September days

While training for the Avon Walk in the early fall I was struck by the distinctive September days, distinctive now perhaps because 9/11/01 made crystal blue skies with white puffy clouds and a hint of chill in the air the collective memory of September days for those who lived through that unforgettable time. I pondered the tenth Anniversary of September 11th and the tenth Anniversary of that magical nite where nearly 300 of us gathered and toasted
In loving memory of those we lost...
In grateful tribute to those who serve...
We shall raise our glasses and celebrate life tonite.

During those ponderings it occurred to me that September seems to be a month of change. I am not saying that this is simply because of September 11th. It seems that this has always been, from the changes in the weather or the countless years I headed back to school or September 1996 when our beloved Nicky passed and three as yet unborn children, Abigail Nicole, Nicholas, and Gianna Nicole, received their names, or September 28th of 2001, the day I married my best friend or September of 2007 when Mom was diagnosed or September 2010 when Abby headed off to Kindergarten in an outfit that Grandma Goose Goose didn’t buy.
While so much of my life is as I imagined it would be after ten years the idea that Mom would not be here to celebrate and remember was definitely not what I imagined. As time marches on and does it job of dulling the pain and drying the tears of the past ... the emotions can still be easily brought to the surface by something as simple as a white puffy cloud. The toast made that night reminds me, and perhaps now some of you, to recall not only what we lost on September 11th 2001. 411 souls who perished running in to the towers, and 2585 more who perished trying to escape them, the Pentagon and a plane in Pennsylvania. We lost a sense of security and innocence we should never fully regain. And less globally perhaps, they serve to remind me to celebrate and appreciate what we have and those we cherish because you never know how a random Tuesday could be the day that changes your life forever...
So, as I have the past three years I will head out in a sea of Pink, to Fight the Pink Fight… so that Abby won’t have to… face any more than the changes in the weather and back to school in her many Septembers to come.

Standards and Expectations

I am an ICU nurse, therefore my standards for and expectations of people are low. For those of you who function outside of my world where everything is "stat" and triage (prioritizing) is a means of survival (for me and those entrusted to my care) not just a mere necessity, I will explain the first sentence. In the simplest of terms...if you are not dead or I am not pounding on your chest to keep you from being dead ...you are golden. Unless of course, you are one of the many unfortunate persons whose family thinks that continuing to live long past the expiration date of ones vital organs (and yes the mind is a vital organ) is an entitlement. For these unfortunate souls, the opposite applies. If you are dead and I am no longer being forced to keep you alive to satisfy some member of your family who has obviously lost one of their vital organs, you are golden. On the other hand, my standards for and expectations of myself are very high. They have to be. If they are not, people, (not the ones in the second category listed above) die.
I am not oblivious to the fact that not every job is quite like mine and that my sense of reality (not to mention my sense of humor, smell and sensibility in general) is somewhat skewed by what I do. However, I am at a loss for understanding why so many people are willing and apparently very much able to let their standards and expectations of their profession of choice go consistently unmet.
I realize that no one will die if I can't get a couch or if I have to make two trips to the tire place to get the holes fixed ( ok... so the tire thing, yeah someone could have died, but they didn't and that's not really my point). But is it really outside normal expectations to think that the people entrusted to get me a couch and fix my tire do so in a timely and effecient manner. By this I mean, less than eighteen months for the couch and fix both holes the first time and not send me off with my two kids on a leaking tire. I won't even mention the personal standards of the guy cutting his nails in the waiting room of Mavis Tire.
I often wonder why the powers that be seem to have such a twisted sense of humor when it comes to my life. The best I have come up with is that it is a big Karma b****slap for my own twisted sensibility.   Yes, this entire rant was all the result of a single 24 hours in the life that is mine.  I am however grateful for the evening that ended it all and apologize to the children who's plans were altered as a result of the chaos that is me...