For some reason...

I am excited by the beginning of a new year.  It may be because I spent a lot of months during 2012 down in the dumps - whether I was willing to admit it to myself or anyone else - but there you have it.  I've let go of a bunch of old baggage over the past couple of months and well, I feel happier than I have in a long time.  Truly happy.  Less worried about life.  More interested in living and trying new things outside the cocoon of my carefully self-regulated comfort zone.  Tom & Al brought me some cookies (and a lovely gift) just before Christmas, along with this lovely wall decal quote by Emily Dickinson: Dwell in possibilities.  I love it.  I've always loved Emily, mildly depressed spinster poet that she was - and I love these words.  I hung it right where I can see if from my desk.  A timely reminder.

Thanks, guys - I appreciate your thoughtfulness more than I can say.

I'm also excited about my new Jane-a-Day journal.  Jane Austen, another favorite kindred spirit (and spinster, I might add), is the inspiration for this five-year journal, which has an quote from one of her works on each page.  It was a lovely Christmas gift from my friend, Marie, and I am looking forward to daily inspiration from Jane's timeless witticisms. I only hope my comments are as witty.

Thank you, Marie, for thinking of me.

I am looking forward to a happy 2013 - a year in which I vow to speak less and listen more, read fewer books and finish writing one of my own.

And this year, I choose happiness.

Who knows where the time goes...

because I sure don't!  September just flew by - especially the last two weeks.  It seemed like it was my birthday and then Aggie's birthday yesterday - and now the whole month is gone.  And no fall weather.  Yet.  But hope springs eternal, as they say.  I am, however, encouraged about October.  Aside from being one of my favorite months of the year - probably the whole pumpkin thing - this October in particular starts perfectly: the first day of the month is a Monday.  It's a new week, a new month, a new quarter - like a whole new beginning, full of possibilities.

Or so I like to tell myself...

Bangs, bees, birthdays and books...

are an odd combination of things for a blog post, but it's my birthday and I can write about anything I want.  I was going to do a post a while back about my front door and the bee decor, but I didn't - so I'm showing it off now because bees just make me happy.  I found the wooden flower cut-out, welcome sign and little bee by the door knocker on Etsy.  Aren't they cute?  The sign on the left, the corner of which is peeking out, says Bee Happy.  The new sign confused my clients a little when I switched the flag out for it, but it's been up there since January.  I think they're used to it by now.  Come on in - it's raining outside.

Let's see, what was I going to say?  Oh, yes - bangs.  When is one too old for bangs?  I haven't cut my hair in a while, and while I am inordinately fond of headbands, that unfortunate hairstyle has a tendency to really show the grey in my mousy, brown hair.  I just can't do the hair color thing.  If I try to color it myself it looks like crap - seriously.  And I hate paying someone at least $75 to do it for me; consequently, I am besieged by greying temples.  Solution: I trimmed my own bangs and amazingly, I don't look my age - so maybe I'm not too old for bangs after all.  I may give in and go somewhere for a cheap quick trim.

Is this not the coolest thing?  My friend, Kathy, sent this lovely handmade sewing gadget to me for my birthday.  She said it had my name written all over it: ME fabric and useful, too!  It is a tile padded and covered with an attached pin cushion - with a fabric waste basket hanging over the edge.  Matches my bedroom sewing corner (and ME sewing basket liner) perfectly and I can't wait to use it!

Now for the books: I just finished reading Sunshine on Scotland Street - the latest installment in that wonderful series.  It was a lovely chronicle of the adventures of Cyril, the only dog in Edinburgh sporting a gold tooth, while his owner Angus is on his honeymoon with his new wife, Domenica.  Bertie is still the victim of his mother's yoga classes, Italian lessons and the psychobabble of Melanie Klein.  Bruce, the narcissist, has an interesting experience with his new found doppelganger and the lottery.  Danish reality television wants to do a documentary on Matthew and the triplets - but plans change with the filmmaker meets Big Lou.  Of course, now I have to wait about a year for the next one.

Fortunately, Mr. McCall Smith is about the release the next book in the Isabel Dalhousie series - I can't wait until the end of October.  No murders in Isabel's little corner of Edinburgh - but her adventures are interesting all the same!

