Marathon baking and other Christmas miracles

I am a marathon baker.  Other people run or walk marathons, I stand in a hot kitchen the day before Christmas Eve and bake like a maniac.  I'm not sure when this started, but I can remember from little kid to now, I've always baked or helped bake at Christmas.  The past several years, I've had some real motivational issues with getting my baking done, and thus, the marathon baking session was born.

Before I went back to college, I'd have plenty of time to get the house decorated, do my baking, wrap presents, and all the other stuff that goes with Christmas.  As a kid, I'd decorate my room in addition to helping with the house decorations and I'd help my mother bake all the good stuff, and even the fruitcake.  (I had to stir the concoction because it was too thick for my mom to stir it.)  Then, when I got married, I suddenly had two households to help.  My family and extended family was really shrinking by then, so we didn't have many presents to buy for my side...  but Scott's side was really extended.  At one point, we had over 30 people to buy for on his side.  No names pulled, no gift cards, nothing but an actual present.  Those were hard years for shopping, and this was before the internet.  No Amazon back then...

However, time passes and slowly his family has diminished, just like mine.  We now have a small group of people to buy for, around five or six, and I buy gift cards for my sister's family.  The biggest consideration I have now are my four very closest friends.  But I digress...  The past seven Christmases have been plagued with finals from school.  I feel this has led me to a lower motivational baking and cooking drive.  Once I'm done with school for the semester, then the guilt of not doing anything for Christmas hits me full force and the next thing I know I'm spending 12 to 14 hours in the kitchen making cookies, bars, and other goodies for Christmas.  In recent years, I've also had to deal with cleaning and clearing the dining room and kitchen from a semester's worth of neglect and Black Friday shopping carnage.  Usually Black Friday yields Christmas presents, so it's not a total loss of time.

2014 was no different other than I really had a problem getting motivated.  I just couldn't even get the slightest energy for baking going, and my poor husband was searching for the easiest recipes he could find for me.  He usually makes fudge, toffee, and some other candy items, and it's a good mix between us.  Cookies and bars from me, candy from him.  So, on the 23rd, my Christmas miracle of getting my baking done, I pushed myself hard and baked.  For 12 hours straight, I baked.  Maybe this is why I don't like to do it anymore, but once on a roll, I didn't want to stop.  I got what I wanted to bake done, and that was it.  Scott made his stuff after I did so it was around 2 in the morning when we were finally done.  A big sigh of relief and hopefully next year, a year without school in December, I won't be baking for 12 hours straight.  I also won't have a 15 page paper due for my seminar class, and two other 7 page papers due for the other class.  I had some motivational issues there, too, but I got A's in both classes, so apparently I did ok.  2015 brings one semester left for school, and then I graduate.  Finally. And what a long, long trip it's been.

Merry Christmas to anyone reading this yet.  I hope you have a wonderful, miracle-filled Christmas day, and a very, very happy New Year.  You've earned it if you are still reading these blogs....

Expectations and Extensions

As I sat down this morning to finish three papers for school, I was a bit shocked to see the my Eng 621 deadline has been moved to Thursday instead of Monday.  Now, I understand why people need extensions, but we knew about this project from Day 1 of class.  The professor gave us the assignment and specifications the Monday before Thanksgiving.  Mostly because I asked him if I could work on it over the holiday because I had off of work and I wasn't making a meal.  Perfect time to do research, refine ideas for a thesis, and generally get the ball rolling on a senior capstone project of 12 to 15 pages on The Global Early Modern.  When I checked my school email this morning, my professor wrote that he's given so many extensions out that he just decided to move the deadline.  There are only 11 people in this class.  I know that three of them for sure asked for later deadlines and when I met with him on Wednesday he said that one of my classmates had met with him earlier to DISCUSS topics.  Really?  Really!?  I looked at him and said, college is sometimes wasted on the younglings.  I work a full-time job, run the household, all the errands, and still fit six credits of upper level classes into my life.  The difference is, I know how to plan and parcel my time.  My youngling classmates, however, think they can just produce a paper, and not just any paper, but a senior capstone thesis paper, in a day.  Write it the  night before.  I hope that at some point, they learn a lesson here, but I'm not sure that they do.  I'm a bit angry because I dedicated three full weekends to just WRITING this paper.

I only need to write 3 more pages, expand some sections, clarify a few points, and proof and polish.  I worked my butt off to get to this point and yet my youngling classmates were screwing around doing whatever they felt like and then come begging for more time because the professor is nice enough to give them that time.  They are taking advantage of him because he's a nice guy.  I'm a bit angry because that's not respectful to do that, and they should know better at this point how that is not a decent thing to be doing.  Our future will be run buy these kids that know more about working the system than actually working with the system.

I will hand my paper in at the first deadline.  Then, I will concentrate on getting my house in order because it was a busy semester and there's a lot that needs to be done.  I'd actually like to put a Christmas tree up this year because I miss it.  We haven't had one for the past few years, and it's a bit depressing to not have one, I think.  I also just want to be done.  I'm tired, a bit run-down, and need to recharge a bit.  I want to work on my chain maille projects that are building up in my room begging me to work on them.  I want to clean my room so I can move around in it without playing out Godzilla and knocking stuff over when I try to walk around in here.  So, with that said and vented, I'm off to finish my THREE papers by tomorrow evening.  I even want to email them a day before the deadline in case they don't get them so I can email again, or (Heaven forbid) take paper copies to them on Monday.  I bet those younglings don't even consider what would happen if they couldn't email their papers...  

