Home on the Range in Greater Podunk....

Climbing up on Solsbury Hill, I could see the city light, Wind was blowing, time stood still, Eagle flew out of the night.... (Peter Gabriel, "Solsbury Hill")

Well, I'm here---and facing a mountain of boxes to unpack....

aaaarghhh!!! But I'm happy as a clam to be here because this new apartment is soooo much better than the old dump. And there's even more benefits to it than I had previously thought. In fact, the first thing I figured out (and it's somehow "fitting") is that I have a clear view of the Interstate from my bedroom window.

* * *

Which is fine by me, because I guess since I spend so much of my time on the road, it's somehow fitting that I live right next to the "King Of All Roads". (You can see a white truck passing by on it, there in the distance, just past the playground of that church.)

* * *

I'm envious that the church's Sunday School has a playhouse. I never had a playhouse when I was in Sunday School. I went to strict Baptist churches where you had to stay inside during Sunday School to memorize Bible verses. And I was constantly getting into trouble with the Youth Director for various misbehaviors, usually involving knocking over my Koolaid cup during Bible Verse Recitation or getting caught "talking to my neighbor" while the "Name That Bible Character" game was going on. (Um...I guess not much has changed for me since Sunday School.....)

Anyhoo, I'm thrilled to be so close to my office and the hospital---they're both right next door to each other, just 3 blocks away from my apartment. I slept late this morning because it only took all of 4 1/2 minutes to go from my door to my office's door--yahoo!!

The town's little hospital is also the home base for the region's medical helicopter, which services the surrounding rural area, which is pretty extensive. There's not another hospital for over an hour's drive in either direction. The copter's pad is situated on the roof of the paramedic barracks --and let me tell you something, if you drive by there on the day they wash the paramedic trucks outside the barracks, you can view some SERIOUS eye candy, if ya know what I mean....

* * *

Anyway, I've got to get busy with the unpacking....so let me say AAAARGHH! again. It seems like such an overwhelmingly huge task. But I have begun it already and am having some fun figuring out where to put stuff. My mother was all set to fix me up with a bunch of flowers, but then we discovered that my balcony is "north" and doesn't get any sun. It's shaded all day, which is fine because it'll save on my air conditioner in the hot Texan sun, but it fizzles my plans for petunias, marigolds and pansies. Guess I'll have to decorate with some pretty coleuses or other shade-loving plants. (Is that a word, "coleuses"? Or is it "colei"?)

This apartment is much larger than my former one, and so I'm basking in the luxury of "space for my things". I'll even have room to set up my Ultimate Sweater Machine to make blankets on for Christmas gifts. I like to make blankets on it and then crochet cool borders on them. But I've got so much unpacking to do that I may not get into it in time for this Christmas.

Unacking my stuff always reminds me of a game I used to play all the time, a little game I made up all by myself called "What Would You Grab In A Fire If You Could Only Grab ONE Thing?" First of all, I have NO EARTHLY IDEA why I like to play this stupid game-- I just do. (This game is very similar to my other game, the one that I call "How Would You Quit Your Job If You Won The Lottery Tomorrow?"-- but this game is more fun because there's such a large variety of answers.)

(And I also like the "What Would You Grab in a Fire" game more than the "Win the Lottery" game because that Lottery game caused an extremely unpleasant event in my life that I don't like to talk about...)

* * *

This is how you play the game: whenever you're bored in a doctor's waiting room, the check-out line at Walmart, or anywhere else tedious and boring, you simply ask the people near you the following question:"Okay, if there were a fire and you could only grab ONE thing, what would that item be?" (And it can't be a human or animal.) And then you let everybody take their turn answering about what they'd grab and why. This can be a very fun game, not to mention that it can reveal A LOT about a person's personality.... In fact, one time I played the game with my mother at one of her tea-parties. I asked the question and then we all went around the room saying what we'd grab in a fire, laughing at each other's responses... and then it came my mother's turn. She never hesitated when she blurted out: "I'd grab the antique carousel horse." Yes, folks, it's true. That's my dear mother who said that. My mother actually said that if there were a fire and she could only grab one thing, it would be the antique carousel horse mounted on a stand in her front parlor. Can you believe that she CHOSE the antique carousel horse??!

She chose ... not jewelry.. not money.. not that plaster mold of her loving daughter's hand that was made in Kindergarten... not that picture of her loving daughter on a Harley Davidson motorcycle captioned "Happy Valentines Day to My Mother".... not her loving daughter's university graduation portrait....

....but that antique carousel horse!! HMMPPHH!! Okay, like I said--this game can reveal things about people.

(You can try this with your own mother the next time you see her--just casually ask her the question while she's making cornbread or something, just to see what she'll answer--and you might be surprised....) But, as much as I like this stupid game, it got me into HUGE trouble at my nursing school once, many zillions of years ago. First of all, I need to tell you that I went to a convent nursing school--yes, they do exist-- which was an experience that I am sure was much worse than Marine Boot Camp. In fact, that experience was so horrible that I always swore that if I ever had a daughter who was a juvenile delinquent, I'd send her to this nursing school.... I never did have children so I didn't have a chance to send any of them to the convent nursing school, but I still have rueful memories of that place. It was a totally strict nursing school where I lived at the hospital, ate at the hospital, studied at the hospital, and worked after classes at the hospital. And I was taught by nuns.

And those nuns DID NOT have a sense of humor. NONE. NADA. No humor. No mirth. No gaiety. They made us wear stiff white uniforms with a pert white cap stuck onto our heads with bobby-pins. And we were under THREAT OF DEATH not to ever commit infractions like wearing red lipstick or cussing while in uniform. In fact, we were under threat of death if we EVER committed any act which was even vaguely "unladylike".

I lived with the other students in the student nurse dorm which was guarded by a house mother who made Hitler look like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. The list of things forbidden in the student dorm included men, alcohol, stereos or anything else deemed "fun". We were ruled over by the nuns who seemed to take great joy in being severe and stern. I never saw one of those nuns smile the entire time I was in that school. They were just plain BITTER. Butter wouldn't have melted in their mouths. If humor was dynamite, they wouldn't have had enough firepower to blow their own noses....

GARGOYLES would have smiled sooner than those nuns would...

I was a complete disaster at that school. I was like the female version of a Texan Forest Gump--my boisterous "Hidy y'all!" made the nuns cringe. And my constant rebellious attitude, irreverence, and mischevious streak got me into ENDLESS trouble, even though I studied constantly and was a very good student. Those nuns never gave me a break. For example, one time I taped a long list of muscles onto the wall in my favorite booth in the bathroom--just so I could utilize that extra five minutes to memorize a few more muscles for a big test. I thought it was a great idea but one of the nuns yelled at me for it. She said (and I quote): "Do you think the bathroom is a movie theater or something? Bathroom booths are NOT for viewing things!"

And then she yelled at me again when she found out that I had later placed another big sign on the outside of the bathroom door, this one emblazoned with the words: "Coming Soon To a Bathroom Booth Near You! The Wild and Wooly World of Those Wacky Mitochondria!"

The nuns were on me constantly, beating me into submission. I think they were particularly strict with me because I wasn't Catholic--I was a "sinful Baptist"--and they appeared DETERMINED to wring the laughter out of me and mold me into their idea of a nurse--a grim, joyless clone of themselves. I'm telling you, it was ROUGH. Sometimes things got so dismal and unendingly harsh, with no respite, that I used to pray to the Lord, late at night, lonely and miserable in the student nurse dorm, sincere and earnest prayers that went something like this: "Lord, it's me again. Now, Lord, you know I'm not a quitter. So I ain't gonna quit nursing school. But I SWEAR TO YOU that these dang nuns are the meanest rattlesnakes that I've ever encountered in all my born days. And I am asking you to cause them to THROW me out of this Godforsaken place since I won't quit, okay? I mean it, Lord--I've gotta get out of this hell-hole. I hate these mean old biddies, Lord, and I'll just confess my sin right here and now-- which is that I really want to strangle the hell out of Sister Kathleen. And for that matter, I would also like to kick Sister Sandra's ass up and down the main cloister hall. And also, Lord--and excuse me for being so graphic, Sir--- but I also TRULY want to STOMP THE LIVING CRAP out of Sister Agnes..."