It was like deja vu...

all over again.  My mail lady stopped by today and handed me the notice that was stuck in my door.  My condo complex was announcing their annual unit inspections!  I felt like I was back in college and faced with the dreaded dorm inspection - hadn't I gotten past that stage?  Panic set in immediately and I made a frantic call to my carpet cleaners: "Can you all come on Monday?"  Fortunately, the answer was yes.  Now I all have to do is get ready to have the carpet cleaned by Monday, swelter at the tortilleria on Tuesday and get the rest of this place spotless by Wednesday afternoon.  I can do this.  I can do this.  Oh, who am I kidding?  I need help!

Oh, summer...

and it's monsoon season...  Or so it seems, anyway.  It's hot and muggy and in Florida, you can count on some liquid sunshine at least once a day between June and October.  It's very dreary and grey this morning - not conducive to work at all.  Days like today are good for two things: reading and napping.  

Decisions, decisions...

Diagnosis: Isuzu...

So it's not quite as bad as I had imagined, but the news still isn't great.  Ray doesn't need a new engine computer, but the wiring from the engine to the computer has some bad spots.  He also has a leak in the transmission switch and the transmission pan - whatever that is.  And a new battery - but I can't complain about that because it is the original ten-year-old battery!  I keep reminding myself that repairing these relatively minor afflictions that Ray is suffering from right now is still cheaper than a new vehicle - which comes with monthly payments.  The Isuzu experts are working on fixing Ray up and hopefully I will be able to pick up him soon.  I love staying home, but I sure have missed having the option of going out on my own without having to ask a friend for a ride!

When things get to be too much...

It's only human to have a little meltdown.  I don't know if being cooped up at home finally got to me, or the looming car repair bill, or having to ask people to drive me around for the past three weeks - but when the mechanic finally told me today that I needed to take Ray to yet another repair shop, I finally gave in to the tears I've been struggling to hold back for the past couple of days.  I felt defeated and alone.  Just when I thought things were on an even keel and I was doing all right emotionally and financially - I encountered yet another challenge to overcome.  I pulled myself together long enough to find, after several fruitless phone calls, an old Isuzu dealership in Venice that could help me - and Ray Isuzu.  By the time I hung up, it was too late to call AAA to arrange for Ray to be towed to Venice, so I'll have to do that tomorrow.  I was still feeling incredibly stressed out and so like the very human person that I am I cried, yelled at no one in particular and cried some more.  I decided that I had just about enough for one day so I turned the ringer off on the phone and retired to the sofa with Aggie and Peter for some unconditional pet love and sympathy.  When I had calmed down enough to try a more prayerful attitude, I realized that things were really not so bad.  I mean, there are rebuilt and after market parts available, the service manager at the dealership told me that his Isuzu mechanics had been working on those vehicles for fifteen years and they had all the software necessary to reprogram my car.  The repair bill still isn't in my budget, but miraculously, one of my deadbeat clients came and paid me half the balance he's owed me for a year and when I checked my voice mail, one of my favorite clients, Robert Redford (I'm not kidding - that's his name), called and wants to bring me his last two years worth of taxes.  I have to work at the tortilleria on Wednesday, so I'm more than halfway to being able to afford $800 to repair Ray - and that's a worst case scenario.  While my meltdown certainly seemed to relieve the pent up frustration and stress I was experiencing, I only really felt better after I sat quietly and gave my cares to Someone bigger than me.  It seems that I can never remember the words of Psalm 46:10 when I need them most: "Be still and know that I am God."

Maybe we do...

have a second childhood when we reach a certain age.  Although I think I've probably reached it sooner than I would have expected, considering my renewed taste for orange soda.  I don't know if that's a good thing or not!

Time to read is a gift...

that I am really grateful for this quiet time of year.  While I still haven't completely caught up from tax season, I'm working on it and I've taken advantage of a few phone-free hours to indulge my inner bibliophile.  I read the latest in the Isabel Dalhousie series from the wonderful Alexander McCall Smith and while it's not a murder mystery, it's still a mystery.  It's a gentle sort of story - that's the only way I can describe The Forgotten Affairs of Youth.  A couple of ongoing plot issues are resolved, a couple of new ones are introduced and Isabel helps a young woman find her biological father.  Or so she thinks.  As always, I recommend anything by this wonderful author and this book is no exception.