Mood

To quote Gurney Halleck from "Dune", "Mood's a thing for cattle and love-play."  Gurney then goes on to teach Paul a lesson in hand-to-hand combat.  I'm in a "mood" this morning, one that could be described as irritated and annoyed.  It was a long week, I had a few instances where people just want to argue with me, and I'm tired of doing homework.  I'm a bit fed-up with my Composing Process class, and I feel that I'm not only learning nothing really new, but the view into what the youngling teachers learn is doing nothing for my perception of the profession.

This past week we had to read about how teachers teach to "children of color" (their words, not mine) and poor children.  The point was that white people are privileged and have a culture of power because English is the common language.  The papers and class argued that for COC and the poor, apparently they don't speak English in the same way and therefore are disadvantaged because of not being able to communicate on that same level.  We were instructed to pair up with a classmate and then we were put into larger groups after that and then we discussed as a class.  Nowhere in the entire night's class did we discuss writing other than these kids need to be handled differently because they don't speak English.

The person I paired up with wouldn't let me speak.  My sentence was this..." If they speak street jargon..." and then she would interrupt and say, "but it isn't street jargon to them."  To which I would reply, "yes, but to the interviewer it is.  If they speak street jargon..." and she'd cut me off and say, "you keep saying that, but it isn't jargon to them."  and I'd reply my see above answer and would then try to make my point.  She kept cutting me off instead of listening to what I was going to say.  The majority of the class decided that these kids are disadvantaged because need to learn two languages.  Their own and standard English.  And then they also decided that standard English speakers need to learn "their" language.  I was done talking at this point because I had just spent a half-hour with my classmate and the group and listening to their kumbyeya moment of how we should just all speak everyone's language with no regard to the rules of language.  Young, idealistic, and idiotic.

Kyle, this one's for you.  I then brought up the term "lingua franca" for the younglings and told them how my Spanish teacher told me that I had no reason to fear that English would ever be replaced by Spanish.  (I had told him that I'd be in trouble if English ever did get replaced by Spanish) He's right.  It won't be replaced by Spanish, it will be replaced with whatever-you-feel-like-saying lingo.  I'm convinced that these self-centered and self-righteous Millennials will no doubt educated the future generations that whatever you believe is just fine.  Who cares if there are rules because they are just meant to be broken and our way is the better way!  One girl in class came very close to saying this, everything up to the point of "our way is the better way!"

I get it.  I understand that everyone has a different level of language skills.  However, at some point there needs to be a common core of basic skills that will enable everyone to communicate on some level or things will just de-volve into chaos.  Expecting children to at least be able to follow commands and communicate back is not too much to ask.  It is probably a good thing that I won't be going into teaching.  While I think teaching is important, I don't think I'd survive the process of becoming a teacher.  If I'm irritated at this level, I can't imagine what the rest of the classes are like.  I'd be that angry teacher no one likes.  I'm still irritated at this class.  And with that, I need to go do the homework for it.  Yeah....

It's easy

I had this comment directed at me once:  "College is easy for you because you're older."  It was said by a 21 year old girl who is having a rough time in college, apparently.  Now, I won't deny that I am older, and especially older for the traditional college aged student.  However, college is college and I believe that teachers and professors teach not based on the age of their students, but on two things.  One, the curriculum and two, their specific interest in the subject.   I'm not going out on a limb here by saying that college professors teach what they like and what they are interested in.  Or they should anyway.   

But I have been thinking about her comment.  Is college really easier for an older person, and what defines "older" in such a way as to cross over into some magical knowledge based area that makes learning "easier?"  My answer back to her was not one of anger, but of old age wisdom, "Perhaps you need to stop screwing around so much and study more."  I wasn't angry when I said it, but I do feel that if the younger students who complain about college being "too hard" would apply more effort into learning, they might get something out of it.  But that is not the way of the young.  I was the same way, so I know of what I speak.

College is wasted on the young.  Or many of them anyway.  Not all young people are there to just get through it and get their degree.  Every once in a while I run across one of these youths, and it usually is enough to restore my faith in our youth.  They are usually bright, active, nice, courteous, thoughtful, intelligent, and you know they are going to go far in life.  Unfortunately, there are many that are just the opposite.  I hear them complaining in the hallways, in classes, and on the shuttle buses.  They complain that they have to work for a class, or do homework, or actually study.  Now, let me say that I have done my fair share of complaining on this blog, but having now seen the difference between teachers who are worthy of complaint and the ones who are just trying to impart some type of learning is a stark contrast to each other.  I think of the differences between document design and Spanish.

I'm not going to rehash in great detail those two classes and professors, but suffice it to say that one was unwilling to see his students through (document design) and the other pretty much did everything he could to make sure the students who wanted to succeed, did (Spanish).  Yet I got the lower grade in Spanish.  If interested in the whole story, go to the earlier blogs, but at this point, I would consider these two classes my hardest classes, but for very different reasons.  Keeping in  mind the little chippie that tells me college is easy because I'm older, I found that these two classes were anything but easy.  Both were stressful, time-consuming, and probably meant for a younger student.  Learning a foreign language in your mid-40's is  a kind of stress I never want to endure again.  I came away with an anxiety/panic disorder from it that still leaves me reeling at times.  That same anxiety came back with document design, and we all know (again, see previous blogs) how that ended.  As a side note, that professor is not teaching that class next spring.  You're welcome.

