Rising to the Girls Austin Weekend

Austin Redux

We decided to go for a girls weekend in Austin.  Left Tallahassee, Florida at 5:30 am or 3:00 pm depending on which flight out you arranged.

Lisa got there early and rented a car to drive to Fredricksburg, home of lovely flowers and a very busy website  She did get there before all the bluebonnets had bloomed and the poppies were amazing. 

We went on a tour called austinducks.com.  While we were waiting to leave the gentleman above passed our boat/car and I liked his braid.  The gentleman below is the Duck Tour Guide with a preloaded script and bad jokes, which he fortunately ad lib's whilst he drives us through Austin rich areas.

This is simply skyline view as we walked.  The angle building which is supposed to be an owl is behind and the stair step building in front is unknown but very brown....

The Ducks Tour took us through the lake which is really just a dammed up part of the Colorado River where rich people build houses.  The tour guide said the Michael Dell and Matthew McConaughey live here and they have helicopter pads on the lake.  Don't know the truth, but letting you know he said it.

A quick stop at Stubbs for lunch and tunes.  They were preparing for Food and Wine weekend.

Then, lots of walking, shopping, new cowboy hats and back home to sunny Florida.  Always a great three day get away with your best girl friends!

Another Trip to Washington DC and Rising to the Occasion of Patriotism

On my recent trip to Washington DC with my adult children, I asked my 23 year old daughter if staring at the capital caused her to feel patriotic.  She paused and then said something like, "not really".

We toured the Air and Space museum and I looked on in awe remembering the space race and John F. Kennedy inspiring a nation.  My adult children saw something that has been there their entire lives.

At the fence today, on my way home from the evening walk, my neighbor called me over and asked if I was watching the Olympic Games.  I told her I had watched the Russian figure skaters and what an inspiration it was for the young man to win the gold.  His story being one of rags to riches.  She said she remembered as a girl how exciting the Olympic games were.  We would all crowd around the television like it was the evening news with Walter_Cronkite. It was a big deal and we rooted for our country - the US of A.

We pondered on why the patriotism level is diminished, or at least we perceive it that way.  I suggested that it is because the generations have no one unifying goal.  In a world where we can unite faster than ever before -on line for a reason, we also can lose focus just as fast.

In the pre-computer days, we waited all year for the winter Olympics to show on the t.v.  We had reason to look forward. Long cold winters, short days, long nights. Catholic school.   Now, the everyday question can be answered in seconds and you can watch so much live, without wait or editing.  Our feed us now, feed us more, feed us quickly generation is not as easily inspired over the long run.

That discussion moved to Obama and his inspiration then transmigration to one of them, one of the every day.  He lost the magic moment, not because he is not inspirational (although I leave that to the pundits) but because he lost the one simple message repeated and rejoiced and repeated.

Kennedy had the luxury of the space race.  Obama inherited wars, the debt, and the oh so many lagging conservatives.  He also had healthcare for all.  Basic human dignity for all. His message got lost in websites and taxes.  He started to give in here and give a bit there.  He lost the message of basic health care for all.  He lost his short attention-span fans, because he left his message for something none of us really understand.  Funny, he had the insurance companies with him.  And he is still changing it, delaying it.  Diluting the message and his history.  And perhaps, though not all his responsibility, diluting the youth patriotism.

Patriotism is not just about loyalty, it is about inspiration, tears, willingness to step us, protection, love, and the future and the past.  Our young people need to believe they have a future, a country that encourages them and a place where vision, bravery and risk pay off.  They need the 2015 version of go west young man.  I don't know where these leaders and ideas that inspire will come from, but I know they are out there. The youth want to believe in a cause, in truth and justice.  But they don't want to wait.  They want immediate 2014 on line feedback that they are worth it and their accomplishments meaningful.  They want to be recognized for their own wild wild west.  Because this is America, and there will always be a cowboy or girl to take us to the new frontier.

of a passion for your vocation and snakes

Update on the Snake Bite Victim:


I know some people want to hear the whole story of how and why Charles was bitten by a snake after handling them for many years.... I cannot take away the story that is surely his to tell.  I can't wait to hear the version in five years.  I am sure it will involve snow, hills, and perhaps a long struggle.