Eleven-year-old sleuth, Flavia deLuce is back in I Am Half-sick of Shadows, the fourth mystery in Alan Bradley's series set in 1950s England.  Christmas is coming and Colonel deLuce has rented out Buckshaw, their crumbling country estate, to a film company in the hope of boosting the ever-dwindling family fortune.  Of course, there is a murder and Flavia is determined to expose the killer - and maybe catch Santa Claus while she's at it.  A fun read, but still not nearly as good as Flavia's debut in The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie.

And finally, rounding out today's reviews: Major Pettigrew's Last Stand - a delightful first novel by Helen Simonson.  The retired (and widowed) major lives somewhere south of London in the small village of Edgecombe St. Mary.  Sounds vaguely Christie-esque, doesn't it?  Mrs. Ali is the widow of the Pakistani shopkeeper in the village.  The two strike up an unlikely friendship; will it turn to romance?  You'll have to read it and see - it's a lovely little book and I am looking forward to Simonson's next novel.

Isn't it amazing...

how one little part is integral in making a vehicle run?  Ray and I had a small near-meltdown this morning when he suddenly died at the post office - in the drive-through mailbox lane.  I deposited my envelopes and as I pulled forward, he went slower... slower... slower and then refused to move at all.  When I tried to restart Ray's engine, all I heard was click, click, click.  After a momentary wave of panic - and flash of deja vu to my dead twelve-year-old Expedition a couple of years ago, I took a deep breath and calmed down.  This is not the worst thing that has ever happened to me, I thought.  Not by a long shot.

Fortunately, I have AAA and I called them for assistance.  After a fashion, that is.  My cell phone, which I rarely use, was not cooperating and the AAA lady hung up on me three times because she couldn't hear me.  I finally got through and then the idiots people who had begun to congregate behind me started honking and yelling obscenities at me and poor, dead Ray.  I mean, honestly, do you really think anyone would actually choose to block traffic at the exit of a one-lane postal drop off?  A nice man did try to help me before the tow truck arrived, but he determined that it was probably the alternator and that I did indeed need a professional's help.  I also called Ariela, bless her heart, who came and picked me up and we followed the tow truck to her husband's friend's garage.  Jose said he'd check it out and to come back in an hour.  We retired to the nearby Burger King for a chat and a mango smoothie - so the morning wasn't a total loss.  After picking up Baby at the preschool, we check backed with the garage; it was indeed a worn-out alternator.  And praise be to heaven, the battery was fine!

Payroll and piles of old files awaited me at the Tortilleria - my new weekly venture away from my cozy home office - so Ariela dropped me off.  The mechanic said that Ray would be ready by three, so it gave me a few hours to get some work done and find a ride to pick up my little SUV.  After sweltering for four hours in a small, poorly ventilated room with several tortilla ovens and conveyors operating around the corner, I finally threw in the towel and called Richard to hitch a ride to pick up good, old, trusty Ray the Isuzu Rodeo.  A few minutes later, I saw his mini-van outside and off we went.  By the time I got home, I was hot, worn out and $200 poorer, but Ray was running like a champ.  His alternator worked fine for ten years - or at least for the last two he's been with me, so it was just time for a new one.  Years ago, I would have freaked out at the sort of day I had today - but I've learned to be thankful for small things.  Today I was grateful for AAA, for my friends who were willing to give of their time and gas, and for being able to afford an emergency car repair.  Life is good.

