Friday, October, 30

It's time to dress up in costumes and go outside and get sopping wet and freezing.

Halloween on the West Coast. Bloody hell.

My big costume today (for the smirking benefit of my colleagues) is Swine Flu. I'm wearing a pig snout and a mask. Why? Because I am lazy and have poor taste.

Besides, I can't really pull the Pregnant Nun thing where I work, so I had to choose something else.

I've not written much lately because Husband has been in Autralia FOR A MONTH and I've been functioning with half a tank of normal. Husband's absence means I'm in charge of EVERYTHING and I'm not particularly cool with that. There were a few nights when I let the Little Girl brush her own teeth. Bad idea. There have been a few days when I've not got the energy to take Dog for his evening stroll. He retaliated by eating a slipper yesterday. Sometimes I wish my dog was dumber. He has made the connection between 'not enough walks' and 'household destruction'. Ah, but will he made the connection between "household destruction" and NO FREAKING FOOD!?

Aye, there's the rub. Or none at all from me, actually.

Oh, and the barking frenzy at 5am this morning? Help....me....not.....kill....him....

First Aid Training - CLEAR!

Okay, I'm ready now. You can bleed in front of me and I. Will. Be. Okay.

Better than okay. I have gloves.

Yesterday our staff went through a full day of St. John's Ambulance First Aid training. It was intense. I defibrillated someone. Not a real person. But I got to stick the pads on, and yes, I yelled "CLEAR!".

It was one of the greatest moments of my life.

The only drawback was that Patrick Dempsey was not present.

I do feel for the instructor - or anyone- who has to teach something to a bunch of teachers. We are notoriously the worst students.

a) We never shut up. That's why we're teachers.
b) We are critical of delivery style.
c) We are hypocritical douchebags.

Not all of us, mind you. Just most of us.

We need to be smacked.

But nobody smacked us. Instead they tolerated us as we learned how to check airway, breathing and circulation, and all sorts of other cool things. Luckily, we live in a place where an ambulance will get to us in less than 30 minutes, however - and this is a big 'however' - someone can die in less than four minutes, so that's why you simply have to know this stuff. I was pretty rocked by how much I didn't know. Like, that it's easier to die from eating a hot dog than from stabbing yourself in your gut.

(For me, it feels about the same but that's another story.)

My partner and I were working hard on a mannequin, when the teacher came by to check how we were doing. She said,

"Have you ascertained the cause of the casualty's injuries?"

Well, he has no arms or legs...that's my guess.

"You found him unconscious,"

Oh, he's fainted has he? Right. He's fainted ma'am.

So, what do you do?

"Uh. I check his airway,"

NO! First you obtain permission to treat him.

"But he's unconscious!"

You have to get consent. Even if it's implied consent - then you can treat him.



Hmmmm....so there's such as thing as "implied consent" is there?

Oh I am all over this. When husband is sleeping, I will whisper, "I want to buy the $300 shoes, are you okay with this?"....

No response.Yep. I'd say that's implied consent. I mean I got no response from my lifeless torso, but that still gave me the go-ahead to save his lifeless life and pound repeatedly on his chest yelling, "I'M NOT GIVING UP! DON'T YOU NOT DIE ON ME! BREATHE DAMMIT! BREATHE!"

I watch too many medical dramas.

Implied consent. I like it.

THANKSGIVING

"If the only prayer you ever say in your life is Thank You, it will be enough." - Meister Eckhart

Tomorrow is Canadian Thanksgiving. It is a time when, for some reason, people eat turkey and pumpkin pie. Nobody really knows why, we just do. Turkeys all across this land tremble.

But more than the scarfing of a bird, it is a time when we reflect on gratitude. It originates from the earliest settlers giving thanks for the bounty of their non-genetically-modified harvest.

I'll drink to that!

Here's where it gets a bit squiffy: we don't harvest. We go to the grocery store. And most of us, don't even think about whether or not we've the cash to buy all the food we need, and a lot of food that we don't need. We just buy it. Rarely do we consider that a weekly task for us is something most people in the world would only dream of.

We bring it home and stuff it into our refrigerators, unaware that actually owning one of those appliances is beyond luxury.

We do all this in a country where our rights and freedoms are sacred and defended by a people who stand for acceptance and tolerance; a country with a world reputation for peace-keeping.

What I'm trying to say is this: I almost didn't write this post because I didn't know where to start in terms of what I'm thankful for. That in itself, is the reason I had to write this.

There is something worth discussing in all this: in cultures where we have so much, why is there so little gratitude? Cultures that are unspeakably poor still find children squealing with delight over a bicycle tire they found, that they can still make bump along the road. Women still laugh, even though they've lost their husbands to civil war, and their children have had to become soldiers. We think of these societies as 'undeveloped'.

