Why there *needs* to be a Santa Claus

Into everyone's lives adversity tramples through. Sometimes there's a lull and relative quiet and then in the space of as little as a few seconds your path or your life is suddenly and irrevocably changed. Perhaps it's a good change but the reality is that it is likely not. A simple sentence can rock the absolute foundation of where you are, it is important to never forget that.

Regardless of your choice of celebration, it is not the day but the season. Not one event but a culmination of traditions that happen to help bring light to the long dark and remind us of things that are important.

It has been a rough year for many of my friends. The economic issues cast a pall over the lives of many. More importantly it's been a year of loss for many, from livelihood to lives. Loved ones taken, no reasons given. The struggle to right oneself from blow after blow begins to become more of a burden then the actual hits even are. When staying down seems like the less exhausting option.

"When you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you." ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

My family is facing a crisis, one that deeply gouges the fabric of our lives and in the space of one day we found our lives and relationships permanently altered. The details truly do not matter, we are all safe and healthy - and these things do shall pass in time. It's just a rocky road right now.

When the maelstrom hit, it took away all interest in the holiday. There were no glad tidings for us. Before I knew it it was shortly before Christmas and I had not yet had time to get a single present, hang a piece of garland. The tree sat forlornly in the garage, the scent of evergreen calling out as we ran from place to place. I pushed through the masses of humanity, snarling to myself about how painful this process was - just to give my kids something to open on Christmas morning.

We went to dinner yesterday, trying to make sense of things and perhaps turn our minds to other matters for a change. While in the middle of the "grown-up" conversation I looked down at Meredith sitting next to me. She was blithely eating some macaroni and cheese and singing "Jingle Bells." I was struck with the realization that despite everything going on around her, her Christmas was still coming.

We went back home and I watched them as I was baking some last minute cookies at the kids request. Owen took over finishing the tree - stringing the lights and helping Meredith hang ornaments. James pulled out the stockings, stopping to check on Santa (via NORAD) periodically. They curled up in front of the TV in a content little tangle, watching a Rudolph special. And as Meredith carefully picked which cookies we were going to leave for Santa it occurred to me that she existed at that moment absolutely secure in the knowledge that despite anything else, that Santa was going to come while she slept. That Mommy's tears and Daddy's worries had no effect on whether or not those reindeer would come. That she had been a good girl and followed the Christmas rules and would be rewarded with happy surprises when she woke up as a result. It was a demonstration of pure faith in something good.

It was enough to rally our worn out spirits. They were in this as much as we were, weren't they? So with the fading smells of freshly baked cookies and our shabby little tree drifting through the chilly house "Santa" went back to work. My husband set up an old train set around the tree (whose skirt remarkably resembles a hospital blanket) and we wrapped gifts until the wee hours of the night. And the stockings were hung by the chimney with care ...

I awoke on Christmas morning to two distinct things. The first was Vinny calling to wish me a Merry Christmas to tell me he was thinking of us. He is a brother I was not given in this life and he has lost dearly this last year, my heart goes out to him and his phone call meant more to me than I can say - other than I appreciate our common ground. Right on the tail of that were the kids screaming that Santa had come, clamoring for us to get vertical and find our coffee with all due haste so that they could dive into the pretty piles of gifts he'd left for them under the tree.

When does Christmas lose it's magic? Is it a sudden loss or do you gradually develop an appreciation for the concepts of fellowship and family over the clatter of reindeer hooves? As they oohed and ahhed over the stalwart tree with it's little train set, squealing over each gift, there was no strife or pain - just that pure joy and expectation that whatever is next must be good. Owen said at one point, "this is the best Christmas."

So yes, there needs to be a Santa Claus. It does one good to remember that sometimes faith can be its own magic. Perhaps we need more of that.

A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

The week in review

So I’ve spent the last few days at the NJ State EMS Conference in Atlantic City. I have a love/hate relationship with conferences (of any type), mostly because I am not as much of a social creature as many would believe. However I do love the opportunity to get away from life in general for a couple of days and there is something to be said for a quiet hotel room and the ability to order room service.