I have always suspected...

that crying did actually relieve stress - but it is apparently a verifiable, scientific fact.  And I could use a good cry right about now.  Seriously.  I don't know when I have felt so overwhelmed and so ill-equipped to deal with everything.  I am frantically trying to catch up on all of the work I let slide during tax season, my house is a disaster area and I am emotionally drained listening to people who seem to feel comfortable revealing their deepest, darkest secrets to me.  I tell you - that therapy chair has got to go.  People feel better when they leave here - having dumped all of their troubles on me, but consequently I feel like crap.  I honestly don't know how mental health counselors and psychotherapists do their jobs - or if they burn out after a few years of listening to other people's problems.  Maybe they just cry a lot.  Or change the subject.  I'm not looking to open a psychotherapy practice and unfortunately, I don't know a nice way to tell people that I don't want to hear their tales of woe.  Really - is there a nice way?  I have suggested professional counseling to the person who is currently spending a considerable amount of time in the chair, but that suggestion has not been acted upon as of yet.  I know that the main goal of therapy is to help the client work out his own issues, but I can't sit here and do the nod and repeat-the-client's-thought-in-different-words thing.  Sorry, Dr. Rogers.  I can listen sympathetically up to a point and then I end up doling out good, sound Lucy VanPelt-style advice.  And dang it, if you sit in my therapy chair and ask for my opinion on your situation and advice on how to deal with it, then you dang well ought to take said advice seriously - or at least give it some consideration.  And therein lies the problem; the tale of woe continues and the what-should-I-do question is reworded - hoping for the answer the occupant of the chair wants to hear - but I'm wise to that ploy.  I am not going to listen to the whole megillah only to give someone permission to continue the same destructive behavior.  And so I repeat the same advice: do the right thing, sh-t or get off the pot, as my grandmother would say.  Of course, no one is really going to listen to me - people just want to put in the chair time so they feel better.
As for me, I think I'll just have a good cry.

Small victory lap...

Can you tell that I just had to get out of the house today?  Even if it was just to go to the bank and take away the trash.  Almost another month of tax season to go and I am about stir-crazy!  While I was out, Ray and I did a small victory lap around the neighborhood - we are celebrating that he is finally paid for!  Woo hoo!  I thanked him for all of his good service over the past two years and promised to fill him with gas the next time we're out and treat him to a car wash.  Sometimes the small victories in life are the sweetest!

A three hour nap...

is not really a good idea - especially at 6:30 pm.  And I was doing so well today: got the laundry done, tidied up my desk area, took away the trash, dropped off my toner cartridge at the UPS box to send to recycling, went to the bank - tying up all my loose ends before I am really busy this week.  Aggie & I had dinner, I set the dryer to run for forty minutes with the last load of laundry that wasn't quite dry and I thought: well, I'll just sit down for a few minutes.  I think my mistake was taking that nice fluffy blanket to the sofa with me.  It was a little chilly in here - if you can call 70 degrees chilly - and I told myself I was only going to sit there and commune with the dog and the cat until the dryer stopped.  Who was I kidding?  Three hours later, I woke up about smothered to death between the blanket and the animals.  My head is stuffy and my neck is stiff and I just know that there is no way I will ever go back to sleep tonight.  The worst part is this pile of stuff sitting on the corner of my desk, begging to be put away in the hall closet and I just don't give a crap.  See all the damage a nap can do?

An unexpected gift...

from one of my clients made my day today.  I went to see my tortilleria client early this morning to help him prepare some background information he needs for an appointment with an attorney on Monday morning.  It's a long, long story about attempting to buy an enormous quantity of corn flour.  I admire his determination to make his business succeed - and I hope he prevails in this matter.  Which is pretty silly, if you ask me - the man just wants to buy flour at a decent price so he can keep the cost of his consumer product reasonable.  The big, bad flour company only wants to sell him the amount they think can actually use.  What do they care what he does with it, as long as he pays them for their product?  Anyhow, it's a big mess and he wanted to get his information in order and create a sort of timeline for the attorney.  That's where I come in - putting stuff in order.  Anyhow, I had also finished another large project for him and I had a whole pile of things for him to sign.  Looking at the stack of paper I brought with me, he said, "I want to buy you a new printer cartridge.  I'll send one of the ladies to Office Depot to get one.  Let's call and make sure they have the one you need."  I was gobsmacked - it was like something (or Someone) told him I really needed a toner cartridge.  Honestly, I was nursing the old one along, shaking it to get all the toner I could out of it, hoping it would hold out until I'd done the first few tax returns and could afford to order a new one.  Of course, I said he didn't need to do that.  But he insisted.  A little voice in my head said, Just be thankful and when you see that can help someone out, go ahead and do it.  We finished up the timeline, he signed the paperwork and I showed him how to do his weekly Sam's Club order online so he could just pick it up at the store instead of having to waste time shopping.  And then, bless his heart, he paid me a hundred dollars besides.  I am humbled by his kindness and generosity and I see several loaves of banana and pumpkin bread in his future.  I don't know what I have done to deserve such great clients, but I am truly thankful for them and they work they give me to do.

