Smokin' Spider

Oh, what a night!

After a crazy cleaning spree last night that postponed bed time until 1am, I'm woken up by a shrill alarm. Having woken up an hour before with the cords of my alarm clock and bed-side lamp in my hand, I didn't think much of it and began pushing every button on my "broken" alarm clock in attempts to silence it. I was worried that it would wake the entire house. It was 4:00 AM, after all.

Sounds from down the hall confirm that my little brother and sister were both up.

"I'm trying to fix it!" I thought as I continued to pound on all of the buttons fixed on top of my alarm clock.

That's when my youngest sister opened my door and shouted, "Fire! It's saying Fire!"

Everything clicked in a moment.

It was not my alarm clock, but the fire alarms that blared.

That's when the questions began pouring from my groggy brain.

Why are the fire alarms going off?

How do we turn them off?

Is there actually a fire?

Everyone grabbed shoes and a jacket and met up in the middle of the house, instinctively grouping. We decided to confirm an actual problem before calling the fire department. After several sweeps of the house for visual or olfactory signs of fire or electrical problems, we concluded that we didn't have a fire on our hands but a malfunctioning alarm system.

Nerves jarred and adrenaline still coursing through my system, I attempted to lay back down for a few more winks at the night. I tossed and turned twice before the alarms went off again. The shrill beeps notified us that something was still amiss and needed attention.

My little brother was on the phone with dispatch in a moment and we had the Sheriff and a slew of volunteer fire fighters in two fire trucks in front of our house in no time.

They used a heat gun on all of the walls to detect fire in the electrical system, and carbon monoxide detectors for, well, carbon monoxide. The only thing they found was an orange blinking light where it should have been green. This let us know that the alarm in my parent's master bedroom was  the culprit.

Of course Mom and Dad would be out of the country when something like this happened.

*tsk, tsk*

We chatted with the firemen for a while and learned that small insects or dust will sometimes get into the fire alarms and set them off at random times. We committed to cleaning the alarms, putting moth balls behind them, and changing the battery in the alarm that went off.

I was just really glad that my cleaning spree had set many things right that would otherwise have been deeply embarrassing. There is no excuse for a messy house.

My little brother climbed a ladder to the vaulted ceiling where the evil fire alarm was placed. Upon examination he discovered a tiny spider.

It might still be in there.

We were Skyping with my parents at the time and everyone agreed that the spider must have been smoking something up there and that's what really set off the alarm; not mere spider legs tickling the sensors.

In any case, bed time was stretched back to 5:00AM and the disruptive sleep has left me feeling a bit queasy. Good thing that today is my day off. Tender mercies come wrapped in strange packages.

What You Call Love

This song has been stuck in my head all day.

I love it.

I hope you can see why.



Guster -- What You Call Love

I caught a piece of the sunshine, put a little hope in me
But after the flood raged, there's nothing really left to see
But I was not done, or beat, the violence was a source of strength
Not everything is always just as it seems

What you call love, is just urgency
What you call love, is a place you turn in an emergency
Would you give up, when it's not what you want it to be?
But that's not love, what you call love

I caught a piece of the sunshine, burned a little hole in me
But after the flood raged, there's nothing really left to see
But i was not done or beat, the violence was a source of strength
Not everything is always just as it seems

What you call love, is just urgency
What you call love, is a place you turn in an emergency
Would you give up, when its not what you want it to be?
But thats not love, what you call love

What you call love, is just urgency
What you call love is a place to turn in an emergency
Would you give up when its not what you want it to be?
But thats not love, what you call love
No thats not love, what you call love
Thats not love, what you call love

Rakish

Work was intense today. The job itself is pretty easy but when 30 people all show up at the same time, it can get pretty hairy, especially since we can only seat 40 people at a time when we have enough phlebotomists to meet ratio -- which almost never happens.

We had to call in reinforcements from the lab. That's why our Lab Dude was out on the floor in the first place.

The personality types that are attracted to making a quick buck via plasma donation can sometimes be a little . . . strange.

Case in point: Donor Dude.

Donor Dude always has something strange to say. He has no filter and is not shy about loudly broadcasting this fact. It is very difficult to remain poised when Donor Dude begins speaking. He is, however, very intelligent.

So, Donor Dude finished his donation after an hour straight of bizarre comments featuring some of the following doozies (paraphrased and changed based on my faulty memory, but you'll get the gist):

"Have you ever tried to woo a woman by singing Neil Diamond songs to her? I've been listening to a lot of Neil Diamond lately and I wonder if it would work. His lyrics are ridiculous!"
"...So, I just need to find a beautiful woman in the jungle of Southeast Asia...Yeah, like that would work."
"...I have a friend who knows Slovakian dances, he could teach people. Wouldn't that be crazy?"