The DD professor did not teach.  He did not lecture, show by example, clarify the subject matter, or even make himself somewhat approachable to answer questions.  He dumped the material, gave impossible tests, and texted his way through classes.  He taught in English, but it may as well have been (pick a language you don't know) for all the good it did.  What got me an A in that class was reading the four textbooks, realizing that I needed to get through the class in order to graduate, and not wanting to ruin my GPA.  Spanish was very similar in that the same reasons applied to my motivation.  But the Spanish professor cared, or appeared to care, that his students mattered and especially their comfort level in learning Spanish.  I'm thrilled with the B's I got in the two semesters because I worked my old keister off, and know when to be grateful for working as hard as one can for a decent grade.  And, again, the Spanish teacher really did make the difference here.  Had he been like the DD teacher, I'm not exactly sure what would have happened.  But I do know that it was never easy because I was old or older.  Never.  Not once.  Neither class was easy, and I don't think I was given special treatment because of my age.  I was given the same amount of homework as the younger students and not once was I told I didn't have to work hard because I was older.  In fact, I sometimes think I'm held as an example because of my age.  Not openly, but sometimes I feel like a mother hen to some of the younger students, and that was never so true as in DD.

I realized about 1/3 into the semester with DD that I had developed a group of kids who would sit by me.  I think it was mostly because I would read the material, and I actually asked and challenged the teacher on questions.  This was confirmed when a kid came over one day before class started and he asked if he could "sit with my group."  I was a bit shocked and said sure, it's a free classroom.  But it got me to thinking that the kids sitting by me did so because I would not back down when I didn't understand something.  There were several episodes in that class where the teacher just walked away from me because I kept asking questions about the material and he finally admitted he didn't know the answers to some of the questions I was asking.  I also noticed that he got twitchy because my group had grown to about 15 people by now, and they were all listening because they too had the same questions.  At that point, the teacher should have stood up and started a lecture on the subject because if half the class is leaning in to listen (think of the old 80's TV commercial for EF Hutton), then he has a responsibility to at least go over the material once.  Not to mention the amount of tuition I paid for this class and his "expertise." 

The epitome of this experience was when the last test was given and, again, a major portion of the class failed it, a girl asked him a question about the duo tones question he had asked on the test.  She asked her question and then looked at me and said, "right, Nicki?"  I had gotten the question wrong and was wondering the same thing  myself.  Because here's the thing:  I knew the book answer and wrote it almost word for word as my answer.  I said, "yes, I'm wondering why that answer is wrong because I put down the same answer as the book."  He challenged me and said to bring the book in an he'd reconsider.  I then pulled the book out of my backpack (you HAD to have known I had it with me), went straight to the page and showed him.  He came over to my spot, leaned down and read the passage, and looked up at me with a heated, angry look in his eyes.  I was proud of myself in that I didn't flinch, move, smile, look down, or otherwise back-down.  However, what he did next shocked me.  He gave me the points for the answer, but denied the girl who had asked the question.  She had the answer right.  She should have been given the points.  But because he didn't lecture on the material, it was open for interpretation.  He felt that because she didn't write down the memorized passage from the book, she wasn't right.  But because he didn't lecture, he couldn't argue with my answer which was pretty much verbatim from the book.  I think that is one of the most evil things a teacher can do (well, besides illegal things...).

This semester I'm in a class that teaches teachers on how to teach their students to compose and write papers and essays (way to many uses of the word teacher in that sentence).  I didn't know it was for teaching majors, and it didn't specify in the listings.  Again, UWM, you really need to work on those descriptions.  But I stayed in the class because it is really interesting to see the "inner workings" of how teachers teach.  In our readings from two weeks ago, this style of assigning material and not lecturing on it is an actual tactic used in making students "interact and know" the material.  By testing on the assigned readings and not lecturing on them, somehow makes students not only know the material, but be experts on it.  I was shocked this is a method of teaching.  Shocked and dismayed because I've always had the impression that teachers should lecture, show, answer questions, and generally explain the information (that's why they are called TEACHERS).  But a lazy teacher such as the DD professor would embrace this method whole-heartedly.  Four textbooks with hundreds of pages to read but never a lecture.  Not once.  450 pages alone on typography.  The entire book.  And not one comment other than "you need to interact with the material."  His words, not mine.  And how, exactly does one interact with the material when even the teacher doesn't want to teach it?

This brings me back to the college is easier for older people comment.  When I explained that the motivations may be different and that's why it APPEARS to be easier, she didn't want to hear that. I also think that A students have the perception from non-A students that it is just easy for them and everyone else struggles.  But chippie tells me it is easy for me because otherwise it makes her responsible for her own learning.  She needs to believe that somehow I have an easy time learning because of my age.  Why would that be true when studies have repeatedly shown that learning is better when started younger.  Foreign languages are the first example I think of.  It's proven that younger people learn faster and better than an older brain.  Yet I wouldn't say it is easier, but just different.

I'm not mad at her, but a little dismayed that someone who is sitting right next to me, doing the exact same work, getting the exact same experience thinks that it is easier for me because I'm twice her age.  I don't think she is any less intelligent than me, or that her learning is more difficult because of her age.  But her motivations are very different from mine, and that, that is where the difference lies.  I told her that her motivations will change and once she is older, she will see the error of her comment.  But by then, she will have a chippie telling her it's easy because she is old and I will probably be long gone....

