Loki Sunday

The other day, I dropped off a prescription given to me in advance of a procedure I am having next week. I went about my errands for the morning and stopped back by the pharmacy when I was done.

I took my few other purchases to the counter and told the girl I had a prescription to pick up and my name.

A moment later, she plopped down a gallon jug in front of me. "You're kidding!" I said.

All the old people waiting laughed at me.

Sigh.


Loki sez: What flavor pack did you get? Tuna?

Freakin' Out Friday

Yesterday Loki's mental illness/other personality emerged and he had a major hissy fit which turned into a minor fight with the Thorbster. Separation protocol was instituted.

I'm thinking of becoming a cat whisperer. Or an ambassador. Negotiating a lasting Middle East Peace Agreement can't be that much harder than re-establishing brotherly love between high-strung, high-drama Loki and I'm-only-going-to-be-nice-for-so-long-then-I'm-going-to-retaliate Thor.

It took two breakfast plates, a generous helping of catnip, an obsessive-compulsive's wet dream of exactly equally divided brushing, tuna treats, chicken treats, a rousing game of chase the stick, one set back by way of the aforementioned frustrated Thor bum rushing his not quite ready for detente brother, two Loki retreats into the hissy fit basket to have his hissy fit, one nervous negotiator fretting about them being together in the laundry room where several of their most serious fights occurred, but at the end of it, we had this:


And after almost four hours of peace talks, I could take a nap.

Thor's Day!

The measuring of Thor.

Speak of the Devil

Just a few days ago, I mentioned in a comment on another blog a problem that I'd wrestled with for years.

A fine line I walked while trying to give advice in a situation fraught with emotion - anger, resentment, hope and grief.

And like a bolt from the blue, after over seven years, the situation has reared its ugly head and once again, my counsel is being sought.

I know what I want to say. But I have to find what is right to say.

The boyz say: Just look at all the angles.

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise!

The only thing I love more than receiving a surprise is giving one. So some lucky reader out there in constant reader land is getting a surprise.

No, I can't say who or what, for Pete's sake!

I did, however, receive a bit of a surprise this morning. Whilst perusing the various Internet news sites, I heard a thump at the window. A common enough occurrence, but when I went to check to make sure there wasn't an injured bird laying out there, I noticed that the yard was completely deserted and silent.

Then I noticed the hawk sitting on the electric wires. Rut-roh. It looked to be a young Red tailed Hawk, but he flew away before I could get the binoculars out to take a better look.

I put out a giant chunk of compressed corn/peanut/sunflower squirrel feed on the lawn to try to encourage the squirrels to stay out of the bird feeder.
I'm assuming the happy romping of three merry squirrels chasing each other around is what attracted the hawk.


I'll move it out back under the oak tree where they can have a little cover, but the raccoon will just drag it away during the night. Raccoons are some greedy little buggers who do not like to share.

And I learned something new. You need to buy hummingbird feeders with bee baffles or else the bees just congregate there and the hummingbirds can't/won't feed. Now, I'm all for feeding the bees also, but they need to share.

And for a Loki surprise yesterday, he found a new little friend.

Loki sez: Does this bird-brain not realize there is a ferocious predator only inches away?

Sleep, Glorious Sleep!

As a part time insomniac, there is nothing I love more than emerging from the land of nod and realizing I've not merely been asleep, I've been in a coma.

My phototherapy-induced-want-to-rip-my-eyeball-out migraine lasted all day Saturday and all that night while I stared into the lights some more (one co-worker once got her sunglasses out of her purse and wore them while dealing with these lights and I'm thinking I might do the same, I have prescription sunglasses). Sunday, Jason had the joy of watching me wallow around, wishing my brain would just explode so it would stop hurting. Scenes such as: sneeze, ouch, that hurt, sneeze OUCH, sneeze, OUCH DAMN IT THAT FREAKING HURTS YOU STUPID BRAIN, STOPPING SNEEZING.

I went to bed around 8:30 p.m. with the idea that I would try to read. Why I thought I could read when looking at the computer monitor hurt and trying to watch TV hurt (made me miss Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire), I don't know.

