This old house

Finally have internet back up and running as of this morning. Our project for the next few days is unpacking this house full of boxes; I've got to spend some time getting things in their places. So very frustrating when you can't find your everyday things. 

The bedroom was painted last night, and it will help a lot to be able to move the dresser and clothes into that room and clear space elsewhere. The walls were a sunny glossy yellow--not a good color for sleeping. Now the color is a dark mocha, or "Cardamon Spice" according to Behr. 

Okay, who am I kidding. It's poop brown.

Whatever you call it, it's dark and flat/matte and I'm happy with it. I've learned I'm a horrible painter, especially at edging. I am a lucky girl in that my father in law came over and very kindly painted the living room for me. He had some leftover beige paint from his home, and it's a major improvement over the navy blue. Nothing wrong with navy blue, but it just wasn't right for the main room.

So much to do, so much I want to write about . . . later.

Star of the Sea

Mother, bring your son home

So busy this past week. So many things to complain about in my bubble: cleaning, packing, moving, cleaning, dog sitting, packing, moving, cleaning, working, accused of vandalising, cracking a molar, chewing my own lip raw because it was numb and didn't hurt.

And none of them really matter.

Please pray for Joey Kane's safe return and for the strength and support of his family.

Day 4 in Search for Missing Kayaker

Beware pro-lifers in disguise!

Good grief. My brother in law recently retweeted this Slate article on the documentary It's a Girl. The movie is about sex-selective abortion and how it disproportionately affects females, particularly in the developing world.

Article here.

The author, Sital Kalantry, doesn't bother to review the film and discuss its cinematic virtues and vices. Her purpose is to sound the alarm because the documentary director has [gasp!!] pro-life and Christian connections. 

Kalantry reports that she was "suspicious" of its humanitarian bent and calls it an outright trick. The pro-life message, she says, was subtle enough that "they got away with it." Those sneaky bastards!

Meanwhile feminists are unknowingly promoting a movie created by the enemy. Oh dear. 

Might someone finally recognize the illogic? Kalantry and Friends' take on women's rights suggests that it's perfectly okay to kill off young females. You'd just better knock off an equal number of boys to make it fair. 

'So thankful we have people out there advancing equal opportunity victimization.

Counterpulsation and the rise of the machines

This past weekend was really good.

Saturday night I took my first patient with an intra-aortic balloon pump/IABP. I'd been dodging that ball for so long. Finally got one and it was not super bad. Meaning, the machine behaved for my shift. I had taken the class to train on the IABP twice, but for patients in cardiogenic shock, many of the cardiologists have been leaning more towards the Impella, so we just don't see IABP's very often. Instead of being super crazy, it was actually one of the best shifts I've had in a long time. The patient was a 1:1 and I actually had time to do things the way the way they ought to be done, talk with the family . . . and clocked out at 0730. Yes, you read that right. I think if more shifts were like that I would probably like nursing.

It just amazes me how this machine counterpulsates seemingly at lightening speed. I mean, at the beginning of my shift my patient had a heart rate of 170/min. That balloon was inflating and deflating nearly three times per second. 

What is an IABP, in 40 seconds:

What is an IABP, in about 8 minutes:

'Pretty sure everyone knows how much I complain about work, though I hesitate to complain about it to med-surg nurses. If you regularly have 6 patients, imagine listening to someone whine who usually has two or three? I have tremendous respect for good floor nurses; I could never do what they do.

One, or two, or three ICU patients can still keep you busy . . . but that's a rant for another post. Suffice it to say some of these patients are living on the edge. For instance, their blood pressure plummets during the seconds it takes you to change/hang a new bag of levophed (an intravenous liquid cousin of epinephrine). Keeps you on your toes.

On another note, Ryan's friends had a crawfish boil.  Coming home for breakfast, these guys met me in the refrigerator:

Many moons ago my parents took us to New Orleans. Along the way we stopped at some restaurant and got what I remember to have been a mountain of crawfish. I'd forgotten how much work there is to do for so little meat! But when you tast 'em, it's worth it.

(Ryan's eyes are rolling)

It's raining; we're dog sitting; the kitchen is stocked; I'm off work until Saturday.

I love this day already and it's barely started.

Hopefully I can soon pry myself away from the internet  to study and get one final exam over and done with.

But first, you know what's been eating at me? Paint color. More specifically, wall color.

We're moving next week and our new living room has dark green, spruce colored walls. 

like so.

It's not a big room, and the darkness just closes it in a little more. It's not a bad color; I'd prefer it in the bedroom to help me sleep. But I'd really like the living room to be lighter. . .

 

Source: sherwin-williams.com via Elizabeth on Pinterest

Our current apartment has mustard yellow walls with white trim. 'Drives me crazy because we have mostly dark wooden furniture (Meme's bar, the dining room table, the china cabinet, etc). The colors never really gelled.

gearing up for one last powwow at our current place

I am now a believer in mirror walls

And yet, I've seen dark wood accents against light walls and somehow it works.

Contemporary Family Room by Dallas Home Builders Ellen Grasso & Sons, LLC

Maybe it's the mustard yellow that's the problem and not the white trim. I've noticed that different colors work together when there's something "mixed" that ties them both together. E.g. blue curtains and red furniture work when there's a rug or carpet in the room that has both blue and red tones. It gives them a common reference point. (I think that's why art can do so much for a room.  It can potentially blend so many colors together.) Maybe the problem with my current living room is that there's nothing linking the yellow and the wood stain. They have no friends in common.

Some of the beiges I was looking at seem to have a yellow undertone. (I'm not very good with the whole recognizing "tones" of colors thing.) Could that be a problem? I'm glancing around our friend's office and his walls are a gray-based taupe with white trim. Seems to work.

And btw, our landlady said she was cool with painting. 'Suppose I just need to get it in writing.

A tale of two pink meats

Ryan met with some friends the other night while I was at work. Being the lovely people they are--and fantastic cooks--they sent him home with a box of {gourmet} leftovers for me: crusted grilled salmon, fruit salsa, new potatoes, green salad, crab dip, crostini, et al. Quite a tasty treat for the end of my day.

But, being tired and distracted, I failed to check the fridge when I got home. Well, I only checked it once and not the usual five times. (Because, you know, you just don't see all the possibilities the first time you stare in there.)

That morning I also happened to have a hankering for Chef Boyardee, which is my guilty pleasure. I had brought home a caseful of canned Chef Boyardee the last time we were at Sam's Club. However, the canned stuff is really supposed to be saved as emergency food stuffs. I mean, in our home if Ryan sees you open a can of soup or ravioli there had better be a power outage or zombies in the street.

But Ryan had already left for class. So I cracked open can of the delicious pink-slime-meat/product & white pasta slathered in salty tomato sauce, ate, and was semi-satisfied. And I went through the regular motions of hiding the evidence: burying the can deep in the garbage, rinsing the bowl well, not leaving the can opener out . . . and then I saw the salmon. Oooh. I had missed out. 

And busted. My clean-up must have been sloppy 'cause Ryan still found out about the Chef Boyardee when he got home. 

springtime sunsets

The living room suddenly filled with vivid orange light and commanded my attention.