up a large amount of what appeared to be water all over the hallway floor. I decided to give my brother another call. This time he answered. After consulting his veterinarian girlfriend, he told me that based on the number of times she had vomited, I should probably bring her in.
I dressed and we left for the emergency vet clinic. Thankfully, we got in right away and the staff was very kind to me. In the end, after more consulting with my brother, I opted to let her stay in their care for the day. I know I did not make the wrong choice, but I am sure the monetary repercussions will not be slight.
So yes, I was able to avoid taking another full "sick day," but I am still unsure about the final diagnosis for Lena. I am hopeful that it will all pass through her system, tonight will be normal and tomorrow will bring no new drama.
The past couple of days have felt like weeks. I have a planned three-day weekend coming up alone with three dogs. As long as there are no more vet visits, I think I should be OK.
It all starts on Sunday night with some severe stomach cramps that led to a very restless and wakeful night. My constant movement and unsettled attitude clearly had an effect on my dog, who decided that 12:30 a.m. was the proper time to rise and shine for the day ahead.
I was able to convince her to remain in the bedroom, but alas, there was no more sleep to be had for us. This resulted in a "sick day" for my Monday.
It was a fairly lethargic day with one exception. I decided that after my night of pain and drama that I would wash all of my bedding, including the three quilts that cover my bed every night.
Monday night was eagerly awaited as I hoped that my general lack of sleep would make it much easier to get through the night.
This time around, it was not my stomach causing problems; it was Lena's. Around 3 a.m., I was awakened to the strange sound that sounded like laughter at the end of my bed. I saw Lena's outline and quickly switched on the light. I beheld my poor dog sitting over a pool of vomit on my comforter and top sheet. Although I was a bit disappointed to see this on my newly laundered bedclothes, I quickly stripped the soiled linens and put them in the washing machine.
Optimistically, I returned to bed, hoping that this episode with Lena was a glitch and all would be well now. I realize now that this was pretty stupid of me, but it was 3:30 in the morning and I really wanted those last two hours of sleep.
One hour later, Lena was curled up by my side when I heard the faint sound of her lips smacking. Fearing the worst, I turned on the light. Sure enough, she had vomited on the fitted sheet and another quilt. This time, however, it also soaked through to the mattress pad. At this point, I decided to cut my losses and get up.
More laundry was started. I was upset. I was frustrated that I had now washed the same things twice in 24 hours. I was sad that I could not get more sleep. I was worried that something was wrong with my dog.
In response to all of these things, I had to sit down to calm myself and consider my options. I did not want to take another "sick day" to sort this all out, but I could not in good conscience leave my dog alone while I was at work. Not only because of the potential mess I could encounter upon my return, but mostly because I was not sure if she would survive.
My final decision was to pack up and drive down to my parents' house before traffic picked up. My reasoning was that this would allow me time to clear my head and would also bring me closer to my vet clinic.
Before I left the house, I made a quick call to my veterinarian brother in Wisconsin. I knew that it was unlikely that he would be awake at 5:20 a.m. on a Tuesday, but I figured that leaving a message couldn't hurt.
I sent my parents a message to warn them of our imminent arrival and hit the road. Shockingly, Lena did not vomit in the car on on the way to the house. She had already vomited on the carpet of my loft, bringing her tally to that point to three.
We made it to their house safe and sound. The dogs all greeted each other and my concerned parents offered up advice before departing for work. I decided to shower and think about things.
Shortly after I finished my shower, Lena threw up a large amount of what appeared to be water all over the hallway floor. I decided to give my brother another call. This time he answered. After consulting his veterinarian girlfriend, he told me that based on the number of times she had vomited, I should probably bring her in.
I dressed and we left for the emergency vet clinic. Thankfully, we got in right away and the staff was very kind to me. In the end, after more consulting with my brother, I opted to let her stay in their care for the day. I know I did not make the wrong choice, but I am sure the monetary repercussions will not be slight.
So yes, I was able to avoid taking another full "sick day," but I am still unsure about the final diagnosis for Lena. I am hopeful that it will all pass through her system, tonight will be normal and tomorrow will bring no new drama.
The past couple of days have felt like weeks. I have a planned three-day weekend coming up alone with three dogs. As long as there are no more vet visits, I think I should be OK.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Hitching a ride
Weekends are typically slow times for blog updates for everyone that I follow. For some reason, I have chosen to be a bit more prolific as of late. We could explore the reasons, but it probably would not lead to a satisfactory answer, so I will refrain.