As Lab Dude disconnected Donor Dude from the machine, getting his bottle ready to process, Donor Dude begins with a rather benign observation:

DD: You look like that singer from Reliant K!
LD: Who?
DD: I don't know his name, but you both have a rather rakish appearance.
LD: What is "rakish"? Is that even a word?
DD: I can't really define it without seeming like I'm hitting on you and that would be weird.
LD: . . .
DD: Hey! (directed toward me) You've heard of the word "rakish," right?
Z: It is a word, but I couldn't use it in a sentence. What's the definition? Use it in context.
DD: Rakish: it's like the guys on the cover of those romance novels -- wind-swept, rugged sailors. You know, those romance novels.
(Everyone within ear shot is laughing.)
Z: Like, heaving bosoms and Fabio hair?
DD: Yeah, my mom used to read those books all the time. You know, right?
Z: Are you sure your mom would be fine with you telling us these things about her? I've never read those books.
DD: (Still trying to defend the definition of "rakish") It's like dashing sailors from those books. My mom used to keep some by the toilet the whole time I was growing up.
Z: Whoa, you should really be more careful of what you admit about your mom when she isn't around!
LD: *not excited about the conversation*
DD: It really is a word.
Z: I know it is, but it's the way you're defining it that makes it funny. Sorry to laugh at you, but it's just the whole situation.

Donor Dude walks away to be paid and we all bust up laughing so hard, it hurts. A few minutes later, I was taking a bottle back to the lab for processing and Donor Dude was still trying to receive validation for his use of the word "rakish."

DD: It is a word.
Z: I know it is, and I'm going to look it up tonight. Remind me next time you come in!

. . .

So, I came home and looked up the definition of the word "rakish."

rak·ish 1 (rksh)
adj.
1. Nautical Having a trim, streamlined appearance: "We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long and lissome hull" (John Masefield).
2. Dashingly or sportingly stylish; jaunty.


Donor Dude was totally right!! Just in a weird, abstract sort of way. He kind of morphed several attributes of a romance novel hunk into being a rackish sailor. But, I can see how he got there.

What's more...

. . . Lab Dude totally looks like the main singer for Relient K, Matt Theissen!!

Up until this week, Lab Dude's hair even looked like Matt Theissen's!

Very rakish, indeed.

Way to be, donor dude. Way to be.

Today: A Wednesday

1.) Wednesdays make me think of my 8th grade homeroom teacher who was also my geometry teacher. He had a monotone to rival Ben Stein and always said the most awkward things. He called "Colon" all year instead of "Colin" just to be ornery. He also called Wednesday "hump day." His explanation was that once Wednesday is over, you are over the "hump" in the middle of the week and you can coast down to the weekend without difficulty. I just think it sounds dirty. But, then again, I'm known to have a dirty mind at times...No, I've evaluated my memory and I think he actually meant to sound dirty but then tried to hide it.





As a random side note: I sometimes worry when telling plasma donors to "Go ahead and pump now," that they hear "Go ahead and hump now." I get funny looks sometimes.

2.) I love Wednesdays because I get off work early for orchestra rehearsal. I love working earlier in the day and having more time in the afternoon and evening to do what a want.

Definitely got myself some caramels from Sees Candy today while I waited for rehearsal. Mmmmm, sweet, salty caramel dipped in rich, creamy milk chocolate. Nom, nom, nom.

3.) We'll be playing a compilation of Star Wars themes by John Williams in our upcoming May concert! I'm so excited!!



4.) Driving in a rain/sleet/snow storm is so much better when accompanied by a personal sound track including Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries! Just try it sometime and try to tell me I'm wrong. You won't be able to; it's too awesome!



5.) After six years of only using math for physics and chemistry, it takes a little bit to get the cogs running smoothly enough to help a high school student study for a math test. Yeah, I forgot the vocabulary term "parabola." The important thing is that I remembered how to graph one!

More Music

Last fall a friend posted a song on Facebook. It was written and performed by her friend and roommate, Emily Brown.

Emily's vocal timbre is lovely and unique but similar to other artists I enjoy.  It's like listening to a little bird warbling about unrequited love. If her music had a scent, I imagine it to be fresh rain over newly sprouted grass. Organic, untainted, pure.