But the real answer is statistics.  He just finally lost to the odds.  Do something long enough and something will happen, especially with animals (and reptiles).

He of course was aware of what to do and what the identity was, etc.  He was doing what he has always done, learn and watch and try to educate others about the wildlife in Florida.

The update is that he is doing so much better.  His finger has reduced in size to the equivalent of a very fat cigar.  It is still wearing the purple badge of honor which will deteriorate as the bruised tissue is replaced.  He will probably regain total movement (though now it is a little stiff).

He is a very lucky man and had wonderful people to assist him in his moment of need.  Of course, he is back fishing and wandering the woods, and parks and waterways.  And of course there will be more snakes - hopefully of the red rat variety though.....

Thank you for your concern and thoughts.

Part One:  Most of us work 40 hours a week, 50 weeks a year.  That is 2000 hours a year, almost a third of your time and over half your waking time.

So lucky the ones who choose a vocation or a calling rather than a job.  Lucky those who have a passion and are able to do it for a living.  I know so few who chose what they love to do as a way to earn a living. So if you are one, then you have my admiration and my envy.

This is never so evident as in the healthcare field.  There are those doctors, nurses, pharmacists, phlebotomists, and nurse assistants that make you feel  like you are a person that matters.  They make you know that your pain is not their goal.  They make you know that the pain that you feel is recognized, that there is empathy.

The needle in the arm for the tenth time finds no veins.  The veins can be "fished" for or they can roll.  But, the truth is, the search for the vein can be done with gentle finesse or with the careless skill of a novice.  And of course, there has to be a novice.  I wonder how they select the novice tasks... "follow me and do what I do" or "follow me and you can learn on those with the least pain"...?

The difference in those paths are simple, the one who is passionate about providing the best care with the least pain, and those who want to get the job done. 

Neither are truly wrong.  But the difference is amazing.  And who do you want leading the next generation to provide care?  the passionate caregiver or the functional performer?

It is not fair to make someone who is truly good at their craft an automatic leader or teacher.  Not everyone has that knack.  But when you find the two combined, you have true inspiration!  Think back on your best learning experience.  I promise the person was truly excited about their topic and couldn't wait to tell you all about their knowledge.  It is funny, but my husband and my father are examples of people who were passionate about their fields and could not wait to share their interest with others.

This weekend my husband went to the ER with a snake bite.  A water moccasin snake bite.

 For those who are not normally involved with poisonous snakes, that is a hemotoxic bite:

Hemotoxic venom radically attacks blood and tissue cells causing traumatic damage to the area which received the bite. In some cases the after effects are so bad the patient may require skin grafts due to tissue degeneration and muscle damage.  Hemotoxic venom works by preventing the body’s blood supply from coagulating, therefore causing bite victims to experience large amounts of blood loss. 

" The victim’s limbs quickly start swelling as the body resists the effects of the cottonmouth snake venom. The swelling is as a result of body fluids collecting around the bite area which gradually spreads to other body parts. The swollen body parts redden followed by severe itching " according to cottonmouthsnake.org  and snakebite trauma  

The experience in a medical facility is dependent on the experience of the staff with the specific trauma.  It was very interesting to see the staff respond, calling poison control center, following the protocol and keeping the indicators recorded.  There was a huge difference in confidence when a doctor with experience with snake venom talked about treatment and those who were just following protocol.  It was a confidence issue as much as a credibility issue.  We were fortunate to have a doctor who had learned from cobra bites...  she exuded confidence, control and knowledge.  How fortuitous. 

And back to the beginning, she not only knew the treatment, but told me the patient would not change.  That there were more snakes in his future.  Hopefully, no more poisonous bites though.  She smiled at me with the knowing, " I have a recalcitrant husband too" look.

Between the doctor and the kind phlebotomist, the nurses who helped pass time all night, the difference in those who chose their passion, and those who chose a job was clear. And lest there be any doubt, I a grateful to both. It's just a little more fun, a little more certain, a little more reassuring to have the ones who are passionate and skilled.

