I think it’s highly amusing the length to which I will go to justify my toys. Take this Blackberry for example, I got it for a variety of reasons, but really it’s not essential to life. Hopefully, I will use it in a positive manner and be able to do things like post from WYD, etc.
So now I will have GPS and stuff and actually know what’s on my calendar.
Still a Crackberry though — I’ve gone Evil Empire!
Some things just make me smile:
I knew God approved of coffee!!!! 🙂
I just may have to try this out! 🙂 How funny!
Okay, I had to go to the store before going home today. Since the grocery store which I have been shopping at lately is right by my church, I thought it would be a great idea to stop by the chapel for a little while and “waste some time with the Lord.”
After praying for a bit, I decided to grab a Bible sitting in the pew. One of the ways He speaks to us is through scripture, right? So, I pick it up and open it, not knowing really what I expect to read, and then the thought comes into my head, “Hey, why not something from Sirach today?” I agree with that, and flip to Sirach. Then, this leaps off the page at me:
Sirach 30:14-17
[14] Better off is a poor man who is well and strong in constitution
than a rich man who is severely afflicted in body.
[15] Health and soundness are better than all gold,
and a robust body than countless riches.
[16] There is no wealth better than health of body,
and there is no gladness above joy of heart.
[17] Death is better than a miserable life,
and eternal rest than chronic sickness.
Now, just what is He trying to tell me?!?!?!?!
And that’s not all! After this, I head for the grocery store, still internally squawking, and start my browsing for dinner-type items. Then, I notice what’s playing on the radio/grocery sound system….
A song I’ve never heard before, which is mostly repeating the same line over and over….
“Baby, just let yourself go.”
And every once in a while, to mix it up is a, “I’ll be coming for you.”
Perhaps I’m just a little paranoid over my medical tests…. 🙂 But seriously, He couldn’t have given me a “Do not be afraid for I am with you” or even “It’s a beautiful day” ??
1. In our catechism class last night, we were talking about some of the new teachings of Jesus, compared to the Jewish Law. Which, of course, prompted thoughts like this to circulate within my head, “If you even look at a Big Mac with lust, you have already added calories to your butt.” Curse you, large, splashy billboards!
2. Excerpt from yesterday’s dental appointment:
Hygienist: “Do you really go to Mass every day?”
Me: “No. I just made that up because I thought it would make for a good story.”
“What?!? Seriously??”
“No.”
*Her eyes get big, stares at me*
I continue, “No. Really. I go every day.”
Her: ” ‘I just made that up because I thought it would make for a good story.’ Whoo! Personality like yours, you aren’t going to stay single for long!”
“And just today, I got my annulment in the mail….”
3. Christine comes over to ask me for help with the label printer, since I have (basically) a NukeE, EE, and Master Lab Tech qual. How does she know the printer is working? Somehow…. there are labels printing out that say “Jenn is Wicked Ninja! :)” Don’t know how that happened…. 🙂
Yesterday, as I was in my parents’ kitchen talking to them, a little body comes flying in the door and hugs me.
“I didn’t know you were here!” says Vanessa. Before I could say anything else, she accuses, “And you went to see the Pope! And you didn’t take ME!”
Here’s the part where I stand here and look a little stupid. Why? Because, 1. I had no idea Nessie would want to go with me and 2. Vanessa (her mother legally changed her name to Vasaliki a few years back) is Greek Orthodox.
I’m not so sure her mother would want me to take her 9-year-old little girl to see the Bishop of Rome. But how to explain this to Va? So, I tell her that our churches are very similar, but there’s a difference in that her church doesn’t see the Bishop of Rome as her head. (Don’t they look to the Bishop of Constantinople?) She looks blankly at me, then says, “Oh! I know the bishops! We see them all the time!” Mmmm. Not quite what I meant. Let’s try again.
“Do you know about the filioque?”
“The what?” (Yeah, I predicted that answer….)
“Well, we believe that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and from the Son; your church believes that it just comes from the Father.”
“Right! Father, Son and Holy Spirit!”
“No, no. I mean that the Holy Spirit comes from both, not just the one.”
“Right! The Holy Spirit comes from the Father and the Son!” (Oops! I may have just bridged the schism.)
And, Vanessa’s reflections on Mass, “Sometimes, the priest will talk really fast, and I can’t understand what he’s saying, so I’ll just sit there and think about what I will do for the rest of the day. I’ll be like, ‘Do I want to ride my bike, or watch TV?’.”
