Fields

"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it." Shug Avery. 


This is hands down my favorite line in Alice Walkers book, The Color Purple. I'm sure it does piss God off when we don't notice things. "Hello, I've made an entire field of flowers! Put your smart phones down now or I will smite your asses!" To avoid the smiting, I make sure I not only notice fields of purple I admire them. Let's face it, I've made God mad enough...I need all the help I can get! And admiring flowers is easy, especially purple ones. But one day when I was on my way home from the hospital I passed a field of a different color. This field was so beautiful I'm sure not noticing it would've been grounds for immediate smiting. And it wasn't even purple! I was coming around a curve on a country road. The sun was low in the sky but still shining brightly. To my left was a field of what I've decided must be soybeans. 

Every leaf was illuminated by the angle of the sun. It was the most brilliantly vibrant field of green I've ever seen. It made me so happy. When I passed it the next morning the angle of the sun was just about the same. Same glow, same vibrance. I looked forward to passing this field every morning and evening. I wondered what was it that made me enjoy this field of green so much? It's never been one of my favorite colors. Why did I smile every time I drove by? (It's a 45 minute commute...what did I have to do other than ponder fields?)


This is my conclusion. When I looked at this field of plants I did not have dreams of tofu scrambles. I saw how very alive, how vital it was. Green, the color of spring, of life and renewal. I saw plants, new life. I saw the rebirth of myself. A 42 year-old woman who has shrugged off winter and is ready for spring...

The Beyu Caffe

http://www.beyucaffe.com/

The thought of my last post, regarding death, and now this one about food brings a bemused smile to my face. Maybe it seems an odd jump but I witnessed a woman's love for her family. It was beautiful and I appreciate beauty in all forms. In a painting, the pattern of raindrops on the window, in the above cup of coffee.

I was drawn to the Beyu Caffe because of the name. Be you. Poetic. I've eaten there three times. Once with Bran, once alone and once with Boy and Ms. Finicky...not a crime fighting duo. Brandy was immediately turned off by the ladies room. Someone had shaved in the sink. I was so enthralled with the smells and sights I didn't care. For heaven's sake...they didn't shave in the kitchen! 

This is the place I'd been looking for. Decadent vegetarian food (yes decadent and vegetarian go together), chocolate and coffee. Woo hoo! I was so happy I didn't mind the inept waitress. Poor thing, I swear there was a thought bubble above her head with things like, "Wonder why those ladies are looking at me? I wish I had a sparkly ball. Hmm...did I remember to shave both legs or did I do the left leg twice again?" Goat cheese quesadillas with avocado cream are worth this to me. I'm that easy.

The second time I was alone. It was the day Brandy left and I wanted a pick me up. I got there around brunch and sat at the bar intent on drowning my sorrows with coffee. The bartender told me the special...something with eggs, mushrooms, cheese and peppers. It was so fabulous I forgot I hate mushrooms. The woman sitting beside me struck up a conversation about one of my biggest loves in life, dancing. She was on break from an all day dancing seminar. I got the scoop on where to do Salsa and Swing if I was ever inclined. What could have been a sad little meal turned into a delightful experience.

The third time I took Boy and Ms. Finicky. We'd just walked out of a place a block away because horrors...there was no kids menu! (I didn't feel like anything on their menu either.) Beyu has no kids menu but they have a gorgeous dessert case when you first walk in. They were sold because yes, my children will sell their principles for a piece of chocolate cake. Our lovely waitress skillfully led Ms. Finicky to the most appropriate choice for children, she loved it. Boy got wings...it's hard to mess those up. They both want to go back. Incidentally I saw the waitress I had the first time and I swear I heard her mumbling something about a sparkly ball.

A Glimpse of Dying

Crying used to make me uncomfortable. No matter who was doing the crying, me or someone else, I hated it. I spent years avoiding doing it, even viewed it as a weakness. Until I became a therapist.

Therapy is a safe place for my patients. All emotions are free to flow. Anger, fear, resentment, even tears. Their recovery, ability to stand, to walk has been placed into my hands. They have to trust me. If they want to be mad at their disease, fine, be mad. If they want to take it out on me, I can take it. I've been cussed at, thrown out of a room, had objects thrown at me. I always come back with a smile on my face. Let's try again. I've given funeral home recommendations and held hands while someone cried about their impending death. I feel honored when a patient talks to me about their death. They're sharing a huge moment with me. I don't take that lightly and I never try to change the subject.