The power of the Matrix

We are born, we grow old, and we die.  It is a simple concept made difficult by the growing old part.  From the moment we are born we begin to age and nothing can stop that until death.  This past weekend I almost met with my death and now I’ve been obsessing about not only the incident, but life, and my life, in general. 

On a divided highway I travel frequently, and through an intersection I’ve traveled probably hundreds of times, I was almost “T-Boned” by a Sheboygan County Sheriff SUV from my left.  I never saw him cross the northbound side of traffic (I was traveling southbound), go through the island divider of the north/south roads, and only until I had passed in front of him did I see him in my peripheral vision.  I had glided past him by the time I slammed on my brakes.  He glided past me just as smoothly as if we had coordinated the whole maneuver.  I remember seeing just a flash of blue and then the brown blur that is the front end of an SUV that sits higher than my Matrix.  I saw with blurry side vision his headlights, grill, hood, and the massiveness that is too close to a moving vehicle at 60mph. 

Once I came to a screeching halt, I looked back on my right and saw that he had slammed to a stop also.  I didn’t see him in the cab, just the side and back but once he determined I hadn’t rolled my vehicle stopping, he took off on his original call.  Not once through the entire episode did I hear his siren.  It wasn’t on.  I still don’t understand how I never saw him, and he never saw me.  I know they are trained to proceed through intersections slowly and cautiously, for this very reason, so I can only determine that he didn’t see me or made the assumption that I saw him. 

This is a wide open part of the highway, and I really should have seen him.  I’m still bothered and at a loss as to why I didn’t see him.  It was daylight so maybe his lights weren’t as effective, and he didn’t have a siren on so I never heard him.  I didn’t have music blasting, and was not texting, on the phone, or otherwise preoccupied.  I had just taken a drink from my soda bottle and I think I may have looked down to put it back in its holder and by the time I looked back up had traveled far enough that I didn’t scan the horizon and intersection like I should have.  If he was responding to a call, he was distracted because they have to concentrate on the details coming over the radio and writing stuff down.  That’s as bad as texting.

My point is this.  I never saw my life flash before my eyes, but I do know that had we collided, I would have taken a direct hit to the driver’s side door and probably would not have survived the collision.  I guess in some regard I would have never known what hit me.  As the days progress from it, I have stopped being in shock and fear, and have moved on to some kind of melancholy about the whole thing and how quickly life can end.  I’ve had close calls on the road before.  I travel so much that it would be impossible if I haven’t had some kind of incident.  I would think every driver has had close calls.  But I’ve never felt so sure that I wouldn’t have survived before and this bothers me.  Maybe it’s those awful commercials and tv programs that show the impact of a side collision that is vivid in my mind, but I think I was given a second chance on Saturday.  However, the question is, why?

As human beings we search for meaning in pretty much everything.  And I’ve never really been the one to think that it is all coincidence.  I think some is, but basically I think there is a Divine plan that we are part of, but may never know why or how we play our parts.  I guess some would say they don’t want to be manipulated in that regard, but if I am on this Earth to fulfill a reason, no matter how unclear to me, I will count myself grateful that I was a split second faster than the Sheriff.  Now, to figure out why.

Does this blog make me look boring?

I haven't had much to say in the past month that I felt anyone would really be interested in, but I feel like writing.  So be warned, this is probably going to ramble and be boring.  I am a week away from the start of another school year, my last.  Yes, my friends, I am in the last 10 credits of my college career and what a long road it has been.  This semester I will be taking Eng 445 and Eng 621.  445 is titled "The Composing Process" and 621 is a seminar class in "The Early Global Modern".  My friend Julie will be in the 445 class with me, and I've had the professor before who is teaching the 621 class.  I'm nervous about the 621 class as that seems to me it is going to be an advanced Eng Lit class.  We are reading five Shakespeare plays so I guess I'm going to really have to figure it out.  I've always had a bit of a well, not fear, of Shakespeare, but I guess an intimidation of him.  However, when I took 302, I actually kind of liked what we read of old Bill, but it was still a bit of a struggle to get through.

In looking up what the difference between a "lecture" and a "seminar" is, I read that a seminar class is one in which there is active student participation.  That a lecture class is one where the teacher just gives out the information.  I think this professor teaches in that seminar fashion because there was much class discussion from what I can remember.  He also uses lots of pictures and fun stories to keep the students interested.  I don't know how this class will work, but there are only 9 of us so far, so that is going to be interesting.  No hiding in the back row or not talking when having a bad day.  I will be attending class after a full day of work and I have to admit that I will be happy when I don't have to cram both things in one day anymore.  I'm not sure how I will get all the reading done, but I'm guessing that I will be glued to my table on the weekends.

I'm going to try having my textbooks on my  tablet this year.  After last spring's semester with four textbooks for Eng 439 and a large bound "reader" for Eng 434, my backpack was pretty heavy.  If I can get away with a notebook and my tablet for my classes this semester, I will be a happy camper.  My elbow is still giving me problems, and adjusting a lighter backpack will help with straining that tendon.  Which brings me to how technology has changed the way we go to school.  I heard on the news today that the price of educating our children (grades K-12) has risen 18% since the 1980's.  I'm guessing that it has to do with computers.  They are more expensive than textbooks, need to be replaced more often, and with advances in forms (tablets vs. desk tops), there's going to be an increase in price.  I'm not sure how I'm going to like an electronic form, but it certainly is easier to carry around.