Thank you to all those who helped at #CCRMC 

@CapitalRegional

Rising to the Gifts of the Husband

My husband is a different kind of man.  Being a Game Warden, he is more earthy than most.  He hunts and fishes.  He has no concern over the often gruesome tasks of his job, necropsy and autopsy of long passed critters.  He often deals with the very fortunate plantation owners and rich hunters of dove and the not so fortunate "redneck" hunters who are both sporting and shopping for food.

The people he meets, meet is a word which I use loosely, have the variety of values that most have with one difference.  They all have guns.  And knives.  And the will to hunt or at least the belief of the will to hunt. So knowing that about him, one could expect his view of the world is different and his idea of presents and gifts might be unique....

So it started long ago, with valentine presents in heart shaped boxes with red ribbons that either contained pocket knives or garter snakes.  And it progressed to a case of my favorite tea in bottles or a set of camouflage pants.  One year, he gave me a vacuum cleaner, at least an ORECK.

There were no years of jewelry or fancy clothes.  But there were many years of children and toys and relatives and gift wrap.   There were several years of Cape San Blas and cold water polar bear swims!  And as the kids got older and the jobs more demanding, we stayed in Tallahassee or Gainesville or sometimes the farm in Madison.

I have tried to minimize gifts and the marketing side of Christmas and Valentine's day.  A gift of stock or a 401k contribution is nice.  An agreement of siblings to not get gifts and spend money on a holiday that is really not about shopping (blasphemy!) is working well.  Less clutter, less muss.  This year, after the socks and underwear were opened, the entertainment was nerf guns and all had a fabulous time.  With so many boys in the family, we had an all out sponge war going.

But back to the husband gifts.  He bought me a fishing creel once and a net, that I think was more wall decoration than real.  The gifts were never traditional, and usually, not expected.

So this year, it is my turn.  I am giving him something he wanted.  He retires in February, and he bought his retirement boat.  Cash.  Done.  I have to tell you as the household accountant, I felt a shortness of breath when he told me he was paying cash.

So, over myself, I hope he loves it.  I hope the Valentine beginning to his retirement is lovely.  and full of fish for me and mine and his and ours.

Happy Valentine's Day Charles Higman and Happy Retirement!

Eventing Horse Clinic with Jim Wofford 2013

Rising to the Occasion of The Choice to Give

Today, on the way home, I pulled into my local Publix parking lot like usual.  It was 40 degrees and damp and cold out.  I had just driven in from Jacksonville.  There at the end of the island was a woman holding a child with a snow suit on.  A man stood beside her with a sign that said, "Help my family and 3 children".  The sign was made with cardboard mounted on styrofoam.  They stood, with him holding the sign and her swaying with the child who looked heavy.  He should have held the child and her the sign.  First doubt.

I proceeded to the parking area where I usually choose to park.  As I exited the car, I turned to look at the family on the island.  I was contemplating buying them a Publix family dinner.  But, after I grabbed my bags, I stood upright just in time to see the adults running and then stopping to click open the van and jump in.  The man ran back to pick up a Publix sack, then back in the van and they squealed off.  I couldn't tell if it was because he Publix staff had just walked out.

I saw a very similar group at the Fresh Market.  A woman holding a child with a sign and the tenish year old sitting in the grass just staring at the parking lot.  Her sign said simply, "Help Please".

I did give the Fresh Market lady $5.00.  But, when I saw the trio at Publix flee the parking lot, another scenario popped into my head.  It was the warning of my friends and many websites: Don't fall prey to the Gypsies!

Lain Mckell photo on modern day gypsies Huffington Post

When we were in Paris, the Gypsies were the pick pockets, the fleecers, the ones that would take what is yours without sound or feeling.  They also have good tricks.  In an earlier blog I described the ring on the ground as the "catch" to get you distracted, interested and then ask you for money - all for the very valuable but too small gold ring.  It was a very good trick.

There was no trick at Publix.  There was no trick at Fresh Market.  And I don't know who these people are or where they went after they disappeared.  They are clearly not the Tallahassee homeless people that I have seen in the past.  Most of the time the men by the interstate have one sign on cardboard and it may say "help a vet" or "why lie, I want a beer."  Before I say anything  that is construed as stereo typing, I know that homeless people come in all varieties single, families and just unlucky.  I also have met two families that thought it was okay to sit in front of the Publix and ask for organic handouts.

