With the impending arrival of her parents, she needed to decide what she wanted them to do and more importantly not to do. When the nurse brought in her dinner tray, she tried to get some answers – can her parents see her medical records? Will they be able to decide her treatments? Can they force her to leave with them? The nurse was overwhelmed and dramatically put her hands in front and waved them saying “Whoa! Whoa! I think you need to talk to someone else!” The nurse practically fled the room. Liz felt abandoned. Within minutes however, a social worker knocked on the door poking her head into the room. She introduced herself and said she had been told that there were some questions that needed answers. They talked in earnest for nearly an hour. All of Liz’s fears were allayed and she relaxed enough to finish her meal.

She saved her apple cobbler dessert to eat later, in case Dr. Hawk dropped by. She was planning to share it with him. Dr. Hawk wouldn’t let her call him by his first name saying it was too familiar and would be unprofessional. That was an aggravation unto itself. That was also why they couldn’t hold hands. He did however take her pulse at least twice a visit! She couldn’t help but smile whenever he dropped in to check on her. The nurses seemed to disappear whenever he was in her room. She wondered if it was because he had been so sharp with them when she was first brought in. She was too anxious to nap and instead turned over the information Cooper had told her concerning his family. He had so many siblings with odd names – Swain, Harris, Ferrus, Zone, and the twins Red and Black. His parents must have a really odd sense of humor or maybe they were just plain odd. Her musings were interrupted when Dr. Hawk strolled into the room. He gave her his most piercing stare and announced that she would be discharged tomorrow. She felt ripples of joy wash over her followed by a tidal wave of panic. Dr. Hawk watched her face observing the play of emotions. He kept his face expressionless but inside he was just as panicked with the prospect of losing touch with her.

Premature acrobats wind tumbled
Gather against the foundation
Anticipating additional performances
I pause to observe
They bunch and then scatter
An explosive dispersion
Suspended and twisting to execute
Back flips and diving forward rolls
Strictly for my personal amusement

We are still a few days from the autumnal equinox marking the first day of Autumn. It is on September 22 this year. We had a very short spring and summer this time around. The tree leaves seem to have just gotten to maturity with the full deep green that I recognize as the pinnacle of summer. Already the leaves are dropping. They are not even turning colors before loosening their grasp on the twigs. The landscaping department on campus has deployed the raking crews to corral the early drop offs. It has been raining and the leaves have been running in the wind. The lighter weight leaves defy gravity and are swept into the little vortices of hot air they meet the cooler air in the storm front. I'm not often outside to witness the performances of the leaves. I had to walk across campus on Wednesday and was buffeted by the wind. I watched the loose leaves make tumbling runs across the quad and huddle up under the picnic tables. If only they were wearing a variety of colors instead of a dull green, I would have thought they were gymnasts competing in the Olympics!

As she told her mother that she was in the hospital and relayed an abbreviated account of her illness, she could hear her mother make soft sounds ranging from worry to panic. She imagined the look on her face and the frantic motioning to her father to come to the phone. Before finishing her account, her mother and father were both on the phone asking questions simultaneously and not waiting for answers. Her parents were not good with emergencies. She managed to tell them where she was and what to bring to the hospital. She lied that her call time was up just to get off the phone. She hung up midway through the third round of “good-byes and love yous”. She had uncorked the bottle and the parental genie had escaped. As she reclined in the bed, her mind was reeling with all the possible scenarios attached to her parents’ arrival. She gave herself a pep talk saying that calling them was not admitting defeat. She would have to try not to slip into the old patterns of childhood. She had to remind herself that she was an adult. She had to set boundaries and demand that her voice be heard. That was one of the reasons she had moved so far away. Her therapist had suggested that she needed to break the behavior ruts and put physical distance between them and herself. Taking the job was an easy way to do that without hurting anyone’s feelings. Dr. Hawk understood. His parents lived on the other side of the world. He mentioned that he liked it that way.

Last Monday I slaved away at work and then on Monday evening met Sparky and some friends on campus for the first Concert of Indian Classical Music of the semester. The small but very active club (The Asian Indian Classical Music Society) had through sponsorship arranged to provide FREE concerts for this semester. Monday featured the sarod played by Pandit Debojyoti Bose and accompanied on the tabla by Hindole Majumdar. Although the sarod was hypnotic I still think the tabla is a much more entertaining instrument. The last concert we went to this same tabla player performed. He is a short round man that really enjoys the music. He smiles and nods while playing and while listening to the other musicians. He is very animated in addition to playing with flair. I had wanted to take photos but my phone battery died. I hadn't realized that the auditorium was in the basement and my phone was grinding away trying to find a signal thus wearing the battery down to nothing.