Oh yes, the Lord got a nightly earful from me during that period of my life. But, since I'm not a "quitter", I didn't quit nursing school. Nor did I get kicked out, as the Lord, in his infinite mercy, somehow saw fit to give me enough restraint NOT to carry out my fantasy of stomping the living crap out of Sister Agnes. Eventually I graduated and escaped their torture. Oh for God's sakes, why did I digress and start moaning here about those old nuns??? Geez, I can go off on some wild tangents, can't I?

* * *

Anyway, where was I?... Oh yes, I was telling you about the GAME.... Anyway, it was that stupid game of "What Would You Grab In A Fire If You Could Only Grab One Thing" that got me into some big-time trouble one day in nursing school. There were were, waiting in class, wearing our uncomfortable nursing student uniforms and caps, shuffling restlessly at our desks while we waited expectantly for that old battle-ax, Sister Kathleen, to come give us a lecture on "Nurse Professionalism". She was chronically late, and she usually arrived with white donut dust all over her lips from her continual snacking on Little Debbie's Powdered Donuts. And this day she was late again. Very late.

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Where the hell was that woman? Didn't she know I had a date at a local pool-hall with a cute guy that evening? I wanted to get to the pool hall before the auto mechanic shop across the street closed because those mechanic guys always hogged the pool tables. I had won $75 the previous week at that pool hall when all those guys bet me that I couldn't drink an entire water glass full of McIlheney Tabasco Sauce and I wanted to see if I could pull that same trick again.

* * *

Finally, I couldn't stand the silence any longer. I looked at the other bored students around me-- and then I said it:

* * *

"Hey guys, if a fire broke out in the nursing dorm and you could only grab one thing before you ran out, what would it be?" The other girls were game and started offering their answers. There were the inevitable "normal" answers like "my family pictures", "my Bible", "my school books", or "my purse", etc. And after a bit we loosened up and got a little crazy, giggling over some of the cuter answers like "my boyfriend's picture", "my stuffed rabbit Bunnie-Foo-Foo", "my feet-pajamas", "my curling iron", or "my designer jeans", etc.

* * *

We started trying to outdo each other, laughing loudly as the answers got funnier. The atmosphere became boisterous as we all completely forgot that we were supposed to be "ladylike" nursing students waiting primly at our desks for a nun to lecture us about how to be highly respectable characters who should emulate Florence Nightingale and behave with a high degree of maturity, professionalism, and responsibility while ministering to the sick..... Finally, one of the girls pointed a finger at me and hooted hysterically: "Okay, Tex, how about this one--if a fire broke out in the nursing dorm while you were in the BATHROOM studying your stupid muscles-- and you could only grab ONE thing before you ran out--what would YOUR CHOICE be???" And, caught up in the mood of the moment, I laughed like a crazed hyena and proclaimed loudly in a Texan accent: "Hell, Yankee girl, if I was in the BATHROOM and a fire broke out--why, I'd DRIP DRY, warn everybody about the fire EXCEPT that ole battle-ax Sister Kathleen, grab my DIAPHRAGM from my locker, and then haul ass outa there as fast as my feet could carry me!" "Oh really?" I heard behind me.

* * *

To our everlasting shock and horror, we all realized that a grim-faced Sister Kathleen had been standing silently at the entrance to the classroom, having arrived just in time to hear God-Knows-How-Much of our game....

* * *

(I think the Lord then heard 28 quick & rapid prayers simultaneously right at that exact moment--but I don't think He answered any of them since none of us melted into the classroom walls or disappeared into thin air just then....)

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I won't go into the details of Sister Kathleen's punishment for us for that little episode, except suffice it to say that I thought I'd NEVER get done doing book reports on obscure diseases of the Third World. And her resultant lecture on the need for nurses to "act with decorum" still rings in my ears today.

Where was I? Oh yes, unpacking at the new apartment..... (Lord, my mind does wander these days...) You know, aside from the "What Would You Grab In A Fire But You Can Only Grab One Thing" game, you can also tell a lot about a person by what they unpack FIRST. For me, there are several Unpacking Rules, the first of which is: 1. There Must Be a Working Television ASAP

First things first. And before the bathroom, before the kitchen, before the bedsheets--I simply MUST unpack the televisions first. God forbid that I'm ever more than 14 feet away from any of my televisions. Notice I said "televisions" plural, because I have one in just about every room of the apartment. (I'd put one in the kitchen and bathrooms if I thought the Cable TV Man wouldn't throw a complete hissy fit.)

I'm one of those people who keep the thing on whenever I'm home for "background" noise while I piddle around, work on the computer, cook, knit, do laundry, etc. I like to keep up on the news, crime shows, and what my sister calls "Pablum For the Brain" (i.e. "Friends", "Seinfeld", etc.) The first television to be unpacked is one that goes at the foot of my bed:

Next, I set up the living room TV and the den TV. And I pride myself on being a good cable TV customer because I always have everything all ready for the Cable TV Man-- this morning I had all the TV's placed next to their cable outlets with their corresponding clickers, DVD players, and VCR's sitting neatly nearby to make the "hooking up" operation as easy as possible.

When the Cable TV Man came he thought he was hooking up enough TV's for a family of four. I could tell he was shocked when he found out that they were all for me--I'm sure he thought I was nuts. He even griped about it, saying emphatically: "But ma'am, the cable outlet in that back bedroom has never even been USED---do you hear me? It's NEVER BEEN HOOKED UP before and I'll have to go outside to figure out where it's coming from!"

Too bad, so sad, Mr. Cable TV Man-- I've GOT to have my TV's. (I swear there's a living room behind all those boxes.)

There's only a couple other Unpacking Rules for me, which are:

2. The Washing Machine Must be Cranked Up ASAP:

As soon as I arrive in a new apartment I have the habit of washing all throw rugs, dish towels, shower curtains, comforters and bath towels before putting them out--even if they're already clean. This can take days. In this apartment, the "laundry nook" is at the end of the kitchen (with the "microwave oven nook" right on top of it).

Small apartments usually have the washer & dryer stuffed into a hall closet-- but I like this set-up much better. Speaking of the kitchen, I don't know where I'm going to eat for awhile because the kitchen is still not unpacked and the dining room is buried under boxes. Who'd of thought I'd have so many dang boxes?

Anyway, I've got a LOT of unpacking to do. But I can spread it out gradually over the next few weeks, after work, since I only took two days off to move and now it's back to work.

But one thing that's going to take some getting used to is living in the same town where many of my patients and co-workers live. I'm definitely going to have to watch myself, if you know what I mean. (Er....why do those old lectures from the nuns come to mind here??....)

Okay, I guess this means no more lost-temper fit-throwing in Walmart, no more slouching to the grocery store bra-less in dirty jeans-- and I'll have to watch out who witnesses me buying gossip magazines...

P.S.:

Okay, I'm going to admit here why I don't play my other game anymore, the one called "How Would You Quit Your Job If You Won The Lottery Tomorrow?"

It all happened a long, long time ago, in an Emergency Room far far away....

I was playing the game with my ER co-workers. I asked the Big Question and then we all went around the room, each of us describing in detail just exactly HOW we'd quit our job if we won the lottery tomorrow...