  I'm still having a hard time believing that I will be done with college in two semesters.  I have this little fear in the back of my head that when the powers that be go through my transcript they will declare that something is terribly wrong and I will need to complete another 36 credits before I can graduate.  I guess it's just my negativity coming out, but honestly, I really have that fear.  Crazy, I know, but that's how things work out for me.  I am anxious to be done now.  I can remember thinking at one point that 2015 was so far away and that I would never get there.  Well, it's not so far away now and I'm glad I stuck with it.  I know I was really debating about continuing on, but I'm really glad I did.  I would have hated it that I didn't finish.  I apply for graduation this fall, and I think that will be a good day.  See, I told it was going to be rambling and boring.  Thanks for reading anyway...

Ch-ch-ch-ch-chaaaannnngggeeessss!

Yes, it is my eternal subject of changes.  In the past month, two of my most least favorite coworkers retired.  Yessiree bob, just like Elvis, they have left the building.  It was never any secret that that we didn't get along, heck, most of the staff and these two didn't get along.  They didn't get along with each other, either.  I wasn't an island when it came to disagreements, and for decades they reigned chaos and dissent in the pharmacy.

Worker 1 is the person I was most recently sharing a work space with.  She went out on medical leave last October and never came back.  Well, she came back for one day and then put her retirement papers in the next day.  The powers that be decided I could do her job, and mine, so she was called back to the main hospital to work second shift when she was finally forced back to work in May.  Yes, she really did stretch a six week medical leave for eight months.  It's no wonder no one threw a departmental party for her.  30-some years of crapping on her coworkers netted her the result of leaving with  no one really caring.

Worker 2 retired after decades of tantrums, outbursts, physical fights, screaming matches, and total and complete incompetence.  She fell several weeks ago at her home and broke her wrist in multiple places.  She too, did not come back from her medical leave.  However, it has been my contention that this person should have been fired decades ago.  Between her nasty personality and total incompetence, I just don't understand how she managed to stay employed other than she sucked up to management big time.

Here's my favorite story of these two:

Many years ago, while I was working in the in-patient pharmacy and had several years of conflict with both of these persons, I witnessed the most epic collision two bodies could possibly have.  Worker 1 is tall, obese, slow-moving, and unaware of her surroundings.  She would not move unless she absolutely had to.  And, it was slow movements at best.  She has a sleepy hound dog look to her, and would slowly react to any situation.  Sloth-like is the best way to describe how she reacts to the world around her.  Lazy is the best description of her as a person.  Worker 2, however, is a polar opposite:  Short, tiny, skeletal, hyper-active, vibrates like a chihuahua on speed, and moves for no apparent reason.  She also doesn't look where she's going, doesn't think anyone but her has a right-of-way (her driver's license was FINALLY revoked, thank God!), and charges full-steam ahead with her head down, like a battering-ram.

I was standing in the main part of the pharmacy putting an order away.  My friend Kathie was across the room in the IV room filling IV's, there were a few scattered pharmacists standing around and a few other techs.  In between the runner bay and the IV room was a very large freezer and a very large refrigerator that were side-by-side and formed a "wall" between the two areas.  When it was close to round time, the runner would have to go to the IV room to get injectables for orders, and the IV room person would have to bring the IV's out for the round.  As you can imagine, you would have to round the fridge in order to get to the runner bay and vice-versa.  Well, worker 2 was charging full-speed ahead with her head down and worker 1 was slowly oozing from the IV side to the runner side, not paying any attention to whom was rounding the corner.  Both Kathie and I were talking across the room and happen to be looking at the impeding doom, but worker 2 was moving so fast that we couldn't warn either person.

When the impact happened, it was like a 10-speed bike slamming into, and bouncing off of, a semi-truck!  Worker 2 actually ended up on the floor, sprawled out in a confused state and worker 1 was still standing, looking around like a gnat had just buzzed by her.  Kathie and I were hooting and hollering so hard we both almost peed our pants, and I yelled out, "it was like a 10-speed bouncing off of a semi!"  To which worker 1 took great offense, and worker 2 was still on the ground, shaking her head and wondering what the hell just happened.

This is one of my favorite memories of working in-patient.  Mainly because it was flippin' hilarious and because it was the epitome of how these two workers were so destructive to the morale of the pharmacy.  Worker 2 got up and started yelling at worker 1 for running into her.  It was quite clear that worker 1 moves so slowly that she has never run into anything in her life.  Worker 2 is so oblivious to her surroundings that she runs into everything and then blames the world around her for being in her way.  Neither understand that there is even a world that exists without them.   I will not miss either, and have since found a new appreciation for my work now that I'm alone in my room with no bony elbows to elbow me in the runner bay or slow moving sloths to fall asleep while at lunch and have to be woken up to come back to work.  Yes, both of these things happened multiple times.  Worker 2's elbows could slice you open if you weren't careful, and we used to take bets as to how long worker 1 would sleep during her "lunch."

However, worker 1 is no longer in my work space and I don't miss her at all.  I was asked by a pharmacist to go to a retirement party for worker 1 because, "there aren't that many Columbia people left and the Milwaukee people don't want to go."  Well, this Columbia person didn't go, either.  There is no way I could go, and play nice when she (and worker 2) were two of the three people I left the in-house pharmacy for.  Even though I have found with time and absence of their presences, I could tolerate them for five minutes of idle chatter, I could not bring myself to the level of hypocrisy I would need to wish them happy retirement and go to a party for them.

