I love it when a puzzle is mostly done and I can see it like this in the light- just puzzle shapes and the outlines of missing pieces. This "pieces within pieces" one is especially neat.
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Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Neat!
Last night around bedtime, I sat down with Chris and started scrolling through Facebook on my fancy new phone and I came across this post from KRNV, a local news station:
"Brandon (Their meterologist) is saying the International Space Station is brighter now and visible during the evening. It looks as if it will be a great sight tonight. Grab the kids if they are still up. 10:26-10:30. Appearing in the NNW and fading in the ENE sky. It will be a bright white dot moving at about 17,000mph and over 200 miles above Earth. If you don't catch it tonight, we have attached viewing opportunities over the next several days."
I checked the time. I read the post aloud to Chris. He asked the time. 10:20.
He leapt off the couch and ran out the front door. I got to the front door and he called back to me to grab the keys. I called Ant, who came out in pajamas. "Grab some shoes!" The dogs followed us as we scrambled.
"Come on!" yelled Chris.
He asked why we were bringing the dogs along and both Ant and I told him the dogs were excited and wanted to go for a ride. We piled into the car and Chris drove us out of the neighborhood.
"Time check!"
"10:24."
I've got a sweatshirt but I can't put it on because Riley is already in my lap. We get out of the neighborhood and Chris fakes right, left, and straight while trying to figure out which direction is going to get us as far away from the lights as quickly as possible. He chooses left and we cruise towards Red Rock. I read the post aloud so Ant knows what on earth is going on.
"Time check!"
"10:25."
We're headed down Red Rock Road when Chris sees it and yells. He pulls the Dodge into the gravel shoulder, hazards on, people out, dogs have to stay in the car. We lean against the hood and watch this light- it looked more pinkish than white- haul ass across the sky. It doesn't sound very fast to say that it crossed the sky in four minutes, but it was 200 miles up and moving at 17,000 mph. That's about 283 miles per minute. I have seen the International Space Station with my own eyes, or at least what I am told is the International Space Station.
When the pink light faded out of sight, we piled back in the car and drove back to the house, all excited over our mini adventure.
This timetable of future viewing opportunities is a pain in the ass to post, so check facebook or try to click here.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
A yogi practices spiritual insight.
This morning a vet wanted to know when his narcotics were coming. I found the prescription and told him when they were sent out. He was surprised to learn that- he thought he'd be picking them up. Someone has to sign for that package, so he wanted to know when he needed to be at home. We get a daily email with tracking numbers, but I had no email for Monday or today. I gave him my best estimate and waited for acceptance of this information, but this guy was still marveling that someone marked "mail" instead of "pick up." Dude. There are people waiting. I'm sitting there wondering why he's still on the phone and suddenly my computer dings and there's today's email with tracking numbers and what do you know, he's on the list. Instantly, I get to answer my own question: THAT is why he was still on the phone.
My boss's husband died Friday morning. I know he was sick, but I don't know how much that helps.
"How sad," I said to my coworker- a nurse.
"Yes, well these things happen," John said. "Are you doing okay?"
He's in charge while my boss is gone, and yesterday he handed out info on the memorial service, which maybe two of us can go to because it's during work, and we must man the phones, but there was also a viewing. As soon as I saw it wasn't Monday I was relieved. I didn't have to think about it until late last night. I've been to one funeral, but never a viewing, and the only dead bodies I've seen were on TV. I presented my conundrum to Chris, who said he doesn't like going to those and I should go if I have a morbid fascination. Well, there was only one person who was going to give me the right answer, so I texted Mom. I got the response back early this morning, which was exactly what I expected to hear: Go. Wear something nice.
I thought about bringing nice pants to change into as I pulled them on. I got in the car feeling proud because it was too late to waffle or dodge- I was already dressed to go. At work, someone had posted the obituary, and I read about the man I was going to see. He fished, he was a father... and every year he competed in a sand castle competition. As the day wound down, I overheard some coworkers discussing the route and asked to join their caravan.
We arrived when the hearse did. We went in, signed the guest book, hugged our boss, met her daughter, and hovered near the back as the coffin was brought in. John, the nurse, was there, and was the only one of us who could socialize in a sane fashion.
Another of our nurses suggested we get in line and I positioned myself behind my mentor. I told her this was news for me; she said to pause and say a prayer for him. As we approached, I caught a scent that was sweet and unfamiliar and when I realized what it was I almost gave Melinda a flat tire. Then I turned to see.
He didn't look like his picture in the obituary, but that was small and black and white. He looked different than I pictured anyway. I paused and told him that I was going to ask to see his sand castles.