They had some national level speakers there this year, which was fortunate for me. Having seen the names in print so often, it was interesting to hear the actual voice behind the text. Dr. Bledsoe offered a review of the recent research regarding prehospital intubation. While I approached the topic feeling defensive of my own abilities and with a sense of dread, it was hard to argue the science being presented. I walked away with an appreciation for the situation we’re currently in regarding our scope of practice and a sense of futility because I do not know if we can truly surmount the issues at hand.

For the record, he remains an advocate of prehospital intubation – but there are significant issues in education and competency that should be addressed if we’re truly to be the apex providers in the skill. Skill dilution, O.R. competition, and competency evaluation – these are all trends that we already recognize and know to exist; we can’t pretend that they do not. Yet we see it all the time, we are all guilty of treating the yearly competencies like a joke. Or perhaps we take steps to avoid the skill, or turf it to our partners if we’re unsure. If we do not take ownership and work to become experts on an individual basis, we have nobody to blame but ourselves if future generations find the ability taken from them.

I also had the opportunity to see A.J. Heightman speak for the first time. If you do not know the name then you’ve never picked up an issue of JEMS magazine. He was animated and down-to-earth, I enjoyed listening to him. He did a talk on management lessons taken from the TV series M*A*S*H. It was humorous and injected with anecdotal experience and real case studies that were applicable. While I cannot say that I learned a lot of anything new, it was thoroughly enjoyable and I truly appreciated the analogy. He also spoke at one of the lunch presentations, on professional image. I think he did a very good job pointing out just how much perception people can get from our exterior appearance and practices.

Dwain Pegues spoke on recreational drugs that was, not surprisingly, very well attended. He is a terrific speaker, and it was fun. In fact when his time was up he still had more information, so more than 2/3 of the room didn’t even bother getting up – we listened until they kicked us out.

Dave Langley & Dr. Brabson spoke on the new STEMI Triage Guidelines, which are official as of well … yesterday. It’s exciting to be part of the vanguard that introduces a new practice. This is the first new protocol in awhile that can really, truly, without a doubt, save lives if enacted properly. Based on the Trauma Triage model, it shouldn’t be too hard to adapt and hopefully we will see a difference for people who might otherwise die from an acute myocardial infarction.

Vinny Cisternino did a great talk on Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy, focusing on treating for Carbon Monoxide poisoning. I can say that I learned the most new material here; it was interesting and also cutting edge as far as monitoring goes. It made me want to go research more on when to suspect possible exposures. (Even if Macs don’t appear to have spellcheck, it was still a pretty presentation.)

Entertainment-wise most of us stayed at the Tropicana. While commuting to the Sheraton is not always convenient, it’s less expensive and there’s plenty to do there. Plus who can say no to an Irish Pub right on premises? Ri Ra’s made a lot of money off of everyone. Thaedra introduced me to Irish Car Bombs, evil evil woman that she is. Jason Manes, Dave Strange and I had an absolutely fantastic meal at P.F. Changs and then Dave and I tried out Cuba Libre’s the next night. It was really great food and terrific conversation, it was so nice to be able to do that.

The M*A*S*H Bash was a really good time. I would’ve liked to see a better turn-out; hopefully we can manage that for next year. The guys put in a tremendous effort recreating the “Swamp” and the detail and scale were amazing. Klinger (Tim Brown) arrived dressed for an afternoon tea, parasol and hoop skirt impeccable. Sally was most gracious to her fan club. MB is always a blast to spend time with and it was great meeting new folks as well. The surprise of the night was Mike Stitley, it was so awesome to see him after so much time. If they do it again next year I hope that we can really make it another great time.