But when I swam back to consciousness around 9:30 a-Freaking-m this morning I realized that I'd never heard Jason rounding up the cats or coming to bed. I never heard his alarm go off or him get out of bed this morning. I never heard nothing until Thor meowed directly in my ear, probably checking to see if I was still alive.

It is amazing what a little sleep will do for you. I'm ready to paint those ceilings.

Not.

Thor sez: I didn't think you were dead. Our breakfast was gone and our crunchie bowl was half empty and I was afraid we were going to starve to death before Daddy got home!

Loki Sunday

Puppy Love

What a sweet mommy dog!

That's all folks, I got a major staring-into-phototherapy-lights headache rocking my brain. I want some research funds to study how many old nursery nurses get cataracts from working under those lights.


Thor sez: If you are finished whining, we haven't had our after-lunchie snack yet.

For The Birds

I've been watching the hummingbirds. Yes, I have nothing better to do. Mr. and Mrs. Hummingbird continue to guard their treasure, and Interloper continues to attempt grand larceny, being the juvenile male that I think he is.

What I've noticed is that Interloper seems to be playing with Mrs. Hummingbird. She likes to sit on her perch. Interloper will hover behind her, zooming left and right as she looks back over her shoulder until she spots him. And the chase is on.

And this this is a young Mockingbird, out by himself, being all Billy Bad Ass, chasing all the other birds away.

This is the same bird, acting the baby when Momma shows up. Check out the lifted up foot. With an act like that, he must be a teenager in bird years.

I put up a third hummingbird feeder, hoping to give Interloper a place at the table in Front Yard Land. But he hasn't used it yet.I can't imagine why not.

Thor's Day!

Thor is a thoroughly present creature. What ever he is doing, he is 100% doing it.

Mouse hunting.

Playing Vampire Cat with Mick.

Sleeping.

Hey, Ho, Henry Brown Has Got To Go!

I am allegedly represented by Henry Brown in the United States House of Representatives.

I say allegedly because I am not a rich white male real estate developer.

Here's the thing. I searched around my blog archives for the entry I made after receiving a reply to an email that I sent to Mr. Brown regarding the need to develop alternative sources of energy as a means of improving national security.

The way I see it is this: We develop alternative methods (not corn ethanol, please feel free to look into Brazil's success with sugar cane ethanol, which is what I would like to see investment in instead of corn) of energy, we lessen our need to import oil. Our new technology then competes with oil in developing nations such as China and India, bringing dollars to our economy instead of the economies of countries who are supporting terrorists. As new energy source technology takes off and the world begins to convert to the use of it, money for terrorists dries up and they go back to killing each other off and riding camels in the sand.

I really wish I could find the "heh, heh, heh, little lady, you just go tie-dye some hippie shirts and let us menfolk figure this out" reply I received. I thought my monitor would short out with the condescension dripping off of it.

Edit: Now that I'm not an idiot (or at least figured how to do this. Hey! I have never claimed anything remotely resembling computer literacy) here is the post I made two years ago regarding Mr. Brown's letter to me.

Yet, I understood that in a staunchly (frighteningly zombie-ish) Republican district, my ideas would be dismissed.

Then I started filling out the "Henry Brown Really Wants Your Opinion So He Can Better Represent You" questionnaires that I received.

And, ya know what? I got letters back telling me why my OPINIONS were wrong. Not my facts. My opinions.

And now, this. Proof positive that Henry Brown does not give a flying fig leaf for any of the hard working people, Republican or Democrat in his district. Only those who can feather his re-election nest get their needs represented.

Situation: Super rich people (probably "from off" and don't say they aren't super rich because they are if they can build a multimillion dollar house. I make good money and can barely save enough to get mine painted) want to build homes on a sand bar off Kiawah because it is so pretty there.

Problem: no government subsidized flood insurance available because, well, because the whole purpose of those sand bars is that they flood during storms to help protect the wetlands/barrier islands behind them.

Solution: Get Henry Brown to bring a bill before the House of Representatives to allow sand bar homes to be eligible for tax payer subsidized flood insurance.

Problem: Regular people get a little angry because, um, we're a little swamped right now trying to pay our own taxes and mandated flood insurance premiums in the face of a declining job market and stagnant wages.

Solution: Henry goes to the press to say gosh golly gee willikers, y'all. You know, I introduced a bill into the House and I didn't know that there were developers involved. In fact, the guy I talked to about it, well, I never did get his exact job title, but I just assumed he worked for the town of Kiawah.