And some of the answers were pretty imaginative. One guy said he'd quit by "happily throwing dollar bills to his left and right as he strolled his way to the hospital's Human Resources Department", where he'd then quit his job. Another person said that she wouldn't quit her job at all--she'd just NOT show up for her next shift. Still another person said that he'd call in "quit" from his cruise-ship cabin when it docked at Jamaica. And still another said that he'd have Fed Ex deliver a big postcard addressed "To the Horrible Hell-Hole that I Don't Work At Anymore".

Then it was my turn to say.

I'd been waiting. I took a deep breath and stated emphatically and solidly that "I know EXACTLY how I'd do it. I'd get on the stupid Public Address System microphone and blast out to the ENTIRE hospital: 'Dr. Cunningham--GET YOUR BUTT DOWN TO THE ER.' Yep, that's exactly how I'd do it, yessiree-Bob."

When I said that all my co-workers stared at me in amazement and wonder. I thought I'd really floored them, by golly. But then they stared just a little bit too long... and suddenly I realized that their expressions weren't really "amazement and wonder" at all--their expressions were more like "horror and mortification".

Because Dr. Cunningham was standing right behind me and had heard the whole thing.

(Sigh...)

(As I said before, not much has changed for me since nursing school...)

Oh, just one more thing. I've got a question for ya:

If a magic Genie-In-A-Lamp appeared and told you that you could go to Walmart and pick JUST ONE thing for FREE... WHAT would you grab?

(Just kidding!!!!!!)

(Personally, I'd take the 57" wide-screen TV.)

* * * * * *

An Announcement by The Message Goat

Ahem. Ladies and Gentlemen: I have an announcement to make about The Road Nurse. She would have liked to have been here herself to make a blog posting but she has been extremely busy this week due to her upcoming move-- and also the fact that she's on call. And unfortunately, it's been a rather crazy week for Road Nurse. It all started well enough this week as she was very excited about getting the particular apartment she wanted. There are very few apartment complexes in her new podunk town, and even less "nice ones". So Road Nurse considered herself very lucky in that she did succeed in getting one of the nice places, which is a large 2-bedroom apartment with many ammenities, such as a very nice view from all its windows, a breakfast bar, a washer/dryer, two bathrooms, a big balcony, walk-in closets, and the fact that a cop lives in the apartment right under her. She's particularly thrilled because the landlady agreed to redecorate both bathrooms with new wallpaper and matching trims. And then Road Nurse was fortunate enough to have her wonderful mother offer to help her pack--which will save her a bundle in the move because she won't have to pay for packers. And furthermore, Road Nurse felt even more blessed with luck when her boss "put in a good word for her" ( in the custom of podunk towns) at the best beauty parlor in town for her hair coloring, straightening, and cuts. (Road Nurse was worried that she'd never find as good a stylist as her previous girl, Reba-Sue, who was a veritable miracle-worker with Road Nurse's stubborn hair but insisted on charging Road Nurse an arm and a leg for these services which Road Nurse continually complained about as being "worse than big city prices"...)

All of the above things made Road Nurse very happy--and she actually danced with glee, hollering: "Whoo-Boy, I'm riding a Gravy Train with Biscuit Wheels!!" But ladies and gentlemen, Road Nurse's glee was short-lived because Road Nurse then went on-call. And we all know how insane she gets whenever she's on-call. Sure enough, with all the preparations for moving going on with the added stress of being on-call, Road Nurse became discombobulated. (Which isn't a very short trip for her, if you want to know the truth...)

Thus, Road Nurse has been running around slightly crazy due to her current place being in disarray as she tries to work, yet also tries to continue her packing for the new place...

Road Nurse has tried to be organized about her packing, in order to make it easier for the unpacking, but it's been confusing and difficult to wade through all the tons of stuff that she's accumulated through the years. In fact, Road Nurse found out that she has waaaaaaay more "stuff" than she realized...

It took Road Nurse's poor mother one complete day just to pack her kitchen....

One thing about preparing for a new place, it always inspires craft-minded Road Nurse to change her decor.

Road Nurse was fiddling around with her handy-dandy drill and found out that she could remove the seats from her kitchen chairs. And then she got the bright idea to re-cover those seats with something that would match her new dining room. (She's thrilled to death to even be GETTING a place with it's own separate dining room....)

But she's unsure of what to cover the chairs with. She wisely discussed the issue with her mother, who is the all-time greatest interior decor expert ever known in the western part of the United States of America -- and she received in return several perfectly good suggestions regarding brocade or other designer-fabrics as options for the chair coverings.

But being the stubborn-mule bumpkin that she is, Road Nurse retorted with an ugly comment stating something along the lines of not wanting "any of that forty-five-dollar-a-yard crap and that she'd probably just get something from The Walmart Fabric Department", which made Road Nurse's mother sigh in resignation because, as a matter of fact, MOST of Road Nurse's decor is from Walmart....

(Road Nurse is not sure-- but after making that comment she thinks she caught her mother rolling her eyes behind her back.)

(It's a well-known fact around here that Road Nurse's poor mother gave up loooong ago on her daughter's strange penchant for Walmart decor, even though there's a perfectly good Dallas or Houston to shop in just a few zillion miles away.....)

(Road Nurse's mother really DID try very hard to raise her daughter with good taste, but a mother can only do soooooo much for a girl who thinks it's perfectly fine to eat cold Campbell's Soup out of the can with a spoon-- and who also never wore lipstick a day in her life, even to church....)

And finally, ladies and gentlemen, in addition to Road Nurse's life being more complicated and hectic this week due to being on-call while trying to pack, there have occurred several...er..mishaps...

In fact, the truth of the matter is that Road Nurse's life has been looking rather like a bad episode of "America's Funniest Home Videos" in the last few days. And Road Nurse is currently thanking her lucky stars that nobody actually WILL ever see a video of the particular events I'm talking about, which include the following scenarios (and please don't tell Road Nurse that I told you):

Road Nurse falling off the Witherspoon's front porch...

Road Nurse sideswiping the Jamison's mailbox....

Road Nurse almost running her own self into the ditch when she answered both her cell phone AND the on-call cell phone at the same time, leaving NO HAND for the steering wheel....

Road Nurse AGAIN falling off the Witherspoon's front porch.

Road Nurse accidentally knocking the ice cream out of her cone when she tried to shoo a bee out the Jeep's window...

Road Nurse being witnessed by everyone in Dairy Queen running down the road screaming and waving an empty cone after the above-mentioned bee dive-bombed her....

Road Nurse seeing patients all day long without realizing that she was sporting a large chili-dog stain on her uniform front...

Road Nurse cussing out her poor co-workers for not telling her about the chili-dog stain...

Road Nurse cussing out her co-workers AGAIN because their excuse for not telling her about the chili-dog stain was something to the effect of: "Well, you have chili-dog stains on you ALL THE TIME, so we figured you knew about it"...

Road Nurse tripping over a patient's grandbaby's toy truck and accidentally knocking a huge glass of buttermilk & cornbread all over the family's main platter of fried green tomatoes....

Road Nurse bitterly realizing that due to the ruination of the platter of fried green tomatoes, that she TOO would not get any of such fried green tomatoes...

Road Nurse embarassing her boss to death by not being able to stop laughing uncontrollably during a serious meeting just because the Aflac Insurance Lady accidentally used the term "bluebonnet plague" while making a presentation on insurance plans...

And to top it all off, ladies and gentlemen....(sigh)....

Road Nurse getting caught by a doctor saying a smart-aleck aside to her co-worker, not realizing that she was no longer on hold, i.e.: "This dadgum doctor's office has got me on hold till Jesus comes back"...

Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, it has not been a pretty week for Road Nurse. Thus, we will adjourn for now to give Road Nurse a day or so to finish packing and get her act together. Refreshments will be served in the back pasture after this meeting. I have it on good authority that we will be having double-dipped ice cream cones from Dairy Queen---

But would the dang bees PUH-LEEZE refrain from dive-bombing until after such refreshments have been consumed????? THANK YOU!!!