I guess that about sums most of it up. I think a lot of people forget that one of the advantages to conferences can be just reconnecting with your peers. Friends and former co-workers who you have not seen in awhile, but with whom you share a fraternal bond that remains. You can pick up the threads and catch up, share some good food and conversation and become richer for it. Walking away with memories and new friends, as well as a CEU or two, is really not such a bad way to spend a couple of days.

Maybe I’ll see some of you at the next one.

Slainte’

And then the big brown dog came ...

Warning: if reading about my desk or any of the other emotional topics I’ve ever posted about have upset you or made you cry – turn back now. This is your only warning.

Every once in a while I will go to ridiculous lengths to do something nice for someone I care about. Chris wanted a dog. “But you have dogs, don’t you?” Why yes, yes we do. The reality is that they are my dogs, there’s really no mistaking that. They sleep at my feet, follow me everywhere and I am quite certain they exist secure in the knowledge that on some days I am the only thing between them and a well-placed bullet (if you ask my husband). So, daddy wanted a dog of his very own. One that would be devoted to him and he could have by his side and not consider canine homicide.

While at work one night we were perusing breeding websites for Presa Canarios, the breed that he was really interested in. Expensive and difficult to get we were just window shopping. After all, we’re more of the “yank from the jaws of certain death” type. Most of our wee beasties are from shelters or dumpsters. In a moment of pure serendipity our friend Vashti happened by and looked over our shoulder and said, “Oh you like Presas? My friend and I just bred a pair.” We went to see them; there were two left, gangly creatures with monstrous paws and velvet-covered bricks for heads. As exciting as it was, we discussed it like grown-ups and came to the conclusion that even at the reduced price she was kind enough to offer that it just wasn’t a good idea. Or at least that’s what I let him think.

Within a couple of weeks I had the covert operation all worked out. I brought Heidi in on the plan, it was the first significant secret we got to share and she worked hard not to slip around her father. Under cover of a trip to Morristown on an errand I drove a bit further and picked up this hulking chocolate brown puppy. Tucking her safely in the backseat I promised her a good life and headed home, where the kids were waiting to help me surprise Chris for our anniversary with a puppy of his very own.

On the hour trip home, I suppose she named herself. Little whines of trepidation turned into crying, the car ride did not agree with her young constitution. A short time later the crying turned to that grunting sound that equates to doggy retching. By the time I crossed into the Delaware Water Gap she had managed to fill James’s car-seat with partially digested Puppy Chow and she had earned her name – Banshee. For bean sidhe, the wailing Irish spirits of legend.

He was surprised. He fell for her big brown eyes and now had a dog of his very own. The other dogs didn’t fall for her quite as quickly. In fact within the first week they had lured her out into the woods and left her there, presumably in the hopes that a bear or other unlucky family would find her. We found her huddled under a tree, waiting for daddy to come save her.

Presas are territorial creatures and Banshee was no different. We were her family and this was her home and intruders were treated with suspicion and adolescent hostility. It was difficult for a time, trying to teach her who not to try and eat, but she did eventually figure it out. Except for the UPS guy, up until the end she still hated the UPS guy … She did not like being left alone, even on the nicest days when you would think all a big brown dog would like to do is lay in a sunbeam and enjoy the weather. Sure she liked that just fine, so long as she could see her family.

She filled out to an impressively muscled machine, yet never figured out just how strong she really was. This was likely a blessing to the other dogs, she was always bottom on the totem pole to them and even when she could have beaten them soundly she did not. She was gentle with the children, always – except maybe Owen who liked to roll around on the floor and wrestle with her until she was dragging him around like a favorite chew toy.

She hated the rain and the snow and would go on strike about going out in inclement weather. She could hold it for hours and hours and hours if it meant she wouldn’t have to put her butt in the snow or stand in the rain. Despite her physique her favorite activity was sleeping, she was an expert in four things – eating, drooling, sleeping and guarding the perimeter as our whiskey-tango security system. Oh and barking, always the barking. Even Meredith learned “Banshee shut up!” as one of her first sentences.

