Every other Saturday night during the summer months, the battlefield offers the "Hallowed Ground" tours. On these tours, rangers lead visitors through the national cemetery as costumed cast members read letters and journal entries from the soldiers buried there. The whole tour is led by latern light.
I am always torn about the tour. Knowing that is how I am going to spend my "Friday" night makes me drag just a little. "Ugh," I think, "I just want to go hoooome after this long and hot week." I go home to grab a bite to eat and change into a clean, pressed shirt before the tour and put on my ranger smile to push through the last few hours of work.
The tour is quite possibly my favorite to lead. With each stop and each introduction, my ranger smile melts into my real smile. Every character portrays true hardships experienced by a soldier or family member during the Civil War. As I listen to the stories, I realize that any troubles I have are nothing compared to what these guys went through.
The final character portrayed is Theodore O'Hara, author of "The Bivouac of the Dead," reciting his poem. My favorite line, "On Fame's eternal camping ground, their silent tents are spread; And Glory guards with solemn round, the bivouac of the dead," pulls the whole tour together for me. The 7,000 soldiers buried at the cemetery gave the ultimate sacrifice to their country. I have one of the coolest jobs in the world in that I get to share their stories with countless visitors daily. I need to remember that when the day-to-day grind appears to wear on me.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Good News
The bite has not gotten worse and appears to be fading. It looks like I will live to see another day.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
It Never Fails
"IN MY HIP!?!"
Evidently, it does not matter if I am 6 years old or 25 years old- I still throw fits at the doctor's office. Generally speaking, I avoid going to doctors like one might avoid contracting the plague. Unfortunately, a welt (that I initially thought was a 'skeeter bite, then chigger bites, then spreading poison ivy) formed into an intolerable rash that spread from my ankle, up my leg, across my knee and stopped at the inside of my lower thigh. I could hardly focus at work because of the itching and burning. I popped some anti-histamine, spread some cream on it, and reached for the phone. It was time to make the phone call of death.
"Heritage Medical, may I help you?"
"Uh, yeah. I need to make an appointment to *cough* come in and *clear throat* see someone about a *cough cough* rash."
So I went after work. As I expected, regardless of my form-filling expediency, I still waited an hour and a half to see the nurse practioner. She concurred that the rash was related to the bite, but didn't know what type of six- or eight-legged critter bit me.
"Continue with the anti-histamines, use this prescription cream, and I will give you some steroids to help fight the infection. Do you want pills or a shot?"
(Thinking to myself what crazy person opts for shots???) "What will be more effective and quicker?"
"Ideally, the shot, but it is up to you."
*SIGH* "Give me the shot, then. Please." (You have to throw in the please, even if you don't really mean it... especially about the needle).
So the nurse practioner left and the RN came in a while later with her shot. I spent the ten minutes I had to myself preparing myself for the shot. I have had countless vaccines in my life, even had my childhood vaccinations twice (thank you very much, military hospitals). "You got this, Elizabeth! It is just a prick in the arm, and I bet you could convince the nurse to give you a lollipop afterward."
The nurse walked in with the syringe, filled with a white, cream-looking substance.
"Alright, these are never pleasant, but this one has to go in your hip."
"IN MY HIP?!?" What is she? Crazy? Are you kidding me? "Why?"
"There is more muscle there."
Clearly she can't see my hips because that ain't muscle. So I untucked my uniform and exposed some of my hip. I will give the nurse credit. She pinched me really hard before she stabbed me, so the stabbing didn't feel as bad as the pinching. It is a good thing there is so much to pinch on my hip. She made the standard "now that wasn't so bad, was it?" remark that nursing school must train its students to say. Thanks for the purple band-aid, may I leave?
Upon leaving, I realized how small the building was and quite possible how loud I had been. The nurse's teenage soon was in the waiting room, waiting on his mom. He most likely heard me yell my startled inquiry. It never fails. I just looked into the sunset, walked out of the building, and pretended like I wasn't the last (and only) patient in the building.
