And in a breath

Dragged kicking and screaming into the new century, I have finally become the owner of an iPod. A christmas present from B&K, it is a tiny little thing, smaller than a package of matches. I attempted, a few years ago, to join in with everyone else who was finding the soundtrack of their lives, but I could not make the damn mp3 player work. Way too many functions. I want simple from my electronics. I want to push one button, play, and have things happen with ease and simplicity. This seems to have all I desire. Now if I can only get my life’s soundtrack right.

Interesting the music you would choose to define yourself, isn’t it? I have music in my head that I can’t get out. Like the song from 35 years ago that I have searched and searched for. My memory tells me that it was called Beautiful day, by the group It’s a Beautiful Day, but I have been unable to locate the fantasy music in my head.

But there is some I can find…..Blackbird, Free Bird, Copperhead Road. Tonight on the radio I heard Innagoddavida. Wow. Now that is one I think I need. Love songs like that and Don’t Fear the Reaper just are not written anymore. Although I do find death cab for cutie’s, I will follow you into the dark, to be a somewhat Petshop boyish style of dark love songs.

Then there is the song in my head for the Lakeview concert. Mashmakan. Does anyone remember that one? As years go by. The summer of 1970. Lakeview. A night on the verge of promise and life. I horde those snippits of life away in my head, along with the music I can only find wrapped around the memories.

The dead play round and round shyly dancing in bare feet and an innocent sense of lightness.

Tormented angst ridden youth of so long ago, really not so different than tormented angst ridden youth of today. What happened to that girl? Did she get to realize her dreams? Did she even have any? Is she still there under the trees by the lake listening to the years go by? Or living with eyes closed in strawberry fields forever? Perhaps she is still moving from concert to party to eternal summer forever looking for the perfect shore on which to write the sound track of her life.

Do you love me?


And winter it is.

I can tell by the down vest I wear continually and the unshovelled sidewalks and steps and finally by the annual solstice dinner. Pasta to remind us of the leaner years when pasta was all we could afford. Sure we could eat better on this night, but tradition started with pasta and pasta it will be. Of course we are able to add a lot of fresh vegetables, probably imported from south america and chinese oranges, but still the pasta.

Many years have past the sun rise and set of this winter’s night and family has altered through the time. Some are here, some are gone and some new ones added in. Freya, lovely child, made the rounds tonight charming all, just like her namesake. Still it is a family night of food, wine and companions to pass the winters with. Early on we are yawning, and some are napping, as we become our parents and our grandparents.

Off into the cold winter night with songs and laughs and warming cars; baby blankets, bottles and diaper bags. Off to snuggle down under the covers and wish for spring, hoping to sleep away a few more hours of cold.

Here I am, left with cats and presents to wrap and a wonder at what tomorrow will bring.



Fractal Art by Vicky Brago-Mitchell

where have all the flowers gone?

I have to get this down before I forget it in the blur of additional horrors. My last weekend in celestial paediatric triage we were of course short nurses, so I had two intubated and ventilated patients. Because they have been there a long time they are considered ‘stable’ and therefore safe to double. Ha! Both failed cardiac repairs that will turn on you in a heartbeat. Both in withdrawal, the small one’s tube hanging out at least a centimetres (for those who don’t know, in very small people – infants, the difference between the patient being intubated and extubated can be measured by centimetres – intubated is good – means the ventilator is actually getting breaths to the lungs – unplanned extubated is bad – means the baby is going to have to do it alone, with a big hose halfway through their airway).

Anyway, just one of the concerns of healthcare today. But the bigger one was the child with traction on his heart. Ok, I say on his heart, but it was really on his mechanical support devise that was implanted into his heart, but the results would be the same. Seems the devise (a well known city in Germany) was not quite positioned as it should be and the holes did not line up to provide support as advertised, so since the CV surgeon was unavailable, they mcgyvered a traction of 2 pounds attached to the device pulling it so the holes were inline. Of course 2 pounds of traction on a 4 pound person will slowly drag them down the bed….

Laugh, cry, shudder?

Someone should really write a book…..Dr. Markov, the CV surgeon, a small man who wears too much aftershave and who is rather too touchy with the female nursing staff. No Dr. McSteamy or even McDreamy, he likes to give little encouraging pats, squeezes and touches as he passes and has been known to troll the unit for brain dead children when he has a transplant candidate waiting. Able to have tantrums that will allow his elective surgeries to go ahead despite there being no qualified trained nurses to care for the patient after surgery. A skilled surgeon, no doubt, but the rate of post operative infections is rising and no one quite knows why.

Director Synthia Carlyle, a formidable woman who has been climbing the ladder to the top. Knows the party line, knows the public political expressions to give voice to but when it comes to shove – well make sure your personal malpractice insurance is up to date and increased before entering the doors to work.

Ah well, maybe next week – I really should be doing school work..or at the very least christmas shopping.  Now there is a whole other thing to rant on about.