Above all, she was daddy’s dog. She could hear his truck before anyone else, she listened to him above anyone else and when the day was done she would curl up in a ball at his side and stay there until he awoke. She always had to be touching him when she slept, it didn’t matter what you did – even when you never saw her moved she would somehow scoot across the bed so that she was touching your leg or back, sleeping soundly (and yes snoring) with her velvet-covered brick of a head tucked in snugly at your side.

A few short months ago she was outside and if you can imagine this ... barking. All of a sudden she yelps with pain, as if someone had just struck her. I was looking right at her when it happened, there was nothing I could see that happened yet all of a sudden she couldn’t put weight on her front paw. It got better for awhile but then the joint blew up again. Chris took her to the vet; we anticipated an injury or more likely Lyme’s disease. A few hours later he calls me, incredulous. “How do you feel about osteosarcoma?”

Bone cancer?!? She’s five years old! She’s in her prime! You’re kidding me right? No, no they weren’t. Turns out it is more common than we thought, especially in large dogs. It’s aggressive, it travels and the options are heartbreaking. We could amputate the front leg, to the tune of $2000 and maybe buy her a few more months. We could add chemo to that, for a few more thousand and perhaps buy her more time but likely not. In 90% of cases by the time you can see it on X ray it’s already traveled and also to the lung. We were stunned and heartbroken. Without treatment, two to four months at best. The best option was to make her comfortable and ride it out as best we could.

Piece of advice? Don’t research canine bone cancer on the internet, it will devastate you. Google is not always your friend.

Ignorance of course is bliss in its own fashion; she had no idea what was wrong. She would just adjust and carry on. First on three legs, she still found the energy to guard the front porch. Within a few weeks one of her back legs began to fail. On two legs she became unsure and for a time we thought that her perhaps the end was looming so much sooner than we anticipated. Then one afternoon she climbed down off the couch, steadied herself (fortunately the two working legs were on opposite sides) and headed out the back door. Head up, tail wagging - it was business as usual and she was Hoppy the wonder dog. She got up and down the stairs and still curled up in her dogball at the foot of the bed. It wasn’t to last though, the insidious disease was relentless and was taking her abilities from her.

The children knew she was sick, we do not lie to them. They would bundle her in blankets on the couch and spend hours with her, just like she had always done with them. Curled up on the couch, you could almost forget what was going on, as they would assume their favorite positions with her and watch TV, idly feeding her all the choice tidbits from their meals without fear of reproach. As she grew weaker, they were all active in helping us with her. Watching my son coax her into drinking small amounts of water or broth or listening to Meredith tell her about her day would send me scurrying for a private corner to cover my tears.

Finally both back legs failed, though she would still try if you asked her. This absolutely magnificent dog was reduced to being carried like a child; she could no longer climb the stairs or share the bed. She could not patrol her yard or even pull herself up to look out the bay window. But if you asked her she’d pull herself up, she would try to obey and then look at you in confusion as her withered limbs would not cooperate. Most telling of all was that she could no longer bark. People could come and go and at most she would give a strained cry to remind us that this was against the rules, but she could no longer do her job.

Growing up she was always putting her giant head on your lap, usually to try and use her mental powers to get you to feed her. But she would be content to just lay her huge head there so you could stroke that incredibly soft fur. One morning as I was cleaning her with some warm water, she pulled herself over to me and put her head in my lap. I looked into those huge brown eyes and I had no answers for her. I knew that her time with us was almost done.

Banshee lost her fight on a dreary, rainy autumn night. My husband has lost one of his dearest friends. Her chain still lays on the deck, half-hidden under piles of dead leaves as it hasn’t moved in some weeks. The doghouse stands abandoned; the other dogs never had any use for it, it looks like a sad little hovel. The yard is silent. The other dogs bark of course but that whining litany what would say, “Daddy let me in, I don’t want to be by myself” is now over.

The children are old enough to understand death now; they are trying to make sense of the loss. About why we couldn’t do anything about it, why did it have to happen. Having them focus on happier memories seems to help, pictures and stories and above all – the fact that she isn’t in pain anymore, that that is a good thing.