I am monitoring the bite. If it gets worse, I am to go back. I hope it gets better.
Evidently, it does not matter if I am 6 years old or 25 years old- I still throw fits at the doctor's office. Generally speaking, I avoid going to doctors like one might avoid contracting the plague. Unfortunately, a welt (that I initially thought was a 'skeeter bite, then chigger bites, then spreading poison ivy) formed into an intolerable rash that spread from my ankle, up my leg, across my knee and stopped at the inside of my lower thigh. I could hardly focus at work because of the itching and burning. I popped some anti-histamine, spread some cream on it, and reached for the phone. It was time to make the phone call of death.
"Heritage Medical, may I help you?"
"Uh, yeah. I need to make an appointment to *cough* come in and *clear throat* see someone about a *cough cough* rash."
So I went after work. As I expected, regardless of my form-filling expediency, I still waited an hour and a half to see the nurse practioner. She concurred that the rash was related to the bite, but didn't know what type of six- or eight-legged critter bit me.
"Continue with the anti-histamines, use this prescription cream, and I will give you some steroids to help fight the infection. Do you want pills or a shot?"
(Thinking to myself what crazy person opts for shots???) "What will be more effective and quicker?"
"Ideally, the shot, but it is up to you."
*SIGH* "Give me the shot, then. Please." (You have to throw in the please, even if you don't really mean it... especially about the needle).
So the nurse practioner left and the RN came in a while later with her shot. I spent the ten minutes I had to myself preparing myself for the shot. I have had countless vaccines in my life, even had my childhood vaccinations twice (thank you very much, military hospitals). "You got this, Elizabeth! It is just a prick in the arm, and I bet you could convince the nurse to give you a lollipop afterward."
The nurse walked in with the syringe, filled with a white, cream-looking substance.
"Alright, these are never pleasant, but this one has to go in your hip."
"IN MY HIP?!?" What is she? Crazy? Are you kidding me? "Why?"
"There is more muscle there."
Clearly she can't see my hips because that ain't muscle. So I untucked my uniform and exposed some of my hip. I will give the nurse credit. She pinched me really hard before she stabbed me, so the stabbing didn't feel as bad as the pinching. It is a good thing there is so much to pinch on my hip. She made the standard "now that wasn't so bad, was it?" remark that nursing school must train its students to say. Thanks for the purple band-aid, may I leave?
Upon leaving, I realized how small the building was and quite possible how loud I had been. The nurse's teenage soon was in the waiting room, waiting on his mom. He most likely heard me yell my startled inquiry. It never fails. I just looked into the sunset, walked out of the building, and pretended like I wasn't the last (and only) patient in the building.
I am monitoring the bite. If it gets worse, I am to go back. I hope it gets better.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Dear August,
How I loathe thee. Thine chiggers and poison ivy remain the bane of my existence. I cannot hardly bear thine excessive heat (and am particularly susceptible to irritating heat rashes). Why have thee no holidays? Why have thee no breaks? Any season-changing colors come from the brutal sun's rays beating down upon the Earth, with almost no relief in sight. Thine isolated thunder storms tease with cool breezes, only providing enough moisture to create sauna-like conditions.
I know there will be a break from these intolerable measures in a matter of weeks. In the meantime, we shall have to find a way to get along. I will provide the calamine lotion and resist from scratching and complaining if thee could be so kind and stop with the record-breaking heat? That would help me appreciate each passing day for what it is, rather than hoping each day end sooner.
Yours very truly,
~ ekg
I know there will be a break from these intolerable measures in a matter of weeks. In the meantime, we shall have to find a way to get along. I will provide the calamine lotion and resist from scratching and complaining if thee could be so kind and stop with the record-breaking heat? That would help me appreciate each passing day for what it is, rather than hoping each day end sooner.
Yours very truly,
~ ekg
Thursday, July 29, 2010
A Recent Discovery
I have found that weather forecasters are very similar to ex-husbands. They can lie through their teeth without a blink of an eye.