* * * * *

P.S.

(If truth be known, Road Nurse's boss DID actually laugh the day following the Aflac Insurance Presentation, when Road Nurse quipped that the side effect of the "bluebonnet plague" was that one's hair would turn blue....)

Interstate Mobility (Or: Does Walmart Still Sell Go-Heads?)

* * *

But my bed is in a small town,

Oh, and that's good enough for me....

* * *

("Small Town", John Mellencamp)

(I apologize in advance for the messed up text and punctuation of this blog entry--the blog site's acting up something awful--and I want to THROW THIS COMPUTER OUT THE WINDOW--and things aren't even responding to cussing.....)

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Anyway...I've thought about it for a long time....and I'm finally gonna do it.

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I'm going to move ALL THE WAY to the podunk town where my company's home office is.

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One reason I want to move is that my current abode is a D-U-M-P.

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It's a crummy place where the managers (aka slumlords) never do any repairs, never spray for bugs, don't care about anything except whether or not you pay the rent on time, never replace anything that's broken--and the place is just plain falling apart around my ears. I have suffered for waaaay too long in this damp and smelly place with its wet carpets, frequently broken garbage disposal, frequently broken toilet, roaches the size of small dogs, a leaking air-conditioner, a bigger leak from a damaged water-heater, electrical lights which dim at will, broken window-shades which have never been replaced, etc.--and I can't stand it anymore!

-

Also, this dump is an inconvenient 47 miles away from my company's office--which means it's also 47 miles away from all my friends and co-workers. My Road Nurse company contract does reimburse me for the gas that I use to see patients, but I have to pay for my own gas to and from the office every day, which for me is a 94-mile round trip--which in today's gas prices is a big OUCH.

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But this move is definitely something I've had to think about--in fact, it's taken me a whole year to make the decision. The reason I've had to think about it is because that podunk town is even more isolated and much more far away from civilization than I've ever lived before. All the towns in this part of the state are small and isolated--but this town is REALLY small and isolated. And I mean isolated.

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So I've carefully weighed the pros and cons while making my decision. I did finally come to the conclusion that I was ready to do what is referred to in podunk real estate lore as "Interstate Mobility"....which means that I am going to "move further on down the Interstate". In fact, I have already staked myself out a nice little place in my new podunk town and have scheduled the packers & movers.

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(I don't really know why I refer to it as my "new" podunk town--since I've already been working there, shopping there, hanging out with friends there, seeing my own doctor there, and seeing many of my patients there for quite some time--the only thing I wasn't doing was sleeping there.)

- Anyhoo, these are some of the Pros and Cons I've considered while making my decision: (and I'll start with the cons.....) - Cons of The New Podunk Town: - 1. It's waaaay-far-the-hell away from anywhere else on the face of the planet.

In fact, it's so dang far away from anywhere that's got any shopping (i.e. toy stores, sporting goods stores, malls, etc.) that the entire town considered placing a Class-Action lawsuit against Sears & Roebuck when they did away with their "Wish Book". Why the hell did they do that? Are they nuts? To this day the kids around here have no earthly idea how to tell their parents WHAT to tell Sanny Clause to get them for Christmas. And stupid Walmart has yet to put out a Wish Book, although plenty of us would like to smack them upside their heads for that fact. -

2. There is no mall.

Although I personally don't hang out at malls, this brings up the Christmas thing again--because the only thing my niece likes for Christmas is gift certificates from the most expensive durn stores in the mall. So when I move down there I'll have to enlist the assistance of my mother, who does live in a town with a small mall. -

3. Everybody in town knows your business.

It doesn't matter HOW SECRETIVE you try to be-- if you do something you don't want anybody to know about, somebody will inevitably find out and blab their fool heads off. You could conduct your daily life like Salman Rushdie but it wouldn't matter a hoot--every detail of your business will be a public record sooner or later. For example, I can't even go to the grocery store to buy soda pop without hearing somebody--even a perfect stranger-- say: "Oh, you're one of the Road Nurses for such and such company? Didn't you used to work for the other Road Nurse company--the one owned by so-and-so whose mother taught my bail-bondsman's kids in school?--and they said their daddy arrested some bad boys who are related to your new Road Nurse company's boss?--and they were in the cell with the nephew of the mayor?--and his wife makes the cupcakes for the WMU?---and she told me that their preacher got in trouble with liquor when someone saw him stopping by the bootlegger's house after church last Sunday?--and his daughter works for the hospital with your boss's cousin?--and one of her patients in the hospital is now your home health patient?--and I know her and she says that you have a tattoo of barbed wire around your left arm because you used to be married to a biker when you lived in the big city?" -

(It could go on and on...but I'll stop there.....)

-

(And yes...I do have a tattoo of barbed wire around my arm, but it's the RIGHT arm, dammit.)

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4. Every single business in town closes at 4 pm.

The reason this is bad is because that means that you can't get a damn thing done after work. You've got to take time off from work for every single time you need to a) go to the doctor; b) go to the dentist; c) get your roots dyed; d) take your vaccuum cleaner to be repaired; e) get a new tire on the Jeep; or f) do anything at the bank. It's a pain in the ass. (Except, of course, at quitting time.....when YOU, too, get off work that early....)

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5. The town's preachers and other authority figures are all over the place--you can't hide.

You have to watch EVERYTHING you do. Especially if you're sinful like me. For example, last Tuesday I was gossiping my head off in the line at McDonalds with Belinda when I suddenly realized-- to my everlasting mortification-- that I was standing right next to the preacher of the First Baptist Church. If you've never lived in a small, Texan town, let me clue you in---there is NOBODY like a Baptist preacher to make you feel guilty as hell. Lord, you don't want to be caught sinning in public by a Baptist preacher, belieeeeeeeeve me. The look he gave me made me wish I could fall down into the floor and be buried over by 10,000 Chicken McNuggets. I'll be asking forgiveness from The Lord till doomsday over this one.... (The only thing worse than being caught sinning in public by a Baptist preacher is......well, I can't really think of anything worse right now. I still feel too guilty over this.)

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(From now on I'm going to meet Belinda at Taco Bell--nobody ever spotted him there....)

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6. There are no "fashion seasons" and there's only one place to shop.

There is only Walmart Winter, Walmart Summer, and Walmart Clearance Rack. If you want anything else you'll have to take a weekend off and drive to Dallas.

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7. And the local managers of Walmart dictate exactly WHAT goes onto the shelves of Walmart.

This is a conservative church town. There are no "middy tops", no bikinis, no blue fingernail polish, no purple hair dye, no half-nekkid Barbie outfits, no see-through nighties, no navel jewelry, no nose rings, and no music CD's with the F-word in them. As I said before, if you want anything else, you'll have to take a weekend off and drive to Dallas.

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8. Nothing happens here on Sunday.

Again, this is a conservative church town. The Blue Laws rule. The only thing open on Sunday here is Walmart, and that is strictly so that people can go there after church to get the fixin's for Sunday Dinner, Banana Puddin', and maybe some last-minute deer-hunting gear. There is a county nearby which sells liquor on Sundays, but woe betide the reputation of the person who is spotted driving down THAT highway on a Sunday.

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(Which is why bootleggers flourish.....)

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Whew.....that's enough of the Cons. So after that dismal list, which is somewhat disturbing, let us now take a look at the Pros.....

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Pros of the New Podunk Town:

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1. If you like the great outdoors, this is the place for you.

Here's a picture of an average ranch that I drive to for my visits (see those lazy cows lollygagging under the shade trees?):

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(Definitely a pleasant place to live and work.)

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2. There's a SuperWalmart with a Tire Center.

