Pink Paint

I was painting when I heard the news
of John Lennon's death;
Painting the bedroom of a friend's daughter,
(the mother secretly hoping that the benign pink paint
might mitigate the viiolence in her child).
I paused as I heard the radio broadcast,
pink paint dripping on my shoes,
like blood dripping on a cold Manhatten street
or tears shed at a place called
Strawberry Fields.
And I tried to make this knowledge
seem real, to make it my own.
Failing that,
I stored the moment in that same vault
where we keep the shooting of JFK,
and the explosion of the Challenger,
and that fateful day in September,
to take out at a later date
and examine on all sides
like a doomed relationship;
to play "Imagine"
and finally, to
mourn.

Quote of the week

The mandatory three day wait and background check for firearms should be abolished - and replaced with an IQ test.

Quote of the week

Sometimes, in this life you have to choose between pleasing God and pleasing man. In the long run, it's better to please God - he's more apt to remember.

Queen

I've known many people who felt that they were meant to be born rich and many more who felt they were born to marry rich.I've known others who felt they were born to be treated like royalty or who were royal in the sense of being "a royal pain". I, however, am different. I, however, was born to be a Queen.
This first became evident at my birth when I presented myself, not in the usual face-down position, but with my nose in the air. My first experience at ruling, it is said, was when I came home from the hospital. My siblings tell me that the entire household revolved around my wants and needs. Of course.
My apparent misplacement in a middle class family became more obvious as I learned to sit on the "throne" at an early twelve months of age. Other children wanted dolls or BB guns. I craved a scepter. While kids in the neighborhood lined up their American army men to shoot at and annihilate the "Reds" or the "Japs" (This was back in those old, politically incorrect 50's), my soldiers snubbed the other kid's armies and refused to let them into the Red Cross Ball.
Yes, somewhere, a mistake had been made. Somewhere, a little middle class minded child was worrying my royal parents with her appalling lack of knowledge concerning the use of finger bowls and the management of servants. Somewhere, a little girl sat at her castle window yearning for backyard picnics and public schools.
I continued trying to assert my round-peg self into my parent's square-peg world. After all, who can ever forget the day I came running home with a perfect report card, declaiming to my mother that I had made the "A list"? This trend continued throughout my teenage years where peer approval had an entirely different meaning for me than it did for my classmates.
Undaunted by the distinct lack of obeisance from my subjects, I left school to travel throughout my realm. I held my head high and eventually married a prince of a man.While my neighbors were trying to keep up with the Joneses, I had my eye on the Windsors. I spent my days with a few dear friends, sipping Earl Grey tea and complaining about the servant problem (Regretably, our problem was the lack of them).
How did someone of my obvious royal qualifications end up living on the wrong side of the castle walls? Possibly, it could be traced back to my marriage - when my husband mentioned Riviera, I assumed he meant "French", not "Beach".
So here I wait, always with a queenly mein, a sense of noblesse oblige and an eye for good jewelry. I know in my heart that somewhere I have a long lost relative with royal blood. After all, on several occasions, I have been called a princess - which just goes to show, the truth will out.

Computers Byte

I don't like computers. There - I've said it. Yes, I know computers are the wave of the future. I know they save time. I know every successful business and business person must have one, and I grudgingly grant you that persons who are not computer literate are probably dragging their feet and closing their eyes to the inevitable. Maybe we are stubborn, rigid and behind the times.
I don't like to think I possess those qualities, but, but --- I don't like computers.Correctly speaking, perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that computers have never liked me and after years of them not liking me, I've simply reciprocated the emotion.
Don't try to tell me computers are incapable of feeling dislike. I know better. Not only have computers demonstrated that they can dislike a person, but they also seem to possess a spiteful, mean sort of sense of humor. How else does one explain phenomena such as the computer at work refusing to allow me to enter my name - this, in spite of the fact that it knows I'm the charge nurse? If it does let me enter my name, it often refuses to let me go any further.
For example: I will attempt to put in an order for a simple lab test, say, a CBC (complete blood count for those fortunate enough to have avoided the field of medicine). The computer adamantly refuses to execute this order. Our secretary, Janice (whom the computer loves) pushes the exact same sequence of buttons and the computer immediately, slavishly executes the order. I swear, if it had little computer arms and legs, it would have run and drawn the blood itself.
I have even taken a computer class - even though I felt that the computer needed counseling more than I did. Our teacher told us that computers will only do what one tells them to do. The computer operator is in charge at all times. The operator pushes a button, the computer responds. Simple. Then why do I feel that the computer is pushing my buttons rather than vice versa?
Last week, I attempted to order a diet for one of my patients. This, again, is a simple procedure. In order to get to the diet screen, you must type in your employee number and your personal secret code (mine is LBRN if anyone wants it). Next, you enter the patient's account number and then REG for regular diet. Easy, right?
I typed in my employee number and secret code LBRN. The computer replied, "Not a valid code. Please try again."
"Look", I reasoned with it, "you may not like my secret code, but it is valid. Take it!" I typed it in again.
"Please enter code." it said.
"I did." On the third try, the damned computer, as it is affectionately called, finally took my code, and with relief, I typed in my patient's account number. Quickly, a patient's screen came up. Unfortunately, although not unexpectedly, it was not my patient's screen. I tried again.
"This is not a valid account number. Please try again."
Not one to give up easily, I typed in the number again, being very careful to hit the correct keys. Another patient screen came up. Not my patient's, of course. "I will order this diet or die trying." I punched the keys furiously. I think I heard the computer chuckle. In went the 6 digit account number. The screen went blank.
"Janice," I asked the secretary, "Could you please order this diet for me?" Using the same 6 digits, it took Janice about 10 seconds to order the diet.
I sighed in defeat, just another casualty in the war between man and machine.

Quote of the week

"To truly live outside the law, you must be honest." - Dylan

Waitress in a Donut Shop

(For all my waitress friends.)

I'm a waitress in a donut shop
I make the cofee. I stock, I mop.
They make me wear pink which
isn't my color.

"Is the coffee fresh?" they always say.
"Well when was it made, what time today?"
Sometimes I lie.

"This isn't fresh. I only ate half,
you'd better give my money back."
Oh, lady...

They wait in line, I guess they snooze,
when it's their turn they cannot choose
They're only donuts.

I'm just a cipher to you,
a purveyor of Boston Cremes
But I'm a woman too and
I have hopes and dreams.
So give a thought next time you stop,
to me - I'm just your waitress in a donut shop.