Our world is in a constant state of change.  Unfortunately, those changes don't always happen when we want them to.  As I mentioned, these two were the biggest reasons I left the in-house pharmacy and pursued the path that I'm currently on.  I often wonder what would have happened had I not left?  How miserable would I have been?  How happy?  Would it have boiled over into some kind of HR intervention?  These two were toxic to a dept, yet management never did anything about them.  Maybe things worked out the way they should have.  In any case, both are out of my life and, for that, I am extremely grateful.    

It's Summer!

It is June 1st, and the local weatherman tells me it is the start of meteorological summer.  My husband has adopted this as the start of summer, but I'm more of a traditionalist and think that summer will start on June 21st.  Like most normal people will think.  Or, maybe it is just my need to put off summer as long as possible.  I don't like summer.  I never have.  The only thing, as a kid, I found useful for summer was the lack of school.  And that was destroyed in the 5th grade when my mother decided it was time for band lessons.  Which lasted most of the summer.

My mom insisted that my sister and I play musical instruments, and being the poor family we were, hand-me-down instruments.  My sister took to the clarinet easily and has some talent in both playing and understanding what makes music.  When my turn came, five years later, my mother assumed I would play the clarinet, too.  Well, anyone who knows me, knows that I have a stubborn streak that occasionally rears its ugly head and will not be dissuaded no matter how hard someone tries.  I did not want to be like my sister, so there was NO WAY on God's green Earth I was going to play anything with a reed.  I chose the flute.

I have no real talent in music.  I like to listen to it and that's about as far as it goes.  But my mother was as stubborn as me (hmmm, guess I'm sensing a trend) and there was no way I was going to get out of middle and high school without years of band under my belt.  In the 5th grade, the West Bend School District starts to recruit students for the middle and high school bands.  My teacher, Mr. Ratzer, was an old fashion German oompa polka-loving man who scared us with his gruff German accent, barely understandable English, and his top-of-the-lungs yelling in German when things weren't going right.  The summer before I transferred to Badger Middle School in West Bend (1978), my mother signed me up for band, and took me to the meeting where we were paired up with an instrument just like Harry Potter was assigned a school.  Only Mr. Ratzer was our sorting hat.  He kind of looked like the sorting hat, come to think about it...

As  my turn came up, Mr. Ratzer assessed me up and down, grabbed my hand, turned it over and pronounced, "clarinet!"  I'm sure my mother told him what to say.  I looked at him and said, "no. I don't want to play the clarinet."  You could have heard the gasps, a pin, and the collective shock across the whole gym.  NO ONE talks back to Mr. Ratzer.  He had huge glasses that magnified his eyes, which he now set in to me like lasers.  He pursed his lips and said, "Vat do you vant to play?"  "The flute."  He took my hands again, turned them over and said, "you vingers are to short, no good flute." I refused to budge.  Flute or nothing.  My mother tried her usual anger tactic, which made me sullen, but I refused.  She sighed, said ok, and then said to the band people, "Will you take payments?"  It never occurred to me that we didn't have the money to buy a flute, yet we had a crappy second hand clarinet that was free.  We had two actually, and to this day I'm not sure where she got them.  My sister has both now, as I still have my flute, but it must have been a hardship for my parents because I'm sure it wasn't cheap.

 And the summer of flute lessons began.  I really am not kidding when I say I have no talent in music at all.  I never completely understood how to read music.  I learned by repetitive playing.  My band teachers were increasingly frustrated with my level of playing.  I was just good enough to be in Symphonic band in high school, only because the motivation was strong to be with my friends.  I did ok in groups, but solo work was horrifying.  I took up the piccolo, which I loved for pep band, but if I had to play in Symphonic, I was terrible.  I lettered several times over in band, did very well in the Solo & Ensemble contests, went to State in 1984 with the flute choir, and have many medals from duets and trios with my two flute friends, Amy and Karen.  They both had talent, and Karen was our 1st chair for three years.  We three played the piccolo and flute our sophomore through senior years.

While I feel I had no real talent, I still could play.  I just wasn't that good.  However, the social aspect of band taught me more about life than playing an instrument, and for that I thank my mother for her insistence in making me play an instrument.  As an adult, I feel bad about acting the way I did because I know that they did not have the  money for a flute, even if it was a used one.  I know it was over $100 and back in 1978 that meant something.  But, I have two friends that I'm still in contact with today, and I had some really fun times with the group.  We even have our own color picture in the 1984 West Bend East/West High School yearbook.  A color photo.

Yeah, it's a pic of a pic, but I'm sure the negative of this is long gone.  No digital cameras back then.  I'm the one in black behind Amy, and Karen is next to me.  Gabby, in green, was more Amy's friend and was younger than us.  We played in all the pep games for both football and basketball, did the parades, the outings, pretty much everything band.  Yes, we were band geeks.  But as I look back on the whole experience now, I'm glad my mother was insistent we play an instrument.  Little did she know, however, that for me it would end up being a social element and not really about the music.  I just didn't have the talent, but I understood that where my friends were, I would be.  And while I will still hate the heat and humidity of summer, I will always look back on our summer outings and hang-outs as the best parts of my adolescent life.      
      
     

Procrastination

I'm never sure why as the semesters roll on by, I feel the need to write a blog when I have the most homework due or test to study for.  I suspect it is an avoidance issue, but all it does is make me more crazy because I've just lost an hour I could have used for studying.  And, I just posted one not more than a week ago.  Oh, well.  I don't think anyone reads these anymore, so I guess it's just for me to purge and be done with my ranting and complaining.  Hmm, maybe that's why no one reads these anymore...