Few things are so useful to a busy Road Nurse as a SuperWalmart and a Tire Center, you know what I mean?

3. For a small town, it has lots more fast food places than a lot of other podunk towns in this part of The Wild Wild West.

In fact, there's McDonalds, Taco Bell, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Sonic, and Wendy's. There's also some "independent" family-run joints like "Joe's BBQ Shack", "Jim-Bob's Buffett & Grill", "Bo-Diddly's Bowling Alley/Cafe", and "Mamma Luke's Home-Cooked Flapjacks & Luncheon Deli".

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(Friendly warning here....Mamma Luke's flapjacks are great but don't go on Thursday mornings because that's when Mama Luke goes "big grocery shopping" at Walmart and leaves her daughter-in-law to do the cooking-- and her daughter-in-law can't cook a decent flapjack to save her life.)

4. The town is pretty much run by old-fashioned, law-abiding, church-going, kind-hearted, generous people.

Which means that things run on a pretty even keel and there's very little craziness. Geena-Lou once stopped her pick-up truck on the side of the road to whup her sassy 9-year old kid's butt for hitting his sister-- and nobody called Child Protective Services on her like they might have in the big city.

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(This poor kid has gotten in trouble TWICE in the last month for stuff like this---Geena-Lou had to take away his ropes last week because he roped his 4-year old brother around the neck in the calf pen while practicing his lassos for the next livestock show--and she said she got double-mad because the whole time she was yelling at him her husband was laughing his head off because the kid kept hollering: "But Ma, I only roped the idgit cuz he was bawling like a stupid dogie!")

(We're going to have to keep an eye on that kid.....)

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(And Geena-Lou is still harping about the fact that she broke one of her "best" flip-flops whuppin' him that day on the side of the road.)

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(What I want to know is, is how much "best" can a flip-flop be? Would that be versus the "everyday" flip-flops? I thought flip-flops were flip-flops....)

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(Many people in this town are still old-fashioned enough to call flip-flops"go-heads". My father called them go-heads.) (Lots of my patients call them go-heads.)

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(I think the term go-heads could be used for the designation of "everyday" flip-flops, leaving the term "flip-flops" for someone's "best" flip-flops--wouldn't that make sense?) (I'll mention this to Geena-Lou tomorrow.)

Where was I? Oh yeah.....back to the Pros....

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5. There is only one, small hospital.

Which is great because a Road Nurse can find any doctor in town, whenever she wants, by calling the hospital's operator. You simply call the hospital's operator and have her page whatever doctor you're hunting. The proper way to phrase this request in "small town-speak" is as follows: "Hello, Bertha-Lynn? I'm trying to get a'holt of Doc Jenkins."

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(Translation in hickese: "get a'holt of" means "get in touch with".)

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*(It can also mean you're trying to harness a stubborn horse in the round pen.)

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Anyhoo, this usually works great--except for times like the other day when I had to call back because the dang doctor never returned my call. I was a little irate because the particular patient I was calling about had a problem which needed attention right then. "Ma'am, he never called me back," I complained to the operator on duty. "Well don't blame me," she sassed back. "I paged him when you first called but his cows got out and I imagine he's still out at his ranch gettin' 'em all back in. But I'll page him again." (This fact was confirmed later when the grouchy doctor called me back and hollered into the phone: "I heard Bertha-Lynn's page the first damn time while I was out in the pasture. Now what in the devil are you callin' me about?" )

- 6. Being a woman has its advantages.

This area is still very much part of the "Old South" (albeit it over-to-the-left a little...) and gentlemen around here consider it their fervent duty to help a lady--any lady--with heavy work or anything else that she can't manage. I once bought a 32-inch television at Walmart and whined about how I didn't know how I'd get the heavy thing out of my vehicle once I got home. The salesman took a break from his shift to help me take the television home and get it hooked up. This is not an uncommon thing in this area, as my mother once experienced the exact same situation last year when she bought something large at a hardware store in her own town. The local grocery store still sends bag boys to carry women's groceries to their car. (And if the bag boy is busy, the general manager comes to do it.)

7. People still have trust in each other.

If you forget your wallet but don't realize it until it's too late and they're already handing you your hamburger at the drive-thru window, you can say: "Oh dang! I am SO SORRY but I forgot my billfold--but I promise I'll come back through here in the morning and pay y'all!" and they'll most likely simply say "That's fine, y'all go on and have a nice day!" and wave you through. (Translation in hickese: a "billfold" is a wallet or small change-purse which can hold paper money.)

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8. Everybody tells you to have a nice day.

No matter where you go or what you do, whether at a grocery store, the gas station, a restaurant, or a bank, they'll say "y'all have a nice day! when you leave . Even if it's the jailers saying it when you're bailing a buddy out of jail.

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(And nine times out of ten, your buddy will reply with: "You too, now. And tell Earl that we got the deer-lease, and his part is $75--and it's due next Monday.")

9. Nobody holds a bad credit rating against you. (Or a bad marriage, a pick-up truck wreck, a cheatin' spouse, getting into a fist fight, or anything else that has ever happened in a country/western song.)

For example, I have a crappy credit rating, leftover from a bad divorce. But when I confessed it to the manager of the new place I want to rent, she clucked in sympathy, saying: "That's okay, sugar. Your company is owned by Billy-Bob Picketts and I went to school with him--- and that's good enough for me."

10. Being a "good girl" still counts.

And the definition of "good girl" is this:

- you never say the F-word in public (but you can pretty much say any other cuss word you like in public, as long as you say it in a heavy southern accent, drawing one-syllable words out into two syllables--for example, shit is "shee-it" or damn is "day-um"-- because Texan men think it's cute when "good girls" lose their dainty little tempers and cuss like that.) (And they also think it's cute if you throw stuff while you're cussin'---which is why it never works to cuss and throw stuff at Texan men--you've got to practically MAIM THEM before they'll take you seriously.)

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(but you are allowed to say the F-word in private twice a year for something REALLY GOOD but you've got to apologize for it over and over again for the next two weeks like you just "don't know what came over you"),

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-you always wear a dress to church,

-you always sound reluctant when gossipping and start your sentences with something like this: "I know I shouldn't talk ugly about so-and-so but.....",

-you always end your gossip statements with something like: "...but bless her heart",

-you're always ultra-polite to people older than you,

-in fact you are ALWAYS ultra-polite to everybody in town (no matter WHAT),

-you flirt with old men just to make them feel young again,

-you never appear drunk in public, and

-you know how to make scratch-biscuits.

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(However......If, God forbid, you do get caught drunk in public or making Pop-In-Fresh Biscuits, or doing something else that's not necessarily "good girlish"--then as long as you were raised by a mother who was a "good girl" then it's alright--because then people will simply say with a sigh: "Oh she's surely breakin' her poor mother's heart, but she's still a good girl....")

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(Oh, and if you can't make scratch-biscuits, the ability to make scratch pie-crust from Crisco counts just as good--but you've got to be able to do it by only rolling it out ONCE.)

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(Hey, I can make scratch pie-crust from Crisco--so that means I'm a good girl, right?) (Right?)

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(I can't hear you --- RIGHT?)

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11. And last, but not least: There's no traffic.

In fact, the only thing that has caused one of our employees to be late all week was when Geena-Lou's donkeys got out and she had to go chase them back into their pen. She harped about it all morning, griping: "Dang it, I was ironing my uniform when I looked up and saw both donkeys lookin' in the winder at me. I chased them all the way back into the pen and got dirt all over my brand new tenny shoes."

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(Ever notice how Geena-Lou's got a thing about shoes? First she's pissed about losing a flip-flop in a child-whupping incident, NOW she's pissed about getting her tenny shoes dirty.....) (Who says country girls ain't got fashion sense?)