And on speaking Greek:
“Okay, Ness, my priest speaks Greek, teach me something I can say to him.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something you say to your Mom.”
She says a phrase that I repeat. “Okay, what did I say?”
“I love you.”
“Um, maybe teach me a different phrase? I’m not sure he’d take that too well.”
She says another phrase, which I repeat. “And what’s that?”
“Good morning.”
“Well, that’s better. Hmmm. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know that I can now say ‘Good morning! I love you!’ in Greek!”
And then, my Orthodox-corrupting is interrupted when her brother, Petros, comes in to tell her that Grandpa needs her to come home to help clean the fish (calamari). 🙂
It can often get amusing when your dictation software confuses your medical dictionary with your theological dictionary:
“I said, ‘anastomosis,’ not ‘a nasty Moses’!!!”
Earlier today, one of our nurses came up to me and mentioned that an insurance company denied a patient a PET scan because they only approve so many PET scans per year, and this particular patient (not one of mine) was not on their list. Nevermind if it’s a medically necessary study, or the fact that the patient hasn’t had one before. “We gave a PET scan to “Frank,” so “Bill” will be unable to have one.” What kind of policy is that? Assuming that you are an insurance company and you have 100 patients and you only approve 5 PET scans a year, how do you determine who gets one? Alphabetically? Certainly they do not have the kind of information to be able to know who is worse off from a medical perspective, especially if a PET can tell you about the extent of the disease, and that’s precisely what they are limiting.
But then, she said the best thing of all. Apparently the insurance representative told her that it was okay to deny the authorization for the PET scan, since, “The pancreas is an experimental organ anyway.”
Really? Huh. And here I thought that God had been making people with pancreases since Adam and Eve. Apparently not. Since when did people start becoming equipped with a pancreas?
So, they are saying that God is experimenting with the human body?? (Obviously, they cannot be arguing from a Darwinian model, since random mutation and evolutionary processes can hardly qualify as an “experiment.” You kinda need sentience for that, in order to evaluate results.)
What? To see if people with pancreases sinned less than people without pancreases? But, God is all-knowing. He doesn’t need to conduct experiments. If we are truly free-willed, then the presence or absence of a pancreas (assuming that a pancreas affects the decisions that we make, morally speaking) would have to have no affect on our decisions, or then God would be skewing things either in His favor, or out of His favor, as it comes to our choosing to be obedient or not.
So what type of experiment could God be running that He wouldn’t know the answer to already, and that wouldn’t influence our will?
And more to the point, how is it that this insurance company is privy to God’s experiments? If they have some sort of direct pipe to know His mind on things — I want in on that! It would save me a lot of grief if I already knew the correct answer/response to things, instead of trying to discern on my own, because I *know* that *my* thinking is flawed.
But okay, let’s examine this pancreas issue for just a moment. My vote is that the pancreas would increase our tendency to sin. Why do I say this? Well, if your blood sugar is either too high or too low, then you are more prone to mood swings, and behaving poorly because your emotions may be erratic and you are irritable. This of course supposes that the previous system (in the non-pancreas people) worked perfectly.
Of course, the other option is that the pancreas is *not* an experimental organ, and is an integral part of God’s design for the body.
Hahahahaha! Just now, S was making a pot of coffee for her and Dr. K (as the only 2 people in the office without Starbucks addictions, who can still drink “normal” coffee). For whatever reason, it doesn’t drain down and fills the little filter bucket, which then overflows, making a huge mess over the counter. I help her clean it up, and she tries again. Same thing. She calls me over for help. Another secretary, K, wanders over to see what the fuss is about. So, now K and S are watching as I try to take the filter-bucket-thing off (which is full of water, grounds and coffee). It sticks on something coming off and hot water, coffee and grounds splash all over me and the surrounding area. (It’s hot!) I was happy it didn’t get K or S. Of course I couldn’t be wearing a dark colored shirt this morning, so I look like I’ve been in a mud fight. We were laughing so hard!
After we clean this up, I say, “Let’s try it again!” (See, I am wise. Or stupid. Something.) “Only this time, we’ll only use 3 cups of water and the filter and see if we can get the water to go through by itself.” Now, picture it: 3 secretaries are huddled around this tiny coffeemaker, watching it brew…hot water. 🙂 This worked fine, so we next try to make a regular pot of coffee again. This time, we actually get it.
Dr. K will be back in about 15 minutes from his meeting before he goes to clinic. I think I shall stand up and say, “I had to fight for it, but I won some coffee for you this morning!”