Thunderstorms all week- ha! Now, the weather people cover their lies with percentages. I imagine ex-husbands would do the same if they were smart enough. "There is a 40% chance that I won't be where I say." Maybe if more people used percentages in their daily communications, I might be more forgiving in relationships like I am of the weather guy.
Thunderstorms all week- ha! Now, the weather people cover their lies with percentages. I imagine ex-husbands would do the same if they were smart enough. "There is a 40% chance that I won't be where I say." Maybe if more people used percentages in their daily communications, I might be more forgiving in relationships like I am of the weather guy.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Dear Mom,
I cannot update my blog with a quality entry because I am tired. And the things I want to say I can't because I don't know who reads this. So I will say that I am still alive and keeping myself busy.
Maybe tomorrow I will be abducted by aliens and have a story to tell.
Love,
ekg
P.S. No, Dad, I have not pulled out my thesis this week. I will get there eventually.
Maybe tomorrow I will be abducted by aliens and have a story to tell.
Love,
ekg
P.S. No, Dad, I have not pulled out my thesis this week. I will get there eventually.
Monday, July 26, 2010
What I am Listening to Today: Crossfire
I love this song. So I thought I would share. And Charlize Theron kicks butt. I want to be her when I grow up. Incidentally, I also love Brandon Flowers. I want to marry him when I grow up.
Lessons in Procrastination (By way of Yardwork)
After my run this morning, I decided to pull out the ol' lawnmower and attack my grass-cutting chore. I am not going to lie: it has been nearly a month since I have mowed. Unfortunately, lawnmowing is a chore that does not get easier with time. Every day I ignore the fact that my yard has, in fact, become a jungle the chore becomes increasingly more difficult to conquer. It is not something that I can mentally overcome, neither.
I bounded home after my successful morning 3 mile run, ready to throw on a pair of jeans and get productive this Monday morning. Bring on the yardwork! Between mowing and "gardening"* I figured I would be outside approximately an hour. My lawn usually takes me 45 minutes with my push mower and I was only going to do minimal work in my garden.** It took me a solid 15 minutes and a series of grumbled expletives to get the %^$# thing started (because I have neglected my yard duties for so long.
After I finally got it started, I started charging through my backyard jungle. Vrrrommsmmch(clunk!). Silence followed by another string of grumbled expletives. Stupid almost-knee high grass. Whose fault is that? Mine all mine. I shall overcome. So I cranked up my iPod and tried again.
You know that first-grade haircut that happens upon one's discovery of fiskers' ability to chop one's own hair? That is what my lawn currently looks like. I believe another word for that would be "hack job." And that planned hour turned into two and a half hours without any real work in my garden (minus the four tomatoes I gathered). Eesh. So much for productivity.
I would like to turn this yard lesson into a "life lesson." You know, that dreaded question: So, how's the thesis coming? Procrastination is a skill I have mastered. I think I know if I pull out my thesis-y stuff it is going to appear between knee- and waist-high, tangled and thick. It may take me a while to start my engines (and, yes, there will be expletives). But between training for a half marathon, working like a maniac, helping create costumes for a historical production in August, "gardening," mowing my stinky lawn, and just living my life to the best of my ability, I have a hard time bringing myself to pull out my research and writing.
I will get there. You'll see. And again, I will overcome. It may turn into a hack job, but it will get done.
*Another blog entry entirely on my "garden" due soon...
**Again, that blog entry about my gardening skills or lack thereof is well over due.
I bounded home after my successful morning 3 mile run, ready to throw on a pair of jeans and get productive this Monday morning. Bring on the yardwork! Between mowing and "gardening"* I figured I would be outside approximately an hour. My lawn usually takes me 45 minutes with my push mower and I was only going to do minimal work in my garden.** It took me a solid 15 minutes and a series of grumbled expletives to get the %^$# thing started (because I have neglected my yard duties for so long.
