I work with mostly a kick ass team of nurses and nurses' aides.
But there are a few, we'll call them young adults though the adult part is a stretch, who bug the shit out of me. They're constantly texting, talking about their various baby daddies, and whining about every task I assign them.
If all of that isn't enough to make me want to secretly sterilize the lot of them, there is the fucking slang. One word in particular sends old lady 'kids these days' shivers down my spine;
"Hey Tulpen, Sandy just legit threw up all over the place."
Like, ya know, my generation, like, never said anything like that irritating.
Other people's kids don't thrill me a whole lot. But friend Sally's three year old Lenny is the cutest little dude I've ever met.
I could tell you a hundred adorable and wrong things he's said about his Woody. His doll from Toy Story.
And the other day? His sister did something mean to him, made him cry. Sally told him to confront his sister about it. He marched up to her, still crying;
"You scared my feelings!"
Sitting in the living room this past weekend, I heard an unfamiliar electronic buzz from the playroom.
Upon investigation, found Owen conversing with an interpreter on his new video phone. She was telling him that he'd dialed the wrong number. He was telling her about Spiderman. And Iron Man.
He was wearing Bea's Snow White dress.
Bea has been getting better at giving interviews on camera.
Here, she talks about what she would like next Christmas:
Two Deaths at work on Monday. Both after long happy lives. Both expected.
Addie gave me the honor of waiting until myself and other nurse Peg were at her side to take her final breaths.
Never do I feel of more use than when given the opportunity to stroke a person's head, and hold a person's hand, and tell them they are loved as they leave the world.
The next night, I had the pleasure of packing up Addie's things with the help of her longtime roommate, the delightfully schizophrenic Mandy.
We sorted through her clothes, picking out a few items that we were sure Addie would have wanted Mandy to have.
We took the time to look at each picture as we took it off the wall, trying to figure out which young boy was which, as we'd only seen them as grown men.
We laughed at Addie's hair and dresses in their full 70's glory.
We found tucked in the bottom of a drawer, Addie's high school year book; from 1934. And flipped through the pages until we found her. One of the prettier girls in the class she was.
Beside each photo, was a poem, written specifically for that student.
I of course grabbed a pen and wrote Addie's down;
She cooks, she sews, she washes -
A wonderful wife she'll make.
There'd be a rosy future,
If Eddie this hint would take.
Her life had indeed been rosy.
It hadn't been spent with Eddie.
And in that same yearbook, next to a picture of a name on what appeared to be a headstone, this poem;
Cal likes to "play around"
With bullets, guns, and knives;
And so it might be safer,
If cats do have 9 lives.
How creeptastic is that?
I think I've always been a sucker for an accent.
I remember as a kid, being thoroughly annoyed at the fact that a person could have a cool accent, but that accent disappeared when they sang.
So still, when I hear an accent come through a singing voice, it makes me very happy.
Like this guy;
Gawd. That voice turns me inside out.
And? I've added this song to the list I'd like played at my funeral.
I mean legit?