I am not judging the decision or desperation or whatever puts people in this situation.  But I am looking at it differently.  The Gypsies and their tricks gave me a new perspective.  People who ask for things or beg are not all crazy.  They are not all destitute.  Though begging is not a life I would want, surely it could be a choice just as much as the life of tricks and petty theft.  For some people it may actually be a choice.  For me, I can tell you it would be a very desperate situation where I would prefer to stand outside holding a child in the freezing cold, when there is a Publix that could provide shelter 100 feet away.

I did not buy the chicken dinner for the three people.  I wanted to though.  I wanted to help, which is precisely what they wanted me to feel.  I am now more skeptical.  More leary.  I am not proud of this, but I am not proud of the people who were taking advantage of those feelings with a child on curb in a parking lot.

I don't feel indifferent, but I do feel like the trick may have made it to America.

Rising to a Name

Tis but thy name that is my enemy;

Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.

What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,

Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!

What's in a name? that which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet;

 William Shakespeare's play Romeo and Juliet

http://www.theroseman.net/

Peggy Louise is my legally assigned name.  As a child of the 50's, it was probably a very normal name.  But, my catholic friends assumed I was really a Margaret.  After all, there was no Saint Peggy, and I am pretty sure there still isn't!

I always thought Margaret was a much more professional name.  If I were named Margaret, I wouldn't have a baptismal name different from my given name.  More importantly, I thought Margaret sounded sophisticated and Peggy sounded just fun.  Flash forward a few years, okay a few more years, I now realize the name is not what builds your character or your professional image.  Especially in the age where the cultures of the world are in every city and Indian, French, Scot, and Spanish names are all in the same room.

Since I started with an unconventional name, I did not tend toward the usual names for those I love.  I had a dog named Useless and a bird named Stitch.  My son is named Corbett, my daughter  a name that was for a car, a gun, and German, my other son, a middle name controversial in history.  Not as crazy as Moon Unit or Axle, but odd enough for their time.

Years later, when my daughter received a cat that was unsanctioned by the apartment owners, I told her she could not name him.  He would be referred to as 302 (similar to an inmate) till he was re-homed. He still is called 302. And not re-homed.

302 and Pitch Dog

302 attacks the feather toy

Recently, we were involved with a dachshund mix that is adorable and again, needed to be re-homed.  I dubbed her shrimpy and my husband named her stumpy, and we ended up calling her wiener - short for wiener dog.  I am still optimistic about the re-home thing.

Dach sun wants home

Our dog Pitch (perfect pitch or pitch black) is a product of a litter from our first family dog, Dixie.  My daughter named her first batch of Labrador puppies after North Florida counties: Bay, Calhoun, Franklin, Leon, etc.......  The second batch was random, but we ended up keeping Pitch - the black male.

So the point is that names do not improve your profession nor can they deter the attraction or affection that one has for pets.  302 was never an inmate, he is just a cat with a number for a name.

Titles are also another expression of names.  It really, truly doesn't matter what your position is, if you don't rise to fill the duties ascribed and do it with conviction.  You can be labeled Queen of First Impressions, but if you are always eating tuna at the reception desk, your title may be an inconsiderate employee.

Many companies reorganize or downsize and change a  person's title. If you are in the situation where your title is changed, (maybe your duties are too, but not always), don't let that affect your contribution and your work efforts.  There were many years in government that I was called "Senior Management Analyst 3" or "Government Operations Consultant Manager II".  What ever do those titles say about what one does?

I choose to use my position and my person-hood to define my job.  Not my title.  For surely, it is obsolete as the work changes and without the redefinition  of my position on a continuous basis, it cannot reflect my efforts.  In lieu of a dynamic working title, I make my pronouncement with certainty and steady embrace of the things that I know I can do; and I try very hard to let go of the things that might be better accomplished by another.  The name isn't what really matters, its your performance and your attitude.

Naming the cat 302 no more made him unloved, than naming me Peggy made me less professional.  Naming Pitch didn't stop the grey from growing into his  black fur.

Security is who you are, what you can do; how you can present that information is all up to you.  Professionally, personally and with your animals.  I wish you a secure and prosperous new year, no matter your name and no matter your title.