After I finally got it started, I started charging through my backyard jungle. Vrrrommsmmch(clunk!). Silence followed by another string of grumbled expletives. Stupid almost-knee high grass. Whose fault is that? Mine all mine. I shall overcome. So I cranked up my iPod and tried again.
You know that first-grade haircut that happens upon one's discovery of fiskers' ability to chop one's own hair? That is what my lawn currently looks like. I believe another word for that would be "hack job." And that planned hour turned into two and a half hours without any real work in my garden (minus the four tomatoes I gathered). Eesh. So much for productivity.
I would like to turn this yard lesson into a "life lesson." You know, that dreaded question: So, how's the thesis coming? Procrastination is a skill I have mastered. I think I know if I pull out my thesis-y stuff it is going to appear between knee- and waist-high, tangled and thick. It may take me a while to start my engines (and, yes, there will be expletives). But between training for a half marathon, working like a maniac, helping create costumes for a historical production in August, "gardening," mowing my stinky lawn, and just living my life to the best of my ability, I have a hard time bringing myself to pull out my research and writing.
I will get there. You'll see. And again, I will overcome. It may turn into a hack job, but it will get done.
*Another blog entry entirely on my "garden" due soon...
**Again, that blog entry about my gardening skills or lack thereof is well over due.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Props to the New Girl
I went to the dentist this morning to get my teeth cleaned. Besides the shortness of the visit (which made me very happy), the new hygienist kept the spit-sucking straw nearby so I never become a human fountain. This I appreciate. So props to the new girl. She probably doesn't even know how she made a difference in my day by just doing a good job at her job. And that is my thought for the day.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Even at 25 (You've Got To Start Sometime)
"Are you going to live your life standing in the back, looking around? Are you going to waste your time? You gotta make a move or you'll miss out." ~Jimmy Eat World
I sit here, thinking about all I have done and thought over the last two weeks that I could write about.
But.
I am tired. I don't want to dwell on my past two weeks. Today is like my Friday. I have tomorrow and Monday off (and a dentist appointment on Monday- yuck). I am going to pop in a movie and probably fall asleep early so I can wake up early and go for a run before it hits 85 or 90 degrees (which means before 7:30am...). And then I may actually pull out some of my reading for my thesis.
[cue record screeching noise]
That's right. Thesis. For those who know me, they know that my response to the question, "how is your thesis coming" is mirthful laughter. I have been avoiding writing like some people avoid touching sharp edges or jumping off of tall cliffs. I think I struggled with an identity thing: I hated being a student. I wanted to be all park ranger and no grad student. But recently a number of things have happened that have encouraged me to at least visit my thesis. I am still in my program and that makes me a student whether I like it or not (I also have to pay for graduate hours whether I like that or not). I make no guarantees, but I feel like I am in a place where I no longer need to run away from finishing. I just need to finish so I can get a job. Hopefully, a job in the Pacific, either here or here, but I trust I will go where I need to be.
I sit here, thinking about all I have done and thought over the last two weeks that I could write about.
But.
I am tired. I don't want to dwell on my past two weeks. Today is like my Friday. I have tomorrow and Monday off (and a dentist appointment on Monday- yuck). I am going to pop in a movie and probably fall asleep early so I can wake up early and go for a run before it hits 85 or 90 degrees (which means before 7:30am...). And then I may actually pull out some of my reading for my thesis.
[cue record screeching noise]
That's right. Thesis. For those who know me, they know that my response to the question, "how is your thesis coming" is mirthful laughter. I have been avoiding writing like some people avoid touching sharp edges or jumping off of tall cliffs. I think I struggled with an identity thing: I hated being a student. I wanted to be all park ranger and no grad student. But recently a number of things have happened that have encouraged me to at least visit my thesis. I am still in my program and that makes me a student whether I like it or not (I also have to pay for graduate hours whether I like that or not). I make no guarantees, but I feel like I am in a place where I no longer need to run away from finishing. I just need to finish so I can get a job. Hopefully, a job in the Pacific, either here or here, but I trust I will go where I need to be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)