Dressing up Comp 101

Getting dressed and online college comp 101 wouldn’t seem to have much in common, but for me they are very similar. Both of them involve a lot of pulling stuff out, seeing what works together, and discarding many of the choices. There is also accessorizing involved with each of them. A good outfit needs just the “right” accessories to go with them and a good essay also needs the “write” accessories.

Prompt reactions correlate to getting dressed for work. Getting dressed for work is fairly easy as the outfit is there for me. I have choices, such as do I wear the long or short sleeve blue shirt today, but it will always be with blue pants. My hair has to be pulled up, but will I wear my hair in a ponytail or will I just throw it in a clip tonight? Prompts are similar in that the material is there; I just take it and make it my own. Which one strikes my fancy on the day I write compares to how I will wear my hair on any given night. What I put in the prompt is similar to picking the short sleeve or long sleeve shirt. It’s decided by what strikes my fancy at that given moment. Choices exist with both, but they are limited to what someone else has deemed.

Freestyles are similar to getting dressed on my day off. Both are determined my choice and mood. My day off attire can be dressy requiring a lot of effort, or sloppy with just enough effort to be presentable at the corner store. Hair can be up or down, maybe not even washed if I’m feeling really lazy. Freestyles can be dressed up on the days you want to really put the effort into it. They are also acceptable if made just presentable enough that they give the instructor something to comment on. Freestyles and day off clothing are both entirely at my whim.

Five graf essays equate to getting ready for a big night on the town or an important business meeting. First, with both there is a decision on what image I want to present for the given event, whether the essay or the outfit. For the outfit, I start by pulling half dozen possible outfits out of the closet. For the essay, I pick half dozen topics to start narrowing down from. I start narrowing down the outfit to the one that might most appropriate to the occasion I am attending. Narrowing down the topic for the essay depends on the type essay assigned. A lot of throwing things aside happens with each. Once I have picked out the outfit or the essay topic, both need to start with a good base. Proper undergarments are needed for the clothes, basic paragraphs for the essay. Then the meat of the outfit comes next whether it is a dress or nice suit. It compares to the essay in that next comes the meat of the topic. This is where you are going to grab the attention of the reader or people at the event. Accessories to the outfit are the finishing touch that will make my outfit uniquely mine. Accessories to the essay are the little phrases or twists of humor that give me ownership of it.

College comp 101 and getting dressed can be easy or complicated depending on what the assignment or occasion is. Freestyles and days off give me the most freedom while prompt reactions and getting dressed work are probably the least imaginative of tasks. Five graf essays and the getting dressed for the big occasion allow for the most planning and imagination.

AMANDA

I love my daughter but man can she drive me crazy. She has been a “difficult child” as long as I can remember. She can be the sweetest most loving daughter that a mother could ask for or she can drive me to the point of absolute despair. We will go for long periods at a time with the perfect mother daughter relationship, and then she will do something that hurts me so deeply that I don’t think I will recover from the pain. Always, in the end though my love for her outweighs the hurt she causes me.

At sixteen Amanda, like most teenage girls, was rebellious. She had a boyfriend that at first seemed like a nice guy, but as the relationship grew, they started to do things without my knowledge or permission. When called on this, her reaction was to run away with her boyfriend. For days, I had no knowledge of where she was or even if she was okay. I was a wreck not knowing if I would ever even see her again. They finally returned home, and she truly believed there would be no consequences. When I handed out punishment, her retaliation was to move out of my house and in with her boyfriend. She and her boyfriend came with the police to get her belongings. (Believe it or not at 16, she could not be forced to live at home) I was in tears begging her to stay. She was a typical cocky 16 year old teenager with no regards for anyone else’s feeling. For months we had no contact until I reached out and we resumed a tenuous relationship. Things were starting to get repaired and I was happy to have my baby girl back.