Before the concert started the sarod player was fussing around the stage. He had to position everything just so and took a good 10 minutes doing a sound check and tuning his instrument. The tabla player on the other hand tapped the rim of one drum with a little brass hammer and took the covers off the drum heads. One of the officers of the club (who knows Sparky from when he was teaching at the college) greeted us warmly and noted that we were obviously "cultured" people. When pressed he said that even among the Indian community it was only the "cultured" people that enjoyed classical music. I laughed and told him that I did listen to the classical radio station. He got all excited and wanted to know where to find it on his radio - he thought I was listening to classical Indian music! We had a good laugh. In the end we bought a CD of the tabla player's solo recordings. It isn't something I'd want to listen to while nursing a migraine but it would be great driving music for long car trips...

The new session for ceramics has begun. I was disappointed to see the devastation on my shelf when I lifted the plastic cover. The guinea pig that I had left to dry (and had hoped wouldn't crack) was in pieces. Green ware is the most fragile state of clay. It looked like someone had attempted to pick up the pig and stuck their thumb and fingers through the body. There was a big hole on the underside and a dent and fracture on the back - just the size of a hand. Grr. I had such high hopes. Every time I make a new one I think, "Wow this looks great. I'll never be able to do another one as good." Then I end up having to do it over again. I'm guessing by the time I get one in the kiln it will be fabulous!

The new session is being taught by an instructor I've never met before. There are 7 people in the class - 5 newbies and 2 of us experienced students. So far I'm not impressed with this teacher. She had the students start on the wheel instead of giving them a feel for the clay and the limits of the medium. Just my bias. I spent a goodly portion of the time assisting them with wedging, weighing clay, and locating tools. The sad part is that while the instructor is flitting about assisting one student after another the rest are on their own.

I did get one piece back from the bisque kiln. I glazed it. According to the memo the kiln will be fired on Thursdays every week providing there are enough pieces to fill the kiln. I put my orb back on the shelf and judging from the other pieces waiting, its going to be couple weeks before the next firing. I'm wondering if the bisque kiln will be run weekly as well...

The war on the chipmunks in the garden rages on. It was so bad this last weekend that Sparky spooked one out of the garage. He responded by setting the trap. After only a few minutes (he was talking with neighbors on the driveway) he heard the trap rattling indicating it had been sprung. It was a squirrel. Not just any squirrel but one suspiciously like the previous unfortunate that ended up trapped. He released the captive. The squirrel went free. He hadn't been in the trap long enough to eat the peanut butter so Sparky simply reset the trap. We had to go to a geocaching meeting in the afternoon. Upon our return the trap was once more sprung. Hoping that the chipmunk would be able to be placed in the "witness relocation program" we rushed to the trap. And there he was - that same stupid squirrel. He bent the release mechanism, again. He was once more very indignant that he was stuck in the trap and had no qualms about letting the world know. He was huffing and puffing and making little barks and chirps of anger and distress. I took his mug shots and then Sparky released him. He shot out of the trap like his tail was on fire. As he reached the fence he leaped nearly to the top in a single bound. From the top of the fence he cussed and fussed a moment before flicking his tail in a fit of pique. From his vantage point on the fence he glared at us before streaking down the fence and hurtling down the path.

Liz had been in gymnastics since she was old enough to walk. She was built for it being only 5’1”and having a slight build. Some would have said she was “just a slip of a girl” but the perfection of hand springs and cartwheels had strengthened her arms and legs and back. She was small but mighty. She used to be small and muscular. Now she was tall and lanky and completely uncoordinated! Dr. Hawk wanted to do a CAT scan to look at her bones and see how the muscles and tendons were attached. Her personal and personable doctor wanted to do more tests. She would have said yes to nearly anything he asked. They had talked for several hours after dinner. They shared her dessert of a slice of chocolate meringue pie. He let her know that he couldn’t date her as long as she was his patient. Of course if she were to be released and no longer under his care that would change.

This was some powerful motivation to get back on her feet.  It took a good week to be able to walk to the bathroom alone. Finally she called Mr. Jacan and explained that she was in the hospital. He muttered about needing reliable workers. In the end she was uncertain if her call had secured her job until her return or if she had been terminated. All she could do was shrug and turn her focus to her present situation.  Her most current concern was clothes. She didn’t have any. They were destroyed when they were cut away. She decided she needed to call her parents. She was loathe to do it but there weren’t any good alternatives. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her family; it wasn’t even that she couldn’t rely on them to help her. It was, just, she didn’t know. Maybe she was too prideful or stubborn to ask for their help. She wrestled with the decision until the nurse came in to give her the good news, the doctor had said she could be released as soon as the results came back from the spinal tap and the blood cultures. The idea that she would be released with nothing more than a hospital gown and a pair of disposable incontinence underpants spurred her to make the call. Her urge to hang up built until the sound of her mother’s voice on the other end dissolved her resistance.

