Lingerie Feng Shui

Ok, I'll admit it. I have a few weird little slightly obsessive compulsive anal retentive quirks. Ok not really a few,,,just one. Ok so maybe it's a few but only one that I'll openly admit to. I'm afraid I have passed it on to my daughters. I blame it on my mother, and her mother, and her mother etc. Remember how Mom used to say "Don't leave home without clean undies because you never know when you'll be in an accident"? Didn't all mothers say that? Well it took with me. It took very well. So well that I added a little bit to it. Not only must they be clean,,,they must match. The bra must match the panties which both must match the outfit,,including the socks and shoes if it's a nursing kind of day. It just throws off the karma entirely if they don't match. The day is discombobulated. My brain doesn't engage and function correctly and I'm pretty dang certain that I would be inviting disaster if I were to ever actually leave the house uncoordinated. Victorias Secret was made for women like me. All the lovely matching sets. All those colors. I cannot imagine waking up and putting on nonmatching silkies. Inconceivable. If ever I'm in an accident I fully expect SOMEONE to notice and comment on the wonderful color choices I've made for the day. The paramedics at the scene, the ER nurse or doc,,,someone had better pay attention. How odd is it really? Really?

Two Songs,,,

Pretty much sums up the thoughts/mood for the day. If you haven't heard 'em,,find and listen.


Lord I Hope This Day Is Good
(Dave Hanner)

Lord I hope day is good
I’m feelin’ empty and misunderstood
I should be thankful Lord I know I should
But Lord I hope this day is good
Lord have you forgotten me
I’ve been prayin’ to you faithfully
I should be thankful Lord you know I am
But Lord I hope this day is good
I don’t need fortune and I don’t need fame
Send down the thunder Lord, send down the rain
But when you’re planning just how it will be
Plan a good day for me
Lord I hope day is good
I’m feelin’ empty and misunderstood
I should be thankful Lord I know I should
But Lord I hope this day is good
You’ve been the King since the dawn of time
All that I’m askin’ is a little less crime
It might be hard for the devil to do
But it would be easy for you
Lord I hope day is good
I’m feelin’ empty and misunderstood
I should be thankful Lord I know I should
But Lord I hope this day is good

You'll Never Walk Alone

When you walk through a storm hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark.
At the end of a storm is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark.
Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Tho' your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart
And you'll Never Walk Alone,You'll Never Walk Alone.

Exhaustion. Complete and total exhaustion. Mental meltdown. Physical collapse. The body and mind are at the wall and there is no end in sight. Hospital still full of Katrina patients. Rita evacuees coming in. Maggies birthday celebrated,,cleaned, cooked, shopped, wrapped, served, entertained, cleaned again, commiserated, plotted, laundered,,and back to work the next day. Why was I surprised that the entire guest list was male? Why was I surprised at the volume of food consumed? Why was I surprised that all males in attendance were cute and sweet and smart and funny? Mallory made the trek for the party,,still enduring the most unprofessional conduct of one gigantic ass of a teacher. Should he even be called a teacher? I suppose it is his job description. Mallory is not in choir for the first time in 17 years. She doesn't want to be at school. This being the same Mallory that lives for music and counts down the days until she returns to school each summer. He will pay. Dearly. This I promise.
Traffic last night was beyond description. An hour to go one block. One block. ACL is this weekend. Hurricane Rita wants to share equal billing. Austin was already overflowing with Hurricane Katrina evacuees. Add 45,000 ACL attendees and all of the people fleeing the Gulf. An hour to go one freakin block. Amazing. I'm home and staying here. Bring on the rain. Let the wind blow. With a little luck I'll sleep right through it. Wouldn't that be just grand? Sleep. Blessed sleep.

Listening to: Amel Larrieux
Reading: too freakin tired to read

Saturday morning. Coffee starting to kick in. Sun still hiding. Work on the horizon. A football Saturday. A hot humid Saturday. Already. Maggie will be 17 Wednesday. 17. Jiminy Christmas. Mallory back in San Antonio with the Supreme Moronic Asshole Chorist. Do you remember the quote from The Gladiator? On my signal,,Unleash Hell. Look around,,see the signals? Are you ready SMAC? You just shouldn't have gone there. You really shouldn't have gone there. You have Unleashed Hell in all of her glory. A mouthy brassy 5ft 2 walkin talkin in your face with a damn good attorney and more attitude than you have intellect Hell. See the smile? This particular version of Hell needs breakfast. You'll do. Been a while since I chewed up a scrawny pompous for no reason electively stupid inferior lowlife scumbag. I haven't forgotten how though. Far from it. I cut my mental cannibal teeth on high priced attorneys in Armani suits. You have no idea the ride you are in for. You really shouldn't have gone there. Really. Mallory is sweet. Her mother is not.

Off to work. With a smile. The anticipation is incredible.

Listening to: The Eyes of Texas
Reading: Dantes Inferno

HOOK 'EM HORNS

Seems much has changed recently ,,in many areas,,in many ways. A fresh start never hurts. Well sometimes it hurts,,but sometimes it's forced on us. We deal with it. Our options here are? Exactly. Head up, shoulders back, chocolate in each hand,,we deal with it.

So many thoughts. New Orleans,,a favorite city,,she will bounce back. Her people,,they too will bounce back. One of my patients ,,a beautifully elegant woman in her 70s,,she held my hand and walked the hospital grounds with me this week and talked. And talked. And cried. And talked. She looked at me with tears running down her cheeks and told me the story. A wonderful story. A little girl in long ago New Orleans. Skipping down the sidewalk in front of her grandmothers house. Playing hide and seek in the lush green yards behind the wrought iron fences. Swinging from the low hung branches of the massive ancient trees. Courting on the wide front porch under the watchful eyes of her extended family. A wedding reception in the backyard. Giving birth in the upstairs room where generations of her family had drawn their first breath. Watching her own family grow. Burying her husband of nearly 50 years. The comfort that family and friends bring. The grandfather clock that had marked her every hour for her entire life. The fragrant blooms that had welcomed spring to her city, to her neighborhood, to her world,,for generations and generations. The fish in the pond that she and her grandson fed every day just as she and her grandmother had done. The tatted lace christening gown worn by every baby in the family for as long as anyone could remember. She herself had worn it as had her grandmother and her grandmothers mother. The kneading board for making biscuits and Sunday rolls,,touched by loving hands that ruled the kitchen in the family home for countless generations. The little things. Gone. All gone. Memories and tears are all she and her family have left. Her grandson will not court from those steps. Her daughter will not take a grandbaby to see the fish in the backyard. The clock has stopped marking the hours. I cannot fathom her loss. It is beyond the scope of my reality. Wearing jeans,,,her first encounter with denim,, that someone else had selected and donated to a center and a tshirt left over from a fundraiser,, this elegant graceful woman shed tears of gratitude to the Texas people that were befriending and helping her,,and tears of sorrow at what she had been pulled away from and lost forever. It wasn't just "stuff". It was the lifeblood of her family. It was her life,,her entire history. Her familys history. All gone. No more feather beds in third story bedrooms. No more clipping flowers from the cutting garden. No more recipe cards handwritten in the elaborate painstaking penmanship of her grandmother. Gone. Washed away. Pray for them,,these new Texans. Try to understand or even imagine their loss. How would we,,the proud arrogant Texans that we are,,respond? Pray for us all.

Listening to: Marc Broussard
Reading: Revelations