Amanda hadn’t moved home but at least we were in the process of having a relationship. Then Amanda knocked on the door one night and blurted out that she was pregnant. My baby was a junior in high school and pregnant. Guess who no longer had any interest in being involved? The boyfriend; shocker I know. Amanda moved home and the bond of having to struggle brought us closer than ever. We worked together to get things ready for the baby. I worked 70 to 80 hours a week so we could have all the things required for a baby. She went to school and worked a part time job. Times were tough but our relationship was solid. Stephen was born and we worked hard together to give him a good beginning. Amanda was still in school, so I assumed a lot of responsibilities of a mother not a grandmother. I was a proud mother the day of her high school graduation. I knew it hadn’t been easy for her to finish high school with a baby. Life was hard for us, but that was okay because I had a solid relationship with my daughter. Unfortunately, like many things in life, this too would pass. When Stephen was 18 months old, Amanda took him and left one day while I was at work and moved back in with her boyfriend. Amanda and I both knew as long as she was with her boyfriend there would be no relationship for us. I was devastated beyond belief. I thought I would never recover.

My baby and grandson were gone. I thought the pain would never end. Slowly though, I once again recovered. Amanda and I had no contact for a long time. It was a daily ache for me, as now I missed my grandson as much as I missed her. But time and a grandchild softened me. One more time Amanda and I slowly repaired our relationship. I did not approve of her boyfriend; however she was an adult, so he was her choice, not mine. We started doing adult things together and I got to be a grandmother. We seemed to be on solid footing, but then the other shoe dropped. Amanda called me at work in tears, from jail. She had been arrested for being with her boyfriend when he had sold some stolen guns. All the other hurts seemed small as I waited in the lobby of the jail to bail her out. I was angry, but I was also devastated at the thought of my baby girl going to jail. How could this be the same sweet child, I had brought home swaddled all in pink 24 years ago? I bailed her out, helped her find a lawyer, and stood by her during the process. She got off relatively light with minimal jail time, but before being arrested had gotten pregnant again, by the same boyfriend. She served her time; I visited every Sunday leaving in tears. Seeing her pregnant in jail was an emotional nightmare. Amanda was released and the boyfriend dumped her for good this time. She was now a single mother of 2 small boys, had a criminal conviction, no job prospects, and no home. She didn’t come home to me though. This time she wasn’t my baby anymore, she was my adult daughter with real adult problems. We worked together as adults, to help her turn things around.

So, we continue our mother daughter relationship. We have weathered many hard times. My love for her still knows no ends and she still has the ability to hurt me deeply. I will always be there for her, but have learned that I can recover from the pain she causes me at times. I also know that we have the ability to rebuild our relationship when it goes through tough times.

DISASTER

Before last week when I thought of a disaster, I thought of hurricanes, blizzards, or anything that could potentially destroy a physical thing. On Tuesday, April 21 disaster hit me face on. My Dad suffered a stroke, one that seems to be taking the very essence of the only stable man in the 46 years of my life. How can this be a disaster one may wonder? It would seem to be more of an emotional trial than a disaster, but as the days unfold disaster seems to be the only description that aptly fits.

My Dad is a self made man (I almost used was). He started his first business at the age of 12 and progressed from there. Now he isn’t a Fortune 500 guy by any stretch of the imagination. He sweat and toiled every day for what he has. As kids, we didn’t see much of him; he was always working to keep things going. He felt that to have it done right he had to be the one who did it. It is one trait I inherited from him good or bad. Over the years he built a piece of waterfront property into a well developed piece of commercial property. He built a business that included commercial fishing and property development. A great accomplishment it would seem, except for the fact he made no provisions for what to be done with it should he not be able to work it anymore. Now three children who love him very much are faced with what to do. So why is that a disaster? Like many families of today, to say we are not close would not even be an accurate description. We are the textbook definition of dysfunctional. My brother wants to continue to work it, it is the only thing he has known his whole life. My sister and I agree on that point, but how the end result will be accomplished is where all paths split. One of us wants things to remain status quo for a while to see what happens with Dad and the other thinks we need to look at the long term in the case Dad is unable to return. My brother just wants the stability to be assured a weekly income. Many arguments have ensued at a time when we should be focusing on uniting as a family for the benefit of Dad. A disaster in the making for a family that lost their mother a year ago and now is in imminent danger of losing their father. This family is being ripped apart at a time when we really need each other and we can’t seem to pull together at a time when we really need each other.