Imagination in overdrive...

is not a good thing - especially when it comes to things that creep, crawl or bite.  I went up to the management office to renew my lease today for another two years.  The new office staff is very nice; the old property manager was a sort of sissy guy who jumped back like a little girl when approached by a small terrier.  Can you imagine?  Anyhow, everything is computerized now and while Andy was entering my information in the computer, my nosy self saw a page entitled Bed Bugs.  Bed bugs!  The seed for a major freak-out had been planted.  Now my rational self knows that we have no bed bugs, fleas or pests of any sort in our apartment, but still...  I signed all the papers and as I was leaving, Andy said, "Oh, this is yours," and handed me a legal-size sheet of paper with the heading: BED BUGS - A Guide for Rental Housing Residents.  Yikes!  Maybe it's an epidemic I don't know about - I laughed and told him it would make a good blog post.  If anyone can make the topic of bed bugs amusing, it's me.  Then I got home and read the thing.  Apparently, bed bugs don't discriminate and can largely be attributed to a surge in international travel.  Fancy hotels have them!  They don't transmit disease, but they're nasty little biters.  The guide went on to provide information on identifying and locating the filthy beasts as well as how to prevent an alien encounter when traveling.  Just like when a vampire knocks at your door, don't invite a bed bug in.  Don't pick up furniture left at the curb - who does that anyway?  It's also not advisable to wait for these flesh-eating zombies to leave on their own - call a professional.  I see a movie here: Bed Bug Busters, starring Dan Ackroyd and David Spade.  Rated PG-13 for extreme violence and over-the-top innuendo from the short, smarmy guy.  Of course, none of this stopped me from thoroughly vacuuming the armchair I got from a pristine, spotlessly clean upscale home in Parrish a couple of months ago, even though there was no evidence of wear, let alone an insect infestation of any kind.  I checked the sofa and chair, the bed and the dog and cat.  No bugs, no fleas - nothing.  I threw the biohazard notice away and set about my business.

And then, while getting ready to go to a Christmas dinner party, I noticed a welt on my arm.  I had apparently been bitten or stung by something - assailant unknown.  It itched like crazy, so I cleaned it with an aloe wipe ("Wipe! Wipe!"), put some cortisone cream on the area, slapped a band-aid on top and off to dinner I went.  Not a good thing - not a good thing at all.  Band-aids and my ghost-like sensitive skin do not mix - and by the time I got home, the raised irritation from the supposedly latex-free bandage was worse than the bite.  Fortunately, the itching had subsided, but the sting site was plenty ugly.  Time to break out the benadryl, more cortisone cream - and something to take my mind off imagining that a lone bed bug had somehow sneaked in here to bite me on the arm in broad daylight.

I'll let you know how that goes...

I have always loved the Saturday...