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12. No...I forgot. This is the last, but not least, reason that this podunk town is good: Because I have lots of friends there.

Animal as well as human. In fact, here's one of my best friends, Little Blackie, who's pissed off at me for telling her to "get the hell out of the middle of the road":

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(Well, I mean REALLY. I don't go into her pasture so I think she should stay the hell out of the middle of the road.)

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* * * * * *

Three Flags Over Podunk (or "A Road Nurse's Day Off"...)

* * *

The cattle are prowlin' and the coyotes are howlin', way out where the dogies bawl, where spurs are a-jinglin' a cowboy is singin' this lonesome cattle call.... ("Cattle Call", sung by lots of folks, like Eddy Arnold and LeAnn Rimes...)

I had a nightmare on Friday night. Nightmares are a frequent thing for me, but it sure gets old. Usually I dream about nursing stuff--and usually it's a frightening flashback type of deal where I'm re-living one of the godawful shifts from when I used to work in emergency rooms. This was one of those times. I had dreamed about the last night that I had worked in an emergency room.

I used to work at a trauma center about 4 hours away from here. I finally quit, nearly two years ago, swearing for the umpteenth time that I will NEVER, and I repeat NEVER, work an ER again. I had sworn this same oath on numerous occasions before in years gone by, leaving the ER in disgust--yet always returning to the ER after a brief absence into some other area of nursing-- working a few more years then leaving the ER again in disgust....etc, etc.

But this time, two years ago, I MEANT IT. My philosophy these days is : "Let the younger-- and stupider-- girls go for it. My glory days are officially OVER. I'm too tired and worn out to fight that soul-sapping, losing battle anymore....."

So far it's been a good philosphy, exept for the problem of nightmares. They haunt me...like last night.

The last night I worked in the trauma center, it was a horrible--yet typical--shift. I worked what we called the "hell shift"-- which was Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings.

The paramedics galloped into my section and practically flung a 6-year old boy onto the nearest stretcher. The boy was in full tonic-clonic seizures, violently twisting and flopping his tiny body, slobbering at the mouth with his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. He had peed and pooped on himself. His young, barely-out-of-her-teens, mother came trailing behind the medics, white as a ghost with fear, looking bewildered and panicked. There was no father.

"What's going on?" I asked the medics.

"Status epilepticus," they replied, hurriedly unhooking the child from their portable monitors in order to transfer him to the ones in the room. I scanned the monitor screen to see the child's vital signs--and noticed thankfully that the boy was still breathing. I hollered for a doctor. Then the medics gave me the bad news. "Couldn't get an IV line to stay in," they told me ruefully. "He jerked out the only one we managed to get into him. Sorry, but you'll have to re-start your own line cuz we gotta go."

Just then the ER doctor rushed in as I frantically finished hooking the kid up to our ER monitors and oxygen. But the child kept knocking his oxygen mask off due to the violent spasms of his seizures. The doctor quicly scanned the medics' paperwork to check for allergies. He scribbled some orders for anti-seizure medicines to be given, intravenously, and then dashed out to see his next patient.

"Hey!" I hollered after him. "I don't have a line yet!"

"So get one," he snapped. "I'm going to transfer him via helicopter to the children's hospital in Arkansas..." He disappeared down the crowded hall. I turned and begged the departing paramedics to help me.

"Sorry, but we've gotta go," they told me. "Five car smash-up on the Interstate---good luck!" and they were gone.

I hollered for help several more times but nobody came. So I knew I was on my own. Cussing loudly, I grabbed an IV kit from the cabinet. I knew that getting an IV line into a 6-year old's small veins while he was thrashing around in the throes of a full blown seizure was a next to impossible task for one person, so I flipped on the emergency intercom on the wall by the stretcher.

"What?" the Ward Clerk answered, sounding annoyed.

"I need someone in here to help me hold this kid down so I can get an IV into him!" I screamed at the wall speaker, frantically lobbing the IV supplies I would need onto a bedside tray. "Get somebody in here to help me STAT!!!!"

"No can do," she replied nonchalantly. "There ain't nobody available--you know damn well it's a zoo out here. But I did call the helicopter and they're on their way. But you better hope they can land when they get here--because there's four other birds on the way and there's only one copter platform...."

I looked at the child and truly felt panic. Because I knew that as long as there was no IV in this kid, I wouldn't be able to inject the anti-seizure medicine into him. And I knew that the longer he stayed in this prolonged seizure, the more likely he would be to suffer brain damage from lack of oxygen--or simply die...

A tech rushed in and threw a bag of anti-seizure medicine onto the stretcher. "There's your meds....gotta go!"

Dismally, I did the only thing I could do. I LAYED DOWN ON TOP OF THE KID in order to stop his legs and one arm from thrashing. Then, while lying on top of the child, I looked right into his mother's frightened eyeballs and said as serious and FIRMLY as I possibly could: "Ma'am--you need to HOLD HIS OTHER ARM AS STILL AS POSSIBLE SO THAT I CAN GET THIS IV INTO HIM--and I mean, DON'T LET HIS ARM MOVE EVEN ONE INCH, do you hear me????"

She nodded in understanding and held his arm down as I strapped two tourniquets on--I wanted to make DAMN sure that a viable vein popped up. But I only found one vein that looked even vaguely possible for a stick....and it was between his 2nd and 3rd finger. So I aimed...and I PRAYED the nurse's prayer...and then I STUCK.

And I got lucky. It was a good line....

I got the IV started and shoved in the medicine. I watched carefully, hoping the medicine would work. And in a few seconds the child's spasms started slowing....slower and slower....and then they stopped. I checked the monitor and saw that the child's heart was still beating--and his oxygen level was good. And he was breathing....thank God.

I kept working on the kid for the next couple of hours trying to stabilize him and get him ready for the flight to the children's hospital, getting in another IV, putting in a catheter, drawing blood for labwork, reassuring his mother, getting his paperwork prepared for the transfer--and giving him more anti-seizure medicine every time the seizures began again, which they did about every half hour. The doctor checked on him frequently, cursing at the delay in the helicopter.

Finally, I called the Ward Clerk again to check on the helicopter's arrival.

"They just got here but they're having to circle," she replied. "They can't land because the helicopter before them is still on the pad. I don't know what's taking them so long to get out of here because they already dropped off the patient they brought us--a guy from a truck accident."

I ran down the hall and found the Charge Nurse. "Listen here," I yelled. "My bird is circling but can't land---what's the hold up on the pad?"

The Charge Nurse looked out over the sea of faces in the crowded halls and noticed the errant helicopter's flight crew standing in a hall chatting with some medics. "YO! FLIGHT CREW! GET OFF THE DAMN ROOF!" she shrieked at them. They looked up in shock, realized what she was asking, and ran to do as she asked.

I ran back to my patient, and waited. Sure enough, the children's hospital copter was finally able to land--and its flight crew came running in. They were all in flight suits, a flight doctor, a medic, and a flight nurse. They helped me load up the child, transferring him from my monitors to their portable monitors, as I gave a fast verbal report. The Ward Clerk came running in to thrust a packet containing the child's X-Rays, blood work reports, and other paperwork at the flight crew -- and we were ready to go.

We madly rolled the child's stretcher down the busy halls as fast as we could, practically knocking over everybody in our path, and took the special elevator up to the flight pad, which was one hundred and fifty dizzying feet up into the air. We then raced out to the waiting copter and performed a "hot load", which means the copter's blades are whirling in full gear, ready for take-off.

I helped the flight crew load the child onto the bird. I thanked them heartily, glad that the child was still in stable shape. Suddenly I noticed the flight doctor's flight pin--which was kind of automatic to me... because it is a little-known fact that ER nurses "collect" medical helicopter flight pins for some crazy reason. We never ask for them--but if given one by an appreciative flight crew, we will wear it proudly on our ER badges. Although I was already wearing two other helicopter services' flight pins, I couldn't help wistfully gazing at the children's copter pin, for it was beautiful...and I didn't have one. Their flight pin was blue and had gold wings. It was labled "Angel One".