As I approached the room of bed number one I could see she was asleep. Curled into a ball, buried under a mountain of blankets. The only visible part of her was her colorful knit hat peeking out of the blankets. I knocked. "Hey, you ready for therapy?" She woke and flashed me her ever present smile. She has one of the pluckiest, sweetest attitudes. "I guess I'll try." We walked down to the unusually empty therapy gym. "So are you prepared to go home tomorrow?" We'd been working for a week to rebuild strength lost by chemo. The plan was to go home the next day and return the following day to begin another round of chemo.She sighed. "I'm ready to go home yes. I'm not ready for another treatment. I'm so tired. I try to stay positive for my son and for my husband..." Then she very matter of factly tells me. "I'm going to cry now." And with that she did. She cried out of anger for having cancer, fear of leaving her family, resentment and fatigue, she wanted to stop fighting. This brave, tiny little woman didn't want her family to know how scared she was and how ready to be finished with the fight. I sat while she cried it all out. I didn't offer platitudes. I offered the only thing in my power at that moment. My ear and a box of tissues. 

It was enough. 

Dame's Chicken and Waffles - Durham

http://www.dameschickenwaffles.com/

Possibly you're thinking the same thing I did when I first heard Chicken and Waffles. My thought was eeeeewwwww! But I let my son, Alex, pick the restaraunt. Up to this point he'd been forced to eat whatever I'd chosen. I like a menu with "healthy" food which means gross to a teenager. Fried chicken and waffles...what more could a boy want? The finicky nine year-old was happy once she heard the word waffle. Off to Dame's we went.

It's a relatively small menu. I ordered what you see above, the Frizzled Fowl. Panko breaded chicken on top of a waffle with blueberry schmear, drizzled with plum sauce and served with syrup. OMG. So good. If I worked at this place I'd weigh five hundred pounds. I found the use of schmear for the different flavored butters delightful. I just like the word schmear. Yiddish words always make me want to sit on my porch and yell, "Get off my lawn!" I should learn more of them. Alex was equally pleased with his chicken and chocolate schmear. Piper was a little intimidated by all the schmear business. "Don't you have butter?" she wanted to know. I made an executive decision that she needed to try the maple pecan schmear. She loved it. We will definitely go back before our adventure is over.

THE KIDS ARE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Finally, finally my kids are here! Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh, happy sigh.

Maria Parham Medical Center

My first day at the hospital was an interminably long one. Nine hours of orientation. I've never been so oriented in my life! At least that's what I thought until I got lost on my second day. I was trying to find the rehab floor from the ICU and ended up walking in on a surgery. I have no idea what type of surgery was happening because I ran like the wind.

 A few days later I got trapped in the stairwell. I had to go down one floor so I opted to take the stairs. Healthier and much quicker. But the door to get off the stairs was locked. And so was the next one...and the next one. I had to go to the first floor, find my way to the elevator without bursting in on a surgery and then back up three floors to get where I was trying to go. I mentioned the irony of the "Take the Stairs for Your Health" signs that are posted on every wall in the stairwell to a co-worker. "Take the stairs, because you have no choice sucker." "Oh, your id badge opens those doors." Sigh. Perhaps I should have paid more attention during orientation. Feeling stupid I tried the stairs again. I waved that id badge all around the door to no avail. I'm sure I looked like the Karate Kid doing "wax on and wax off". Back to the first floor and back to the co-worker who told me to use my id badge. "Oh, it doesn't work on THOSE stairs." AHHHH!!!

If getting lost weren't enough I'm dealing with a 26 year-old co worker who I may strangle with ace wrap. I'm 42. I've been a therapist for ten years. He's been a therapist for 2. He constantly double checks me. "Do you think you can handle that patient?", "If you can't handle it, come find me." Uh-huh. I'll aimlessly wander about the hospital looking for you. Maybe I'll get to see a cool surgery while I'm at it. I'm not about rocking the boat on a temp job. I can deal with the pup for two months. He's a nice kid and has potential to be a good therapist so I amuse myself by calling him Skippy or Junior any chance I get.  

The Mood Ring

I found a mood ring. I got a pretty big charge out of these when I was little so I slid it onto my finger. I expected it would turn black or brown or something indicating ugliness inside. Imagine my surprise when it turned a brilliant shade of blue. (For those not as well versed in mood ring, that means happy.)

Happy...Me...???!!!!!!!

I thought it was a malfunction but others have tried it on and gotten different results. On me, it always turns bright blue. What could this mean? The only logical answer is that I must be happy. I realize I've put a lot of thought and confidence into what is essentially a toy but come on...blue every time? That has to mean something! If only I had a magic 8 ball to ask!!