One of the nice parts of giving up our land line in favor of the cell phones has been the end of the sales calls. The phone calls at dinner time have evaporated. We don't have to deal with the companies trying to sell us vinyl siding or new windows. There aren't any calls asking us for a donation to "save the endangered 12 spotted newt" or to buy circus tickets so disadvantaged kids can have a little joy in their lives. I can't say I miss those calls and callers. However nature abhors a vacuum. So the devious minds of the unscrupulous have worked over time and come up with alternative methods to try to part me from my money.

1. The collection call - The phone call goes something like "May I speak with Mr. Clarence Dupree?" When you inform them that they have the wrong number. They insist that this is the number Mr. Dupree listed on his store loan when purchasing his $8,000 big screen TV. You patiently explain that either he made up a number (which happens to be mine) or they have transposed numbers on the paperwork at some point. After a few minutes they apologize and hang up. They then begin the constant calls trying to collect Mr. Dupree's debt. Finally you block the call but they have your number and lots of phones. Eventually they tell you that for a small fee they can expunge your number from Mr. Dupree's account. What works is to inform them that you have all the numbers from the phone calls recorded and you are going to talk to the State's Attorney General. The calls end.

2. The emergency call - The voice on the other end sounds panicked. "Grandma? Can you hear me? I've been in a terrible accident and my car is totaled. I am trying to get home for (insert the holiday of choice). Can you wire me some money to get a rental car? I only need $300." I'm guessing this must work on some elderly people or they wouldn't do it. Too bad for them I'm not a grandmother, I don't have a grandson, and if I did I wouldn't be wiring any money. I would say, hold on while I get your grandfather. He's the one that knows how to do that kind of thing. Then I'd be making a call on another phone to the suspected grandson to see if he had indeed been in an accident.

3. The outstanding warrant call - The calls start coming in from all over the country. You look at your phone and ask "Who do I know in Bangor, ME? Who's calling me from Fargo, ND? Why would I be getting a call from anyone in East St. Louis, MO?" You don't answer the calls. Then they leave the voice message. "This is an important and urgent message! Warrants have been issued for your arrest in multiple states. You must return this call within 24 hours or a Federal Marshall will be sent to take you into custody. You must act immediately or face arrest and incarceration!!!" Really? A warrant for MY arrest? What could I have possibly done? Is it illegal to eat Cheetos after 9:00 PM? Did I return that library book in time?! Mercy no - I will be arrested because I didn't "round up" my bill at Goodwill and donate to their education fund! A coworker started getting the calls at lunch. We all listened to the voice message. Then we all had a good laugh. She didn't erase the message and is going to let her neighbor the State Trooper listen to it... They probably already know about that scam...

It has been a week of tension at work. There are changes afoot and being a realistic pessimist about certain things colors my perceptions. There are conflicts and angst in abundance. Turmoil is spilling into everyone's interactions. I really can't go into detail and to quote a supervisor, "I can't tell you anything but what you have heard is not the whole story. It isn't my decision to not discuss developments." She then threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes. I can't even start to decipher what all the body language was trying to convey. What I can tell you is that we are soon to be short staffed. An individual gave her two weeks notice to management and then announced her action to the rest of the staff. I am sad about that. There are other issues flailing about like wounded pheasants. You might know how that kind of thing is dealt with... unpleasant for the pheasant.

If you work, take a moment to tell your coworkers that you appreciate their dedication. Tell them that no matter how things are unfolding they are still important to you! It might not make things all better but it could make things bearable.

Once again a friend has stopped posting on xanga. Char aka cjc2 (at cjc2.xanga.com) has announced that she is leaving xangaland. Not that she wants to but the xanga team has failed to provide a means to renew subscriptions. This has been a major beef of mine with Xanga 2.0, namely that there is no easy or obvious way to exchange money for a subscription. If I were going to charge people to blog on xanga the first and I mean the very first thing I would have done would have been to put a giant link or button with arrows and a flashing graphic that said HERE is where you subscribe!!! It has appeared that xanga has been set up to fail. The process to renew a subscription is convoluted and cumbersome. The ability to start a new blog and attract new people to xanga is a complete mystery. There is no obvious method available. Right now there are only a few people who post regularly - Crystalinne, kwantifiable, and slmret. The rest that show up in my feed are always a treat but do not blog on a daily or even weekly basis - fwren, judyrutrider, twoberry, Bookmark61, saintvi, cjc2, mcbery, sexydevilgirl, gasdoc73, and ZSA_MD. This year so far has seen an exodus of many of the familiar faces. I really miss NVRASADDAY aka Frank, and Michel and so many more. Why Xanga? Why?