Problem: Regular folks are astonished. He introduced a bill and he didn't even know who he was introducing it for? Real estate developers? Just how much "research" does he do before producing legislation? A quick check of the interested parties' financial page and donation record?

Solution: Henry does his best good ole boy imitation and offers to let all y'all common folk have a public hearing to let your voices be heard. In Washington DC.

I don't know about y'all, but difficulty getting time off from work on short notice, the cost of airfare or gasoline to get to Washington, the prices of hotels and food in DC all are a little beyond my reach without careful planning and savings well in advance of the trip.

But I'll bet all those developers and lawyers and whoever else will profit from this have the ability to just jet off to DC to tell ole Henry that they don't have a problem with this bill. And ole Henry will look around and ask if anyone there has a problem with it.

And all us hard working folks who couldn't afford to go to Washington DC on a moment's notice to protest will end up helping some Richie Rich pay for the flood insurance on his multi-million dollar vacation home on a sand bar.

And good ole Henry Brown will have his re-election coffer overflowing and he'll shrug and say with a straight face and not the slightest bit of guilt over screwing the public he serves, "Well, I had a public meeting for it, but none of those folks bothered to show up."

And even worse, he doesn't care because he is counting on those good, hard working people of his district forget all this by November and walk into the voting booth and push the button for a straight Republican ticket.

Vote Ketner.

Let's break the cycle of power that is abusing us.

Loki sez: Patootie on Henry Brown and his cronies!

All I Want Is to Sleep Through the Night Without Having to Blow My Nose

I moved one step closer in my continuing project to make the bedroom as allergen-free as is possible with two feline saliva dander and hair shedding fur balls roaming the premises. I've already rid the bed of the skirt and excess fancy stuff. Yesterday I ripped down the full length double curtain sets and put up some simple blinds than can be dusted slightly more frequently than I washed the curtains. When I can afford it, I want to get this platform bed and these side tables and move the giant dust bunny of a wicker hutch out of there.

I also about broke my arm. See, the kittens were in the laundry room, sleeping like they do.
After tearing down the double window curtains and tossing them on the floor (and discovering that my tendency towards sloppiness paid off in having forgotten to take down the hardware from the set of blinds I replaced with the curtains, so all I had to do was put the new blinds up), I found an embarrassing amount of dust, so I went to get something to clean it up with. I walked to the kitchen, got the cleaner, walked back to the room and stepped on something
under the pile of curtains. So I did the little hop/scream/jump so that I wouldn't completely squash whatever it was that I stepped on so that I didn't have to drive a squished cat to Summerville with a broken hip. My broken hip, not his.

But I managed to go down without A)wrenching my newly healed back muscle out of place; B)breaking a hip; and C)squishing the ninja cat who I am beginning to believe has powers of invisibility.

I did knock my elbow pretty good and pulled a stomach muscle. A stomach muscle. How is that even possible? That's not even something you can brag about, although it was nice to get a little confirmation that there are still muscles under that quivering mound of blubber that has replaced my previously concave tummy.

Thor, as usual, is just fine.

Thor sez: Oh please, you wish there were two of me.

Bonus photo:
Grand Central Station, Sparrow style

Moody Monday

In case you haven't heard - it is probably going to rain on Thursday. I don't think life as we know it will end that day despite what local weather people say. I think it's going to rain.

If you are a Christian (or even not), I strongly recommend Where's Your Jesus Now? by Karen Spears Zacharias. Despite its snarky title, it has a very pro-Christian message. If believers of all faiths could follow the author's example, much would be better in our world.

I now had a third person leave a note on my door, extolling their expertise in house painting and powerwashing. For Pete's sake. It doesn't look that bad.

We had to go to WalMart yesterday because I needed a bucket and a mop and where else can you obtain these items at eight a.m. on a Sunday morning? Jason managed to help me stave off the WalMart stupor by making me laugh.

Jason: Hey, look! There's Biffle and Allison.

A few minutes later:

Jason: Is that all we need?
Me: Oh wait! We need toilet paper.
Jason: Shit!