when Daylight Savings Time ends.  It's like the official beginning of Fall - and the bonus of that extra hour to do whatever you want.  Read for a little while longer before you go to sleep, watch a movie, stay up until two in the morning to change the clocks...  Seriously - when I was a kid my grandpa always stayed up until two to change all the clocks on the farm - like it was the law or something.  I was tempted this year, but I only made it until 1:30 - but then, it was actually only 12:30.  But I digress...  One of the best things about the end of DST, especially when I was a kid, was that coveted extra hour of sleep.  I come from a family of early risers; I am one as an adult, too - but when I was a kid, especially when I was a teenager, I would have given anything to sleep in on Saturdays, but that was never going to happen.  My dad would get up around five, make his first pot of coffee and enjoy the silence of the kitchen for about an hour.  He'd read, play with the cat or most of the time, I suspect, just ponder the nature of the universe - or whatever other computer geek thoughts he thought.  Then, around six, he'd head off to the shower and wake my mother.  And like most Southern households, when Mama is awake - everyone is awake.  During the school week I could understand getting up early - we had to leave the house with my dad because he dropped us off at school.  But on Saturdays - no rest for the wicked - or two kids who would have loved to sleep until at least eight - or even watch cartoons.  Nope - time to get up, get dressed and clean the house from top to bottom.  Never mind that I had dusted and polished all the furniture every day after school during the week or that I'd washed the entire kitchen every night after dinner, including washing the kitchen floor - Saturday was cleaning day and we were going to do our chores - because, you guessed it, when Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.  And then, once a year, came the day I lived for and with it, that extra hour's sleep.  And the fact that Mama couldn't do anything about it.  It was an untouchable hour of leisure and my slothful self enjoyed it every time it came around.  I still do.  Apparently, we never outgrow the need to defy our parents.  Or at least I haven't.

Did you make the most of your extra hour this year?

I have absolutely no idea why...

I am always so happy when Friday arrives.  It's not like I've had some stressful, harrowing work week that is in dire need of a weekend.  Actually, every day is just about like any other for me - a few phone calls, some paperwork, some more paperwork, check the e-mail, still more paperwork, a final few phone calls and then it's time to snuggle up with Aggie & Peter on the sofa with a book.  Or I write for a while.  I am blessed with a relatively calm existence - for which I am very grateful, believe me.  The other day when I was out doing errands, I saw a sign with a statement that I have thought about quite a lot since: Beware the barrenness of a busy life.  Think about it; have you ever been so busy that you felt like you couldn't take on one more thing?  I have and in retrospect, those were the most miserable days of my life.  And those days went on for decades.  Over the past several years, I have learned to say no, respectfully decline requests, not answer the phone and generally ignore those social obligations in which I have no real interest.  Those uber-busy people who are out there dazzling their peers (or so they think) with their ability to multi-task and juggle a million obligations are probably secretly unhappy and wondering why their inner lives are so empty.  I am so thankful that I have finally learned contentment and that it is perfectly okay to just say no, to ignore a knock at the door or a ringing telephone, take a nap, read a book and to just do the best I can without sacrificing my sanity.  Yes, I'm thankful it's Friday, but tomorrow I'll be just as happy that it's Saturday...

While patience is a virtue...

it is not my strong suit.  Yesterday morning, I had the bright idea to clean out the refrigerator and get rid out outdated salad dressing, yogurt, tomatoes, spaghetti - you get the picture.  Well, somehow, somewhere amid all the yuck I put down the garbage disposal, something clogged up the sink drain.  I tried everything I knew - except for a plunger because I don't have one.  I couldn't leave the house because I had clients coming to see me, so I called the condo office and asked for maintenance to come and help me.  That was at one o'clock.  Today at one, I was still waiting.  Meanwhile, I couldn't even look at the sink without gagging - I hate that.  I'm an adult; I should be able to handle a nasty sink.  But I can't.  There you have it.  Of course, this messy, dirty, foul-smelling cesspool of a sink became the only thing I was able to think about for the past twenty-four hours.  Yes, I have a tendency to let my imagination run wild when it comes to things like this.  I should have just gone and bought a plunger at WalMart, but several things stopped me: A) I don't really know how to effectively use one, 2. the ground-up spaghetti and zucchini residue in the sink was really, really nasty and d. it was the principle of the thing.  I had asked for maintenance and they ought to come and unclog my sink.  After a fitful night's sleep, further consternation this morning and another call to the condo office, I am happy to report that I am no longer obsessed because at 1:38 pm today, a very nice man came and took care of the problem.  I have since put three pots of boiling water down each drain and sanitized the sink within an inch of its life, thrown away the contaminated scrubbing pad and started the dishwasher.  I feel much better now.

I'm sure the sink does, too.

Not for the easily offended...