“Mom, I wish Banshee didn’t have to get cancer.”
Me too buddy, me too …

Rest in Peace Banshee
2004 – 2009

SEPARATE LIFETIMES

We who choose to surround ourselves
with lives even more temporary than our
own, live within a fragile circle;
easily and often breached.
Unable to accept its awful gaps,
we would still live no other way.
We cherish memory as the only
certain immortality, never fully
understanding the necessary plan....

--- Irving Townsend ---
"The Once Again Prince"
Owen and Banshee.

 And then the big brown dog came ...

 A boy and his dog

.The newest addition.

 Oh the humanity!Storytime

 Now I lay me down to sleep, a big brown dog at my feet.That was some good cake.

A Chapter Quietly Ends

Twenty-one years (and one month) ago, I met an extraordinary young lady – when I was still a teenager myself. We were clustered in the lecture hall, separated by project, working hard to hide any nerves. About to embark on a personal investment that would last a couple of years and for some of us, the next few decades, we looked around for familiar faces and that sense of camaraderie that is common among soldiers, inmates … and paramedic students.

We were forced to introduce ourselves to the group, lay out our gang colors (MICU project) as it were. She stood up; long hair flipped into huge Farrah-esque wings and proceeded to tell us that she was the youngest living kidney donor on the east coast. She had allowed them to saw her in half at the ripe old age of 18 and take one of her kidneys for her brother.

Obviously we survived school, though not without effort. Forced to do a mandatory class presentation it became apparent that this was not going to be one of her strong points. To this day I can tell you the topic she had to cover – “Differential Diagnosis of Chest Pain.” How do I remember this? Because in her usual thorough manner she had prepared a comprehensive handout to accompany her talk. Which was fortunate, because she lost all ability to speak when at the podium. As a group we took pity on her terror and with the help of her handout the rest of us helped coach her through “her” presentation. Now? She’s a poised and articulate presenter, able to educate and relate to people of all levels of education.

We graduated and set out to settle into our new professions, but never once were we really apart. When I started per diem at Clara Maass during its “Golden Age” (and yes I’m sorry, it really did have one), she was there – and our friendship, our partnership, began to develop. The alumni know the time I’m talking about. When practical jokes were the name of the game – when you had to dismantle booby traps before entering the office, or scramble frantically to locate “misplaced” equipment. Or the powder … always with the freakin’ baby powder.

She and I tried to deliberately OD on caffeine at the Arlington Diner, only to have to try and start an IV on an elderly woman in Lyndhurst after NINE cups of coffee in a row. We got “grounded” and confined to the office, so proceeded to put prison bars on the door and stage a sit-in in the parking lot. When my car got broken into in the parking lot, we went to the Belleville police station where she proceeded to make the car thieves cry with her ferocious diatribe on what would happen if she ever caught them on the wrong side of her grill. It was a good time to be young and learning your craft, it was truly fun. And every Monday night it was off to the Park Pub in Nutley for wings and laughs.

With a little arm-twisting I convinced her to come to UMD, and she’s been there ever since. And so things went. We’ve been partners, roommates, best friends, and completely fed up with each other. We’ve gone sledding in stokes baskets, been commandeered by the police, and set ambulances on fire. We’ve laughed and cried and couldn’t stand the sight of each other, year after year. We’ve been drunk together, sober together, driven a thousand miles together – just to heal a broken heart. Beyond those thousand miles are a thousand little stories, laughs shared and small adventures that make life a sphere and not a straight line. And of course the ones of which I shall never speak of aloud (though she might, she tends to fold under interrogation). Then of course, there’s Mexico …

There are friends who you know and can walk away from. Then there are those where you can have a huge gap in time, and pick up exactly where you left off. Distance doesn’t matter, time doesn’t matter, your histories are so intertwined that they are the family that fate forgets to give you – they are just there. She went on to other tours and other partners and so did I. Eventually she made it onto the flight team and started a whole new aspect of her career. But just like everything else that she sets out for, she did her best to do well and succeeded.