The doctor noticed my look--and so I quickly looked away, embarassed. Then to my astonishment, he quickly took off his pin and handed it to me.

And they closed the helicopter's doors...and flew off into the night.

* * * * *

I woke up Saturday morning, mumbling to myself groggily: "There's no place like home.... there's no place like home....."

and realized---it was going to be a great day. I shook off my nightmare because I realized that I had hit the lucky jackpot. Because it was the day that my family was going to take me to the PodunkVille Livestock Show & Carnival after a birthday lunch. We were celebrating several birthdays: mine, my 18-year old niece's, and that of a friend of my father's.

Here's my birthday badge, the one that my sister assigned to me when I walked into the door:

You have to understand, my sister is like Clark Griswold in the "Vacation" movies. She's the type that will set up everything "just so", decorations and all, for Christmas, Easter, New Years, birthdays or whatever the occasion is--and she'll tell you: "We are going to have a nice family birthday (Christmas/ Easter/ New Years, etc.) celebration and you're going to have fun or I'LL KILL YA!" So you do as she directs, by golly. Which means wearing "Birthday Girl" Badges, Birthday Girl Mardi-Gras Necklaces, Birthday Girl Flashing-Light Birthday Girl Tiara's, etc., no matter how old you are.

So we birthday-people donned our badges, our necklaces and our tiaras..... (Sometimes she deviates from the above sentence and says something like: "You're going to have fun IF I HAVE TO BREAK EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY!"---you get the picture.) Fortunately, my sister is always as good as her word -- about the having fun part ( not the killin' part or the breakin' bones part, that is) because we always have a rootin'-tootin' good time. And this time was no exception.

First we had what my sister calls: "The Birthday Lunch, with the Birthday Cake, and The Present-Opening Ceremony".

We had my favorite dish, my mother's Chicken Enchiladas with Mexican Spoonbread, for lunch. Then we had my cake favorite, my mother's Coconut Cake With Bananas Under the 7-Minute Frosting. (LOVE THAT STUFF....) Then we opened presents. I cleaned up like a bandit. I got subscriptions to two of my favorite knitting magazines from my niece-- is that COOL or what? And I got a purse, some computer speakers with a sub-woofer, a rechargeable wireless computer Mouse, a new mouse pad, a vaccuum cleaner (with a one-year service contract...yeah!), a set of bed sheets, and a gift certificate to Walmart---Yay!!!! (Everybody knows Walmart is my most favorite store in the world. It also happens to be the ONLY store in the town I live, ergo, a gift certificate from there is a Double-Yay!) My niece cleaned up, too. She got a video I-Pod to go with her regular I-Pod, a Coach purse, gift certificates to her favorite stores (Victoria's Secret, Aeropostale and Forever Twenty-One), jewelry and... GET THIS..... a snazzy little hand-held device which will enable her to download her classroom notes to her laptop without having to take her laptop to class---she just has to take the little hand-held device to class... Uh....would somebody puh-leeze CLUE ME IN, here???? I mean, I knew that college kids nowadays have it easier than we did in the dark ages....but I thought it ended at the laptop computer, ya know? But it goes further than that now...because they DON'T EVEN HAVE TO TAKE THE LAPTOP TO CLASS!!!!????? Did I miss something????? (Like a decade or two?)

(Sigh....I'm getting old....) After they explained the whole thing to me, I still HAD TO ASK the inevitable "Old Aunt Who Doesn't Know Squat" question: "So what do the kids who can't afford laptop computers do for their notes?" The answer was: "They use the classroom computers." Okay. Now I know. (Dumb Aunt, Dumb Aunt....) (But I will admit here that I'm left wondering what in the hell has happened since I went to college? I mean, I just can't understand how they suddenly got so "computerized"--and WIRELESS even--in college! And absolutely EVERYBODY seems to be in the swing of it. I am visualizing classrooms that look like sets from "The Jetsons" or something. Oh well, what do I know? It's been eons since I went to college. I guess I need to accept that things are just flat out different now. But still, it's scary, you know?)

(Do people even still watch "The Jetsons" anymore????) Anyhoo, then we went to the PondunkVille Livestock Show and Carnival. And let me tell you, as my mother said, you better enjoy these old fashioned, small town livestock shows and carnivals now-- because the way they are disappearing, they probably won't exist much longer....which will be a total shame.

Because to me, it's the last place anymore that you can find that old-fashioned, hometown, safe, Good-Clean, Uncomplicated, as American as Applie Pie, rip-roarin', rootin'-tootin', laughing-till-your-sides-hurt, fun---anymore.... And it was fun as hell. (And in honor of the occasion, I wore my "Bronco-Bustin'" hat to protect myself from the blazing Texas sun....) First we headed to the cattle barn where my co-worker, a nurse named Geena-Lou, was helping her kids "show" their hefers. The hefer showings were running all day, with hundreds of kids from various school district chapters of the Future Farmers of America showing the results of their hard work all summer long.

First, we tromped through 85 cattle stalls filled with various sized & breed of cattle, looking for Geena-Lou and her kids. We elbowed our way through throngs of humans and cows, stepping in umpteen cow pies, asking everybody where Geena-Lou's brood was, to no avail. Finally, the lightbulb went on over my head. "The cell phone!" I exclaimed. "I'll call her to find out where they are!"

I stabbed the numbers out on my cell phone, stopping up my free ear with a finger so that I could hear any reply. It rang and rang...but she finally answered. "Hello?" "Geena-Lou? This is Road Nurse 007. Where in the hell are you? I'm here in the cattle barn and I cain't find ya." (Translation in hickese: "Cain't" equals "can't".) "Where are you?" she asked. "We're by a bunch of Brahmin cows---but there's a bunch of Herefords to the left and a few Angus'es over to the right." "No, silly....not what KIND of cows, but WHOSE cows are you by?" she continued. "How the hell do I know?" I railed. "I don't recognize anybody." "Look at the brands," she continued, patiently. "The brands on the cattle. Look on the COWS' BUTTS and you'll know who you're by! And hurry UP--one of my kids is in the Show Ring NOW!" Okay. So I looked on the cows' butts to check which brands were on them. I saw all kinds of brands. And I figured something out---which is that ranchers don't put their brands onto their cows' butts very neatly. They stick them on there all which-a-way. Some of the brands are sideways, some are perpendicular, some are catywompus, and some of them are just flat out higgledy-piggledy. But I told Geena-Lou where I was.... "I'm by the cattle with brands that look like a bunch of upside-down J's next to a West Coast Chopper symbol", I told her triumphantly. "You idjit!" she laughed. "There's no West Coast Chopper cattle brands! That's probably the J-Cross Ranch. I know where you are, now-- I'll come get ya." She came and got us, and then hurriedly herded us back through the barn to the Show Ring, where one of her boys was showing his prize hefer. I stepped on some more cow pies in the process and my mother was startled by a black hefer who bawled loudly right in her face.

"Mom, that cow is talking to you," I said.

"Oh very funy," she replied sarcastically. The Show Ring was exciting as heck, where all the young people who belong to Future Farmers of America showed the various cattle they've been raising. These kids work very hard all year long to raise these cattle. (And if you want my opinion, kids raising cattle during summer vacation is a good healthy activity-- and a dang site better than some of the other stuff kids can be tempted to get into in these modern times, if you know what I mean....)

The atmosphere was charged with excitement, with the young people showing their cattle in various events, their familes cheering them on, and the usual devil-may-care attitude of "Western Folks" out having a good ole time.