The financial end of my Dads’ stroke is not the only disaster to come from it. We have been told Dad will not be coming home from the hospital. He will have to go to a nursing home. My Dad would be mortified if he could assimilate what is going to happen to him. Dad is the epitome of the outdoorsman. He spent most every day on the ocean and if not there he was in a truck plowing snow. His life revolved around the outdoors. He was sick 2 years ago and miserable does not describe his mood. He was mean and nasty like a hurt caged animal. No one ever imagines they will end up in a facility such as a nursing home, but for him, torture is an appropriate word. He may not make the connection, but we can never by sure of the process of the mysterious mind. Once again at a time when we should be pulling together for his sake we are tearing apart. We all have our opinions on where we would like him to go and why we would like him there. My brother and I live close enough that we are concerned about the quality of the facility he goes to and my sister is in partial agreement, but has some reservations that are leading to a whole new set of disagreements. Every decision we have to make seems to make the disaster grow.

Just when it seemed that things couldn’t get worse we find out that in addition to not making financial arrangements in case he became ill, nor has he made any end of life arrangements. He has verbalized that he doesn’t want machines to keep him alive but has put nothing in writing to that effect. He has also done nothing about what will transpire with his properties. If things continue in the same manner they are now, I am afraid our very fragile family will be finished when those decisions come to pass. At least now we have the hope that Dad is going to recover and things will return to some sense of normalcy. If Dad dies, before he puts his wishes to a legal document, the disaster that is now will be of small scale compared to that.

Disaster seems like such a selfish word to describe what is happening, because it infers that the tragedy is happening to me. It is appropriate though, because in a disaster things that were once stable become destroyed with only remnants left. What remains to be seen now is whether this is a disaster from which something will be salvaged and rebuilt or will everything lie in rubble never to be repaired? Will the 3 of us pull together and build on this or will this be the end of us as a family? As with all disasters, only time will tell, if we are repairable or not.

Wrong Reason Decisions




Because I hated my home life and was too young to know any better I married the first boy I thought I was in love with. This led to altering my career goals, a beautiful daughter, and a very painful divorce.

I had a very unhappy home life as a child and dreamed of the day I could get away from it. As long as I can remember I immersed myself in school, knowing that education was the ticket out. I never played the dumb female; I was smart and proud of it. My stepmother thought brains were only for girls who had no other options, I listened continuously to remarks like, “no one wants to marry an encyclopedia”, and vowed I didn’t care. An education was still my goal. I studied hard, got good grades, I even got early acceptance into two fairly prestigious colleges. Then I met Larry. He was gorgeous, funny, and a high school jock. Best of all, he thought I was special, and I had been craving that for the last 10 years. So I fancied that this was the love I had waited all 17 years of my life for. I hadn’t forgotten college though. Then Larry asked me to marry him. At the time, it seemed perfect. No college, but the husband from heaven. I could make the trade, it didn’t seem like settling. Marriage would mean that I would have my own home and never have to spend another night in this one I hated so much. After all I had 18 years of wisdom under my belt.

When Larry and I were first married, I thought all my dreams had come true. I was married to a hot high school jock and was out of a home life I had hated for the last 10 years. Larry was offered a job in the southern end of Maine, far away from my despised home. He accepted, we moved, and all we had was each other to depend on. This led us to believe we had a bond that was unbreakable. So at the ripe old age of 20, I gave birth to our daughter. She was a beautiful baby, but a difficult one. She grew to be a rebellious, stubborn, and willful child. She has been the source of much joy and much agony for me. She was certainly not an easy child, or any easier adult, but she is mine, and my love for her is endless. While raising her, much of it alone, I tried not to resent her or what I missed because I had her so young. I would like to think I succeeded in this, but in truth, probably did not.