I know, I'm easily amused and I think he was trying to make up for the fact that he heartily disapproved of my plan to flash Look-I'm-The-Friendly-Christian-Guy who was waving at vehicles passing by one of the cultish fundie type churches. (Where once I was told that you had to say your prayers out loud or Satan! would steal your prayer before it got to God. I asked, what about mutes? And got the skank eye. But I thought it was a legitimate question.)


Thor sez: You give me such a headache when you act like this!

Loki Sunday

Yesterday, we went to the Animal Planet Expo. I was going to wear my Barack Obama "Got Hope" t-shirt, but Jason pointed out that the event was going to be in Ladson. 'Nuff said.

It was mainly geared for little kidlets, so there wasn't much to do except pout that I couldn't have a serval cat:


And stand in the sweltering humidity (it was cloudy and not that hot, but the humidity was oppressive even for August) only to find that the line we were in led to a tent full of kittens up for adoption.

I wailed my usual wail, heard mostly after Jason returns from Pet Smart with cell phone pictures of the kittens for adoption there:

"Why do you show me kitties I can't have?"

I would gladly take in two more cats. I've almost always had four cats at a time.

But I can't.

Because of Loki.

He absolutely will not tolerate another feline in the house. We tried. It was ugly.
Loki sez:

I tolerate the smelly one.

I love my brother.

I endure my mommy's insanity.

I miss my Uncle Sutu.

But there will be no more felines.

Easily Amused

Jason brought home a stack of books for review the other day. One of them, Traffic Why We Drive the Way We Do (and What It Says About Us) by Tom Vanderbilt, came with a boxed five CD set so you could listen while you were driving.

That was a delicious laugh.

And what I often do while driving is listen to the same CD over and over and over and over while singing along at the top of my lungs and pretending I am actually a decent singer.

Which is not true.

I cycle through moods with the music. Sometimes it is Led Zep. Sometimes it is Bach (hard to sing along with though). Many times I indulge my passion for all things Van Morrison. The man could sing the telephone book and I'd listen to every last note. After a brief flirtation with Duffy(loved) and the Wilson Twins (okay), I've recently returned to my favorite mood enhancing sound:

Barenaked Ladies.

Now, I do love the live version of Brian Wilson simply because I get goosebumps thinking about what a rush it must be for an artist to have an entire coliseum of people singing along with his song. It reminds of my musician son's comment that one day he'd like to have a symphony orchestra backing up one of his songs.

But it seems my finger automatically finds the seek button in order to play these two over and over again:

If I Had A Million Dollars

Yoko Ono

Now, don't you just feel better now?

Thor sez: Don't blame it on Loki!

Excuse Me, But Have You Seen My Brain?

If you ever eavesdrop in on a group of nurses, you will eventually hear someone cry out in extreme anguish, "I've lost my brain!" Other nurses will stop what they are doing to assist in the search for the lost brain.

The proportion of the disaster is inversely related to the number of hours left in the shift. To lose your brain in the first couple hours isn't all that bad. But to lose it near the end of the shift is a catastrophe of epic proportions.

The nurse's "brain" being whatever form the nurse uses to write down all the things she/he has done so that when there is finally a moment (usually after giving report to the oncoming shift) when the nurse can sit down to the computer and chart everything she/he has done.

My brain is a simple thing, it has enough columns for six patients and a box for each hour so I can jot notes about what I have done under the appropriate hour so that 12 hours later, I can easily reconstruct my night. I have a separate brain that I use for a new delivery, up to when the new baby joins the big kids out in the open nursery, when he/she is switched to my regular brain.

When it has been hectic, I leave all my brains shoved in my work mail box. Just in case I've forgotten something or someone following me has a question about what I did/didn't do. The other day, I pulled out eight delivery brains and four regular brains to dump in the shredder.

And technology is killing nurses. I have no less that 10 passwords to various programs. I can no longer retrieve a medication, check the chart to make sure it is correct, then give it.

I have to go to computer number one, enter name and password, retrieve the medication, go to computer number two, enter name and password, pull up the patient's name on one screen, switch to another screen, scan the medication (just like at the grocery store), fill in the amount I'm going to give, where I am going to give it (typing this in while juggling the scanner thingie), scan the patient, then give the medication. Then go to computer number three, enter name and password, select the patient, go to the correct charting screen, chart that I gave the medication.