It is so funny how short people’s memories are. The nature of the job, and of life I guess, is that it never stops. Jobs come in, units go out and the faces change. There are legends that get handed down but over time even they lose their impact, save to a precious few. A few that gets less and less with each year and each generation. It’s like we just fade into the background, even well before we’re actually gone.

You know her as Nancy Orlowski. I know her as Nancy Souza. A whole generation ago she was known as “Sweaty,” “Short Stack” and the “Pit Bull.” You know her as the senior medic, the flight medic, or perhaps you haven’t met her or spoken with her at all. I know her as she was, and as she is – one of the best paramedics I’ve worked with. We are losing a resource that cannot be replaced, and that’s the part that I grieve for.

Today was her last day, and with the exception of a few the “system” will not notice.

But I will.

Our cert numbers are just 31 apart; we are just 6 months apart in age. We got married a year apart, had our children with a year of each other. We were in each other’s weddings and at one point or another have shared everything in our lives. And tomorrow when I go to work – for the first time in twenty years she won’t be there.

Nancy – I wish you love, I wish you luck. This was a good decision for you and for your family. I understand how hard this was for you to do, more than most. Don’t be afraid, you’ve never backed down from a challenge and you’ve accomplished more with sheer tenacity than anyone I’ve met. I wish I had the drive that you do. We'll keep the light on for you.

We’re all still here for you.

I am still here for you.

Love always, your friend
– Tracey

When Chores Become Fun

When work, commitment, and pleasure all become one and you reach that deep well where passion lives, nothing is impossible.” ~Unknown

Even for those who are fortunate enough to love their chosen professions there are high points – areas where you get a deep personal satisfaction, your forte’ or niche. For me one of those areas is education. I truly enjoy teaching. I think that as a profession many people in EMS lose out on true opportunities that quality continuing education can provide.

Why? Well it’s because we’re “forced” into it. In order to remain certified we must attend a minimum number of classes, year after year – the same classes over and over again. Yes the material gets updated as time goes by, but once we have the core kernel of knowledge we tend to look down our noses at the material. Numbed by the redundancy we go through the motions, but ultimately lose interest anyway. The end result is erosion, we start losing those fine details that ultimately play a role in our overall experience and behavior as a prehospital provider.

Don’t get me wrong, complacency and apathy run amok on the other side of the table as well. Instructors often have it even easier. Teach just one or two classes a year and you get to keep your card. Depending on the certification you do not need to do anything else. So let’s say you teach the same skill each time … year after year. What happens to the rest of the class material? You know the stuff you’re supposed to be expertly versed in? For the low low price of a couple of hours investment, I get to say I’m higher on the food chain than you, when in reality you’ve done up to four times the hours and likely reviewed the material more than I did.

We’ve all seen it from all sides. The Registry Refreshers, Core 13, ACLS, PALS, PHTLS, CPR … all the usual suspects lined up in your wallet. When it’s time to schedule them everyone does it – the eye roll and beleaguered sigh, indicating your disdain of the entire process. What could you possibly learn this time around that you don’t already know? As soon as you sign in you want to know what the quickest way to get out is, “How soon can we go home?” Why is the hallmark of a “good” program how early they let you out? Instructors stand up and read off the slides or skim from topic to topic while you try your best not to nod off and finally you get to call it a day – with your little slip of paper safe in your pocket for another couple of years. Until we have to repeat the cycle again. It almost makes one break into the “Circle of Life” song from The Lion King … almost.

But I’m speaking in generalizations only, it doesn’t have to be like that and very often isn’t. Everywhere there are people teaching these programs that honestly know what they’re talking about. People who have embraced and employed the very principles and practices they are demonstrating for you. They are the living proof that the tenets being shared with you are not only helpful, but in some cases absolutely crucial. They believe and they’re passionate; they accept and embody what it means to be a true professional – always honing their craft. It can be contagious if you let it.