Isn't it funny how our brains work?  Last night I was thinking about my friend Kathy in Utah (and no, this donkey does not in any way remind me of Kathy) - we worked together many years ago.  I sent her an e-mail, read for a while and then I went to sleep.  Well, while I was sleeping I guess my brain continued to shuffle through the memories from that time in my life and I woke up this morning having remembered the most hilarious thing that happened back then.  If you're easily offended, stop reading now.  But if you like a good laugh, go to the bathroom if you have to and for heaven's sake, don't drink anything while you're reading.

My first job after college was at a doctor's office - a large ear, nose and throat group.  They also had a hearing and speech center where they conducted audiological testing.  That was my job - assisting the audiologist.  He wasn't a bad guy, I guess, but he'd worked with this gang of MDs for so long that he wanted to be a doctor, too.  So he got an EdD degree from some correspondence school and insisted upon being called Doctor BlahBlah in the most pompous and annoying way.  He also had a very pompous and annoying wife who fancied herself our office manager.  She was one of those people that just made you wish God would come along and thunk her on the head to put her back in her place.  Just a little wake-up call.  I know I've thought that about a lot of people and I'm sure a lot of people have thought that about me from time to time.  We all need the thunk from the Hand of Heaven now and again.  Well, this woman was on everyone's last nerve right about that time and seriously in need of a little thunk.

Suffice it to say, we had some interesting patients.  You know the kind: a lady who complained that she'd lost her hearing overnight (turned out to be a roach in her ear), kids with beans or macaroni in their noses or ears - you get the picture.  One interesting patient in particular was an older woman named Jeannette Wright.  She was a gnarled, wiry and perpetually frazzled sort of a woman with tightly-curled grey hair that went in every direction.  Some people are just odd, I guess and Jeannette was certainly that.  We never knew much of her story until the day she brought her son Steven along with her to an appointment.  Steven was about 40 and developmentally disabled.  Suddenly, Jeannette's frazzled, stressed-out behavior made a little more sense - here she was nearing retirement age and was unfortunately one of those people who had spent all of her life caring for someone with no end in sight.  Steven was a quiet sort, but when he did speak, he had an alarming tendency to make inappropriate comments.  To our receptionist, Trudy: "Does your husband like that you're so skinny?"  He once announced to me: "You have big boobs."  Inappropriate, yes - but a statement of fact.  We just let these comments go, understood Jeannette's strangeness a little better and tried our best to be nice to Steven and make him feel welcome.

On the day that Doctor BlahBlah's wife was so very desperately in need of her much-deserved comeuppance (as my Grandma would say), Jeannette arrived with Steven in tow.  I was asked to escort them into the testing room and the doctor said to his wife, "Come on in on this one, Blah, this should be interesting." I followed them back into the room and leaned against the closed door.  I didn't want to miss whatever interesting comment that Steven surely had in store for Blah.  The audiologist took Jeannette into the booth, adjusted the headphones and then proceeded to give her yet another hearing test.  It was a routine patient visit until Steven leaned toward Blah and said, "Psst."  She ignored him.  He leaned closer and said, "Psst!"  That got her attention.  "Yes?" Blah asked, innocently enough.  At that, Steven said, "You suck."  Blah's mouth fell open and she responded with an aghast, "What did you say?"  Steven repeated, very calmly, "You suck."  Blah began sputtering, obviously unsure of how to respond.  Even more calmly, Steven said, "You suck donkey dickies."  I was having a hard time controlling myself at that point, having actually witnessed the Cosmic Breeze finally blow some crap in Blah's direction, but Dr. Blah was completely oblivious to his wife's shock and dismay at Steven's pronouncement.  And finally, in a finish I will never forget, Steven leaned in again and said, "It's okay.  All my friends do."  I don't know what happened after that because I was out the door and dashing down the hall to my office where my shrieks of glee couldn't be heard by Dr. BlahBlah or his wife.  All I knew was, the Hand had delivered its Thunk.  Big time.

I owe Steven for that; we all had a good laugh (well, except for Doctor and Mrs. BlahBlah) and I learned that we are all instruments of God's work, whether we are aware of it or not.  Thank you, Steven, wherever you are!