Awkwardness abounded as my group said their goodbyes and left the relatives behind. The only person sitting down was likely the father. He was a very old man with suspenders, a bald head and a little belly. He looked very sad and I wished I could get over my own discomfort to sit with him or say anything. Instead, I left with my group and outside I said I was glad to be with them. They agreed.
There were four of us, and John came by himself. I know two other nurses were coming, but I felt sad that more of us weren't there. Then I felt glad I went, awkwardness and all.
At home, Chris was busy and I went to lay down. He came in a while later and asked how it was.
"Messes with your head, doesn't it?"
He sat down and pulled me back into his arms and let me cry for all the sadness I saw. I said something about how I had never even met this guy, and that's when I realized that as much as that rocked me, I have no memories to connect me to him, no memories of his life. I don't know how I made it to 33 without seeing a dead body, but I imagine the buildup was bad enough without it being someone I love dearly. Aha. I don't want to say this was all for a reason, but maybe just that it has its reasons. I'm sent right back to the idea that while sad things happen, and sadness has its place, opportunities and insights appear as if the universe is speaking to you. Just like my phone call this morning, finding out why the vet was still on the phone.
And something else occurred to me tonight as I processed the things that nobody wants to process: a Yogi Berra quote. You know the one.
"You should always go to other people's funerals, otherwise, they won't come to yours."
I always found it funny and forgettable until tonight, when I got that those "other people" aren't the deceased ones, they are the ones who are left behind. Thanks for the always sound advice, Mom.
My boss's husband died Friday morning. I know he was sick, but I don't know how much that helps.
"How sad," I said to my coworker- a nurse.
"Yes, well these things happen," John said. "Are you doing okay?"
He's in charge while my boss is gone, and yesterday he handed out info on the memorial service, which maybe two of us can go to because it's during work, and we must man the phones, but there was also a viewing. As soon as I saw it wasn't Monday I was relieved. I didn't have to think about it until late last night. I've been to one funeral, but never a viewing, and the only dead bodies I've seen were on TV. I presented my conundrum to Chris, who said he doesn't like going to those and I should go if I have a morbid fascination. Well, there was only one person who was going to give me the right answer, so I texted Mom. I got the response back early this morning, which was exactly what I expected to hear: Go. Wear something nice.
I thought about bringing nice pants to change into as I pulled them on. I got in the car feeling proud because it was too late to waffle or dodge- I was already dressed to go. At work, someone had posted the obituary, and I read about the man I was going to see. He fished, he was a father... and every year he competed in a sand castle competition. As the day wound down, I overheard some coworkers discussing the route and asked to join their caravan.
We arrived when the hearse did. We went in, signed the guest book, hugged our boss, met her daughter, and hovered near the back as the coffin was brought in. John, the nurse, was there, and was the only one of us who could socialize in a sane fashion.
Another of our nurses suggested we get in line and I positioned myself behind my mentor. I told her this was news for me; she said to pause and say a prayer for him. As we approached, I caught a scent that was sweet and unfamiliar and when I realized what it was I almost gave Melinda a flat tire. Then I turned to see.
He didn't look like his picture in the obituary, but that was small and black and white. He looked different than I pictured anyway. I paused and told him that I was going to ask to see his sand castles.
Awkwardness abounded as my group said their goodbyes and left the relatives behind. The only person sitting down was likely the father. He was a very old man with suspenders, a bald head and a little belly. He looked very sad and I wished I could get over my own discomfort to sit with him or say anything. Instead, I left with my group and outside I said I was glad to be with them. They agreed.
There were four of us, and John came by himself. I know two other nurses were coming, but I felt sad that more of us weren't there. Then I felt glad I went, awkwardness and all.
At home, Chris was busy and I went to lay down. He came in a while later and asked how it was.
"Messes with your head, doesn't it?"
He sat down and pulled me back into his arms and let me cry for all the sadness I saw. I said something about how I had never even met this guy, and that's when I realized that as much as that rocked me, I have no memories to connect me to him, no memories of his life. I don't know how I made it to 33 without seeing a dead body, but I imagine the buildup was bad enough without it being someone I love dearly. Aha. I don't want to say this was all for a reason, but maybe just that it has its reasons. I'm sent right back to the idea that while sad things happen, and sadness has its place, opportunities and insights appear as if the universe is speaking to you. Just like my phone call this morning, finding out why the vet was still on the phone.
And something else occurred to me tonight as I processed the things that nobody wants to process: a Yogi Berra quote. You know the one.
"You should always go to other people's funerals, otherwise, they won't come to yours."
I always found it funny and forgettable until tonight, when I got that those "other people" aren't the deceased ones, they are the ones who are left behind. Thanks for the always sound advice, Mom.
Published with Blogger-droid v2.0.4
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