Quality education is a reciprocal process; after all it takes two to tango does it not? Come with an open mind – listen, participate, contribute. Take a chance on learning from me and I guarantee that I will learn from you right back. I will get better at what I do, be a better educator, a better provider … because of you. And if you take what you’ve learned and share even a piece of it with someone else, then in turn you will have made that far-reaching ripple that might eventually directly impact someone’s life. Yes we save lives, every day – but learning process is one sure way that we actually make a difference.

My original purpose for this post was actually a simple thank you. This weekend marked the completion of another successful PHTLS program. Despite the overly warm rooms, rainy Sunday and the long days I think we still provided a quality program and it’s really the result of the students and the exceptional people who have dedicated themselves to helping with the program. As I was heading home tonight I got that deep sense of satisfaction that is often so rare in our field, and that is a testament to those same people. In a thankless profession rife with anonymous careers, let’s roll some credits:

Dennis O’Keefe & Brian Dolan – for taking dry material and making it comfortable and interesting, for happily assisting the class in killing or paralyzing all of their patients during baselines. Terrific job.

Vinny Cisternino – for keeping patient assessment down to earth and making rapid extrication not just a skill, but an adventure. He's awesome at weaving practical experience with physiology.

Steve Velasquez – eloquence and poise personified, he managed to keep head trauma in the realm of the attainable. An extra special thank you for going the extra mile. He brought bottled water for the class and his other half provided us with awesome fresh baked goods from home.

Trisha Cisternino and her daughter Briana – stepped up in the 11th hour to help out, coming in when they didn’t expect to do stations. They were also terribly good sports about being set on fire and having their limbs broken.

Charlene Barber – she just gets better every time she gets up there, she even took the time to make hand-outs.

Bill O’Brien – even if nobody got the Seinfeld reference he’s still one of the best speakers I know. And the moulage was *amazing.* It’s totally worth the effort.

Dave Langley – still puts everyone to shame when it comes to the physiology of shock. I learn something new every time I listen to him.

Stitches – a good sport and excellent assistant. Though if I never see your scar again, I will die happy …

Congratulations to the newest members of our cadre of instructors – Don Martel, Michael Garrett and Arnold Springvloed. My faith was renewed by how well prepared they were for their first class, I hope that level of enthusiasm continues.

To our tango partners, thank you as well. Students who are interested and interactive are a pleasure to teach. Your continued feedback and participation are what makes all the hard work of doing programs like these an absolute pleasure. I’m sure I speak for all instructors in all disciplines when I say that you make it worth the time and effort.

Ok, warm fuzzy feelings over now – it’s time to collapse and recover. I hope everyone had a great weekend and if I've forgotten anyone I blame fatigue!

Warning! Gaming flashbacks ahead!

So in cleaning out some files I found some snippets of saved IM conversations from a few years back on my one journal. Now these will likely not be as funny out of the context of the people, but those who know Don (Tsem) might appreciate the flashback. “Auriane” is me. There’s a little Rottie (Mike) humor at the end.

April 2004

Tsem: Hmm, my mythological form is the Goddess....
Auriane: heh
Auriane: I don't think I did that one, gonna look
Auriane: I am a Unicorn: The Innocent
Auriane: (preen)
Tsem: Beats the hell out of the Goddess.
Tsem: Although I will say, innocent my goddess-like ass.

Tsem: http://lucid.lunacy.nu/quiz/pirates.html
Auriane: Har
Auriane: Captain Jack (preen)
Auriane: Don't tell me, you're the girl again...
Tsem: LOL No, this time I was Jack as well.
Tsem: And, that was goddess, thank you, not just girl.
Auriane: Ah of course. Please accept my abject apologies Lady of the Lake.
Tsem: Mmm hmm, right now the godess's minions are winging there way towards Pensyltucky.