Inevitably, the time came when Larry and I had nothing in common other than Amanda. We both knew it, but hated to be quitters. (Wonder where Amanda gets her stubbornness from?) Time spent together was not relaxing or cause for enjoyment, anticipation of time away from each other was overwhelming, especially for me. I would sit on the couch and remember the dreams and goals of my teenage years and wonder how it had slipped away. I still loved Larry, but could no longer see myself on the front porch with him rocking our grandchildren to sleep. We dragged our feet until it became unbearable and we knew we were hurting Amanda as much as each other. Neither of us could bear putting her through our misery anymore. So, I left and took Amanda with me. All these years later, I still can feel the pain of that night. Papers were filed and the process of divorce moved forward. The day came to stand before the judge and I could barely get the words out of my mouth agreeing to end my marriage. I wanted to say no then and there, but knew in the bigger scheme of things this was the right thing to do. There was no hate between Larry and I, just a huge sadness of a life started too young and for the wrong reasons to have a fighting chance. I was an old woman of 28 by now.

The effect of having a childhood that was not idyllic made a permanent impression on my life. It led me to the joy of love, the miracle of motherhood, and the pain of love failed. I am stronger and wiser now, but carry those effects with me always.

SHOPPING



I love to shop for clothes. When I do it has three distinct parts for me. The anticipation of the find, the browsing to narrow down, and the final decision from the articles gathered. Each of the parts holds its’ own special fun for me. I could not honestly say that one part is any more fun than the other.

Oh, the anticipation, when I know I am going to get a chance to walk through aisles and aisles of clothes searching for exactly the right thing. I needed a dress for a conference dinner. I could picture what I wanted. It had to be black, with some pink in it. I had many styles in mind, each needing accessories unique to style. This thought process consumes the whole trip to the stores. I imagine a black sheath style dress with small amount of pink abstract design throughout. Or maybe, I’ll get a black spaghetti strap dress, with a pink trimmed v-style neck. Possibly, I will go a little risqué and get a black strapless dress accented by a pink bodice. The possibilities are endless. Even better, no matter what style I buy, each will need its’ own set of accessories. A beaded black shawl will only work with one certain style; another will need silver earrings with 2 inches of dangle, and shoes, (a certain dress will only go with certain shoes). Oh, the anticipation!!

In my opinion, browsing is a unique experience that is only truly enjoyed by a serious shopper. It is truly an art form of its’ own kind. The excitement of being able to walk into a store and see all the possibilities it offers. Ahead of me there are rows and rows of clothes waiting to be explored. Is my black dress in one of the aisles? Off I go to find out, knowing there will be no disappointment if I don’t find it here. All it means is to another store I go. I walk through clothes, eyes pealed for that black dress. I find six dresses that may fit the bill, all the prerequisite black, with pink in them, and off I go to try them on. Now, part of the browsing experience, is dressing appropriately. Slip off shoes, shirts that have no buttons, and pants that I don’t have to fight with to get on and off are the attire of choice for browsing. Off come the street clothes and half a dozen dresses wait to get tried on. Out on front of the mirror I go, for a four sided view, back, front, right, and left. Most people don’t realize the body is a four sided object. Six times I do this, and not one is perfect by itself, but a two of them have possibilities. No panic though, this is serious business, I came into it knowing it would take time. I now have to start thinking of accessories for each of these dresses, just in cast one of them does end up being it. After all, accessories can make a so-so dress a great dress. I go through this process in three more stores. It is amazing how many black dresses with pink in them are available. To the serious shopper, few things can be compared to browsing.

The time has come to make the DECISION. Everything that has been looked at must be weighed for its’ appropriateness. Now, I will narrow it down to three possibilities. That is the rule that keeps me sane. I will not make a decision until there are only three choices. The decision making process has some similarities to browsing, but is really completely a different mind set. The dresses will be tried on again, but now accessories will be added to the outfit. All the while, the end picture is very vivid. The dress, the accessories, and the shoes must flow perfectly. Once all the dresses are tried on again, there is one that can definitely go. Now, I have two black and pink dresses in front of me. Will it be the black chiffon, with spaghetti straps, the pink bodice trim, and gathered v-neck, or will it be the black sleeveless dress, straight cut, and pink flowers on the body of it? After trying both of these dresses on again, with shoes, and all the other accessories, down to the jewelry, the decision is made. I now have the perfect black dress with pink in it to wear to my dinner.