So if you need your nurse and she doesn't show up for a half an hour, she is crying over one of dozens of computers trying to remember which password goes with what program and which screen under which button has the drop down list of which things she has to click in a very particular order or alarms will go off and she'll have to start all over.

So, this morning when I accused poor Jason of drinking my second cup of coffee, realized that I had already had two cups, apologized, then later accused him of the same crime again, then later when I forgot to turn (don't read any further Jason, really, for your own peace of mind) off a stove burner and didn't realize it for almost two hours, I can only assume all the computer programs have staked out the last of my brain cells and I have nothing left but a few stray neurons chugging along making sure the autonomic systems are still functioning somewhat normally.

Or else my real brain is stuffed in my work mail box and I've got a scrap of paper in my skull.


Loki sez: Or gray the new blonde.

Thor's Day!

Okay, if y'all will stop breeding like rabbits out there, perhaps I won't have to work any more seven - yes that is SEVEN - night shifts in a row. Three 12 hour shifts, one 8 hour, three 12 hours.

I have proven to myself that I am no longer a young person. I am old. Too old for this bologna.

And Thor is soooo mad at me.


Thor sez: I'm not mad at you. You no longer exist to me. How can I be mad at someone who doesn't exist?

As I told the day shift, I've got a date with a hot bath and a vicodin.

Thor sez: Don't expect me to play life guard for you!

I felt so bad about barely seeing them for the better part of the week, I broke out the good nip.

Thor sez: Yippee! Can we play rubber duckies? And have bubbles?

Focus on Petulant Parents Participating in Pettiness

Do they not allow their children to participate in that good old American tradition of lining up after Little League football or baseball or soccar and do the "good game" high five?

Good sportsmanship. Not a Christian value apparantly.

Focus on Foolishness.

Things That Go Hmmmmm

I've been observing the hummingbirds. The cheap ($3.00) plastic tawdry red and yellow feeder that I purchased, which is now on the defunct yard lamp post is the territory of Mr. Hummingbird (red throat confirmed with binoculars and you'll just have to take my word for it because my camera isn't up to the zooming task).

The beautiful copper feeder with hand crafted flowers of the most delicate shade of red that Jason bought is closer to the front windows and is the home of Mrs. Hummingbird.


Now, both the feeders hold at least two cups of nectar. We put in less than that due to the hot weather, because we refresh the nectar every other day or so. There is probably enough nectar for a couple hundred hummingbirds.

But you'd think it was going to all disappear any second. Mr. and Mrs. Hummingbird spend much of their time chasing away another hummingbird couple (I assume it is a couple as they have not been able to land for even a millisecond for me to look at them with the binoculars). The other couple wouldn't even come close to eating enough nectar to make such energy expenditures worthwhile.

But it is theirs and no other shall have it, not even a taste.

Who'd've thunk it? Hummingbirds are Richie Riches. Sitting on top of a treasure and they begrudge even the tiniest of fractions of it being used to support Front Yard Land.

That sort of thing is left for the poor middle class sparrows, having to stand in line and struggle for their scraps of food, which even then, they share willingly with the chickadees and cardinals and titmouses and woodpeckers and mockingbirds.



Thor sez: Silly human, sharing is for the little birdies. Asking big birdies to share is socialism.

Loki Sunday

I asked Loki what he wanted to be the theme of this Loki Sunday.

He said: A documentary of all the horrible abuse I suffer.


Toys tossed at me.


Being held against my will.


Unacceptable flavors of shredded food twice a day.


Loki sez: I have SPCA Kay's phone number on speed dial, you know.

Fried-day

Is how I'm feeling right now. Fried.

Thor is such a two year old. Whenever I put on my uniform for my first night back to work, he'll hop on the bed and be the best most loving adorable Thor in the world. He purrs and rolls around and licks my hands and kneads his paws in the air. Mean old me still goes to work.


Note the grumpy face because Jason interrupted Thor-time. And the fluffed tail. He fluffs his tail a lot. Whenever he is startled. When he gets brushed. When he is playing with a toy. Part raccoon I suppose.

Loki, on the other hand, is like a four year old. Stomps off and pouts when he knows I'm going to work. Will not give me the time of day.

Loki sez: I'm not listening to you,