Whoever said secretarial work is dull was soooo wrong!
Hahaha! Dr. K leaves for clinic, “Don’t touch anything electrical!”
Does anyone else have a recurrent theme of trial in their life? For me, this seems to be laundry.
A little history: Growing up, my mom was the Energizer Bunny of Housekeeping. You would wake up in the morning, head off to the bathroom to get ready for the day, and by the time you returned, your bed was make, your clothes put in the laundry room, things generally straightened and *sniff* is that the scent of furniture polish? Okay, maybe not quite to that extent (on the weekdays, anyway), but truly so much so that when I was 17 and left home to join the Navy — I didn’t know how to operate the washing machine.
One night, I had an overnight watch. One of our RDCs, Petty Officer Hayes (“You people drive me CRAZY!”), asked/told me to (sneakily, since we weren’t supposed to do this at night) do a load of laundry. Our barracks was a huge, long warehouse-type room with dozens of bunk beds on either side of the room with lockers in-between, an office with a cot-bed in case one of the RDCs wanted to overnight with us, and a large bathroom, with a washer and dryer, several sinks, a row of toilet stalls (sans doors) and the “shower room” (imagine a 15 x 10 foot room with 10 or so shower heads, wherein 40 girls at a time would cram in for 10 minutes of cleaning — gotta love the military!). As I followed her over to the washing machine, I looked it over. I didn’t think that this would be that complex of a task; however, I had visions of the washing machine vibrating across the room as suds spewed out of it to drown us all. So, I did the one thing I should have never done — I asked her how one went about using the appliance.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” This is how the “conversation” started. After questioning my intelligence, my parents lack of child-rearing skills, and the wisdom of the United States Government for allowing me entrance into boot camp, she asked one final question, “What rate are you going into?”
“Nukes, Electronic Technician.”
“Figures. May the Lord help us all.” After that, she gave me some basic instruction on what to do and left, giving one final roll of her eyes and shake of her head, her heels clacking loudly on the floor. (“Ain’t no man gonna tell me I can’t wear a skirt!” Our RDCs really had some personality — it was great, when it wasn’t negatively directed towards you.)
I made it through that night without incident, and managed to muddle my way through the first few weeks down in Orlando (although I must say, that many times a group of us would make a “night” of laundry and would tackle this together, hanging out while our cycles ran, since we weren’t supposed to leave our laundry unattended).
Then, I started hanging out with this one guy. I could write volumes about him, but I’ll just say here that he was the type of guy that wore a white T-shirt and ripped jeans with marker written all over them. Sometimes with a vest. No sneakers, but polished shoes. Sometimes the ripped jeans, no shirt, and just the vest. But, before you think him just another scruffy punk, I will have to note that his T-shirt and jeans were always ironed. Oh, yes. He was quite meticulous in his clothing.
And he schooled me in the art of laundry. You must first separate all of your clothes: lights, whites, darks, blacks, “unmentionables,” jeans, heavily soiled items…. The list went on and on. Then you put them in the machine with the appropriate temperature water and kind and quantity of detergent (apparently, you should not use solely powder or solely liquid detergent, there is a difference for a reason). And the reason you do not leave your clothes unattended is so that as soon as the wash cycle ends, you can rescue your clothes from the washer — fold them — and then place them in the dryer. Okay, okay. Separate dryers, again according to the nature of the fabric being dried and how hot, etc, etc. Seriously, fold them. Why? Because if you fold them before putting them into the dryer, you will have less wrinkles. Then, as soon as the dry cycle ends, take them out of the dryer (watch those hot hot little zippers and buttons), and hang up the things that should be hung, and fold the things that should be folded, and make a separate pile for the things which will need to be ironed.
Alrighty then. I was so happy to have proper instruction. I gleefully set about doing my laundry in this manner, but quickly came to find that this meant quite a few washers for not so very many clothes. No matter. I just made sure to grab my roommate’s clothes and my boyfriend’s clothes and lug the whole heap to the laundry house — using about 10 washers and 15 dryers in the process. I did an amazing amount of laundry — all in 90 minutes. (Using more dryers than washers is just practical — small loads dry faster and more completely). Boy, was I happy that the Navy didn’t charge you to use the washers or dryers.
I continued in this fashion until an unfortunate incident in the laundry house one afternoon. After that, I was scared to be in there, especially by myself, and developed an aversion/fear of laundry. So, sadly, to this day, gone is my idealistic and heavily (happily) regimented laundry protocol. What has replaced it?