They have so much to teach us.

I'm grateful that my children are picky eaters, for there are many who shovel down anything that they find because they don't know if there will be another meal.

I'm grateful that the Big Girl changes her outfit three times a day - causing more laundry and mess. It reminds me that I can provide clothing for her so that she never knows real want, and that all I have to do is toss something into a machine, not beat the clothes on a rock in an unclean river.

I'm grateful that Husband is away on business, because I know he isn't fighting in a war, I know he will return to us. He is away for a long time, but it means he's earning a living and he's doing a job he loves and that he's good at. Many women never see their husbands because they've fled their country and don't know when, if ever, they'll be reunited.

I'm grateful for the chores - it reminds me that I have a home.

I'm grateful for work - it gives me purpose and challenges me in exactly the way I need. And almost every day I say a silent thank you to the dear friend who helped me find this job, who knew, even before I did, that I was called to teach.

I'm grateful for those of you who read this - you validate me and make me feel as though I've something worthy to say. The only words to express my gratitude for that feeling are: thank you.

Even within this culture of abundance, there are those for whom gratitude may be hard to find. When you have lost someone you love, you know that all that you have means very little compared to a person.

Some things in my life have brought me to my knees - and they all taught me something about gratitude; that the heart is ripped open for consciousness to be born. When that happens, you bleed until you think there is nothing left inside you. Your soul can be crushed, your spirit buried deep, but there is always a tiny light that shines. When the time is right, a tender shoot of hope will appear. If you nurture it, it will grow.

And when it does, you are grateful.

You have been granted the best gift of all: the gift of a grateful heart.

What's the answer?

One of my students wrote a quiz for me today. On every single line, he wrote "Chuck Norris". It was a vocabulary quiz.

I looked at his paper, then at his wide-open eyes behind thick glasses. "What is this, Alonso?" I asked. His eyes got even bigger, and he said, "I didn't study. So I figured that, no matter what the question, Chuck Norris is always the answer."

I love my job.

Why does Madame want me to take off my pants?

A cup of hot tea.

It belongs on a desk, right? Mine shifted ever so slightly to the edge of the desk, took a leap onto my lap, then smashed on the floor. Hot. Very hot. Unpleasantly so. And my pants were soaked. They were so thoroughly soaked that it was also in my shoes.

Not a good way to start the class. But the interesting thing about all this was the look on my students' faces. They were stricken! They looked at me as though I'd just ripped the crucifix off the wall and started smashing windows with it. I asked one terrified girl to go to the staff room and ask if anyone had a towel. She just stared at me, wide-eyed. With a more urgent reminder, off she ran. (Later that day, another teacher asked me why Monica had come running into the staff room demanding a pair of pants. Ms. B said, "Why does Madame want me to take my pants off", and you can imagine the hilarity that ensued from this particular misunderstanding.)

I followed, slowly duck-walking my way down the hall with soaking pants and squishy shoes while my confused class was left unsupervised. In the staff room, I got the expected round of applause, and an offer to watch my class while I straddled the hand-dryer in the bathroom.

In all - not the way to start the day. Especially when one staff member helpfully suggested I tell the kids that I'd forgotten my Depends that day.

But it did make me ever so grateful to the surgeon who fixed up those pelvic muscles, which after pushing two babies out of there, became utterly useless and the cause of great embarassment.

This is the Shit.

Seriously? You want me to write about poop?

Okay!

Since I've got this messed-up system, sometimes things don't work as they should. This one was, in actual fact, not my fault. (Most system fuck-ups are my doing.) And I became obsessed with Beethoven's movement - or lack thereof.

So, seeing as I enjoy the pharmaceutical world and all its many offerings, I downed a couple of pieces of chocolate Ex-Lax. Tasty. Mmmms. Maybe just one mor....NO! THINK! DAMNIT!

I resisted the tastiness and went to bed.

The next morning...all was well. Oh yeah. Alleluia and all that.

Off I went to work, in my newly relaxed state. Mid-morning rolls around and I'm offered a scrumptious latte. Now, not really thinking about the laxative properties of a latte I slurp it down.

Ten minutes later - no joke- I have the kind of urge that makes me push people out of the way to get to the bathroom, where I practically need a seat belt just to stay on the toilet. Oh God.

Thankfully nobody else was in there. Phew! Okay - that's taken care of. Back to work....NO! WAIT! Here it is again! OMYGODGETOUTOFMYWAY!!!! I kept thinking, "She's gonna blow!"

There was someone in the washroom.

No. Just no.

I apologize to everyone, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do.

So I did.

About four times that day.

Lesson learned.