Preface -- excerpt from a website:

Sign Up for Ladies Tea

Please join us Sunday afternoon for an oasis of calm from the hubbub of the convention. Afternoon tea is open to ladies of all persuasions, and while appropriate attire (scene dress, Victoriana, or just plain skirt, hat and gloves) is smiled upon, it is not necessary. Tea will be served by Sissy Maids (or service slaves) dressed in their finest, who have attended the prior training in how to serve at a tea. While tea is thought of as a stuffy, tradition laden event in America, a Sissy Maid tea is often a delightful departure from 'pinkies sticking out'.

These things must of course, be shared -- eliciting said conversation snippet:

Tsem: I'm just upset they didn't list the different types of tea that would be available.
Auriane: Would you actually wear the hat with the dress though? It's so hard to find a fashionable lid these days.
Tsem: Honestly, it would depend on the gloves, I find the long ones preferable to a hat in Spring. Down with Easter bonnets!
Auriane: True, though satin makes gripping those tiny cups kind of difficult.
Tsem: They wouldn't provide crazy straws?
Auriane: You know, some of our conversations are the equivalent to a clip from a Quentin Tarantino movie.

Next

Auriane: XXXXX is looking for youuuuuuuuu.
Tsem: I didn't tell you? I said if they do real well following your orders, you'd take them into your personal guard as a commander.
Auriane: You are SO not getting fired.
Tsem: I said you were a lesbian as well, that liked XXXXX.
Tsem: And when you slept, you muttered things like, "oh XXX, command me, command me!"
Auriane: Just for that, I'm going to LJ that too.

June, 2004

Tsem: YOU ARE 85 % EVIL GENIUS !
You are pure evil. You lie awake at night devising schemes of world domination, and you will not rest until all living souls bend to your will.
Auriane: Very nice.
Auriane: I got 87%, but still, very nice.
Auriane: MUAHAHAHAHAHA
Tsem: I don't own a cat.
Auriane: LOL
Auriane: Damn, that must've done it.
Tsem: And, I'm really not sure if my friends are ninjas.
Tsem: I suspect many of them, but...
Auriane: If they told you, that would be a bit of an oxymoron no?
Tsem: Exactly.
Tsem: I would have to call them all Jumbo Shrimp. Which, while a decent bad guy henchman nickname, is nowhere near as cool as Odd Job or Jaws.
Auriane: Doesn't matter really, you can call henchmen whatever you want.
Auriane: Though personally I prefer minions. It's more PC.
Tsem: Now how can you be an evil genuis and even consider the term PC?
Auriane: Because the only thing more evil than an evil genius is a lawyer.
Auriane: And all the best evil geniuses know when they're outmatched. (g)
Tsem: LOL

Sept 2004

Rottcloar: I think you're going to like this. :-)
Auriane: Why, do people die in it? (g)
Rottcloar: Heh, crap, you know me too well. No deaths yet, but some screaming Gnomes.
Auriane: Are they on fire?
Rottcloar: No, I'll get to that.

Happy Father's Day

Father’s Day

A small hand tucks itself into yours.
The lightest touch and your soul soars.
Your eyes within a tiny face,
Each smile bringing a state of grace.

The work is hard, the hours so long.
The whispers of fear in a world so wrong.
Must protect and love them well,
How they will fare you cannot tell.

I wonder do they notice when you don’t sleep?
Small sacrifice for a promise to keep.
Do they know that you’re not mad?
Exhaustion is what makes your world so bad.

Yes they notice and yes they care.
They’ll tuck you in and stroke your hair.
They know that Daddy works so hard,
And sometimes only needs a card.

A reminder that the seeds you planted,
Never take your love for granted.
That as time passes and how well they grow,
They remember the love and strength you show.

Family is as family does,
They do know how their Father loves.
When your day is long and spirit beat,
Allow yourself this small retreat.

That when those eyes close at night,
They know love and they know right.
When each smiles at you in their own way,
Then every day is Father’s Day.