I will finish my one credit internship this week.  Which is good because I want to be done with that anyway.  As a non-traditional student, I understand why they make the younglings go through internships, but for me it was a bit of a waste.  I certainly know how to conduct myself in a work environment, I can supervised myself quite well, and I don't really need the contact.  I don't think I will be pursuing a writing job anyway, so it's a bit of a lost class to me.  However, it is interesting to see other places and find out what is out there.  I applied to Kalmbach Publishing for my summer internship (I still need two credits), and I'm hoping they will find something for me on the jewelry end of the publishing line.  Hopefully, I'll find out this week.

As I close in to the last two weeks of Document Design, I've been thinking about the class and teacher evaluation a lot.  I'm trying desperately to separate my frustration and anger from the reality of the class and teacher.  I have a one page diatribe that I really want to attach to the eval form, but I keep revising it so it isn't a rant and something helpful instead.  As much as I'd love to just rant, ultimately that isn't helpful and will cause everyone to just throw it away.  There are many things that need to change with this class, starting with why it is mandatory for English majors.  It is a graphics arts class, plain and simple.  If you have an English major who is going to go into publishing, maybe tell them it is available should they wish to take for an elective.  It would have been more helpful to teach us the depths of Word, Excel, and Access for our business lives.  As much as UWM thinks it is doing everyone a favor by using Apple and Adobe, all they are really doing is being elitist and short-sighted, and by default not really giving their students a fair chance at all.

As to the teacher.  I just don't know.  I really wanted to like this guy and learn from him, but he is too interested in being the smartest person in the room.  I can't quite put my finger on why he treats the class the way he does, or expects students to teach themselves as much of the material as we had too.  I certainly understand that in college, you do teach yourself quite a bit of the material.  However, in a class such as this, there isn't a background to pull your base knowledge from.  It was very much like learning a foreign language, but without the benefit of being taught the grammar rules or even the translations.  We were up to our eye balls in four textbooks FULL of jargon about InDesign, printing, typography, and the art of visual language.  Swimming in an ocean of printed words and trying to pick out what we thought the professor wanted us to learn.

When I compare this with Spanish, I realize now how important it was that Professor Kendall spent as much time as he did explaining over and over the rules of the language.  Document Design actually made me realize how much I did learn in Spanish, and how little I learned with the DD teacher.  I will never use InDesign again.  But I find myself reading Spanish here and there and trying to remember all the rules.  I can see and hear Prof. Kendall trying so hard to get points across.  And, when we didn't get it, he would switch to English to make sure that we did.  He taught the language.  He made me care enough that I wanted to not just pass his class, but to do so with excellence.  Professor Graham pointed to the books, told us to teach ourselves, and went back to checking his phone for whatever updates he was getting.  And for that I paid tuition, tax dollars, and mental health.

I just hope that over the summer I regain my motivation and love of learning.  DD just about put me on the "I'm dropping out" path again.  And, there were parts to it that were helpful, but I'm not really sure I learned as much as I could have, and again, why I had to learn about 300 pages of typography.  This class can easily be an elective.  Instead, it is required.  There are no substitutions, only one offering a year, and only one teacher who teaches it.  When I think of what should be the core class of this degree (professional/technical writing) graphic arts is not what comes to  mind.  I'm pretty sure I will pass the class, probably with a B if I had to guess as this point.  I don't know what I got on my last test and our major project (35%) of the grade is not due yet.  But I have a B+ or maybe even an A- at this point, so it should be ok.  I just can't, I just can't take this class again.  And with that, I need to work on the major project, get a fantastic grade, and leave this class in the rear-view mirror.  And that, my friends, is non-traditional student winning.

Expectations and disappointments

Yesterday, I went to Sheboygan to drop off the volunteer poster I had made in Eng 439 to my Eng 449 internship's Director.  I'm not going to name the place, but anyone who knows me will know the placement I'm talking about.  This semester, I was signed up to do a one credit placement, which is about five hours or less per week.  He was happy with the poster, and delighted to have something for recruitment fairs.  In the course of talking with him, however, this sentence came from him:  "yeah, she didn't really work out, either."  The context of the sentence is this.  I had asked him if he would be interested in keeping me on for the summer, at a two credit level.  That would have been five to 10 hours a week.  He declined, saying he wasn't sure he had enough work, and that he wasn't sure he'd take on another intern.  I asked about a project that he had wanted written at the beginning of the semester, and he stated that the other intern working on the research found some good research, but not enough for the study.  Then, he made that comment.

I asked him what he meant by that, the word "either."  He looked a bit shocked that I had picked up on that, and he said that he thought if he ever did this again, he'd make sure the intern came to the office once a week to "rub shoulders."  Now, I offered to the point of almost being obnoxious about meeting once a week at the beginning just because of this very situation.  He INSISTED that we didn't need to do that, this could all be done online, and that there was no need for me to come up to Sheboygan once a week.  I told him repeatedly that I didn't mind doing that, it was part of the class, and I usually run to Sheboygan for errands anyway.  But, nope, he said it wasn't necessary.

Well, apparently I am a disappointment.  This is what I did in the way of projects:  I wrote a goal and background statement for an Economic Impact Study.  I combined, revised, reformatted, and made a table of contents for their Employee Handbook.  I made two, large-format posters (22"x28") on recruitment, and I wrote the rough drafts of two grants.  For the last project for them I will design two flyers, a postcard sized hand-out, and a door hanger for advertisement of their retail store.  Through this whole semester, never did they say, "we want more, or we want it this way..."  I had to pester them at times for things to do, and did most of the suggestions when they weren't sure what they needed done.  But, I'm the disappointment.