I now put in the liquid detergent into the cold water, cram in the clothes, set the cycle to “regular,” and let the machine do its thing while I run away. Then, sometime after it has finished, quickly pull the sodden lumps of fabric out, heave them into the dryer and set the machine to “automatic,” and again leave. Pull out of dryer when ready to wear, or when searching for a particular item. Maybe, if it is a new article of clothing, I will keep it separate for a few washings, just in case it decides to bleed or something.
Present day predicament:
I stuff my clothes in the washer, per usual. I have been super extra run-down lately and haven’t attended to my laundry in quite some time, so I really needed to do it. Sometime in the cycle, I hear from across this house an odd noise. I run over to the machine, and it seems to be having an epileptic fit and making a funny clacking sound. Now, I’m familiar with the “unbalanced” noises, and this is not it. It appears to be having the dry heaves trying to run, and failing miserably. I’m not sure what’s going on, and my washer’s only a couple of years old, so there’s no reason to think that it’s dying. So, I try stopping it and restarting it — same thing. I change the cycle from “regular” to “permanent press” — same thing. I see that there’s a ton of water in the basin, and think that maybe if I can get the water to drain, I can stick these clothes in the dryer, then see if I can figure out what’s wrong with the washer. I go to put it on the “spin” cycle. Nothing. No sound, no movement, no recognition of any type that I have given it a command to be followed. Irritating thing, really. I then try to go back to the other stages of the cycle, where at least it was making some hiccuping attempts at functioning. Nothing. Great, now what?
What does anyone do in these cases?
Picks up cell phone, “Mom?”
Unfortunately, Mom doesn’t know what to do either, and suggests that I might have to call someone out to look at the machine. She also suggests looking to see if I had blown a fuse. I’m like, “What? I don’t even know where the fuses are on this darned thing.” She meant for me to look to see if my washer had, in the course of its spasming, popped one of my circuit breakers for the house, and this was why it wasn’t responding. Sound advice. I take a look, and it seems that maybe, maybe one of them isn’t quite as “on” as the others. However, I also note that the light for the laundry room and the light for the dryer are functioning perfectly well, so a lack of power to the room can NOT be the problem. I have electricity.
I hang up and decide to remove the clothes from the basin of water. Hence, the title of this blog entry. As I am doing this, I notice that clothes appear to be choking the poor machine at the base of the agitator. No wonder it’s dying! Poor thing can’t breathe, they are squeezing so hard. It takes much pulling and tugging to try and free the agitator from the homicidal jeans and towels, but after I climbed in the machine myself and went to battle, I eventually won. I left a couple of T-shirts in the washer and tried running the machine. Success!
While the newly liberated machine is happily chugging away with its reduced load, I — in my soaked-with-water-dripping-off-me condition — turn my attention to the circuit panel. I was going to take a look at that one breaker which had appeared to be not quite as on as it could have been. As I am reaching up, water literally running in rivulets down my arms, I pause and think about this for a minute — and decide that I really don’t want to be electrocuted today, and retreat.
Update — an hour and a half later: And THEN…. the dryer dies.
Update #2: What was it that I was saying about electrocution? Since I can’t leave well enough alone, I decided to take another look at the dryer. It has been another couple hours, maybe it is now ready to cooperate and decide to work. Maybe the non-workingness was just…a fluke. So, I go to start it up, and for the first several hundred nanoseconds, I am excited, because it is making sounds like the motor is trying to start and get this puppy going. THEN… a large arc races brightly across the 2 feet of instrument paneling. My hand is still on the controls. I should have been zapped pretty hard — but I wasn’t. After yanking my hand back, I reach over to it again to turn the controls to “off,” or as close to “off,” as I can approximate. I smell that burnt electrical smell and unplug the dryer from the wall. Then, I try to take all the things that would be potential fire hazards away from the immediate vicinity of the dryer. Now, I will wait and see. It should be okay; however, sometimes these electrical things can smolder for days, and I wouldn’t want to go to work tomorrow and come home to find that the house had burned down. Pray for me.
Fr. Machej was celebrating Mass Saturday morning and he was telling us about Mary being co-redemptrix. He says, “She was there when Jesus was born, and through his young adulthood. She was there when the disciples were gathered. Of course, she was there! After all, they had to eat! I don’t think Saint Peter was getting up in the morning making scrambled eggs for Jesus…”
Paroxysm of Giggles / Critical Mass 