We arrived at the Show Ring just in time to see the judge start down the line to decide on some hefers of a particular breed and age group. Here's a pic of him ( the big ole guy in the suit & tie cum cowboy hat) starting down the line for the first "Look-See". The kids are usually really excited at this time, hoping like heck to win a ribbon, and they just stand there nervous as cats, hoping to high heavens that their cow doesn't chose this moment to er....drop a cow pie. The families stand by, keeping their fingers crossed, waiting for the judging.

And then....after all the judging results came in....guess what? Geena-Lou's kid had won SECOND PRIZE! YAY! He got a ribbon! Which thrilled him because his brother had won a 4th Prize Ribbon earlier in the day. So each of the boys each won ribbons, which is a testament to the hard work they've done. Here's the famous hefers and their ribbons:

Then we all went to the carnival side of the show. And THAT was truly cool. I haven't been to a carnival in a long time. And there it was....just like I remembered it: the rides, the cotton candy, the food booths, the "games" on the midway---and we had the most FANTABULOUS time.

But I was handicapped this time. I had made the GIANT mistake of watching the movie "Final Destination 3" just last week. (WHY oh WHY did I do that before going to a carnival where there were rides? I ask you--WHY?)

But I had. And so I made my big announcement to my crestfallen niece: "I ain't riding no rides that look like that humongous, dangerous roller coast ride in Final Destination 3," I told her firmly. "No way, Jose. The kids in the movie rode that ride--OR ALMOST DID-- and just look what happened to them! Nope...not me! No way, Jose, that's for sure!"

And then my niece showed me the rides....

"Um....look, Auntie Road Nurse," she said gently. "These rides are different...."

And sure enough....as Stupid Old Auntie Road Nurse took a second look at the rides--she noticed that INDEED they WERE DIFFERENT than the roller coaster ride in "Final Destination 3".....

They were harmless rides. Family rides. Rides which couldn't POSSIBLY cause the sort of thing that had happened in "Final Destination 3".

Um....there was the tea-cup ride, only instead of tea-cups there were big Strawberry-shaped cages--it was called "The Berry Go-Round". There was the Ferris Wheel, which didn't go any higher than the local Walmart roof. There was the "Flying Helicopters" ride, which looked like the Dumbo Ride in Disneyland only with helicopters instead of elephants with big ears. And there was the... er....roller coaster....which was really just a little choo-choo train painted like a big green caterpillar--and it never left its tracks which were firmly on the ground.....

"Okay, okay," I told my niece, embarassed about my "Final Destination 3" tirade. "I get the picture--these rides aren't very dangerous. Ok, so I'll ride....."

And so me and my niece rode the rides.

(And I had a really great time except for the mistake I made by riding "The Himalaya". Lord, that damnable ride..... I almost squashed my niece from being flung into her by the centrifugal force, and it just about twirled me right into the stratosphere over the dang carnival grounds. So let me tell you--I don't care HOW un-dangerous it looks, don't ever make the mistake of riding the damn "Himalaya". )

Then we played the games on the midway. Now THAT was fun. If you ever want to win prizes in those games, which are notoriously "rigged" so that you can't win even the smallest prize until you've spent about $78, just go with a gaggle of screaming, laughing Road Nurse Family females--because we laugh so loudly and horse around so crazily that the "carnies" who run the games usually end up giving up trying to "con" us and simply GIVE us all kinds of free, extra "chances"---until we end up winning the big prizes!!!

First, we played the "Throw The Ping-Pong Balls Into The Vases Filled With Gold-Fish" game, where you throw ping-pong balls into vases whose mouths are too small for the ping-pong balls to fit into. If you get one in you win the goldfish swimming around in there. The guy running the game ended up giving us all kinds of free, extra ping-pong balls--probably to get us to shut up. But it backfired on him because we simply drove him to distraction by laughing and playing hysterically--while he surely believed that we didn't have a CHANCE IN HELL of getting any of those stupid ping-pong ball into those too-small vases--and his poor ears were probably bursting from listening to my sister and me each shouting "I WANNA GOLDFISH! I WANNA GOLDFISH! I WANNA GOLDFISH!"--and so the poor guy kept giving us "extra" ping-pong balls for no charge as we cackled like crazed chickens and laughed like hyenas--until I suddenly won three silly goldfish in a row, bam bam bam! Yahoo!

Lord, you would have thought I'd just reeled in a 250-pound off the Caribbean coast.....

"I CAUGHT A GOLDFISH! I CAUGHT A GOLDFISH!" I screamed. Even the carnie guy looked happy for me. He gave me three Fishie-Tokens, which you keep till you go home. Then you stop by an redeem them for the real goldfish just before you leave the carnival. Here's my Fishie Tokens (which I have instead of goldfish because I forgot to go redeem them when we left the carnival....) (Cute little suckers, aren't they?) (Easier to keep, too...) :

Then we headed for the next game. We argued back and forth--should it be a "tossing" game or should it be a "dart" game? Hmmm....... And I was on a roll.....and wanted to keep winning prizes.

And then I won again-- at the "Throw the Steak Into The Tiger's Mouth" game. It was easy. The object of the game was to take your "chance" of throwing 6 steaks into the Tiger's Mouth. You'd get a little plastic toy for a "prize" if you got all 6 steaks into the Tiger's Mouth. Then to win a small stuffed animal you had to get 6 MORE steaks into the Tiger's Mouth--and then 6 MORE steaks--at $5 per "chance" of 6 steaks....

My mother finally dragged me away when I had won a "big" stuffed Tiger for about $127.00 worth of "chances". (I was trying for the gigantic, life-sized, Tiger--but I'm happy with the one I got.)

By then, we were thirsty, so we went looking for some lemonade.

"Where do we get the lemonade?" I asked, looking at the menus on various food vendor signs.

"Gee, I don't know," my sister said sarcastically, staring pointedly at a nearby kiosk which was shapped like a giant yellow lemon.

"Oh hush, you Smart-Aleck!" I laughed---gladly realizing that we were standing outside The Lemonade-of-All-Lemonade Stands.

I ordered lemonades for everybody and we watched, fasinated, as the carnies made the lemonade. Using their grubby, unwashed hands, they grabbed real lemons, halfed them with a communal knife, squeezed the juice out of them with a juice-grinder, poured the juice into huge cups, dumped a dollop of pure cane sugar into the cups, poured ice into the cups-- and them shook the cups hard for a few minutes like they were making martinis--winding up the whole shebang by placing lids and straws onto the tops, and then handing them to us with a flourish....

and when we sipped the lemonade we thought we'd DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN....because it was the BEST DANG LEMONADE we'd ever tasted in our lives!

Aaaaaahh....... nothing like good ole lemonade on a burning hot Texan day at the carnival, eh?

Here's a pic of my Tiger prize, along with the rest of my Birthday Girl loot--the Birthday Girl Badge, my Birthday Girl Mardi-Gras Necklaces, my Birthday Girl Flashing-Lights Tiara, my Bronco-Bustin' hat-- ALL of which I wore to the Lifestock Show and the carnival---and my Lemonade Made With Real Lemons By Dirty Carnie Hands But Was The Best Tasting Lemonade I've Ever Had In My Entire Life Cup, and my Unclaimed Fishie-Tokens:

And a Good Time Was Had By All.......

I was kind of tired that night and so I didn't sleep very good. I tossed and turned. And I had nightmares again.....

This time, the nightmare started out as an old nightmare I used to have when I worked in Miami. The hospital I worked at was on the bay and had a boat dock to receive patients from cruise ships. We used to see dolphins swimming out there sometimes. I used to tease the other nurses that I "saw dolphins in my IV bags". Sometimes I still dream that there's dolphins in my IV bags.

This was one of those nights where I dreamed about dolphins in my IV bags. But on this particular night there was a twist on the usual scenario....

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