Shopping is an art form to me that is not a complete experience, without all three parts. Having to run in to a store to pick up a shirt is not the same thing as shopping. Shopping involves anticipation that sweet thought process of what lies out there. Then there is the browsing, that chance to walk through all the clothes there are to offer, looking for just the right thing. Finally, the decision is made and out I walk with the perfect find. That is shopping.

SLEEP!!

Tired… time to go to sleep. It sounds like such an easy thing, but is it always? The steps taken before sleep happens are somewhat time consuming and should make one tired in themselves. It is not as easy as laying my head on the pillow and dropping off into dreamland. Three little steps are involved to get there. I have to be ready, the house needs to be ready, and so does the bed.

First, there is the bathroom ritual. Teeth need to be brushed, can’t go to bed with bad breath. What if I have a heart attack in the night and need mouth to mouth resuscitation? That is followed by a shower; I can not climb into a clean bed without being clean myself. Talk about a good way to ruin a night’s sleep. Next comes lotion, it may prevent me from waking up to dry skin itch (usually not this time of year though). Now, I can brush my hair so it does not resemble a home for unidentified wildlife in the morning. Lastly, it’s time to pee. I’m hoping if I pee now, it will buy me another hour of sleep on the other end. I’m ready for sleep, but what about my house?

But, before I can lay my clean but tired little head down, the house needs to be put in order. Dirty dishes in the sink need to be washed and left to dry, so they can be put away in the morning. Breakfast is set out for the ready, in case I miss the alarm. Laundry goes in the washer, so it can be dried in the morning. If I don’t do this now, how will I fold and put them away tomorrow afternoon when I get home? Lights are checked, and turned off or down. Heat is turned back or windows closed depending on the season. One last check of the door is made and I can’t forget to set the ever dreadful alarm. Okay, the house is tucked in for the night; it’s time for that sweet reward. SLEEP! (Wait, need to pee again, just in case.)

Ahh…the final step. Blankets are thrown back and I am in bed. Wait though, the pillows aren’t quite right. One needs to be folded, and the other punched a little to get the right shape. The pillows are fitted to my head now, but the rest of me is not comfortable. So now I change from my side to my belly. I do it every night; one would think I would learn. That feels better, but the pillows are wrong again. A little more pillow rearranging and all is good. Now, I can just lay here and wait for blissful slumber. Damn, on the move from my side to my stomach, the blankets got rearranged. Now, I have to wiggle a little to get the blankets in the right place, and you guessed it, the pillows are wrong again. Once last pillow punch, and all is well. Sleep, here I come!

Sleep should be one of the easiest things I accomplish in a day. I inevitably make it a complicated process every night. One of these years, my resolution, is going to be to get in bed, fall asleep, and to hell with the rest of it. (Except the peeing.)

My experience with research is extremely limited. I have written 2 research papers in my college career; one revolving around a patient case study and one involving a medication. I have been out of high school so long I can't even remember if I wrote one there. I am sure I did as I took the college prep course of study as it was called then.

The first paper I wrote involved following a patient through her illness. There was not a lot of technical research involved in this. Most of my information came directly from the patients' hospital records. There was not a lot of hunting for materials, as the instructor wanted it mostly patient specific. My patient had a lower GI bleed and I did research the pathophysiology of this illness in two reference books.

The second research paper was on a medication. We had to choose a medication from a predetermined list and write about it. This was also fairly uncomplicated. We had to write about things such as indications, contraindications, mechanisms of actions, etc.. This paper was a little more involved as there was a requirement to see if it was viable to be used prehospitally. I used journal articles in addition to standard text for this paper.

I have tried to self teach myself on how to write a research paper without much luck. For the last couple of years I have wanted to write an article for an EMS journal, but have been afraid to venture there. I am not afraid of doing the research or writing the paper, it is the footnoting and bibliography that terrify me. Yes, terrify is the right word as I can't imagine doing it incorrectly and being accuse of plagiarizing. Joe Biden was a reminder of how long something like that can be remembered.

I have never done a research paper with online referencing, so this will certainly be a challenge for me. I am sure I will see more than one comment on how to properly notate references and the like. I am looking forward to it though, as it will be a start to hopefully having an EMS artivcle published someday.