Right now I am sitting at my parents' house with three dogs, listening to the barks of two and watching the attentive listening of the third. My mother is at work and my father has taken a day trip out to Brooten. I think that I may put on some better clothing and visit my mom at work when I finish this entry.
Last night, I was able to meet up with some friends for dinner. Two of them are regular readers of this blog - so HI Bill and Rox! We had a lovely dinner at the Downtowner in St. Paul followed by dessert at Cafe Latte. Always lovely. The other friend on this outing was Jill who was gracious enough to be the driver. Now that I have shared how much I love being driven, you know why I truly appreciated this.
We had good conversation and good food, and the only "odd" occurrence came after dinner on the way to the car.
From my vantage point in the restaurant, I had a pretty clear view of the host/hostess desk and entrance. As most of my focus was on my dinner companions, I did not take great notice of the other diners comings and goings.
Towards the end of our meal, I did notice a man wearing a somewhat bright Hawaiian-style shirt conversing with the host, but that was mainly because of his shirt. I might have noted that he was alone and that there did not seem to be any effort to seat him at a table, but I did not.
It turned out that this man had a story to tell and some requests to make. When the restaurant staff was unable to help, he decided to approach Bill and Roxanne as we exited the restaurant. They politely conversed with him as we walked to the parking lot while not complying with his request for transportation assistance or money to get transportation to his intended destination of the Greyhound Bus Depot in downtown Minneapolis.
I do not share this story because I want to make any kind of social point. I share it because of his claim that he had been hitchhiking on the freeway and was stopped by the police. Of course, I have no idea if this was true, but the idea is strange and a bit interesting.
It is my understanding that back in "the day," hitchhiking was not uncommon. In fact, I think that one or more of my parents may have done it. They are both alive today, so it did not end terribly for them. So what happened? Too many bad eggs on both sides of the equation, I would guess.
As for this man, I have no idea where his real story began or where it ended last night. I suspect if he continued to accost customers leaving local restaurants and bars, there may have been a complaint. Perhaps the police showed up and were able to escort him to Minneapolis. Or maybe it was all part of a hidden camera piece for some low budget/low viewership TV show.
If so, keep your eyes peeled and let me know if you see us. I will be the one walking out in front of the group with my friend Jill, exchanging nervous glances and wondering if he is going to follow us all the way to the car. (He did not.)
Right now I am sitting at my parents' house with three dogs, listening to the barks of two and watching the attentive listening of the third. My mother is at work and my father has taken a day trip out to Brooten. I think that I may put on some better clothing and visit my mom at work when I finish this entry.
Last night, I was able to meet up with some friends for dinner. Two of them are regular readers of this blog - so HI Bill and Rox! We had a lovely dinner at the Downtowner in St. Paul followed by dessert at Cafe Latte. Always lovely. The other friend on this outing was Jill who was gracious enough to be the driver. Now that I have shared how much I love being driven, you know why I truly appreciated this.
We had good conversation and good food, and the only "odd" occurrence came after dinner on the way to the car.
From my vantage point in the restaurant, I had a pretty clear view of the host/hostess desk and entrance. As most of my focus was on my dinner companions, I did not take great notice of the other diners comings and goings.
Towards the end of our meal, I did notice a man wearing a somewhat bright Hawaiian-style shirt conversing with the host, but that was mainly because of his shirt. I might have noted that he was alone and that there did not seem to be any effort to seat him at a table, but I did not.
It turned out that this man had a story to tell and some requests to make. When the restaurant staff was unable to help, he decided to approach Bill and Roxanne as we exited the restaurant. They politely conversed with him as we walked to the parking lot while not complying with his request for transportation assistance or money to get transportation to his intended destination of the Greyhound Bus Depot in downtown Minneapolis.
I do not share this story because I want to make any kind of social point. I share it because of his claim that he had been hitchhiking on the freeway and was stopped by the police. Of course, I have no idea if this was true, but the idea is strange and a bit interesting.
It is my understanding that back in "the day," hitchhiking was not uncommon. In fact, I think that one or more of my parents may have done it. They are both alive today, so it did not end terribly for them. So what happened? Too many bad eggs on both sides of the equation, I would guess.
As for this man, I have no idea where his real story began or where it ended last night. I suspect if he continued to accost customers leaving local restaurants and bars, there may have been a complaint. Perhaps the police showed up and were able to escort him to Minneapolis. Or maybe it was all part of a hidden camera piece for some low budget/low viewership TV show.
If so, keep your eyes peeled and let me know if you see us. I will be the one walking out in front of the group with my friend Jill, exchanging nervous glances and wondering if he is going to follow us all the way to the car. (He did not.)
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