His disappointment with the other intern (English is not her first language, so research was almost non-existent) is spilling over to me.  I'm irritated at that because I worked my ass off this semester to include this internship in with my other two classes.  I'm not used to being a disappointment to people because if I'm going to agree to something, I give it my all.  I don't do stuff "half-way".  If I don't want to do something, I will tell you.  Now I know it could be said I didn't want to do the internship or document design, but in knowing I need these classes for graduation, I still gave both of them my full commitment, attention, and my "best."  But, that makes me a disappointment.  I'm not sure why he didn't have the guts to change the assignments and have me do the research.  I'm guessing that if one of your interns is not doing what they are supposed to do, there needs to be a change. 

So, I'm looking for placement for the summer.  That will be two credits, and I need to find a place that will let me do a few hours after work for a couple of days per week, or one day on the weekend.  Anyone need an English intern?

KMG-365

When I was a kid in the 70’s, my favorite TV show was Emergency.  Every Saturday night, I’d settle in with my parents and for the next hour be transfixed by the fire department, and more importantly, the hospital.  It was then that I realized I wanted to work in a hospital.  I didn’t know what, I assumed nursing, because who wouldn’t want to be Dixie?  She was bossing those doctors around like nobody’s business.  For some reason, I didn’t dream about being a paramedic.  I just wanted to be in the hospital. 

Fast forward many years and here I am.  Working in a hospital.  Even though my path ended up being in pharmacy, and not nursing, I’m not sad by that.  I was originally accepted at UW Madison for the nursing program, but events beyond my control steered me in a path more local than distant.  I went to UW Washington County, and we all know how that turned out.  Looking back on it now, I’m glad I didn’t become a nurse.  I have grown more squeamish over vomiting and cutting into the body.  I’m ok with blood, that doesn’t bother me in the least.  So in a way, there was a reason why I didn’t pursue the nursing path.  I’m very happy with the pharmacy path, and if I do have a regret, it’s that I didn’t become a pharmacist.  I enjoy being a pharmacy technician and I especially like to compound medications.  I love it.  Like people love cooking.   If I was a pharmacist, I wouldn’t really do that type of work.  I guess what I’m saying is that I’ve found what I want to do and I’m already doing it.

I have been able to watch some reruns of Emergency in the past few months, and as an adult, I realize this was quite the breakthrough show for the 1970’s.  It dealt with drug use, domestic abuse, inter-racial relations, the importance of learning CPR, and the premise of the show, paramedics in the field.  There were only a handful of paramedics across the country when this show premiered and ran for several years.  It single-handedly brought to the forefront the importance and dire need for early intervention in emergency medical care.  It’s also neat, and a little sad to see, all the businesses that have either gone by the wayside, closed, or merged into other companies.  And the vehicles.  It’s definitely a walk down memory lane.  But one thing that hasn’t changed and is still universal:  coffee. 

As I walked to the coffee maker this morning at 6:20am, this thought popped into my head.  They were always getting a cup of coffee on that show.  Everyone.  They even had a pot at the nurse’s station that Johnny and Roy were always getting a cup, taking one sip, and then getting a call.  They dropped those cups down and took off.  We never see who cleans up after them, but I’m guessing it wasn’t Dixie.  Same with the doctors.  One sip, and off they go.  There was even a brief segment in which Dr. Early comments to Dr. Brackett that over the course of the day, he figures he gets one full cup of coffee in multiple sips.  A new cup each time.  Who is doing the dishes?

It is said that a business runs on its people.  If that’s true, then the people run on coffee.  Or maybe caffeine in general.  All I know is that without my two cups in the morning, it’s a pretty miserable start.  On my days off, or when I’m not at work I don’t really need it, but then again I don’t get up at 4am on my days off.  Yeah, no one told me that working in a hospital means there is no concept of time.  I think in military time, not “real people” time, and there are no holidays or weekends.  And even though I have spent the last several years in college, I now know that I probably won’t pursue a job in writing.  I will stay in pharmacy, probably where I’m at now, and be happy that I finished college, and happy that I have a job I enjoy and actually kind of like.  Not the billing part, no, but the pharmacy part.  I can see myself going back to the in-house department full-time if the combo job I’m currently doing changes. 

I’m not sure there are that many people that can say that, and I’ve even had a few say to me that I probably could have figured that out without going to college.  Somehow the equating of college with a job instead of personal knowledge and satisfaction in accomplishing something is not “worthy” to these people.  They are also the ones that seek no knowledge unless they have to.  They don’t learn for the sheer pleasure at learning something, anything. 

I cannot see myself in any other field than the medical field.  I know that now.  I knew this as a kid, forgot it somewhere along the line, and realized it again by watching reruns of a 70’s TV show.  In a year, I’ll be done with school, glad for it, and more secure in my place in life.  It may have taken me seven years to get through school at part-time, but I learned more than book smarts.  I learned that liking and even loving a job is just as important to learn and understand as getting an A in my classes and finishing what I start or started.  I may have been able to figure that out eventually, but I really credit going to school and facing a career change to bring the thought to the forefront of my thinking and realization before I left the medical field and realized I had made a mistake.  I belong here.  I’ve always known that and, God-willing, I will retire from here.  Just let me get a cup of coffee before I go.