She has recently launched an album! I intend to buy it soon but have left my purse downstairs and my laziness inhibits me from crawling down and then climbing back up to do so. You can find it here and listen to each of the eight songs in their entirety before, perhaps, purchasing it for yourself.

While the following recordings are not the best quality, these are my favorite songs from those I've heard Miss Brown sing and neither happen to be on the album.

Enjoy!

Blood of Healing

As it turns out, sleep is actually necessary for an appropriate level of functionality.

Who knew.

I was only zonked out for maybe 4 hours last night. But that was interrupted sleep with a very long period of non-sleep in the middle. I struggled today.

Last night I went to sleep before midnight and dreamed crazy dreams. I briefly woke up to turn over after a particularly strange dream. Turning my head, I could feel something...strange. Warm stuff was coming out of my nose! Jumping up, I ran into the bathroom next door and discovered that blood was gushing from my face. It was almost surreal. Standing there, all I could think was, "This never happens to me!"

I've helped plenty of people staunch the flow of a bloody nose, but I've never really thought about it for myself. In fact, the last time I can remember such a river of precious bodily fluids draining from my own face was when I was four years old. 

My little sister and I were twirling around in the living room pretending to be ballerinas. Arms out-stretched, we spun in circles to make our skirts catch the air and become full. Dizzy and happy we continued to dance faster and faster until one ill-fated turn sent my sister's hand colliding with full force into my nose. My face immediately irrupted into volcano of blood.

Shocked by the unexpected pain, I contorted my little body into a position meant to avoid bleeding all over my clothes. Bent at the waist, my face was turned ground-ward with one hand clamped to my nose and the other stretched out for balance. In this manner I blindly hobbled around the house like a child zombie, yelling for my mom to come help me as large drops of blood dripped in my wake.

But I couldn't find her.

I anxiously searched for Mom, screaming her name with increased urgency as I roved each room of the house and then somehow made it outside. She finally found me on the driveway. I had removed the hand from my face and discovered a trailing blob of bloody slime coming from my nostril. This freaked me out worse than just bleeding and my cries become quite panicked as I stumbled around screaming about a "bloody booger" attacking my face.

Mom took care of me, though, and soon the mighty river of blood was staunched.

Last night I didn't have a Mom to take care of me. It was 2:30 in the morning and I didn't want to wake anyone to apply a cold compress to the back of my neck or pet my hair as I tried to control my adrenaline-junkie of a heart. I merely waited for the blood to stop. I waited for my body to do what I know it is meant to do -- to clot and heal the busted blood vessel.

The human body is amazing. The healing process never ceases to cause wonder and adoration in my heart. We are made to be healed.

I've been thinking about this all day.

On our bodies is written a personal Book of Life. Everything that happens to us also happens to our bodies, and it keeps a record. I have several scars on my body from accidents, surgeries, and sheer stupidity. But no matter the cause, they have all healed over and most can barely be seen.

What a beautiful gift we all have to heal the natural consequences associated with residing in a mortal tabernacle of flesh.

What a beautiful reminder that through the blood of Jesus Christ we can be healed from wounds to our immortal souls.

While repentance can hurt a lot at first, the scars heal and are usually forgotten over time as though the wound never existed.

Weekend "Ah-ha" Moments

1.) A couple in love radiates adoration.

2.) There is nothing sweeter in this world than being cuddled by a baby. Nothing.

3.) When the earth is warm and the air is cold, snow falls in large, white clumps but does not stick. This is when magic happens.

4.) Time must be the true test for friendship. How we spend our time when we're together and how we feel as though no time has elapsed when we reunite after an extended absence helps me to know that we are the best kind of friends: the real kind.

5.) The Lord has a sense of humor. We must be objective observers of our own lives to be privy to the joke, and then we see that He laughs with us -- never at us.

This time last year, I was tromping around England with my sister, nephew and brother in law. This is one of my favorite photos from that adventure. Mr. Rossy in the sunset at Cape Cornwall.

This weekend has been full of beautiful moments. I've been lucky enough to share in the wedding celebration of a close friend, spend time with soul sisters, learn new things, meet new people, give away candy, give and receive thanks, be happy for instead of jealous of, see something from a new angle, sing gorgeous songs, and continue on a path that has already given me so much to be happy for.

My blogging has been less than consistent over the last few weeks. This is probably because my life has been less than consistent but really awesome over the last few weeks. I'll attempt to regain my regular posting schedule for those of you who check in every morning before getting ready for work. You know who you are.  Even if I don't answer your emails immediately, I will still try to give you a peek into my zammity existence. Mmm-kay?